Lawrence Falls had never seemed quiet. At fifty years old, Leon S. Kennedy had seen his share of outbreaks, conspiracies, and horrors beyond imagination—but nothing had prepared him for the desolate streets of this town. Despite his age, he moved with the precision and vigilance of a seasoned agent, boots crunching over broken concrete, every muscle alert.
The sun was dying, casting long, jagged shadows between collapsed buildings and abandoned vehicles. Windows hung shattered in their frames, and the occasional flicker of movement sent his heart racing. This town was more than empty; it was waiting. Waiting for the virus to show its full face.
Leon paused at the intersection of Main and River Street. The walls bore signs of desperation: blood-streaked handprints, messages scribbled in haste—"Don't go outside… they are everywhere." He clenched his jaw. Survival wasn't a choice here. It was the only option.
From the corner of his eye, he thought he glimpsed a figure—a flash of red and black—but when he turned, the street was empty. His instincts screamed that he wasn't alone. Someone, or something, was watching.
The low growl of the infected echoed from a nearby alley. Leon's hand went instinctively to his pistol. He advanced cautiously, flashlight piercing the haze. A pair of twisted figures emerged from the shadows, their movements grotesque and unnatural. He fired with calm precision, dropping one instantly. The other lunged, and Leon barely sidestepped, his veteran reflexes saving him.
A soft whisper of movement behind him made him spin. Nothing. Only the echo of his heartbeat. And yet, in the darkness, someone observed. Ada Wong. Her figure was concealed, hidden in the shadows, unseen but undeniably present. She did not intervene, not yet. But her eyes followed him, calculating every motion.
Leon pressed on, weaving through the ruins, aware of every sound, every subtle hint of danger. Lawrence Falls was no longer a town; it was a labyrinth of death. The virus had transformed it, turning ordinary streets into hunting grounds. And Leon, despite fifty years of life experience, knew that any misstep could be his last.
As night fell, he found temporary refuge in a half-collapsed store. Barricading the entrance, he exhaled deeply. Outside, the growls and whispers of the infected grew louder, a symphony of menace in the dark. Somewhere in the shadows, Ada watched, patient and deliberate. Leon had yet to realize that this encounter would change his life forever—not only through survival, but through the bond that would soon grow, and the life he had never imagined could still await him.