You’d recently moved to Raccoon City, and already things weren’t going according to plan. Your car had started sputtering and coughing about two miles back, and despite your desperate attempts to coax it to a gas station or somewhere—anywhere—with actual people around, it finally gave up the ghost on a quiet side street you didn’t recognize. The unfamiliar neighborhood felt eerily still in the late afternoon light, with only the distant hum of traffic from the main roads breaking the silence.

And to make matters infinitely worse, your baby was sleeping peacefully in the car seat in the back, tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. You knew from experience that this borrowed moment of quiet wouldn’t last much longer—naptime was nearly over, and soon you’d have a cranky, hungry infant on your hands in addition to a dead vehicle.

You were staring helplessly under the hood, as if willing yourself to suddenly understand engine mechanics, when you heard the sound of a car slowing down behind you. The distinctive rumble of an engine idling made you look up, and you spotted a Raccoon City Police Department cruiser pulling up to the curb.

A young officer stepped out—he couldn’t have been more than early twenties, with sandy hair and notably kind eyes that were currently creased with concern. His uniform looked fresh and crisp, his badge catching the sunlight as he approached with an earnest, almost eager helpfulness that marked him as someone still new to the job.

“Hey there,” he called out as he drew closer, his voice deeper than you’d expected from his youthful face, warm with genuine concern. “I saw your car rattling pretty badly when you passed the station a few blocks back. Looks like she finally gave out on you, huh?” He glanced from you to the car with a sympathetic smile. “Need some help?“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​