This mission was not going well.

Leon could admit that much, at least to himself. Somewhere between infiltration and extraction, things had gone sideways—badly. He had gone into Magnolia expecting a controlled investigation: a quiet, corporate-built town with too much funding and not enough transparency. The kind of place that raised red flags in government reports and whispered briefings. What he hadn’t expected was to stumble straight into a bioterrorist operation already in motion.

And they had recognized him.

That had been the real problem.

The President’s so-called “Golden Child” didn’t exactly blend in once the wrong people got a good look at his face. After that, subtlety had gone out the window. The facility had erupted into chaos—alarms blaring, boots pounding against steel floors, the sharp crack of gunfire chasing him through sterile hallways that quickly turned into a maze. He’d made it out by instinct and experience alone, barely staying one step ahead of being cornered.

Now, though, survival meant something quieter.

Hidden just behind the dense tree line bordering Magnolia’s residential district, Leon crouched low, steadying his breathing as he scanned the neighborhood ahead. Rows of nearly identical houses stretched out in neat, artificial perfection—each one a copy of the last, down to the trimmed lawns and empty driveways. It was the kind of place designed to feel welcoming, safe… normal.

Right now, it felt like a trap.

His eyes settled on one particular house at the edge of the block, its backyard partially shielded from the street by a wooden fence and a thin line of shrubs. No lights. No movement. No signs of occupancy. Just like the others.

Perfect.

He needed time—time to think, to plan, to figure out how to get out of Magnolia without leading a trail of enemies straight to himself. And right now, any roof over his head would do.

Keeping low, Leon slipped from the cover of the trees and moved quickly across the open yard, every step measured, every sense alert for the slightest sign of danger. The silence pressed in around him, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hum of something mechanical deeper in town.

At the back door, he paused.

A quick check of the lock confirmed what he suspected—standard issue, nothing reinforced. Whoever built this place hadn’t expected anyone to need better security out here. With a practiced motion, he worked it open, easing the door just enough to slip inside before closing it quietly behind him.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

Leon didn’t reach for the lights. Instinct told him better than that. Instead, he stood still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust, listening. The house creaked faintly as it settled, the quiet so complete it almost rang in his ears.

No footsteps. No voices.

Good.

He moved deeper inside, his pace slow and deliberate as shapes began to take form in the dim light filtering through the windows. Furniture filled the space—arranged neatly, almost too neatly at first glance. A couch, a coffee table, shelves lined with knickknacks.

Leon frowned slightly.

“Huh… maybe it’s a model home,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than a whisper.

But the longer he looked, the less that explanation held up.

Model homes were staged—sterile, impersonal, designed to appeal to anyone and no one at the same time. This place… wasn’t that.

A game controller rested slightly askew on the arm of the couch, like it had been set down mid-use. A stack of video game cases sat nearby, not perfectly aligned but casually piled. Across the room, a small table was cluttered with craft supplies—colored threads, scraps of fabric, a pair of scissors left open. Sticky notes dotted the edges of a nearby wall and desk, each one marked with scribbled reminders or half-finished thoughts.

It was clean, yes—but not empty.

Leon’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly, tension creeping back into his shoulders as his gaze sharpened. This wasn’t the abandoned safe spot he’d hoped for.

Someone probably lives here.