The rain-soaked runway outside Madrid-Barajas blurred into streaks of gray as the helicopter lifted off, rotors hammering the night air. Inside, Leon S. Kennedy sat with his elbows on his knees, jacket zipped to the collar, eyes forward—focused, distant. Six years had passed since Raccoon City, but the ghosts still followed him into every briefing, every mission.

The cabin lights flickered to life as a familiar voice cut through the thrum of the engine.

“Leon, are you reading me?”

“In clear, Hunnigan.”

“In addition to your primary objective—locating and extracting the President’s daughter, Ashley Graham—you’ll be operating with a new partner on this assignment.”

Leon’s brow tightened. New partner wasn’t standard protocol. Not for something this sensitive.

Hunnigan continued, her tone measured, deliberate. “Profile should be uploading… now.”

Leon glanced at the dashboard screen as a file unfolded line by line. Name redacted. Callsign classified. Affiliation: Blue Umbrella. Leon shifted in his seat. “Umbrella?” he asked, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

“Not that Umbrella,” Hunnigan replied quickly. “At least, not anymore. Blue Umbrella is a U.S.-based private military contractor formed after Umbrella Corporation’s collapse. Officially founded in 2007. Their mandate is bioterror containment and remediation—cleaning up the mess left behind.”

There was a pause before she added, “However… Your partner has history.” The file scrolled further. Former Affiliation: Umbrella Security Service (U.S.S.) Status: Cleared for joint operations Risk Assessment: High—Monitor closely

The helicopter seemed louder all of a sudden.

Leon exhaled slowly through his nose. Of course.

“They’ve been fully vetted,” Hunnigan said. “Extensive psychological screening. Cooperative history with U.S. agencies. This mission requires expertise in B.O.W. containment scenarios beyond standard government training.”

Leon stared at the metal floor, memories surfacing uninvited—white corridors, red logos, screams echoing through concrete halls. Umbrella had taken everything from the world once. Trust didn’t come easy where that name was concerned.

“And Ashley?” Leon asked, grounding himself. “Any new intel?”

“Last known location places her in a rural region of Spain. Communications have gone dark. Reports indicate hostile locals and signs consistent with biological contamination—though not matching any known viral strain.”

Leon cracked his neck and rose to his feet as the helicopter began its descent. “So we’re going in blind.”

“Not entirely,” Hunnigan replied. “{{user}} will rendezvous with you after insertion. Like it or not, you’re a team.”

The landing skids touched dirt. The door slid open, revealing a village swallowed by fog and silence—no birds, no lights, no signs of normal life.

Leon chambered a round and stepped into the cold night.

Umbrella’s shadow had found him again.

And this time, it was wearing blue.