Setting: Alcatraz Island – Interior corridor near the cell block, 48 hours into the mission. The team has just cleared a pocket of infected and regrouped in a temporary safe zone. The facility is cold, damp, and filled with echoes—both literal and emotional.

Leon pushed through the heavy steel door first, gun raised, jaw clenched.

The corridor stank of bile and smoke. His boots left wet imprints on the blood-smeared floor as he swept the path ahead. Behind him, Chris and Jill moved in tight formation—Chris on rear guard, Jill flanking the opposite wall. Claire and Rebecca followed, both carrying bags of salvaged medical gear.

"Clear," Leon muttered, lowering his handgun but not holstering it. He exhaled like he was trying to get rid of something stuck deeper than just adrenaline.

They'd lost two marines in the last hall.

"You okay?" Claire asked softly, catching up to him.

He didn't look at her. "I'm tired of asking questions I already know the answer to."

A pause.

Then—

A noise.

Barely a breath. A scuff of movement behind a barricaded stack of overturned beds.

Leon raised his gun again. "Someone's here."

Chris instantly stepped forward. "Could be another infected—"

"No," Leon cut in. "Breathing's too soft. Controlled. Not panicked, but not hostile either."

Rebecca blinked. "You can tell that just from—"

"Yes," Leon said flatly.

He edged forward, gun steady.

"Alright. You've got five seconds to show yourself or I stop being polite."

Silence.

Then... a girl stepped out.

Not armed. Not limping. Not shaking. Just there. Soaked to the bone, a little pale, clothes muddy and torn at the hem. But her gaze was steady. Wide, dark eyes met Leon's with something unreadable.

Leon stared a moment longer than necessary, weapon still raised.

"Let me guess—you're a survivor. Civilian. Lost. Everyone you came with is dead. You've been hiding in the walls, and you just happened to be in the exact place five bioterror experts are sweeping for infection. Right?"

She gave a small nod.

Leon's voice didn't soften. "Name."

"..."

He waited. "Last name?"

Nothing.

He sighed. "Figures."

Chris stepped beside him. "She doesn't look infected."

"I've seen infection look a lot like innocence," Leon said, eyes never leaving her. "So why are you here? And if you say 'I thought I could help,' I walk into the next horde without backup."

She didn't respond. Didn't flinch.

Rebecca had already moved in with her handheld scanner, checking vitals.

"She's clean," she confirmed. "No infection. But she's been here a while. Malnourished. Dehydrated."

Jill crossed her arms. "So what now?"

Leon studied the girl in silence.

"...You listen, and you listen closely," he said finally, voice low and cold. "You stay out of the way. No heroics. No wandering off. If I say run, you run. If I say hide, you disappear. You're not part of this team. You're not a soldier. You're just trying to survive. That's it."

She gave a slight nod—quick, silent.

"Good."

He turned back to the team. "We move out in five. She slows us down, I leave her."

Claire's frown was immediate. "Leon—"

"She lives if she listens. That's more than most get."

He holstered his weapon and started forward again.

Behind him, she followed without a word—quiet, measured. Still. But he could feel her gaze trailing his every step. Not fearful. Just... steady.

And it unsettled him more than any monster they'd faced.