Leon squinted through his windshield into the darkness and past the swirl of December snow as he pulled up to Sara's apartment building.

He exited the car and carefully made his way over a snowbank piled high by passing snow plows. He dropped down to the asphalt, stomping the snow off his leather shoes and brushing it off the hem of his overcoat.

"I miss casualwear," he sighed.

He crossed the icy courtyard and entered the building. A few minutes later, he was knocking on Sara's door.

Sara opened the door abruptly, turning away from Leon without acknowledgement.

"I know; I'm running late!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry. Everything's just been crazy. I had to sew a button back on my blouse, my hair dryer died… It's just nuts! I―"

Leon caught her arm and pulled her back to him. He dropped a soft kiss on her lips.

"Hi," he said, gazing at her amusedly.

Sara snickered. "Hi. Sorry, Leon. I'm just completely frazzled here."

Leon studied her briefly, admiring her glossy sable waves of hair, spilling over her shoulders. Her champagne satin blouse complemented her golden skin and dark, glittering eyes.

"Frazzled looks good on you," he said.

Sara chuckled abashedly. She surveyed his raiment: a fine, three-piece suit of deep twilight blue over a chambray-colored shirt, and a silk silver and ice blue-striped tie which completed the ensemble.

"Mm. Not bad yourself," she said. "But…"

Leon arched a brow. "But?"

"I think I like you better in leather and denim."

Leon chuckled. "You're flirting with me, Agent Rios."

"Shh. Don't tell anyone."

Sara spun about. "Okay; give me ten more minutes, and I'm out. Promise."

She scurried out of the room, leaving Leon to himself.

He looked about her apartment, smiling. Sara had decorated it for Christmas. Several strands of multicolored lights illuminated the dim living room. A small tree glowed cheerfully by the window, skirted by a modest ring of gifts.

"All ready for Christmas, huh?" he called to Sara.

"Yep. It's late, but it's done. Is your tree up?"

"Yeah; all eighteen inches of it," he replied, scoffing.

In truth, Christmas had meant little to Leon. Upon knowing Sara, however, he came to welcome the season, and had even taken to setting up his own mini tree.

Ten minutes later, Sara emerged, her gun holster and purse in hand. She tossed the purse onto the sofa and proceeded to equip her weapon with a troubled countenance.

"What's wrong?" Leon asked.

"This isn't just dawning on me now, but I am actually meeting the president-elect, and I'm scared, " Sara answered.

"Relax," Leon replied. "President-elect Wexler just wants to meet some of the prominent members of the BSAA and the DSO. After the incident in Japan, we're honorary guests; Chris and Jill, too."

"But all those important people…"

"They're just people, Sara."

Sara snorted. "Yeah; rich and powerful people. You're used to it. You worked closely with two presidents."

Leon nodded. "Yeah, two ordinary mortals, same as us. When danger hits, they look to us to save them. In the end, we're all equals playing different roles."

He took Sara's hand which was nervously clenched around her dragon-phoenix pendant.

"Stay calm, be natural. You've got this."

Sara inhaled deeply and nodded.

"Okay. Now, let's head out. If we don't beat Wexler, the Center will be sealed off―no exceptions."

Leon helped Sara into her coat, and the two quickly left.

Twenty-five minutes later, Leon pulled up to the Henri Frasier Convention Center.

News network vans were already on scene, waiting for the president-elect's motorcade. Reporters and cameramen eagerly prepared themselves, double checking equipment and warming up for the live broadcast.

Leon headed for the parking lot. As soon as he had secured a good spot, he and Sara headed out briskly. Having threaded their way past impatient press members waiting to get into the auditorium, they rushed through the corridor to a conference room which provided an alternate entrance to the main stage.

They found the room already occupied by invited officials. Among them was Felix Haskell, Interim Director of the BSAA, and Deputy Director Cecilia Olmire of the DSO. Standing apart from the officials were Chris and Jill, conversing quietly.

Leon took Sara's arm and headed to his friends.

"Hey, gang's all here, huh? And all spruced up, too," he greeted them.

The pair turned to him. They were indeed well-attired: Chris clad in black, his garb relieved by a crimson tie; and Jill in a smart, burgundy sheath dress with a matching blazer.

"You made it," Chris declared. "I was getting worried."

"My fault," Sara sighed. "Ladies' Murphy's Law."

"I can relate," Jill said, hugging Sara. "Only women can understand."

"Or patient husbands," Chris remarked.

Jill nudged him. "You think I look good?"

Chris shrugged. "Of course, but―"

"Then it's worth the wait."

Leon snickered softly, but Sara barely managed a smile.

"You okay? Jill asked.

"She's just nervous," Leon answered for Sara. "First time among the bigwigs."

"I feel like a fish out of water," Sara added.

Chris grunted. "Remember that these fancy-pants fishies are still swimming around thanks in part to you. Puts us on equal ground."

Sara smiled gratefully as the others agreed unanimously.

At that moment, Haskell and Olmire approached the small group who greeted their superiors deferentially.

"I wanted to meet the DSO's finest before the ceremony," Director Haskell said. "Deputy Director Olmire has spoken highly of you two."

He shook Sara's and Leon's hands. "Very impressive. And you, Agent Rios; you've accomplished much so early in your career."

"I'm doing my best, sir. There's a lot at stake," Sara replied.

"Indeed," Haskell said.

He looked around. "Well, it looks like everyone on the list showed up except Jonathan Guillory."

"Naturally," Olmire huffed. "He was furious when he lost the election. Miracles do happen!"

"As far as I'm concerned, a media mogul has no business running the country," Jill said flatly. "We need a leader, not a showman."

"People like Guillory aren't satisfied with  behind-the-scenes power and control. Reality isn't enough―they need people to have a clear perception of that power," Leon said.

"Yeah; the chess players who reduce the nation to their personal playing board with the citizens as their pawns," Chris added.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," a woman called from the far end of the room.

Every eye turned to her.

"President-elect Wexler has arrived. The ceremony will begin in five minutes. Please be ready to make your entrance onto the stage."

The woman withdrew, and the room was instantly abuzz with preparatory chatter.

Leon turned to Sara, but she was no longer beside him. He spotted her leaning heavily against a table. She looked distressed, her face somewhat pale and grave.

He hurried to her.

"What's wrong? Are you sick?" he demanded, his brow knitted with concern.

Sara raised troubled eyes to Leon. "No, but I… I suddenly got this strong feeling that… something terrible's gonna happen tonight."

Leon's frown deepened, a chill creeping into his stomach as he regarded Sara uneasily.

"What's up? Is everything okay?" asked Chris, coming up beside them.

"Uh, I don't know―" Leon began.

"Hey, why the huddle?" asked Jill.

She glanced at Sara's pale face. "Whoa. Are you all right?"

Sara quickly stood erect, smiling wanly. "It's just nerves. I'm fine."

Leon eyed her austerely, but she shook her head dismissively.

Before anyone could press Sara further, the woman returned.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you're on. Please follow me. Proceed to the stage and take your seats."

There was no more time to talk as everyone began heading to the door. Leon shot Sara an uneasy glance as he followed the group, but she gave him a small smile and walked on.

The line of officials and agents filed through the corridor and out onto the festively-decorated stage. Everyone took a seat among a row of chairs lined up behind the podium.

Leon looked out at the audience of reporters and photographers blankly, pondering Sara's ominous words. Presently, the press secretary stepped forward to address the assembly, but he scarcely heard her.

He glanced at Sara sideways. Her pallor had vanished, but her jaw was set firmly, and her gaze was vague. Sitting closely to her, he almost felt the tension emanating from her body.

Leon looked back at the press secretary in an effort to tune into her speech, but he couldn't focus.

"Well, that's rude," Jill whispered, scattering his thoughts.

Leon listed his head toward her discreetly. "What?"

"Several reporters keep checking their watches like they have someplace better to be," Jill explained.

Leon looked back out at the press in time to catch three reporters simultaneously glancing at their wristwatches. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"…Now please welcome President-elect Victor Wexler," the press secretary announced.

Leon joined the polite applause that followed as Wexler strode across the stage and took his place at the podium, but his attention was fixed on the audience. An eerie foreboding seized him.

Wexler began his address, but his voice faded out as Leon regarded the three reporters with unaccountable wariness.

A few minutes later, he watched as each drew a small box from their pocket, took a tablet, and ingested it.

What the hell is this, a collective Altoid break?

"…and Agent Leon S. Kennedy of the Division of Security Operations," Wexler was saying.

Leon snapped to attention at his name. His friends were rising to join Wexler. He stood immediately, maintaining an impassive expression as he advanced.

"I am truly honored to meet these fine ladies and gentlemen who have sacrificed so much―not just for our country―but for the world. Their dedication and courage is truly unrivaled. It is a privilege to―"

The auditorium suddenly went black, throwing the entire assembly into confused chatter and exclamations.

"Everyone stay calm, please," a man called over the growing din. "Nothing to worry about; just a power outage. The emergency lights will be coming on shortly."

The crowd began drawing their phones and turning on the flashlights. As the darkness gradually lessened, a piercing scream rang out.

Several people turned their lights toward the screaming woman. Terrified shouts rose up, and the people began scrambling away.

Leon glared out into the seats, struggling to see the cause of the uproar. At that moment, the emergency lights came on, shedding pale beams over the auditorium in alternating patches.

The dim illumination revealed a horrific sight. A male reporter who had been among those taking the tablet was convulsing wildly, his body swelling rapidly. Blood gushed from his gaping mouth.

Beyond him, the other two reporters were likewise experiencing convulsions. Their bodies also swelled, turning dark purple.

"Shit!" Chris exclaimed. "What the hell is happening?!"

As if synchronized, the three reporters threw back their heads and fell backward onto the rows of seats, writhing and thrashing. Their eyes, now an opaque red, bulged from their bloated faces, tearing blood.

The reporters' bodies broke into leprous-looking lesions and vesicles which pulsated sickeningly for several seconds before exploding in a shower of bloody pus. A mass of giant, writhing maggots burst free onto the gory floor.

The horrified assembly descended into utter chaos. They stampeded toward the doors, trampling each other in their haste.

Leon's gun was out in an instant.  His friends stood on either side of him, their own weapons in hand. He turned to President-elect Wexler's bodyguards, who clutched their guns, staring in petrified shock at the scene unfolding before them.

"Hey!" Leon called to them above the tumult. "Get Mr. Wexler out of here! Back exits; go!"

While the agents shook off their awe, Chris took hold of Wexler and hauled him roughly to the left wing of the stage. "Move your asses!" he barked at the agents.

They rushed to usher their charge away.

"Oh, my God!" cried Sara.

The horror and urgency in her voice made Leon whip around instantly.

Accustomed though he was to bizarre situations, the scene he beheld left him thunderstruck.

The emergency lights had dimmed to a crimson hue, casting a bloody glow over the room. Dark violet orbs materialized over every door and window, sealing the unfortunate group in. Those brave or terrified enough to try breaching the otherworldly barriers were halted by a burst of electricity that flung them backward.

"Oh, shit!" Jill exclaimed. "Something's trapping us in here!"

But the zenith of terror came at the sight of the maggots wriggling away from their riven hosts to form three gyrating humanoid shapes. Ribbons of shadow eddied around the maggot figures, whirling faster before bursting into a fiery flash.

Three terrifying creatures now stood in place of the maggot forms. Their bodies were pitch-black, towering high over the panicking crowd. They glowered out fiercely from six feline eyes, glowing an angry blood-orange.

The hideous beings screeched deafeningly, splaying out long, thin arms which ended in large hands featuring six spindly fingers. The monsters hissed, flicking forth long black tongues that dripped opaque, gray saliva. The viscous secretion dripped over the seats and abandoned equipment, eroding them on contact.

"Goodbye, Christmas vacation," Leon muttered.

On the stage, everyone stood their ground, weapons aimed at the three riled horrors which rose amid the pandemonium like the prelude to an invasion from the very bowels of hell.