Leon skulked around the massive power plant. He wasn't exactly sure what to find or what to do to cause the reactor to overload. He saw numerous displays, everything in the green.

"This sucks!" Leon blurts in frustration. "Too bad Rebecca ain't here. She'd know what to do. Wonder what she's doing."

An idea suddenly came to him. Pulling out his cell phone, he discovers that it still could not send a signal. Improvising, Leon draws his newly acquired knife and digs through a computer screen, careful not to touch the wires.

"Cable line, cable line, cable line…" Leon mutters. He spots a thick, black cable and yanks it out. Carefully, he unscrews the antenna of his phone and jams the cable in its place. "Work, damn it!"

Multiple blue bars light up on the phone's display. Leon grins; slightly surprised that such an unorthodox tactic would work. He dials in a number and waits.

"C'mon, Becky, pick up. It's a Thursday night and you don't have friends in D.C."

Rebecca Chambers sat on the edge of her roommate's sofa, hunched over, carefully analyzing the objective before her. With a cool hand, she takes a small brush and glazes it over the nail of her big toe.

"Stupid polish remover," Rebecca mutters. "Wish it didn't stink." She takes a cloth and wipes away the excess remover, and the raspberry-colored nail polish. "Paint my nails. Nice idea, Claire…too bad I had an allergic reaction to your nail polish. Good thing the swelling went down and I don't have to wear those nurse's shoes anymore. I wonder if Jill ever does anything this girly."

The phone rang, bringing the young ex-S.T.A.R.S. member out of her rant. Perplexed, Rebecca cautiously makes her way to the ringing device since she knew that not a lot of people knew the phone number to the small one-story house. Her oversized T-shirt, emblazoned with RPD in bright blue letters, sways gently to the rhythm of the overhead ceiling fan. She picks up the phone.

"Hello?" she answers cautiously.

"Hey Becky," replies the voice on the other end.

"Leon!" Rebecca exclaims. "What's with the call, roomie?"

Leon sighs loudly on the receiver. "I need to know how to set a nuclear reactor on overload."

"Why?" Rebecca's eyes suddenly light up. "Does this have something to do with that job out west?"

"Yeah, it does. Now about the reactor…"

"Did you run into zombies, or maniacal cowboys, or…"

"Rebecca! How do you set a nuclear reactor on overload?" Leon asks sternly.

"Oh, sorry. What you wanna do is shut off the coolant reservoir. This will cause the reactor to overheat, but I suggest you put it on a timer. Depending on the size of the reactor, it may go up the instant its no longer receiving the coolant."

"Okay, thanks. How's the place?"

"It's doing fine, although I think you may want to spring for a bigger TV."

"Tell me again why you decided to move in with me?"

"I got a job in D.C. and you're the only guy I knew in the area."

A slight pause followed afterward. "Oh, yeah. By the way, Billy and Jill say hi."

Before Rebecca could respond, the line went dead. She stared at the dog tags around her wrist and smiled.

Leon turned his cell phone off, disconnected the cable line, and reattached the antenna. He gives his neck a few cracks before setting out to find what he needs. He comes to a computer monitor and scrolls through it.

"Okay, here we go: Coolant Systems." Leon gives the keyboard a few presses. "'Do you wish to shut down the coolant system?' Hell, yeah!" He right clicks the nearby mouse, brining up another menu. "Only choice is 5:45 AM. That's dawn! That's in…" Leon looks at his watch. "Four hours! We've been down here for four hours? Where does the time go?"

Leon gives the choice click. A red countdown meter lights up his face. He sighs and turns to the exit. A look of surprise comes across his features. In the pale light, a discolored figure shambles toward him, moaning. Quickly shaking off his disbelief, Leon aims the shotgun at the creature's neck and pulls. The head falls from its shoulder and splats on the ground.

"Just what have you been up to, Albert?" Leon mutters.

"Our orders were to find a rebel encampment in Africa, but when we got there, there was no rebel encampment. I protested, and next thing I know, I'm knocked out, gunshots fire, and I'm on trial for the execution of 23 civilians. Chris stood up for me, and got booted from the Air Force because of it. Wasn't all bad though. Ran into Becky, had one last shot at being a hero, and met you."

Billy strokes behind the ears of the white rabbit intently listening to him. Rebecca nuzzled her nose against Billy's palm and jumped onto his shoulder.

"That was fun, but to the matter at hand." The ex-Marine takes a look at the reassembled Striker shotgun before him. He picks up a handful of shells and loads them in. "89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, and one more makes a hundred."

Billy gives the shotgun a pump, locking the weapon's ammo in place. A low moaning sound grabs his attention. Billy turns to his left and sees a decomposing man dressed in a basketball uniform. Billy takes aim with the TMP and fires at the base of the thing's neck. The head drops off and splats to the floor with a squishy splat. The small, sub-machine gun clicks empty. Billy absently drops the gun to the floor.

"Decent gun but I wouldn't recommend using it on a single target," comments Billy.

"Yeah, I agree," says a voice from behind Billy. He whirls around, taking aim with the shotgun. Jill stares at the weapon, not a trace of fear on her features. "What is it about me that causes guys to point high-powered guns in my face?"

"Not sure." Billy lowers the weapon and slings the rifle over his shoulder.

"How long was I out?"

"Twenty-five minutes, give or take."

"Where's Leon?"

"He went to the power core, trying to set it on overload. Shoulda been back by now."

Rhythmic moaning and grunting penetrate Jill and Billy's ears. They turn to see a group of about nine to fifteen men dressed in red uniforms and thick helmets.

"The varsity football team," Billy acknowledges. "Always wanted to see 'em play."

Jill raises her riot gun and gives it an affirmative pump. Billy takes aim with the Striker. Resonating booms suddenly fill the communications hub.

Shotgun blasts reverberate through the cramped hallway. Body parts fall to the floor, bodily fluids spraying the wall, and a determined ex-cop pushes through. Leon ejects the last spent shell from his shotgun and drops it, taking up his handgun.

"Become a Special Forces agent, see the world, relive your first day on the force," Leon grumbles, imitating Bruce Willis. "You coulda gone with Ark, but no. You and Barry had to take a cruise on the USS Gaiden, and blow it up, and survive freezing cold waters."

He takes aim at the last zombie in his way, a man, or woman, dressed in a green and black Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service uniform. Taking note of the creature's gun lying limply from its back, Leon fires at the thing's kneecap. It drops to the floor, and gets on the receiving end of Leon's roundhouse kick. The head cracks off the neck, skids across the wall, and splats on the floor.

"Okay…Sarge, let's see what you got." Leon digs through the soldier's ammo belt, finding a few clips for his handgun, and a handful of shotgun shells. "Could be worse. Coulda picked up ammo to a gun I don't have."

"Yeah, that's always a bitch, ain't it?" says a voice echoing through the hall.

Leon whirls around, weapon raised, and sees a pair of dark shades and a malicious grin.