Rain hammered the streets of Raccoon City in relentless sheets, splashing off pavement and cascading down gutters in silver streams.
Soren stood across the street from Jill's apartment building, motionless beneath the storm.
He wore a long black trench coat, the heavy fabric darkened further by the rain. It concealed the weapons beneath—two Desert Eagles, the H&K MK23 and the two short swords.
The coat wasn't fashion.
It was camouflage.
The plain black baseball cap sat low over his head, the brim shielding his face from the downpour. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes despite the late hour.
He looked up.
Five floors above, a faint glow shone through one of the apartment windows.
Apartment 509.
Jill.
For a long moment he just stood there, rain sliding from the brim of his hat.
Two months.
Two months since she had last seen him.
Two months since he had collapsed after the mansion incident… after the Tyrants… after the helicopter ride that had barely brought him back alive.
Two months in a coma in the bunker.
Two months where Jill hadn't been able to come see him.
Umbrella had made sure of that.
She'd been watched constantly, hoping she would lead them to where Soren was hiding.
And tonight…
He was about to knock on her door like none of that time had passed.
His gaze shifted away from the window.
Left.
Right.
Across the street.
Up to the rooftops.
Every instinct he had screamed the same warning it always did—assume you're being watched.
Cars passed through the rain-soaked street. Neon signs flickered from a nearby bar. Water dripped steadily from the building awning.
But no watchers.
No lingering silhouettes.
No movement that didn't belong.
Satisfied, Soren crossed the street and stepped under the building's awning.
Rain rolled off his coat as he pulled the door open and stepped inside.
The lobby smelled faintly of old tile and stale cigarette smoke. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a dull yellow glow across the empty room.
Somewhere behind closed apartment doors, a television murmured softly.
Soren walked straight to the elevator.
The doors slid open with a tired metallic groan.
He stepped inside and pressed the button.
5
The doors closed.
The elevator began its slow climb.
For the first time since arriving, Soren felt it.
Nerves.
Not fear.
Something quieter… heavier.
He rolled his shoulders beneath the coat and let out a slow breath.
She's going to kill me.
The elevator dinged.
The doors opened.
The fifth-floor hallway stretched out in front of him, dimly lit and quiet. Old carpet muffled his footsteps as he walked down the corridor.
At the very end of the hallway—
509.
He stopped in front of the door.
For a moment, he simply stared at the number.
Two months.
Then he took a breath and knocked.
Three firm taps against the wood.
Inside the apartment, Jill Valentine sat on the edge of her bed.
The room was dim, lit only by a lamp on the nightstand. Rain streaked the windows behind her, the city lights outside blurred by water running down the glass.
She wore short athletic shorts and a fitted tank top that showed the toned lines of her abs. Her short brown hair framed her face as she leaned forward, focused on the handgun resting in her hands.
The pistol lay disassembled across her lap.
Barrel.
Spring.
Slide.
Jill worked through the cleaning with quiet precision, every motion practiced and efficient.
It helped keep her mind busy.
Because whenever it slowed down—
It drifted back to the bunker.
To the still body lying in the medical bed.
To the machines quietly monitoring someone who hadn't woken up in nearly two months.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
Then—
knock, knock, knock.
Her hands froze mid-motion.
Her eyes shifted toward the apartment door.
Midnight.
The informant.
Of course.
Jill quickly finished reassembling the pistol, snapping the slide forward with practiced ease.
She picked up the magazine from the bed beside her and seated it into the grip.
Click.
The weapon was ready.
She stood and moved toward the door with silent, controlled steps.
The informant had insisted on meeting here.
At midnight.
No names.
No guarantees.
Which meant Jill trusted him about as far as she could throw him.
She stopped beside the door and leaned forward to look through the peephole.
A man stood outside.
Tall.
Dressed entirely in black.
Long trench coat.
Black hat pulled low.
His face shadowed.
Jill studied him for a moment.
She didn't recognize him.
Good.
That meant the informant was at least cautious.
Still, she kept the pistol lowered but ready as she unlocked the door.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Jill stepped into the doorway, her expression cold and prepared to tear into whoever had kept her waiting—
And the man outside lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
Time stopped.
For two full seconds Jill's brain refused to process what she was seeing.
Soren.
Alive.
Standing right in front of her.
Not lying motionless in a bunker bed.
Not pale and unmoving under fluorescent lights.
Standing.
Looking at her.
Her entire world tilted.
The anger vanished.
The tension.
The rehearsed words she had prepared for the informant.
All of it shattered in an instant.
"Soren…?"
Her voice barely came out as a whisper.
Her body moved before her mind could catch up.
Jill lunged forward.
Soren barely had time to brace himself before she collided with him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.
He caught her automatically, hands gripping her waist as her momentum pushed them both back a step.
Then Jill kissed him.
Hard.
Two months of fear.
Two months of sleepless nights.
Two months of imagining the worst.
All of it exploded out of her at once.
Soren didn't hesitate.
One arm wrapped around her back, pulling her closer as he kissed her back just as fiercely.
Still locked together, he stepped forward into the apartment carrying her in his arms, nudging the door shut behind them with his foot.
The door closed with a quiet click.
And for the first time in two months—
Jill finally knew Soren was alive.
The two finally pulled apart a few minutes later, though neither of them wanted to.
Both were breathing heavily, intoxicated by the flood of unresolved emotions, tension, and the deep longing that had built over the last two months. Jill looked almost dazed, as if she had stepped into a dream she had been afraid to wake from.
Soren gently cupped her face in his gloved hands.
"I wasn't expecting that," he said with a soft smile.
His voice pulled her back to reality.
And with it came the realization that this wasn't a dream.
Soren was really here.
Alive.
Tears welled in Jill's eyes. Still wrapped in his arms, she weakly punched his chest.
"Jerk," she muttered, her voice trembling. "I told you not to get yourself killed."
She barely managed the words through the tears she was trying to hold back—but these were not tears of grief.
They were tears of relief.
"Guilty as charged," Soren replied quietly as he pulled her closer.
They moved to the old sofa, sitting together with Jill curled against him. For a long time neither of them spoke. The tension of the last two months slowly drained from her body as she rested in his arms.
All the anxiety.
All the sleepless nights.
Gone.
The man she loved was here.
Safe.
Alive.
Jill was drifting on the edge of sleep when the clock on the wall chimed.
Midnight.
Her eyes snapped open.
The informant.
She was supposed to meet them.
Slowly she shifted, lifting her head to look at Soren. He was still wearing his sunglasses—even though it was night.
Jill frowned slightly.
She reached up to remove them.
But Soren gently caught her wrist before she could.
Jill looked up at him, puzzled.
"Why are you wearing those?"
Soren's expression changed instantly.
The smile vanished.
His body tensed, and Jill could feel his heart suddenly racing beneath her cheek where it rested against his chest.
Soren looked away.
"Please don't," he said quietly. "It's—"
He stopped.
Jill tilted her head slightly.
"I'm not afraid."
"That's not—" Soren swallowed. "I don't want you to look at me like…"
He couldn't finish the sentence.
"Let me see," Jill said softly.
There was warmth in her voice—so much warmth that it left no room for argument.
For a moment Soren hesitated.
Then slowly, he released her wrist.
Jill reached up and carefully removed the sunglasses.
Soren's eyes were different.
Not human.
His pupils had narrowed into reptilian slits, and the color had changed as well. Where once there had been calm blue, there was now a dark, mute orange that looked almost red in the dim apartment light.
For a brief moment, Jill remembered the helicopter pad.
The Tyrant.
The wild, feral look in Soren's eyes when he fought it.
But that look wasn't there now.
Instead, his eyes trembled with fear.
Fear of how she would react.
Jill gently took his face in her hands.
"I see… you," she said softly.
"Just you."
Then she leaned forward and kissed him.
Acceptance.
When she pulled back, Jill sat upright.
"I was going to meet an informant tonight."
Her voice was reluctant.
She didn't want to go.
She just wanted to stay curled up on this sofa with him and rest after everything they had both been through.
But Umbrella wasn't going to give them that peace.
They never would.
Jill stood and walked toward the bathroom.
"I'm going to take a shower before I head out."
She turned and walked into the bathroom.
The bathroom door, however, didn't close behind her.
Soren blinked.
He sat there awkwardly on the sofa, unsure what to do with himself.
What did that mean?
Was she inviting him?
No, no
Get your head out of the gutter man.
Soren stood and walked into the kitchen instead.
He needed something to do.
Anything to distract himself from the sound of running water coming from the bathroom.
Ten minutes later the bathroom door closed behind her.
Jill stepped out with a long towel wrapped around her body. Her hair was still damp, falling loosely around her shoulders.
She looked refreshed.
And very much not aware of how distracting she was.
Soren stood frozen in the kitchen.
A goofy smile had spread across his face—a strange contrast to the inhuman eyes now watching her.
"Hungry?" he asked a little too enthusiastically.
"Sure," Jill replied casually. "What's on the menu?"
Soren blinked.
"Jesus, Jill. Are you trying to get me in trouble?"
She looked confused for a moment.
Then realization hit.
She looked down.
Towel.
Her face instantly turned red.
"SHUT UP!"
She spun around and bolted toward the bedroom.
A minute later she returned.
This time she was dressed.
A light blue button-up shirt, the top few buttons left open. High tactical black jeans. Tall black combat boots. A long black coat.
The transformation was dramatic.
Soren stared.
His expression said everything.
Gorgeous.
A faint blush crossed Jill's face as she walked toward the kitchen table.
"What did you make?"
That snapped Soren out of his daze.
"Ah—sandwiches. You didn't have much in the fridge, so I made peanut butter and jelly."
Jill stepped closer, kissed him gently on the cheek, and grabbed one of the sandwiches.
"Thank you."
"Well," Soren said with a mischievous grin, "if I get a kiss for a PB&J sandwich, I can't wait for you to try my actual cooking."
"Can't wait," Jill replied with a smirk, clearly not backing down from the challenge.
They finished their small meal sitting at the kitchen table.
Eventually Jill glanced at the clock.
"Okay… I really gotta go now."
"You said you're meeting someone?"
"Yup," Jill said. "An informant. They knew a lot about Umbrella."
Soren's brow furrowed.
"All the evidence we got from the mansion is gone," Jill continued, frustration creeping into her voice.
"Irons shut us down. Confiscated everything and labeled it as illegally obtained evidence."
Her anger was rising now.
"We were suspended. And now we're under surveillance."
Soren gently placed a hand over hers.
The simple touch grounded her.
She took a slow breath.
"Anyway… I'm meeting this informant tonight. Hopefully they have something we can actually use against Umbrella."
"Do you know them?" Soren asked.
"No. They contacted me through a courier."
Soren's frown deepened.
"How do you know this isn't Umbrella?" he asked carefully. "And you want to go alone?"
Jill's expression hardened.
She pulled her hand away and stood.
"I'm not a rookie, Soren. I know what I'm doing."
"That's not what I—"
"I don't need you babysitting me," she snapped. "I can take care of myself."
The words hit him harder than any punch.
And the pain was written clearly across his face.
Jill saw it immediately.
Her expression twisted with anger—but not at him.
At herself.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath.
She grabbed her satchel and stormed toward the door.
A second later the apartment door slammed shut behind her.
Silence filled the room.
Soren sat there for a moment, staring at the door, trying to process what had just happened.
Then he stood.
Letting out a slow breath, he grabbed his sunglasses and trench coat.
"Damn it," he muttered.
And went after her.
< Jill POV >
The apartment door slammed shut behind Jill.
The sound echoed down the hallway as she marched toward the elevator, anger still burning hot in her chest.
But the moment she stepped inside the elevator and the doors slid closed, that anger began to crack.
The ride down felt longer than usual.
Too quiet.
Too still.
Her reflection stared back at her in the brushed steel walls.
The expression on her face made her stomach twist.
Why did you say that?
The elevator dinged and the doors opened.
Jill stepped into the lobby and pushed out into the storm.
Rain immediately soaked into the shoulders of her coat as she stepped onto the sidewalk. The city lights blurred through the downpour, turning the streets into rivers of reflected neon.
She started walking.
Fast.
Her boots splashed through puddles as she headed down the block toward the place she was supposed to meet the informant.
But her mind wasn't on the informant.
It wasn't on Umbrella.
It wasn't on the investigation.
It was on the look on Soren's face.
That moment.
When she told him she didn't need him.
He hadn't argued.
Hadn't raised his voice.
He just looked… hurt.
Jill clenched her jaw.
"Damn it…" she muttered under her breath.
Her pace slowed.
Rain ran down the brim of her cap, dripping from the edges.
He was just worried.
She stopped walking.
For a moment she stood there on the empty sidewalk, staring down the street through the rain.
You didn't have to say it like that.
Her hand tightened around the strap of her satchel.
She could still go back.
The apartment was only a block away.
She imagined opening the door again.
Soren looking up.
The words forming in her head.
I'm sorry.
Jill turned halfway around.
Then she stopped.
Her pride rose up like a wall.
No.
If she went back now, he'd think she couldn't handle herself.
That she needed him to protect her.
Her jaw tightened again.
"I'm fine," she whispered to herself.
So she turned back toward the street and kept walking.
But now her mind wouldn't let go.
She replayed the moment over and over.
Soren standing there in the kitchen.
That wounded look in his eyes.
The way he tried not to show it.
Her chest tightened.
What if he thinks I meant it?
Her thoughts spiraled deeper.
What if he thinks I don't need him at all?
The rain fell harder.
The streets were nearly empty this late at night.
A streetlight flickered somewhere behind her.
Jill barely noticed.
Her boots splashed through another puddle as she stepped off the curb and continued down the sidewalk.
Her head was down.
Her mind still trapped in that moment in the apartment.
Maybe I should go back…
The thought came suddenly.
Clear.
Strong.
Maybe she should.
Just go back.
Tell him she didn't mean it like that.
Tell him—
A voice rumbled behind her.
Low.
Distorted.
Inhuman.
"STARS…"
Jill froze.
Her thoughts shattered instantly.
Slowly, she turned.
At first her brain struggled to understand what she was seeing.
Something enormous stood in the street behind her.
A towering silhouette in the rain.
At least eight feet tall.
Broad shoulders stretched beneath a long black coat. Thick straps wrapped around its massive torso like restraints barely holding something monstrous together.
Its pale, scarred head tilted slightly as it looked down at her.
Jill's breath caught in her throat.
Her hand twitched toward the pistol beneath her coat.
Too slow.
The creature moved.
One massive arm shot forward.
Its hand wrapped around her throat before she could even react.
Jill was lifted clean off the ground.
Her boots kicked helplessly in the air as her hands slammed against the creature's arm.
Her gun never cleared the holster.
Her mind was still trying to catch up with reality.
Her hands clawed at the massive fingers crushing her windpipe.
Air wouldn't come.
Her vision blurred.
The creature leaned closer, its ruined mouth stretching open.
"STAAAARS…"
Jill tried to breathe.
Tried to move.
But all that escaped her throat was a weak choking gasp.
The sound barely louder than the rain.
< MC POV >
Soren pushed through the apartment building door and stepped into the storm.
Rain slammed against the pavement, soaking his coat almost instantly as he scanned the empty street.
Jill.
She couldn't have gotten far.
He adjusted the brim of his cap and started moving down the sidewalk in the direction she had gone.
His mind was still replaying the argument.
The words she had said.
I don't need you to babysit me.
He exhaled slowly.
"She didn't mean it," he muttered to himself.
He rounded the corner of the block—
And stopped.
At first he thought it was the rain playing tricks on his ears.
A faint sound carried through the storm.
Wet.
Strained.
A choking gasp.
Soren's head snapped up.
Every instinct in his body ignited at once.
Realization hit him like lightning.
Jill.
The world seemed to narrow to a single point.
Then Soren moved.
To a normal person it would have looked like he vanished.
His body exploded forward with inhuman speed, his boots barely touching the ground as he tore down the street. Rain and wind ripped past him in a blur as the distance collapsed in seconds.
Half the speed of the monster that had once stood on the helicopter pad.
Still far beyond anything human.
He rounded the corner of the next street—
And saw them.
Jill hung in the air, her body limp as a massive hand crushed her throat.
The thing holding her towered over the street like a nightmare made flesh.
Nemesis.
The monster's scarred head turned slightly, sensing movement.
Soren didn't slow.
In the same motion he reached beneath his trench coat and drew one of the Desert Eagles.
The massive pistol cleared the coat just as he slid to a stop.
His eyes locked on the creature's arm.
Two shots thundered through the storm.
BOOM.
BOOM.
The shots were fired less than a microsecond apart.
The .50 caliber rounds slammed into Nemesis's wrist and forearm with explosive force.
The monster's grip shattered.
Its hand exploded with purple blood and flesh.
Jill dropped.
Her body collapsed toward the pavement just as the echo of the gunfire rolled through the street.
Her vision was already fading, the edges of the world turning dark as oxygen rushed back into her lungs.
But in that final moment before everything went black—
She saw him.
Soren.
Standing in the rain.
Gun raised.
Smoke curling from the barrel of the Desert Eagle.