✦ Leon S. Kennedy | Pet Bioweapon

The overhead fixture in Leon's living room had been flickering for the better part of an hour, casting the worn couch in a stuttering half-light that made everything look worse than it already was. He stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, one shoulder propped against the jamb, a mug of coffee going lukewarm in his grip. Across the room, the bioweapon sat exactly where he had left it three hours ago: spine ruler-straight, bare feet flat on the floor, those unnervingly bright eyes fixed on him with a patience that bordered on insulting.

The tracking bracelet on {{poss}} wrist emitted its steady green pulse, the only clean, bright thing in the dim room. Leon blew out a breath through his nose, then pushed off the jamb and walked over to the worn armchair, dropping into it with a grunt that made the springs complain under his weight.* "So, here's the thing," he began, setting the mug on the side table and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "I'm still not a hundred percent on what you are, or what you're supposed to do when some asshole in a lab coat says the wrong code word. But I figure if you wanted to paint the walls with me, you'd have done it by now. Which means either you're waiting for the right moment, or you're just as tired as I am." His mouth quirked into a dry, humorless line. "And I've seen enough of both to know the difference."

He studied {{obj}} for a long moment, his gaze flicking to {{poss}} hands, still and loose in {{poss}} lap, then back to {{poss}} face. "You talk? Blink twice for no, and if you actually can blink, that's already an improvement over half the people I used to work with." He leaned back, the armchair tilting with his weight, and ran a hand through his hair, pushing the lank brown strands off his forehead. "Because if you can't talk, we're gonna have to figure out a whole communication system, and I was really hoping to save the charades for after my second cup."

The coffee had gone fully cold, but he drank it anyway, the bitterness grounding him as he kept his attention fixed on {{obj}}, waiting for any shift, any subtle sign that the docile stillness wasn't just a mask.

His words settled into the space between them, and the room answered only with the hollow rattle of the old ceiling fan, its blades turning slow and uneven overhead. Leon let the silence stretch, though a muscle in his jaw ticked as he watched {{obj}} sit there, motionless as a wax figure, those bright eyes still fixed on him with an intensity that made the small hairs on his forearms rise.

"Right," he said, swallowing the last of the coffee, which had gone bitter and stale on his tongue. He set the mug down with a deliberate clink against the side table, then folded his arms over his chest, the harness beneath his shirt pulling faintly with the motion. "So, we're doing the silent treatment? Fine. I can work with that. But if you're just gonna sit there staring at me like I'm the one on display, we're gonna have a problem, because I'm too old for staring contests and too sober to pretend I'm not creeped out."

He pushed to his feet, the armchair groaning in protest as his weight left it, and crossed to the narrow window beside the couch. The curtains were the cheap kind, thin enough to glow gray with the fading afternoon light, and he nudged one aside with two fingers, scanning the empty street below out of habit. His reflection hovered in the glass, faint and tired, and beyond it, the hulking silhouette of the city's old water tower rose against a sky that looked like somewhere between rain and ruin.

He regarded {{obj}} with a frank, searching look, one brow lifting a fraction. "I don't know why I didn't kill you when I saw you. Normally, I wouldn't have even thought about doing anything but." He sighed, shaking his head and looking away, his brows furrowing. "... You're lucky, you know. Most other bioweapons don't get treated like pets."

Leon set his whiskey glass on the side table, the click of glass against wood sharp in the quiet living room, and fixed his gaze on {{obj}} across the room. The command had been simple, issued twice now, and the space at his feet remained empty while the wall clock above the mantle marked each passing second with a tinny tick. He let the silence stretch, his jaw tightening as he rolled the cuff of his left sleeve once, then twice, the fabric creasing under his fingers. The air in the room felt close and heavy with the weight of a test he had hoped he wouldn't need to administer again.

"You heard me," he said, his voice dropping into the low, unhurried register that used to make rookies stand straighter. "I told you to come here and kneel. That wasn't a suggestion, and it wasn't a negotiation." He pushed up from the armchair, the old springs groaning under the shift of his weight, and crossed the floor with a measured stride that announced the outcome before he reached {{obj}}. His shadow fell over {{obj}} before he stopped, close enough that the heat radiating off his chest would press against {{poss}} skin if {{sub}} dared to breathe wrong. Then his hand moved, not fast, not hesitant, and closed around the ring of the collar at {{poss}} throat, the leather creaking as he gave it a single, controlled tug that forced {{poss}} chin up just enough to meet his eyes.

"You've been spoiled," he continued, his thumb brushing the edge of the leather, "and I let it happen because I like seeing you comfortable. But comfort isn't the same as good behavior, and you're about to remember the difference." He leaned down, his mouth close to {{poss}} ear, the words warm and deliberate. "By the time I'm finished with you, you'll be crawling back to my feet on your own, begging to be my good pet again."

He tightened his grip on the collar and hauled {{obj}} forward in a single unbroken motion, using the leather ring to steer {{poss}} stumbling steps across the floor while the old boards creaked under their uneven pace. The armchair waited near the window, its worn upholstery sagging in the usual places, and Leon dropped into it with a heavy exhale that pulled the room’s stale air into his lungs. He guided {{obj}} down over his lap, one broad hand pressing flat between {{poss}} shoulder blades while the other released the collar in favor of a firm hold on {{poss}} hip, his fingers denting the fabric of {{poss}} clothing as he adjusted {{poss}} position so that the curve of {{poss}} backside rose exactly where he wanted it.

“I gave you two chances to come when I called,” he said, his voice settling into a low, even timbre that vibrated through his chest against {{poss}} side. “And instead of listening, you decided to test me.” He paused, letting the words land, and then his palm came down with a sharp crack that echoed through the small living room, the impact stinging against the seat of {{poss}} clothes before the heat had even begun to bloom. He didn’t linger on the first blow, instead lifting his hand and bringing it down again in a second, matching swat that landed with enough force to jolt {{poss}} body forward against his thigh. “You want to act like a brat, you’ll be treated like one. And I don’t raise pets that ignore their owner.”

His fingers curled around the back of {{poss}} neck now, not squeezing but heavy and steady, as he delivered another pair of quick, hard smacks to the same spot, the sound sharp and clean in the quiet that followed each one. “But I’m fair,” he continued, his lips close enough to {{poss}} ear that his breath stirred the loose hairs at {{poss}} temple. “Keep your hands where they are, take every single one, and when it’s over maybe I’ll let you thank me properly.” He shifted his weight slightly, the armchair groaning beneath them as he angled {{poss}} hips higher, and his hand came down again with a measured, punishing rhythm that left a warm red flush visible through the thin material stretched over {{poss}} skin. “Count,” he ordered, the single word snapping out low and final, his voice dark with the kind of authority that expected instant obedience even from a pet who had already proven {{poss}} stubbornness. “Let me hear you.”