The almost six-foot Leon had been waiting in the airport for nearly two hours, trying his best not to bring attention to himself. Easier said than done, with his dirtied brown leather jacket, combat boots, Stetson, and worn jeans, when being surrounded by men and women in business suits at five in the morning.
Next time I get a job like this, I'm wearing sneakers, Leon thinks to himself, his boots causing his feet to sweat. He absently brushes his long bangs out of his eyes, taking in the environment around him. Leon feels a tug at his pant leg and looks down at a little girl in a blue dress with the blondest hair and bluest eyes he'd ever seen.
"Are you a cowboy?" the girl asks, clutching a doll in her hands.
"Something like that," Leon answers curtly. "There's a disturbance at the ranch, and I need to do something about it."
"I have to go now, Mr. Cowboy. Mommy said I have to be ready to fly with her in a few minutes." She walks away and comes up to a woman in a black business suit. She tugs on her skirt and the woman picks her up.
"Interesting kid," Leon mutters, impatiently waiting for his flight number. "Claire was right. I shoulda brought a book."
Jill Valentine gazed out from her windshield at the mountainous landscape before her. She drums her long slender fingers on the steering wheel, while her other hand steers the rental truck she got since leaving Dallas. A truck wasn't normally her speed, but where she was going, she needed to look the part.
Tube tops and miniskirts aren't gonna help with this one, she thinks to herself, remembering the outfit she wore in her last adventure in Raccoon City. Because of it, she got ridiculed by Chris Redfield, and wanted to know why she didn't wear her S.T.A.R.S. uniform. To which she replied, "Too many bad memories."
"It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine…" R.E.M. front man Michael Stipe sings from the truck's radio.
Jill changes the station. Until the Raccoon City incident, she liked it, but apocalyptic songs just didn't seem all that appealing to her anymore. Not after you've survived a nuclear strike, they don't. The sun overhead streams into the truck's windows, causing Jill to grab her sunglasses on the dash. Technically, they weren't hers, but the previous owner, a Captain Albert Wesker, wasn't much of a position to argue over his missing property. Unless he decided to cheat death again, Jill wonders.
Her reddish-brown hair gets blown back by the A/C, as her mind quietly thinks back to the mansion that started this whole event of Umbrella's viral weaponry.
Leon found himself completely bored on his plane trip. Everyone else on the plane were asleep and snoring as if there were no tomorrow. Leon couldn't sleep, having slept for twelve hours the previous day. His mind was active, alert, and itching for action. Good thing there wasn't anyone else next to him, or else he'd really lose it. He impatiently taps his foot in rhythm to the snoring of the gentleman in front of his seat. Staring out the window was out of the question, for it intensified his feeling of isolation and boredom.
"I shoulda brought a book," Leon mutters. "Three hour flights and me just don't mix."
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking," sparks the P.A. system. "I'm sorry to inform you, but we are expected to hit some major turbulence in the next half hour that will extend our flight time. Bear with us as this passes. Thank you."
Leon's eye began to twitch.
The desert winds whip past the sleepy little town that would most typify the kind of environment city folk would consider to be the Deep South or Old West. A red Ford F-150 pulls through the small town. Jill surveys the area from her former commanding officer's dark tinted shades, analyzing placement of the buildings and the spacious road she's traveling on.
"And I thought Raccoon was out in the middle of nowhere," Jill ponders.
There was nobody outside. No other cars on the road, at least not ones driving. As much as Jill hated the term, the town was a literal ghost town. She pulls the truck into a parking lot across the street from a small motel. She gets out, regretting that she decided not to wear something more suited to the heat than to blend in. A long sleeve flannel shirt, cowboy boots, and denim jeans were definitely not the way to go out here.
"You coulda gone for the Daisy Duke shorts, but no, you wanted to look like a bona fide cowgirl," Jill chastises herself. She wipes some sweat off her brow and ties her hair back. "You got a job to do here, Valentine. You can complain later."
After a tumultuous flight, Leon finally touched down at a rural airport in the middle of nowhere. All he had with him were the clothes on his back so he could bypass the whole baggage claim experience. He walks out from the terminal to the ground transportation area. A man dressed in a slick black business suit stands perfectly erect at the exit to the airport. Leon walks slightly past him.
"Somebody set us up the bomb," the business suit man says.
"We get signal," Leon replies.
"Main screen turn on."
"How are you gentlemen. All your base are belong to us."
"Move Zig."
Leon and the business man exit the airport. They get to the parking garage where another man dressed in a similar manner to the first is leaning against a black BMW with a sleek finish. Leon gets in the back and the two business men sit up front. The BMW roars to life and drives out of the parking garage. Once out on the street, and away from the airport, the man Leon encountered in the airport turns around.
"Agent Kennedy, I am Agent Johnson," the first business man says, "and this is Agent Thompson." He points to the other man at the wheel of the car.
"Not your real names I take it?" Leon inquires.
"Got that right," Johnson replies. "We have reports of some strange activity in these parts, and we felt it was right up your territory."
"I'm listening."
"We have a secret training facility for our top government agents and we recently lost contact with it. Their last transmission said something about strange creatures had infiltrated the base and were running rampant."
"Sounds serious," Leon says, now interested.
"It gets weirder," Thompson adds. "From the few security photos we could get, there were also some civilians dressed in Umbrella merchandise."
"You want me to find out what's going on, and keep it secret," Leon states. "Am I going in alone?"
"You got it, cowboy," Johnson says. "As far as the public knows, we're not here and the government ain't interested in this little speck of dirt. Here are your tools."
Johnson hands Leon a metallic briefcase. He opens it and finds a few road maps, a 9mm handgun, complete with laser-sight, extra clips, and a keycard.
"Don't lose that card," Thompson advises.
"That's your access to the facility and proof for your contact," Johnson explains. "You are to meet him at 1327 Pleasant Drive tomorrow afternoon."
"He's pretty paranoid, and he's come up with a password you'll need to give him anyway," Thompson adds. "He claims that the agent we send will have to know it, since it ties into the whole of Umbrella's conspiracy. Know what it is?"
"I have a pretty good idea what it is," Leon answers. "So, why exactly do we use poor English-translated video game phrases as passwords?"
The agents shrug and the rest of the trip continues in silence.