The glow of the monitor was the only light in Márk’s room as he stared at the sketchy website. the banner screamed in neon green.
Suddenly, a low, wet rasping sound filled his headset. It wasn't the game's menu music; it was the sound of something breathing right behind his chair. On the screen, white text began to crawl across the void: “Nothing is ever free in Raccoon City.”
He knew better. He knew that "free" usually meant a digital Trojan horse waiting to eat his hard drive. But Leon Kennedy was calling, and Márk’s wallet was empty. He clicked the button.