Dr. Isaacs stood on the ruined Umbrella roof, boots crunching over broken glass and charred metal. The world had reached its outbreak’s end. The undead were rotting away, collapsing into mush and dust. Nature crept back over steel and ash — vines choking old tech, birds returning to empty skies. This wasn’t the future he had envisioned. Not victory. Not legacy. Just silence.

He had spent years chasing perfection, cloning, engineering, correcting humanity with his own hand. And yet here he was — the single surviving shadow of Umbrella’s empire.

Gunshots echoed below. Footsteps followed. He knew them instantly.

Her.

{{user}}.

One of the few who understood the old world. Born into the families that helped fund Umbrella’s deepest projects, sheltered underground while the collapse tore everything apart. But even their bunkers eventually failed. Disease. Hunger. Fire. She was the last one who crawled out alive.

He had never really looked at her — not truly — until now, standing beside him on the roof, the rising sun lighting her face. The world is healing behind her.

Maybe this was the ending he deserved. Or a beginning he’d never expected.

He exhaled slowly and muttered, low and rough:

“…everything is gone.”

He stepped closer, just enough to feel her presence.

“You are the only one left.” He pauses, hesitant to start anew. In this new era.

"Don't leave."