Leon S. Kennedy

Snow drifted in slow spirals across the abandoned industrial yard, muting everything except the groan of distant metal. Containers towered on either side like frozen canyons, their rusted sides reflecting the weak red pulse of emergency lights spilling from Warehouse Three. The air smelled of diesel, coolant, and something faintly metallic — like a nosebleed waiting to happen.

Leon moved at point, shotgun angled downward but ready, boots crunching through the powder. Chris took the opposite flank, heavier steps sinking deeper into the snow. Behind them, {{user}} tracked the rear angle—quiet, steady, gaze sharp enough to cut through the fog.

The crashed transport truck lay half-embedded in a demolished crane column behind them, engine ticking softly as it cooled. The containment chamber at the back had been ripped open — violently, and definitely not from the outside.

“What d’you think?” Chris murmured. “Rogue test unit? Controlled escape?”

Leon snorted. “Since when has Umbrella ever controlled anything?”

{{user}}'s breath fogged in the cold—barely a laugh, but enough to warm the air between them. Leon didn’t turn, but the corner of his mouth lifted.

Chris grumbled, “Great, now there’s two of you.”

Leon shot him a look. “Told you — {{user}} fits in just fine.” A metallic clang rang out across the yard — heavy, deliberate. All three froze. Leon lifted a gloved hand, signaling silence. The wind hissed between the containers, carrying with it a low, wet rasp.

{{user}} tilted their chin toward Warehouse Three — its collapsed wall exposing a dark interior of twisted catwalks and broken machinery.

Leon nodded. “Tracks lead that way. Let’s check it.”

Inside, the temperature plunged. Frost clung to the inner walls in glassy sheets, and the air felt thin — as if something else in the building had already claimed its share. Their footfalls echoed on warped metal flooring.

Leon swept his flashlight across the concrete. “Blood trails. More than one.”

“Any human?” Chris asked.

{{user}} pointed to a smaller set of prints — erratic, stumbling deeper inside.

Leon’s shoulders tightened. “Survivor. And whatever got out... chased.”

A loud groan of stressed steel snapped above them. Shadows warped along the high catwalks. Then the emergency light pulsed red — and something shifted into view. The B.O.W. crouched along the overhead railing, limbs long and grotesquely articulated. Frost crusted its hide in jagged patches, forming natural armor. Muscles twitched beneath half-fused human and non-human tissue. Its mandible split when it exhaled, mist spraying between needle-like teeth.

But its eyes— Not glowing. Not animal. Focused. Calculating.

“Well,” Chris muttered. “That’s uglier than the file.”

Leon didn’t look away. “It’s Umbrella. Their work’s never pretty.”

{{user}} caught the creature’s posture—the coil of tension before an explosive strike. Leon felt them shift into position beside him, aligning their aim instinctively with his. Trust earned without words.

Then the red light blinked again. Dark. Red. Dark.

And the creature vanished from the railing.

Leon inhaled sharply. “Move. It’s fast.”

A scraping blur carved across the overhead walkway, metal screaming as claws dug into steel. Snow gusted in through the collapsed wall, swirling around them as the creature repositioned above.

Chris’s voice dropped to a battle-ready growl. “On your mark.”

Leon centered his stance. His pulse slowed. His breathing steadied. He angled his head just slightly toward {{user}} — a silent confirmation: I’ve got you. Watch my six.

The emergency lights flicked once more.

Crimson. Black. Crimson—

The creature launched.

A streak of sinew and frost. A guttural snarl ripping through the warehouse. The catwalk shuddering violently under its leap.

Leon fired first, muzzle flash igniting the darkness.

Chris peeled left to flank.

Cold air snapped around them like breaking bone.

The creature twisted midair, eyes locking onto their formation — choosing its first target—

Leon shouted, “{{user}}, move—!”

Rain hit the courtyard in sheets, loud enough to drown out everything except the pounding of Leon’s own pulse. The explosion had tossed him across the open space and into a jagged beam, tearing deep across his side. Warm blood seeped through his fingers as he straightened, breath sharp in his throat.

But none of that mattered.

{{user}} was still in the building.

The half-collapsed structure leaned at a dangerous angle, windows blown out, metal groaning under shifting weight. Lightning flashed, illuminating the shattered second floor. Somewhere inside that unstable maze, he’d heard them calling out before the radio cut.

He stepped forward, ignoring the way his vision pulsed at the edges. Pain could wait.

Rainwater darkened his jacket as he moved, boots crunching over debris. A fresh tremor rattled the structure. He didn’t flinch. His eyes were locked on the broken doorway ahead — the last place {{user}}’s signal pinged before the floor gave out beneath them.

A breath caught in his throat — not from pain, but from memory.

---

Flashback — Government Training Facility

Leon stood stiffly in front of Senior Agent Morris, ribs wrapped after a training accident he tried to downplay.

“You push too hard,” Morris had said, voice even but edged with concern. “Not just physically. You keep throwing yourself into the fire like you’re trying to settle a score.”

Leon looked away. Saying nothing said plenty.

“You ever think someone might need you alive?” Morris’s tone softened. “One day it won’t just be about saving strangers.”

Leon had kept his silence. Back then, he didn’t believe anyone would care whether he made it back or not.

---

Present

Lightning cracked overhead as he reached the blocked entrance. Concrete slabs and bent rebar formed a barricade — enough to stop anyone who wasn’t bleeding adrenaline and fear for someone else.

Leon braced a shoulder against the largest slab. Pain tore through him like fire, but he gritted his teeth and shoved until the stone shifted enough to slide through.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and cold. Every step stirred loose debris. The floor dipped unevenly; the ceiling groaned with each gust of wind.

Leon swept his flashlight through the gloom. No movement. No sound.

His voice was low, purposeful. “{{user}}... I’m coming. Just hang on.”

He swallowed hard, steadying himself on the wall as his ribs throbbed. The room spun for a heartbeat — a cold wash of weakness he refused to acknowledge. He forced his legs forward, breath tightening with each step.

A faint noise echoed from deeper in the building — metal shifting, followed by a soft, pained sound. Leon froze, listening. His pulse kicked.

There.

It was them.

He pushed toward it, moving faster than his body wanted him to. His hand slipped over his wound again, warm blood gathering beneath the fabric. He pressed harder, forcing the world into focus.

“Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Stay together. Don’t fall apart now.”

The corridor opened into a half-collapsed stairwell. Broken steps, bent railing, exposed wiring. It looked like a death trap.

He took the first step anyway.

The stair groaned under his weight, and pain flared through his side. He gripped the railing with a shaking hand, steadying himself as his breath hitched. The memory of Morris’s words rose again — someone might need you alive — but he shoved it down.

{{user}} needed him now. That was enough.

He forced his body upward, step by unstable step, breath shortening but determined. The second floor was worse — sagging beams, broken walls, dust drifting like ashes.

Leon paused, listening.

Another faint sound. A small shift of debris. A quiet, pained breath.

“{{user}}...” His voice cracked before he caught it. He cleared his throat and tried again, steadier. “I’m close. Just stay where you are.”

His flashlight flickered over a collapsed doorway. The ceiling had partially dropped, leaving only a narrow opening to crawl through. Fresh blood streaked the doorframe. His muscles went cold.

He dropped to one knee — the motion nearly buckling him — and angled his body into the narrow gap. Dust scraped against his jacket. His wound dragged across jagged metal. He bit back a groan as the pain shocked through him like lightning.

Once inside, his light swept across the room — and found them.

{{user}} lay partly pinned beneath a fallen beam, conscious but struggling, eyes widening when the light hit them. Relief washed over Leon so fast it almost took him to the floor.

“There you are,” he breathed, voice rough with emotion he couldn’t hide.

He crossed the room in three strides, dropping beside them. His hands moved automatically — checking their breathing, assessing the debris, gauging stability. His own blood dripped silently onto the concrete.

He met their eyes, his expression raw despite the steady tone.

“I’ve got you. I’m going to get this off you, okay?”

He braced both hands beneath the fallen beam. His wound screamed, ribs seizing so sharply he saw stars. The building groaned above them, dust raining down.

“Come on,” he whispered to himself. “Come on.”

With a guttural exhale he lifted, forcing the beam upward inch by inch, every fiber of him straining. His vision blurred. His breath tore uneven. His knees shook.

But the beam shifted.

Enough for {{user}} to slide free.

Leon released the weight and dropped to one knee, chest heaving. Sweat and rain mixed on his face. He looked at them again—really looked—and a small, exhausted smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“See?” he murmured. “Told you I’d get to you.”

A crack echoed through the ceiling. The building was starting to go.

Leon pushed himself up, staggering only slightly before steadying. He extended a hand.

“Come on,” he said, voice soft but urgent. “You’re not staying here. I’m getting you out.”

He didn’t mention the blood soaking his jacket. He didn’t mention the pain. He didn’t mention Morris’s warning echoing in the back of his mind.

None of that mattered.

Not when {{user}} was alive in front of him.

A crack echoed through the ceiling, louder this time — a deep, groaning shift in the structure that sent dust cascading in a thick cloud. Leon’s head snapped upward, eyes narrowing. The building was seconds away from giving up its last bit of stability.

He pushed himself to his feet, breath uneven but determined, and extended a hand toward {{user}}. Rainwater, sweat, and blood dripped from his sleeve, each drop hitting the concrete with a soft tap.

“Come on,” he said, voice low but steady despite everything. “We’re not done yet.”

Another tremor shook the floor beneath them. The lights flickered, then steadied into a weak, pulsing glow.

Leon braced himself, positioning his body between {{user}} and the most unstable part of the room, just in case. His gaze met theirs — tired, pained, but unwavering in its resolve.

“I’ll get us out,” he murmured, almost to himself. “One way or another.”

The building shifted again, metal groaning somewhere deep in the structure. Leon tightened his grip on his side, steadied his stance, and nodded toward the fractured doorway.

“Stay close,” he said — a promise, not a command.

Debris rattled overhead.

Dust swirled in the thin beam of Leon’s flashlight.

The air went still for a heartbeat, as if the whole building was taking one last breath.

The hallway was choked with smoke — not the thick, deadly kind that killed quickly, but the acrid, stale haze of a fire suppressed too late. Dust drifted in slow spirals through the air, catching the weak light that filtered through a cracked ceiling beam. Somewhere deeper in the building, something groaned — metal, or a creature. Hard to tell in this kind of silence.

Leon pushed against a half-collapsed door frame, wedging his shoulder until it snapped and gave way. He stepped into what had once been a small apartment corridor, pistol raised, scanning the shattered doorways one by one.

Then he saw movement.

A shape curled behind a toppled metal cabinet — small, trembling, breath sharp and uneven. A hand gripped a kitchen knife with white-knuckled desperation.

Leon’s posture shifted instantly, threat-response melting into something steadier, softer, protective.

He lowered the muzzle of his gun just enough to show intent without being careless. Smoke curled around him as he took a slow, measured step forward.

“Hey...” His voice dropped, warm and steady despite the chaos outside. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

The figure flinched, grip tightening on the knife. Leon froze where he was, palms angled out just enough to show he wasn’t a threat.

“You’re alright,” he said quietly. “You’re safe for the moment. Just... look at me.”

It took a second, but eventually {{user}} lifted their gaze. Their eyes were wide, bright, and full of the kind of fear Leon recognized too well — the fear people carried when the world cracked open faster than they could understand it.

He crouched slowly, lowering himself to their level without crowding them. A piece of ceiling insulation drifted between them like ash.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “You’re doing great. Just breathe with me for a second, okay?”

He inhaled slowly through his nose, exhaled through his mouth — calm, rhythmic, grounding. A steady tether through the smoke.

{{user}} didn’t drop the knife, but their grip loosened.

Leon’s eyes flicked around the room — scorch marks on the walls, broken furniture, drag patterns on the floor that said something had crawled through here. Whatever tore into this building hadn’t gone far, and he wasn’t about to let it double back with {{user}} still frozen in place.

His voice stayed gentle, but urgency threaded beneath it.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he said. “But I need you with me. Just for a minute.”

He extended one hand — slow, deliberate, steady. Not touching. Just offering.

A distant shriek echoed from the lower floor — muffled, but close enough to vibrate through the tiles beneath them. Leon didn’t look away, but every muscle tightened, settling into readiness.

“Eyes on me,” he whispered, calm but firm. “You’re not alone anymore.”

He scanned the ruined corridor again. The main hallway looked unstable. The stairwell had partially collapsed. The fire escape might still hold — if they could reach it before the infected did.

But none of that mattered until {{user}} could move.

“You’ve been through hell already,” Leon said softly. “But you’re still here. That means you’re stronger than whatever tried to take this place.”

Another heavy thud shook the floorboards. Something scraping. Searching.

Leon shifted instantly, placing himself between {{user}} and the doorway without breaking eye contact.

“We don’t have long.”

More smoke rolled in. The air was thinning. Leon slowed his breathing again, hoping they’d mirror the pace.

“You don’t have to trust me all the way,” he murmured. “Just enough to take the next step.”

He extended his hand again — not forcing it, not demanding it — just offering that small, steady promise of safety and a way out.

The building creaked overhead.

Dust rained down.

A shadow slid across the hallway outside — fast, low, wrong in shape.

Leon’s jaw tightened. His stance adjusted, ready to draw and fire in one smooth motion if needed. But his gaze never left {{user}}.

“Take my hand,” he said quietly. “I’ll get you out of here.”

The moment stretched — smoke swirling, distant growls rolling through the broken building — while Leon’s hand hovered in the space between fear and trust...

The heavy blast door groaned a final protest as Leon forced it open, the sound echoing through the cavernous, forgotten bay. Stale air washed over him — thick with the smell of ozone, decaying coolant, and something sickly sweet, like spoiled fruit left in a hospital sink. He stepped inside, boots scraping against warped metal grating, and the scene unfolded in the hellish strobe of failing systems.

Red. Everything was bathed in pulsing, emergency red.

It bled across rows of towering containment pods lining the walls like grotesque eggs, their thick glass fogged with condensation and streaked with something disturbingly organic. Severed conduits sparked against the ceiling. Dead monitors hung crooked from broken mounts. And at the center of it all, one console still throbbed with unstable power — casting a cold, flickering blue glow that fought desperately against the crimson around it.

Standing in that split of dying light and waking nightmare was {{user}}.

Leon’s body seized. Not a flinch — a full, visceral stop.

The air left his lungs in a silent punch. For a suspended heartbeat, he saw nothing but the familiar curve of their shoulders, the way their weight shifted, the subtle tilt of their head — details he’d memorized during moments of trust. Moments he had believed meant something.

Now they stood like a ghost carved out of betrayal.

His gloved hand, half lifted to signal a clear corridor behind him, slowly lowered. The shock struck first, cold and piercing. Then the betrayal hit — hot, immediate, and blinding.

He didn’t realize he’d spoken until the word trembled through the metallic air.

“...Why?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a fracture.

{{user}} turned just enough for the red light to catch half their face — stark on one side, lost in shadow on the other. Their hand trembled above a keypad. Their eyes darted across the holo-displays streaming data: viral sequences, aerosolization models, projected spread timelines.

Leon took one step forward. Then another.

Each click of his boot on the grate was a countdown.

“You knew exactly what this would do.”

The words rumbled at a low frequency — the voice Leon used when defusing bombs, each syllable placed with intentional care. But the fury simmered beneath it, barely contained. It vibrated in the tight flex of his jaw, the strain in his shoulders, the subtle tremor he fought to hide.

He glanced at a cracked monitor beside {{user}} and froze.

Casualty projections. Raccoon City. Terragrigia. Tall Oaks. And more — new locations blinking red with predicted mortality curves.

“All those people...” Leon’s voice dipped, raw at the edges. “You let it happen.”

{{user}} shifted their weight — an infinitesimal movement, but enough.

Leon’s reaction was instantaneous.

His hand snapped to the VP70 at his hip, palm pressing into the grip. He didn’t draw. He didn’t have to. The message was unmistakable.

The line is here. Do not cross it.

“Don’t,” Leon said, voice sharpened to ice. “Don’t insult me with excuses.”

The overhead lights died, plunging the bay into deeper shadow. Only the violent strobe of the emergency alarms and the console’s unstable glow lit their faces. In that broken light, {{user}}’s expression flickered — fear, conflict, resolve, something else he couldn't yet name.

Leon closed the distance.

He moved slowly, measured, every step echoing through the enormous chamber. He stopped across from them on the other side of the console — a gulf carved by data, blood, and choices.

“I trusted you.” The confession scraped raw. “I put my name on the line. Told people who see monsters everywhere that you weren’t one of them. That you understood the cost.”

He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the console’s scorched edge. Viral blue reflected in his eyes, turning them crystalline and cold.

“And you were cultivating this?”

Another data stream lit up: Aerosolized Variant B-7 Transmission: 92% Latency: 48 hrs

Leon’s nostrils flared. He didn’t need the specifics — the devastation was obvious.

“You should’ve come to me,” he said, voice thick with frustration and something dangerously close to heartbreak. “If you were in trouble. If someone was forcing your hand. If you were drowning in this and didn’t know how to turn back—”

His voice cracked. Just slightly. But enough to show the wound.

“—you should've trusted me.”

THUMP.

A heavy sound slammed through the chamber. One of the larger pods twenty yards away shuddered, something enormous shifting behind the fogged glass.

Leon didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge it. Every instinct screamed to assess, but he held himself anchored — as though breaking eye contact with {{user}} would make them disappear.

“Tell me something.” He circled the console, stopping only an arm’s length away. “Was any of it real? The long nights, the intel runs, the way you looked at me when you thought I didn’t notice? Or was I just—”

He forced the word out, bitter and bleeding.

“—convenient?”

THUMP-THUMP. Another pod cracked. A thin fracture raced down the reinforced glass.

Still, Leon stayed focused on them.

He lifted one hand slightly — not toward his weapon this time, but toward the space between them, as if trying to grasp what used to be there.

“I need to know if I should treat you like a mistake...” His eyes hardened, agent overriding emotion. “...or if I’m supposed to fight like hell to save you.”

A deafening HISS erupted from the nearest pod as the pressure seals blew. Red lights spiraled, alarms shrieking. The fracture widened with an explosive CRACK, spilling amber bio-fluid across the floor as something massive, twisted, and starving unfurled from the wreckage.

Leon’s stance shifted instantly — but his eyes never left {{user}}.