Leon Kennedy

Leon’s footsteps echo through the silent, oppressive streets of what was once Raccoon City.

He hadn’t been back in thirty years. Thirty long years spent carrying the weight of that night—the night everything fell apart. Since then, his life had been a chain of missions, fights, and losses, with no real pause.

There’s almost nothing left around him. Burned-out structures, concrete skeletons, streets frozen in time. The city is nothing more than an open scar. And despite the years, despite the distance, nothing has truly faded.

A bitter taste tightens his throat. Faces come back to him. The screams. The chaos. And above all, that feeling of helplessness that never left. Back then, he was just a rookie in uniform, convinced he could help… convinced he could make a difference.

But he didn’t save everyone. And that truth never stopped following him.

The name Umbrella Corporation still feels etched into the ruins. An invisible, lingering mark that reopens an old wound. All of it—for experiments, power, control… at the cost of thousands of lives.

Leon exhales slowly, trying to push those thoughts away. It doesn’t work. They’re part of him now.

Lost in his memories, he walks forward without really paying attention until reality catches up with him. A collapsed building blocks the path entirely, tons of debris making it impossible to pass.

He stops, letting out an annoyed sigh, mixed with fatigue. "Genius…"

His eyes scan the area quickly, instinctively picking out entrances, blind spots, and alternate paths. A few meters away, an opening in what looks like an old warehouse catches his attention, half-buried under rubble but still accessible.

Not ideal… but good enough.

Without hesitation, he approaches and climbs up to a broken window. His hands grip the edge as he pulls himself up, a low grunt escaping when his joints protest. His shoulders and back crack under the strain, a clear reminder that he doesn’t have the endurance he had in his twenties anymore.

"Yeah… you’re not that young anymore, Kennedy…" He mutters to himself, short on breath, with a tired smirk.

He pauses briefly before slipping inside, catching his breath. The truth is simple—his body still works, but slower, heavier. Age is catching up, even for him.

And yet, he keeps going.

For now.

Because deep inside, something still lingers. The T-virus, a remnant of Umbrella, still runs through his system. An anomaly he was never able to fully get rid of. The doctors were clear—stage 3.

Not truly curable anymore. Just… manageable.

The effects are subtle but real. Heavier fatigue. Pain that lingers longer. A breath that sometimes comes shorter than it should. Signs he can’t ignore.

Death isn’t a distant idea anymore. It’s a real possibility now. Almost familiar.

He could stop. Think about retirement. Try to live whatever time he has left away from all this. But he knows that choice isn’t entirely his to make.

That thought pulls a faint smirk from him. After everything he’s survived, it wouldn’t be a monster or a bioweapon that takes him out—but something already inside him.

He pushes the thought aside and refocuses. His hand moves to his flashlight, clicking it on. A beam cuts through the darkness as he moves deeper into the building.

Every step is measured, precise. The floor creaks under his weight, and the structure above looks unstable, ready to collapse at any moment. The air is thick with mold, dust, and rotting wood, but he doesn’t react.

He’s dealt with worse.

His gaze sweeps the area methodically. The instincts are still there, deeply ingrained despite the years.

As he steps into a large hall, he slows down. The space is massive, once used for storage. The ceiling is partially collapsed, letting dull light filter through broken openings. Twisted beams hang overhead, threatening to give way.

Leon approaches the edge and looks down below.

Movement catches his attention. Several figures shuffle between overturned crates and rusted containers. Their movements are uneven, uncoordinated.

Zombies… or what’s left of them.

Their bodies are severely decomposed, reduced to almost skeletal forms. Yet they still wander, as if something refuses to let them die.

There’s no surprise. Just a quiet sense of exhaustion. After all these years, part of Raccoon City is still rotting, which probably explains why the area remains quarantined.

He’s seen too much to react any other way. It’s not fear anymore. Just confirmation that he needs to stay careful.

His fingers tighten slightly around his weapon, but he doesn’t raise it. Observing comes first.

As he’s about to move around the area, something different catches his attention. Faster. More precise. Nothing like the slow, dragging movement of the other zombies.

His instincts react immediately.

He steps back and slips behind a pile of debris, lowering his body and controlling his breathing. His full attention locks onto the lower level, watching for any detail.

From experience, Leon knows this is a bad sign. He’s seen enough similar situations over the years to know better than to get careless. Getting caught off guard is not an option.

But minutes pass, and no sound confirms what he saw. Not even the groans from the zombies below. Everything feels frozen. Almost unreal.

Doubt slowly creeps in.

Maybe it was nothing. Fatigue… or the virus.

The doctors warned him about it. Distortions. False perceptions. Even hallucinations. The possibility has never really left his mind.

He tightens his jaw, irritated by the thought. He hates losing control—especially over his own mind.

After a long internal debate, he finally decides to straighten up and move forward.

But the moment he lifts his head, he freezes.

Someone is there.

Right in front of him.

Just inches away, crouched exactly where he had been hiding seconds earlier.

Your gaze is locked onto his. Your eyes are wide open, unblinking.

Your clothes are torn, filthy, clinging to your skin. You’ve been there for a while—it’s obvious.

And one thing is certain—you’ve been watching him without him noticing. For a while.

A sharp tension runs through Leon. His weapon snaps up in a clean motion, perfectly steady, aimed straight at you.

"Don’t move." His voice is low, firm, controlled as he orders you to stay still, his finger ready on the trigger.

His stance remains steady, but his eyes sharpen. He quickly studies you—your breathing, your stillness, the complete absence of sound. None of the usual infected behavior.

One detail stands out, deeply unsettling. He didn’t hear you. He didn’t see you approach. That alone makes you highly dangerous.

"Damn… what the hell is this now…" Leon mutters, tired of surprises that never really are.

"Who are you ?" He asks, irritation clear in his voice. Maybe talking is an option… even if most of the time, it isn’t.

But one thing is certain—his eyes never leave you, trying to understand what exactly he’s facing.

Because you are clearly not human.