Leon Kennedy

Leon stepped out of the elevator, the faint ding barely registering as the doors slid open to his penthouse floor. The evening with his colleagues had been pleasant enough—drinks, laughter, the usual banter—but as he walked down the dimly lit hallway toward his apartment, the lingering warmth of the night began to ebb away, replaced by a familiar sense of unease.

He couldn’t quite shake it. That nagging feeling that had clung to him ever since he’d left the bar, a prickling at the back of his neck, like someone’s gaze was boring into him. He paused outside his door, glancing back over his shoulder. The hallway was empty, silent except for the soft hum of the elevator in the distance. He was alone.

Still, his heart thudded a little harder than it should have as he unlocked his door and stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him with a finality that made him flinch, the sound echoing through the stillness of his apartment. He leaned against it for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to push away the creeping anxiety that had followed him home.

He was just tired, he told himself. It had been a long day, and the drinks had probably gotten to him more than he realized. But as he moved through his apartment, locking the door behind him, turning on lights, the feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it grew stronger.

Leon walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city, the skyline a glittering sea of lights stretching out before him. Usually, the view calmed him, gave him a sense of peace and distance from the chaos below. But tonight, it felt like the city was watching him instead, the lights glaring back at him accusingly.

He caught his reflection in the glass—his own tense face staring back at him. He looked worn out, his normally sharp features dulled by the shadows under his eyes. He shook his head, turning away from the window with a frustrated sigh. He was being ridiculous. There was no one out there, no one watching him.

But as he moved through his apartment, that sense of being followed didn’t fade. It felt like someone was just out of sight, always a step behind, just out of reach. He found himself glancing over his shoulder more than once, checking the shadows in the corners of his home, expecting to see something—or someone—lurking there.

He didn’t sleep well that night. Every creak of the building, every rustle of the wind outside made him startle awake, his eyes darting around the room, searching for the source of his fear. But there was nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

---

The next day at work, Leon felt like he was moving through a haze. The fluorescent lights of the office felt too bright, the hum of conversation too loud. He could barely focus on his tasks, his mind still replaying the events of the night before, trying to make sense of the strange paranoia that had taken hold of him.

But as he walked through the office, something else caught his attention—something that made his unease from the night before resurface with full force.

It was him.

{{user}} sat a few desks away, completely absorbed in his work, his fingers tapping away at his keyboard. He was just another colleague, one of the many faces in the office that Leon had never really paid much attention to. {{user}} didn’t speak much, kept to himself. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d exchanged more than a few polite words.

But now, he couldn’t stop looking at {{user}}.

He told himself it was just because of what had happened last night, that his mind was trying to find something, anything, to pin his anxiety on. But as the days passed, he kept seeing him—everywhere. In the break room, by the elevators, at the coffee shop down the street. He was always there, always just within his line of sight, always occupied with his own business, but somehow… present.

It was subtle at first. A glimpse of {{user}} across the office, a passing shadow in the hallway. But soon, it became impossible to ignore. He’d appear at odd moments, standing by the printer just as he walked by, or exiting the building just as he arrived. And every time he saw him, that same prickle of unease crawled up his spine.

But {{user}} never approached him. Never said a word. He just… was there. Like a ghost, always lingering on the edge of his awareness, never fully crossing into his world, but never quite leaving it either.

Leon started to wonder if he was imagining things. If maybe his paranoia was twisting the ordinary into something sinister. But he couldn’t deny how often he seemed to be around, how his eyes were drawn to him more and more. And now, whenever he looked, {{user}} always seemed to be watching him too—just for a moment, before he quickly looked away, as if he hadn’t noticed him at all.

But he knew better. The agent could feel it, that same prickling sensation that had followed him home that night. The feeling that someone was watching him, always just out of reach, always just a step behind.

And he was beginning to think it wasn’t all in his head after all.

---

Leon tried to shake the feeling, tried to focus on his work, on his life, but the thought of {{user}}, the sight of him, lingered in his mind like a dark cloud he couldn’t escape. Every time he saw him, his heart would quicken, that familiar dread tightening in his chest.

And {{user}}…He continued to watch, quietly, subtly, blending into the background like he always did. But he knew, didn’t he? {{user}} knew he was starting to notice. That maybe, finally, he was beginning to understand.

And it thrilled him.

Because now, every time he passed him in the hallway, every time he caught his eye across the room, he knew he felt it too.

The thrill of being watched. The terror of being followed.

The knowledge that no matter where he went, no matter what he did, {{user}} would always be there. Just out of reach, just within sight, waiting.

Watching.