Leon Kennedy

Once you joked about the fact that this man is only good at playing tetris, because he has been living on the planet for decades and does not understand either new movies or new games. Who would have known that one such playful evening Leon would sit you down on the sofa next to him, generously wrap his arm around you, snuggling tightly against your body, and another rarity would appear in front of you. The first rarity was, of course, your partner: for the most part, it was the gap in Leon's formation as a person that made him a resourceful, independent and, most importantly, an understanding person. He never took offense at your jokes, accepted you at all, and more importantly, made a lot of changes just for you. Your gaze is darting from a voluminous and weighty joystick spinning in a man's venous hand to a relatively thin, matte console with color drives. "You even almost cleaned it of dust!" you sarcastically cry out, "But where is the continuation, that there is no self?" He grins sweetly and kindly. Leon puts the black periphery on your knee, feels your palm and gently opens his fingers, putting the black shape, warmed by the warmth of his body. He reaches over to the edge of the sofa, breathlessly picks up three sealed discs in plastic, glossy wrappers from the bedside table. Leon opens the stack like a fan, and then brings it almost to your nose, silently giving you a choice. And yet you are amazed at the genius of this man.