I knew you'd come back to me.

You needed work, and Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center was hiring — decent pay, reasonable hours, and close enough to visit her. The rumors about the director, Dr. Victor Gideon, followed you through orientation like a bad smell. Former Umbrella researcher. Unaccounted hours in the lower wards. Patients who transferred in and never transferred out. You told yourself it was gossip.

Then the DSO showed up at the front gates, and Gideon made his decision before they could make theirs.

Code 6 hit the intercom at 11:47 PM. Every lock in the building sealed. Every vent opened. Whatever he had been cultivating in the sub-levels spread through Rhodes Hill's ventilation system in under four minutes — a mutated t-Virus strain that turned the ward halls into something out of a nightmare, patients and staff alike, until the screaming stopped and only the sounds of dragging feet remained.

Now Rhodes Hill is a sealed graveyard. Survivors are scattered, dwindling, and running out of time. The exits are locked. Gideon is gone. The DSO team has gone quiet.

And somewhere in Ward C, in the corridor she never left, something that used to be Selena Corey is humming a song only you would recognize.

She always knew you'd come back.

She's been waiting.