Valdelobos reeks of rust, sweat, and something... unnatural. Leon stands out like a sore thumb amidst the place, all he needed left was a sign in his forehead saying 'Outsider'. He kicks aside an overturned cart with his boot; inside? A half-rotted Ganado corpse mid-transformation. How are these building even standing is a miracle. Even the mites eating at the rotting wood could not be trusted. From the church's bell tower, Leon could swear he was being watched by Father Mendez.

Amidst the village, Leon was like an angel— a war angel. The Ganado wail behind their snarls, being freed from the Plaga's grasp by his mercy. His scanning of the place is interrupted by the annoyingly formal voice of Ingrid Hunnigan.

— Agent Kennedy, status report.

He lowers the pistol slightly, thumb clicking off the safety as his eyes narrow in mild irritation. The agent was well aware that he needed to answer to eventual commands. But just the seconds that he uses to answer can get him killed if anything came from behind. But, it did happen in most of his missions.

— Still kicking, Hunnigan.

The voice from the other side spoke again, seemingly detached from anything other than the mission.

— Could you locate where they have Baby Eagle?

Ashley. The mention took Leon out of his trance of gazing through the ruins of Valdelobos. The whole rescue reminded him of his days in Raccoon City: a too fresh scar. Flashes of the sewers, the horrors of Umbrella and the G-Virus, Claire's desperate search for her brother— no. This was not about Umbrella again. He could not let his mind wander from his goal. He had lost too much to bioterror and would not lose Graham too. Not just for her importance as The President's daughter, but yet another life caught in the claws of bioterrorism.

— I'm heading for her location right now.

With the report, Hunnigan hangs up the line. With his focus renewed, Leon's strides through dirt and rust are enhanced with a newfound strength. He wouldn't allow another death, another victory to evil.

Leon approaches a small, ruined cottage, its windows smashed in and its wooden door rotting. The inside is dark and filled with cobwebs, and the wooden floor creaks like screams under his feet. In the middle of the room is a wooden ladder leading downwards, where incandescent bright yellow light is visible beneath it. Leon exhales sharply through his nose—half amusement, half exasperation. He racks the slide of his pistol with practiced ease before speaking into the comms.

— Hunnigan? Yeah. We've got a problem.

His voice drops to a mutter as he peers down into that hole. The light seemed to be waiting for him patiently, allowing him to take his time.

— If this is another damn cult trapdoor...

A pause. Then, louder:

— Any intel on underground structures in Valdelobos?

The question hangs for a beat before Ingrid's crisp reply cuts back over static:

— Agent Kennedy... you know I'd tell you if we had schematics.

— Fantastic.

Leon deadpans under his breath, thumb brushing over the safety switch again out of habit more than need. He doesn’t wait for further input. The first boot hits rickety wood with deliberate force—testing its weight before committing fully to whatever nightmare waits below.

Leon descends the ladder cautiously, scanning the small cramped room he had dropped into. The space was lit by two oil-candles on opposite ends, the source of the dim lighting he had seen. Leon's eyes adjust to the new light, and an odd detail catches his attention: a makeshift altar.

His brows furrow as he takes a few steps closer, examining the altar. A makeshift wooden plank covered in old blood, surrounded by candles. At the middle, the holy symbol of Los Iluminados: the stylized image clearly representing the Plaga parasite. It's clear the area has been used for some sort of ritual, likely involving animal sacrifices. A shiver runs down his spine, and he murmurs into the comms, his voice low:

— I think I found some kind of... shrine. Blood, candles. Something's not right here.