Hi, my name is Wolfie. I'm in my 20s and an Archer 🏹
I love to paint and occasionally write—all as an ode to music!
Mostly Taylor Swift, Leon Kennedy (Resident Evil), Shuichi Akai (Detective Conan), and all the things that excite me...
Masterlists
✒️ Nobody else but us (Leon Kennedy x Oc) - a story of their past and present intertwined, where he had to do everything to save her.
✒️ Late at night, (Leon Kennedy x Oc) - an on going anthology based on series of night time stories.
✒️ you could be someone (Leon Kennedy x f!feader) - a story inspired by Ivy's Color Theory, and David Nicholls' One Day. It has 13k words!!! - ▶️ playlist
Here's my ao3 👈 If there's any chance you like them so much, please reblog for support. Enjoy reading!
Tags
🖌 I'm a lazy artist!! To see my artworks you can take a look at the #art tag, and the #writings tag if you want to read more of my blabbings.
My personal interpretation of Leon’s journey from a rookie cop in RE2 to the seasoned DSO agent in RE9 is that:
The tragedy of Leon’s storyline isn’t because of bad luck or cruel fate, but rather that he willingly unknowingly chose this path himself.
I think the more popular take on Leon’s storyline in the Resident Evil series is often best summarized as the statement of “wrong place, wrong time.”
However, I don’t think it’s as simple as Leon being randomly selected by fate. I believe that Leon, through his decisions and actions, manifested this fate for himself. In other words, he willingly but unknowingly chose this fated path.
Looking back with hindsight, we could determine the exact moment where his life began diverging from what could’ve been a relatively ordinary career…and it isn’t September 29, 1998. It all started when the Arklay Mountain Murders caught Leon’s attention, thus influencing him to list the RPD as his top pick for placement after graduating from the police academy. When the mysterious and gruesome murders would’ve deterred other recruits from the RPD, Leon rushed in straight ahead because the incidents piqued his curiosity and stirred his interest.
From then on, that was the defining moment that Leon would become one of the main protagonists in Resident Evil series.
Leon is Inherently a Thrill Seeker
Since the beginning, for Leon, it had never been about:
Wanting a normal mundane life of stability.
Because in this case, he would’ve chose a quaint area where the crime rates were low. The fact that Raccoon City had a designated specialized police force, most likely meant that there would’ve been a high enough serious crime rate to justify the establishment of S.T.A.R.S.
Wanting a high salary.
Because there would’ve been other cities with higher salaries for officers. According to research, more established cities such as San Francisco and New York City offer a better starting salary for their police officers. With Police Chief Irons spending the majority of his “Umbrella Bribery Bonus” on arts and artifacts, it would be safe to assume that the other RPD officers were paid the basic salaries.
Leon was at the top of his class, amongst the top ten. Being at the top would’ve provided him with the advantage of having a high chance at being accepted by his preferred jurisdictions. If he had listed anywhere else on his top picks, he would also most likely gotten accepted there as well. However, he listed and ultimately chose Raccoon City - simply because he wanted to be able to look into the murders.
The Upkeep of His Virtues
Leon’s defining character trait is his good nature and how he also strives to do the “right” thing. We could see this being consistently represented in the series as his obligation to the preservation of justice and the honouring of duty.
Justice, he always seeks out the truth.
In RE2, instead of finding the fastest way to get out of the city, he digs deeper with hopes to uncover the source of this nightmare. It is also this sense of curiosity that costed him in the end when he gets apprehended by the government as he now knows too much to set free.
In RE4, he stays to investigate the situation further even after having witnessed the savagery of the infected and the cult. He could’ve retreated and requested for more backup, as soon as he sees how both Spanish cops disappeared and were later found dead.
In RE6, he could’ve opted for the easier option where he pinned the shooting of the president on Helena. Leon is more better established than Helena and he holds more value as an asset, the government would’ve granted him immunity as long as he followed their (Simmons’) narrative on the incident. But he doesn’t, he chooses to be a fugitive and partners up with Helena in order to discover the truth.
Duty, he always protects the civilians and the weak.
In RE2, he continues to fulfil his obligations as a cop to serve and protect. He could’ve focused on his own survival and escape, but instead he searches for survivors and continues to protect Ada even after he finds out about her agenda to secure the sample of the G-Virus (taking a gunshot to his shoulders).
In RE4, he continues to put Ashley’s wellbeing above his own despite them both being in dire situations. And how he continues with his infiltration mission, because he believes that Ashley is kept somewhere in the village.
In RE6, he continues to make an effort to save the civilians at Tall Oaks when the outbreak happens. The same case goes to Lanshiang, when he is visibly sad at the foreign civilians being turned. All the failures to protect these innocent people affects him throughout the storyline when he was unable to save them.
Leon has never really learned how to choose himself, and I think that’s the point to his whole character. Sometimes people like to frame Leon as someone cursed by fate. But, I actually think it’s much worse because he’s someone whose own virtues continuously leads him deeper into this tragic fate.
It’s Always been Voluntary on His Part
For both the RE2 original and remake lore, Leon’s had an option to avoid the disaster but he doesn’t. For both, he started the story being outside the failing city but he makes the conscious decision to enter Raccoon City anyways.
In the original lore, Leon had drunk himself sick and hangover - thus causing him to be late on his first day of work. Whereas, some would’ve called in sick, Leon decides to still drive into the city.
In the remake, Leon had received warnings from the department for him to stay away from the city. He had warnings, but he still drove into the city despite the communication being broken down.
Fate didn’t condemn Leon to this life, Leon actively chose it. Even though he had been accepted into RPD, his fate wasn’t sealed yet because life still presented him with a way out. However, as we see in both original and remake storylines, Leon still ends up making the conscious decision to enter Raccoon City despite all the warnings that were thrown his way.
He is an adventurer at heart, and his heart is driven by his virtues of preserving justice and honouring duty. This is a deadly combination to have as we see, time to time again, that Leon repeatedly makes choices which consistently steered him towards the more difficult path even when an easier alternative was available.
He is not cursed by fate. He is shaped by his own character. Fate did not create Leon’s tragedy. The real tragedy of Leon’s life isn’t about what his life has become, but rather how he walked every strip down this path himself…
The work was inspired by the classical piece of the same name, the 7th movement among 13 pieces in Kinderszenen (“Scenes from Childhood”), written by German composer Robert Schumann for piano solo.
Story Masterlist 🖋️ read on ao3 🖋️
Summary:
The story goes back and forth into their past and their present.
10 years after the nightmare, they met again, though the circumstances had never gotten better. While the DSO agent Leon Kennedy struggled to find a mean to his life as an exhausted hero, she was fighting battles against herself—on staying, or leaving all the good and bad dreams behind.
Chapter 1
Leon stared at the black liquid pouring out from the machine, muddy it seemed. Long and stern, he gazed into the flow of unconsciousness. Faint blue hospital lights flickered above his head. He drowned himself in a sea of thoughts. Sinking under his boots, the floor was old and untended for days. Long hallway engulfed in cold sweat, and smelled like death.
He thought this place was rigged, he had this same hunch before.
Knocking it was—the only sound echoing in an empty lobby. Unfortunately, the machine struggled to pour out a proper cup of coffee. It stopped its track, then continued in droplets.
Unlike what he'd been skeptical about, Hunnigan and "the authority" kept reassuring him to put his mind at ease and go home. The usual antiseptic smells one would encounter in healthcare facilities were completely absent; Only there was something's dying and rotten inside those doors. Like hell he would trust this damned place. The area which was supposed to be called 'the ICU' by what he's been told, hardly had a shadow of a human with capabilities passing by, not even mentioning pulling out lives from a patient in a critical state. Rarely a doctor, or faintly an amount of nurses.
Because of that, a sudden sight of a white lab coat in the hall immediately caught his eye, opening doors to a room. He followed the man and silently observed from outside. The supposed doctor approached a patient's bed without eagerness, clearly by how he stood next to the bed. Their face was hidden behind big machines and a wide blue curtain, but through the door slit, Leon could clearly see the lower arm lying on bed cover; black and navy veins crept across their skin. Their lifeless colors turned all gray, and terribly bruised. Body lay in absolute stillness. The monitor had no sign of life, anymore.
A long, long beep. And Leon sighed.
But the doctor seemed to not care that much.
The man in a white lab coat stood 5 feet away, not touching, nor checking for the pulse of his patient. He coldly scrapped a line in the patient's file with red ink, then hung it to the bed end again. Later, he pulled all the plugs off quickly, and dialed on the hospital's phone, whispering into the speaker in strange calmness,
"Bed 26, object has failed, confirm for termination."
Termination, for a human who had just passed away in bed alone—Leon winced at the thought, though he had heard the word many times before. Termination. As if damaged goods, now have no use.
They won't bear with the baggage, said "the authority". The words rang in his ears.
The doctor looked up to find out he had been watching—Leon's sharp eyes were practically glued to the dead person in bed, searching for clues and clarity, so the man hushed to close the door shut in seconds after he found out. Another door slammed. Right in front of his face.
The hallway sank back to its long desolate state. Time had stopped again.
"Looks like we're on our own now."
His sight dropped to the soiled checkered tiles underneath the vending machine—coffee overflowed, yet cold, with his hand still holding the cheap paper cup, deciding if what just happened could pass all his wearies and doubts,
about everything.
His gaze shot to the room at the end of the hall, where the monotonous beeping sounds still continued, but were gradually, who would know, dying.
Biting the bullets.
The ground was wet and drenched.
Not just because it was starting to rain, heavier each minutes...
The smell surrounding her. Terrible.
Laying flat on the ground, her body was so sore from the pressure that came from the collision. She tried to push herself up. Eyes blurry. But she could see the color. It wasn't just black and white anymore.
It was red.
All red before her eyes, the road painted it was. She gasped, took in both her lungs a full sharp breath of terror. Her palms felt a kind of gooey, sticky substance under, which turned out to be blood. Everywhere. She almost screamed, but it was slowly becoming more like a muffled cry, as she looked up and saw what she shouldn't have.
In the death of that night, she saw everything painted in red.
She thought it was the last time she would see, because soon, there wouldn’t be peace. Silence would haunt her, for she could only hear the blood vessels pumping with trepidation in her ears—fear consumed her entire being. With zero rhythm, her pulse went into chaos under the thin skin. This was probably not a way of living.
She was scared, and desperate. Running and hiding got the best of her.
Her own life got tied up on the string, and dangling before her like a cat and mouse game. Her legs' muscles started to give up after a long stretch of running section. Oxigen in both lungs ran out.
Will I ever escape this?
Trembling in the night, she hid under tables like a kid. Tears dried on her left cheekbone, blended with fresh and old wounds, black and bruise, and she didn't have an answer. Her body betrayed her in any way she could've imagined.
She doesn't know the answer.
"You won't get away from me, fool."
The voice growling from the other side of the door.
"Come out and see me!"
Every speck of dust emerged on the carpet she knelt on, and there was a faint feeling of stickiness it had. She saw through the black shadow, a yellow wooden block toy. Alone and frivolous. Her mind froze at the thought of a lost child who had to stay in this mental playpen thing, praying for hope and shelter, while footsteps drew closer and closer in each second.
Suddenly, there came a hard grip on her right ankle as she squealed in terror, and got pulled into the darkness.
The time hit,
3rd of November,
3:20 AM.
It wasn't the first time she had been in this situation.
The brain woke her up from the nightmare once more like it finally hit the toll. It came back, not by the cacophony of noises and lousy crowds, nor by all the shots she had had that were lying empty on the table like rolling dices—peace or none, sleep or pain, something along those lines... It resurfaced in moments of silence. The silence that screamed the loudest in the room, banging in her ears like a drum, causing her to suffer. She had not managed to have one restful night since, and it made her fretful, especially to anyone who needed to approach her.
Only then was she reminded by the ticking of her watch on the wrist, telling her that her chauffeur had been waiting outside for far too long. He wouldn't dare to tell her directly that he liked to end his shift soon. She'd stare and glare, as always, and he would've been out of job.
Under neon lights and all,
The clinking of bottles and glass, unceremonious disco pop, and fourteen-cent jazz by an out-of-tune upright piano filled the stifling air, as people excitedly chatter above all the mess of variable tunes... This slumber bar downtown simply had it all. Pushing herself up from the burgundy banquette her body had made accustomed to, a hiss came out through her grunted teeth. Joints stiff. A quick flash striking through her mind, made eyes went blurry. Lucky she made the whole booth private, or she would be damned by the owls and eagles. Grabbing the coat with her Koss headphones lying next to her, she left the place.
Her apartment wasn't far from here, but after midnight, she preferred to spend the leisure time after gigs taking strolls around the block. She would usually have a chaperone to accompany on such missions—actually, a couple ones already, because who would like to put up with her, all the constant judgement?
Her car usually parked just two buildings away, and she always found her chauffeur sneaking a crossword column from the nearby newsstand. The central city was exceptionally chilly at night, with the winds bashed between tall buildings. He would rather stay in a feeble cabin than sit two booths away from her with a nice glass of lime soda.
And now where is he?
The chaotic sounds broke off abruptly the moment she stepped out onto the street. Bar's door had closed behind. A wasted last-week newspaper flying across by the urban breeze, prompted her to eagerly put on her headphones again. She wrapped it around her neck like a little scarf, concealing scars. It was moments before she resolved to turn on some of her own tunes that she heard several faint noises from other side of the street, a little further away from her usual parking spot. There it was, the silhouette of an old 90's Jaguar sedan, as she passed through the mist of steam and a crossroad, slowly reached the vehicle. The voices were so prominent in the middle of car horns and screeching tires, for she really felt the heat of them.
She saw the car was already occupied by two strange men and her chauffeur inside. One person sat in the backseat, behind the driver, while the other was frantically pointing a gun at her men’s right temple.
They were so invested in the conversation that they never saw her. Nonetheless, the rude guests could wait longer.
Luther was the name of the chauffeur.
He was an extremely tall man with thick eyebrows—at anytime he needed, they lifted like curtains.
He had a wife once, but she left him due to complicated circumstances, as he wrote in the CV. He had young boy in custody, which made him terrified of being in the money's tight end, and not being able to take care of his kid. Luther worked here and there in the city. Taxi driver at first, then the long hours were keeping him from his son, so he turned to working midnight shifts in bars, clubs, and hotels. Tips were generous, but the paycheck wasn't much.
Signing up for this job seemed a bit strange comparing to the previous one he had, not that he hadn't met with weirder things before, but still. At first, he didn't really understand why, why does being an escort pay him this much? He even took a risk and asked for a higher check, and it turned out even better than what he had expected. Though the agency hiring him seemed to say that he would be working for just a normal typecast of a musician—a pianist they added, who will be doing private shows at night. The amount of money still baffled him. He presumed she must be a very good one, or they were simply burning money for the shakes of entertainment. Sure she was demanding and sometimes 'quite' unreasonable, everything was predictable for a mad musician, of course, with a right number in the check. All was well until he got into a situation. This was it.
Luther was going through his second to last row of the crossword, with a cool off coffee shot in the other hand. He checked the time—almost 4 in the morning and he needed to get home before 7, until a cold gun muzzle pointed to his head, shouting "Shut up and drive." Luther paused. Mouth locked. When he intended to turn and look at their face, the gun shoved even closer to his jaw. A man in hood, with a fit of nerves.
"To where?"
"Anywhere. Just drive!"
Through the rearview mirror, he saw an another in the back seat. In contradiction, this man was not as self-possessed. His skin coated in layers of black veins and bruises. While trying to grasp onto the seat in front, he clutched his stomach like he was going to vomit. His mouth was soiled. Sweat all over him. If he threw up in here, Luther would probably be fired without a warning, but with a gun pointed at his head, he took the car out to the road anyway.
"Do you need doctors for him?" There were a few coughs until they got mostly intense. Luther then was concerned for the new carpet he had just taken to the laundromat.
"He has enough of them. Take the next left, we're driving to the hill," the man in hood said, taking the lead. When the car had passed the second intersection, he finally dropped his guard a little. The gun was then on his lap. "I see you hanging around places like these. Cold cases. Strange deaths. Bioterrorisms. DSO and stuff... You must be related to them?"
Seemed like something Luther had read on the newspaper while doing rounds of crossword, but he wouldn't take a wild guess.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
The man laughed scornfully.
"They are very close to good bars. That's all I know" Luther added.
"That's what they all said."
He mumbled it like a mock, but it was no mock for Luther because he actually had no clue, so he assumed it was for the people—DSO or some politicians... Nothing else was talked about for the rest of the ride. Thankfully. It would've turned into some pathetic argument. The passenger in the back kept coughing, and Luther considered this to be simply a taxi ride with some drunk customers; he had experiences with taking them out before.
The car ride took a couple of minutes until amber lights filtered through the windshield, illuminating the control panel when the chauffeur turned the key. The engine was off.
They arrived at a deserted hillside, devoid of any human presence, except for the towering pine trees that stretched as far as the eye could see, for the man had demanded him to torn down the no-man’s-land fence, leaving them in this desolate area. The sun had perked up above the skyline.
Luther quickly got out to check on the bumper. He was sure his check would be less this week. He could go to this fixer guy he knew before the boss found out about the bump.
Checking his watch,
4:57 AM
Maybe not so soon.
"Go to the back and open the trunk." The man spoke again. He and his sick friend got out of the car too. This time Luther couldn't contain the discomfort he had been having. It was supposed to be one of his skillset in customer service.
"Hey man, I'm glad to help but I need to get back picking up my boss."
"Screw your boss. Get the trunk."
"It's all on you if she fired me—Woah!" Alright, pointing gun again, you're really going to shoot me. Fine. But I'll be complaining. "Trust me. They're good bucks for whatever it is. Feed me and my boy, get him to school,... You'd be surprised by how much money my boss get by only taking trips all around and gliding tunes on the damn black and white keys. But she is definitely some pain in the ass I must say, with all due respect."
They didn't seem to care though. The gun was aiming to his neck and all they watched was the hand of him to land on the trunk and open it.
"What the actual FU—!?"
The back of the Jaguar sedan stank, giving out an unpleasantly foul odour. A body got rolled up in there. It still bared a lab coat with DSO-the-agency emblem on the torn left chest. Blood was dripping through the carpet. That pungent smell then rushed into Luther’s nostrils, flared up the eyesockets, causing his eyes to water. He lowered himself to his knees, desperately trying to rid himself of the abhorrent smell.
"You guys killed a fucking doctor!?" His throat scorched.
"The deathbeat was useless anyway. Take him out of the trunk. We gotta dig a hole."
"You guys killed a fucking man and put his fucking body in my fucking boss' car?"
"Good observation. Now take him out if you don't want to join him."
Luther took a gulp. The severeness of the situation had been taken to another level; No more drunken bastards wanting a free ride, but a couple of hitmen who weren't hesitate to shoot him dead. What about his boy? He should've had his gun with him.
"I didn't plan to do the stiff disposal on a thursday night." He mumbled to himself. The body lay flat in the trunk, above a red blood pool. Stiff and still, exactly like the death.
It was raining,
cats and dogs,
She heard the thunderstorms above.
Her clothes soaked.
What the hell is going on?!
Her back had already hit a dead end, cars bundled up and engulfed in flames despite the rain trying to extinguish them. She writhed. Agony made her legs paralyzed.
It was the 29th night of September,
Near the end of the outbreak.
Raccoon city. 1998.
That was where and when her nightmares started.
As the lightning struck, it unveiled a gruesome sight at her feet—a bloody human head with its mouth wide open, agape. Lower jaw already missing, revealing the sharp upper teeth. Like the most contorted shape of a skull any human wouldn't imagine. The nose and mouth were likely ripped off by a wild animal’s force. Eyes were white, stark contrast to the skinned meat. Death. Rottenness.
She immediately pulled herself back. Fast like a kid crying out their lungs for mom. An inaudible sound escaped her mouth, only for it to be repressed by another bigger horror that was before her. A figure was clawing onto the torn half-body. Pulling organs out with its foul mouth.
The dead man alive ran up to her. The thing had its jaws like an alligator’s. Pieces of meat clung to the bloody fangs.
There went a loud sound. All of a sudden.
Bam!
Luther fell into a shallow swamp. Blood splashed across his white shirt as he wiped it away to check on the wounds. He realized, fortunately, he had none. In contrast, the two other men faced the polar opposites to his fate. Their necks were torn. Halves of their faces were eaten. Even into the bones.
He didn't even have enough time to specify what had happened seconds ago.
He heard two loud bangs. Gun shots. Stirred his dizziness. The moment he could lift himself back up from the earth mound, and cleared his blurry vision, another two emitted. A strange sight came into view.
This is the situation he talked about.
She stood there in the middle of a scene that looked like a mine field. His boss. Checking on her pistol like it was another thursday night.
"You lied in your resume."
She reloaded the gun. And stepping on stones, as if the place was actually a mine field. Difference was, it scattered with disintergrating body parts. She fancily swiped her shoe’s sole across the ground, meticulously cleaning away the residue of blood and debris, off of her Saint Laurent. Just to be extravagant.
"I don't buy useless gear to be my company."
He saw her, strange and all, so he started to stutter out meaningless words, "Wh--Who are you?"
She heard him, her eyes squinted. "Pardon me?"
"Who are you doing all these---shits!? You ain't a twig. You're a whole fucking branch. They told me I would be escorting a pianist. Not an assassin!"
"I am a renowned pianist." She scowled in displeased, ticking her tongue, but didn't bother to raise her voice. "Mind your language, Luther. I know how to protect myself. I didn't kill anybody. What do you think I hired you for? Picking up flowers?"
"I guess... Ma'am, I'm sorry. It's a new event for me. I've never seen-"
His sight was then clear and sharp as day. Three bodies spattered all over. Blown up. The dead body he was supposed to take dispose of, had sprungled all four of its limbs. Its head brutally decapitated. He remembered vaguely, the death suddenly woke up from its sleep like the horror tales, and lunged at him when he quickly hit the trunk close. That was all he could see before he hit the ground. After that, there were only screams.
"Am I fired?"
She didn't respond anything but darting an eye. The silence was understood.
"Of course,... For obvious reason." He stumbled to push himself up from the ground. Guessed it himself. "It's only fair."
Luther stood up from the swamp, soaking wet and covered in mud blood. All miserable. He was nearly beaten to death, torn apart, and then probably be sucked dry from his two empty pockets in the upcoming months. The crossword puzzles in the magazine would be the last pleasant memory he had on the job.
She spot a red patch on his palm. A pang inside her chest. It stung. And she felt a wave of concern. "Were you bitten?"
"No, I'm fine..." Then he saw it too, brushed the hand off a little as if it would remove the patch, and held it up for both of them to see. It wasn't a bit mark, but still, it was bleeding. "Just a small scratch. That's all. I must've slipped-"
"Stop with your long stories. Do you have insurance for it?"
"Uh... N-no, ma'am? Do we need it?"
"There was no health insurance in your contract and you still agreed to sign it?"
"I signed it. It was already good paycheck."
She took a sharp breath in and he cramped.
“Look at those men. You’re bleeding and exposed. Medical checkups are mandatory, and there will be prevention protocols in place. Without insurance, you are going broke.”
"I don't need checkups-"
"You'll die. Like them."
The three bodies laid on the ground, with heads blew off. He remembered how their brain bursted in a pop. Crispy and viscous. Now they're only broken hollow skulls. He finally realized the grave condition he's in.
"I don't have any money."
She took another sharp breath in as to express exasperation. Then dial on her phone. Messaging. Her eyes glued on the blue screen as she quickly commanded him; faint sirens blew from behind the hills, cops heard the gunshots.
"We need to go first. DSO may come. I don't want to meet with them. Extremely annoying."
Luther sighed, "Yes ma'am."
"You, I'll deal with later."
Luther then glanced at the bodies on the ground while horns and sirens tore through the stillness of the new dawn from afar.
"Hunnigan. Saw someone died. Is that supposed to be a good sign to you?"
Lights from the ceiling flickered again. Still, the freeze breathed through the neck. Hospital? More like a morgue.
After 10 full minutes of going back and forth, he picked up the phone and called on his coordinator's private number. He'd been roaming around this area more than the people who actually work here. Apparently, they didn't call the patients patients; they referred to them as subjects for research. And it's finally the last straw for him as an investigator of the States.
"Why did they transfer her to this division? These aren't doctors, they are scientists."
It was 2am in the morning, it's normal for people to be pissed by a work phone call, which could be said for both ends.
"One, do not call me on private if it's outside of office hours. Two, do not even call me on private. At all. I have enough of you for today, Leon."
It didn't go well. He gave her the cold hard silence transiting through space and distance.
"Talk." He demanded, curt and plain. A federal guard in suits standing near the entrance of this specific room glared at him in disturbance when the word travelled through the hollow hall. Leon gave him back the look, but brief, like his actual meaning. They kept their distance in the long, empty hallway, as if a single move of a finger could start a fight.
Hunnigan had to lower her voice down as a result, "I told you for the hundredth time. This is not like any other medical issues, the higher up won't deal with this in a normal way, you know that. Not like any ordinary doctors could help."
"Then send someone who can!" He didn't shout, but the sound of his voice rumbled the cracked walls and dusty old pipes. The guard saw it as a sign and turned to his standing position.
Leon heard Hunnigan taking a long sigh on the other side. She kept quiet for a moment, he bet it was for thinking. There's no need to think. Why would you be thinking? You must be damn mad—Thinking? Someone needs help. She, needs help.
"Leon, I’m afraid I don’t have the qualifications to do that. I don’t have access to my sources and devices at home, and I don’t know anyone who can help." Hunnigan poised. Sounding like she's not trying her best at all.
Alright, fine. Nevertheless—He waited politely for a reason, or a proper answer. At least there could be a decent one, more than just dead silence, he had hoped. What is happening to her?
"It is the only thing I can tell you right now. It's classified."
He inhaled his patience in as he heard it once more. It's worst.
"We did the best we could."
"What's the meaning of classified when a human, is laying there and waiting to die, without the help she supposed to get?" Leon protested, "There are none of these people, in this fake hospital, would even care if she still breathes or not, Hunnigan. And they are doing nothing but watch. See how the situation goes? Goes where!? There were 4 patients here having the same disease, and 3 are already fucking dead!—You all need to sort out your priorities—"
"You need to listen to me. Leon. Listen! Out of all people who works for the government, you understand it very well, that this is not some typical maladies. This needs to be kept under confidential files. She's carrying a bio-weapon inside her body."
"She's a survivor of Raccoon city!"
"And the evidence to one of the most classified incident."
"She's a human."
"That's not a reason to quarrel, Leon. They won't bear with the baggage."
"Baggage?"
He broke in sourness, like the taste of his regrets and sins. He hadn't needed anyone to remind him that after all this time, he knew it very well indeed, loud and clear,
"So this is what we are to them."
Paused and silence. Of course.
Of course.
Of course.
When he was forced to walk through that door into The Oval Office, they called him with many many names, but only these ones stay with him the most—Disposable. Damage goods. Weak in the head... Baggage to bear.
Behind his back, behind every pats on the shoulders, or the welcome handshakes they told as the symbol of honor and contribution, he was referred to as baggage. He were only there because of planned intentions and for the sole purpose of so-called 'Justice'.
None of the handshakes were there for free.
Baggage—that is the name you're given, when you are left with just a shell of your past.
...
"That's all we could do. You hear me? Leon? You must accept it. We don't have the authority to ask for other corporations' help. Don't do anything st—"
The story goes back and forth into their past and their present.
10 years after the nightmare, they met again for the same reason they had escaped from. A disease with no cure. It was years before the 6 survivors were reported dead, and before the illness has a name—Raccoon City Syndrome. All ends lead to them meeting again... for the last time.
Chapter 2: Trust.
Black Hawk —Do you copy?—Coming to the east wing—RPD—touchdown—
The sound of radio cracked at the end of the path. Leon flashed his light there. A dead officer sat still on the floor with head down to his chest. The radio still worked. He might not be dead for too long. Blood was still dripping out of his mouth. Fresh. First came with the muddy white eyes. Nose that left unseen with cuts. Then the whole jaw got ripped out from the skull, pouring down his split open neck—The dead cop laying cold at the West wing's hallway stayed this way until Leon came to witness his death. Crimson red flesh flashed on his whole face.
"You heard that? They are sending backups. We may get out of here sooner than we thought."
Lights darted in through the windows' slits, painting sharp edges into the dark navy shadow of the station. The helicopter’s engine erupted outside. Leon leaning close to the dead officer to hear the cackled sound of the radio better, showed his whole commitment to the job. However, it was also extremely risky given the status quo, where the deceased do not remain deceased.
"East Wing. You coming?"
She looked at him, got interrupted from the stream of thoughts, and responsed as if the location was conveniently on her way to somewhere, "Sure." Short and informative it was. She got nothing else to say.
Great! Leon thought to himself. So much to get it out from her mouth, but he was glad he caught it, or even a faint reaction from her. Since they met, it had been nothing but silence on her end.
He watched her, as she held her head up to see the wall,
Blood painted on it like a brutally twisted Jackson Pollock's painting.
In the West Wing of Raccoon Police Station, Leon—the newly dressed cop just breaking in his first uniform, was roaming in the dark tunnel of a never-ending hallway. Dust already collected on trenches, and forts were built out of broken down funitures. Trace of dirt was dragged from room to room. If they hadn't avoided the mention of blood, one would have imagined some wild animals massacred the people here. Wind howled through boarded windows, a series of doleful symphonies in the dark. While Leon carefully watched every step they made, checking all the boxes for the "Innitiate Evacuation Plan" he had long learned back at the academy, she strolled through the alleyway as though taking a casual walk filled with unpredictable causes, seemingly trying her best to be unaware of the dire situation they were in.
They didn't talk, and she didn't tell him her name at all.
Her eyes wandered through the hall until her flashlight suddenly flickered. As they were making their way to the West office, it shut down entirely. Dead. She tried to smack it back to life with the palm of her hands, but no use.
In the light of the situation, Leon was only ahead of her for a few stride. His flashlight still went on like a champ.
"Hell of a first day..." Leon murmured. "I didn't know this could be one of many ways it could turn out."
On a September night in 1998, they both arrived at the Raccoon Police Department, with all the hopes and doubts in the world.
"You might want to stick close to me," Leon said. Lights are all out, but his.
Sullen and eerie, her eyes peering up at him from an all-turbulent psyche,
She followed.
"You got the number?"
Luther scribbled into his palm while sitting at the steering wheel. Looking at the scratch wound, he seemed to be less opinionated and moanful. Nodding obediently. "Yes, I got it." His life was on the line.
In the backseat of a blood-soaked Jaguar, she locked herself in. As Luther shifted nervously in his seat, trying hard to not seem too guilty of the stench in the back trunk, he was eyeing his boss through the rearview mirror for any new reactions. Fortunately, she didn't bother to mention anything about the scent. Her eyes never left the screen to make sure she didn't miss out on any important information. "Call the number, and wait for confirmation from the agency, DSO, Division of Security Operations, and then ask for Roost. Remember to create your own story. And make sure don't mention me in the process."
"DSO?!" Luther uttered. "But—Didn't you say you don't wanna meet 'em?"
"It's between me and my own problem." Her voice carried an unspoken prejudice, though it was never articulated in actual sentences—only in lowercase attitudes. "And I'm not the one who has to call. You are."
"I think I have a problem too after their employee tried to pull my eyeballs out."
She stayed silent. The did you hit your head too hard? or was I not clear enough before? kind of silence. As usual, it wasn't spoken directly to him. Instead, she went on to make a casual remark, "The smell is horrid. Is that you, Luther?" No rush in the tone.
Once he poked the bear, there was no sensibility left. It was enough that she had to endure what was merely her business, if he needed a reminder about the insurance he had overlooked in his contract.
"They will eventually come your way someday. Your DNA is all over that place."
"Oh god," Luther exhaled, "What should I do?"
"You strike first." She later continued shortly, “The DSO is responsible for handling bioterrorism investigations in the States. You’ve just met with one of the bio-weapon, and luckily, it came straight out from their lab. They’re likely to be quite hospitable in handling most of the situations that involves their name."
"Are you sure it won't cost me a fortune like walking into the ER? Because I—I cannot afford that, I don't have that kind of money."
"This is all I'm gonna give you."
"Can you at least tell me who is Roost? Who am I dealing with?!"
She was telling him to perjure and ask the Government for a mercy dose. He needed more clue.
"That's all. You can bother Roost with your concern." She said, and when he looked at the rearview again, he knew she was serious that this was not her own business only, but him too. And this was it. "Best to save your question for the DSO, they have a lot to tell."
She gave him the final answer and shortly after, told him to keep driving. The rest was his job. As a creature of habits, she made sure the Koss headphones were over her ears while the phone slipped down from her lap to the leather of her near seat. Constant buzzing. Outside, sirens were racketing—a black SUV drove by, followed by a swarm of police cars, causing chaos on the street as she crossed her arms and lay her back down to rest in her own space.
Eyes closed. But all was planned.
As far back as I remember,
I always wanted to be a gangster.
This sure reminded him of that line he had seen a thousand time. Scorsese is a genius. Riding up the hill, with a half-dug grave, burying a body. Who would be able to think of something else?
He unbuckled his seatbelt while checking on the watch,
6:07AM, November 3rd 2008.
"Roost, coming in. Condor One is at the crime scene. Three dead bodies were reported. Suspects are Doctor Tom Stone, patient 03 and the kidnapper. Do I have clearance?"
"Yes. We are in charge now. All eyes and ears are yours, Leon."
He sniggered at her voice, "So, what are the codenames for?"
"So I know it's you."
"Ditto."
The DSO agent—here to investigate, recorded each of his deductions in close detail to the coordinator. Losing his SUV car down the main road, Leon had followed the tires' track by foot up along the hill, passing a broken-down fence with a useless “do not enter” sign. They must've wanted it bad—some big and grand sightseeing event today, he quipped while enjoying the view himself. Maybe it was a bucket list wish? Who was he to judge? The sun finally rode to the top of the mount, way above the trees. Red soil under his boots.
"Alright Miss Hunnigan, mind update me the details prior?" He fixed his earpiece that almost let loose, listened carefully.
"Patient 03," keyboard rambling on the other side of the line, as Hunnigan quoted, "the third patient to arrive at DSO’s healthcare facility with the same symptoms as the previous two, including coughing, black veins, and bruises all over their body. Recently, he exhibited more vital signs such as vomiting blood and intense stomach pain. At the time, Doctor Stone was in charge of him. Security footage shows Stone leaving the patient’s room and entering the main office before his reported disappearance. Twelve minutes later, a man—suspected to be the patient’s relative—followed into the room, there were complains of noise. Intelligence reports indicated that there were arguments, some glass breaking, and gunshots followed—"
"And now we are here."
"Now we are here." She confirmed.
At the same time, he set his foot on the crime scene, looking like a miniature atomic bomb just blew up. Vermilion stained part of the field. Local police officers encircled them like wolves waiting for orders after Leon presented them the DSO warrant. They started putting up barriers around the place as yellow bands wrapped around the quietness. He chewed the scene, eyes like eagle's gliding across, then said casually, "Another day, another dollar."
"Read me through, alright Leon?"
"Yes ma'am."
Three bodies lay—one with no head and two other with defective faces. Some officers never witnessed such gruesome scene before so there were quite some chatters. Sure they might had experienced gun-down men, but not this much. Considered them lucky, he thought; no one had to come across this all by themselves.
"Stop!" Leon raised a hand, all the officers froze in place.
Down the gravel and stones, a smooth swipe of plasma under him. Still fresh in red and glistening wet. He looked at it intently. The random marks under his stance.
"Car." He said. "The car, where is it? I've been following its trace down the hill."
"There wasn't no car here, sir."
He shook his head. Unimpressed. "I believe there was a car."
"There was... down the road, but not here. Three of them must've left their car and walked by foot up here."
"I doubt it."
"Sir? Was there any other explanation?"
"You're having one by your foot right now, officer."
He quickly looked down under him, a mark, was left by someone. And a bullet.
"Mind your step at the crime scene, please." Leon demanded. "There must be at least one more witness who drove the car here and left."
This was an only explanation for the tires' tracks that were camouflaged, with real intentions. There must had been a car up here.
"Leon. Cover up." Hunnigan made haste in his earpiece. "Don't waste your time."
"You think there was a car?"
Things were stacked against Leon. As he received instructions in his earpiece, he also had to respond to the police officer who held a notebook and his eagerness in hand, “I suppose so.”
"How do you know?"
"The tracks, you see? It's a very specific set of tires."
"Ah yes. I'll quickly get people look into those." The officer wrote in his note. "I've also noticed some strange details in the bodies. They all had really different kinds of wound."
"—different kinds of wound?"
"I mean... There are ones from the gunshots and... Ones, kind of like big bites..." He said as Leon slowly pulled him to a side. "They look severe— I mean, there wasn't any animal reported around here."
Nodding head as all the information were taking in, not like he didn't know them all already, Leon asked him a rhetorical question, "They look obvious, don't they officer?"
"But... Sorry, sir. I don't get it."
"What do you think?" Leon casually took the notebook away from the officer’s hands and pen, and he tucked it into the back pocket of his jacket. The officer’s hands remained in the air, catching off guard but at the end, he understood his place. With Leon's permission, he then proceeded to continue his deduction.
"It looks like the DSO doctor, your doctor—he's killed by the first three shots in the chest, then two in his head much later on. They're gruesome, the ones to his head——Those bullets must be some monstrous kind."
"Two-shot in the head huh?" It was probably by someone who knows this well enough. He thought. "Did you find both of the bullets?"
"Only this one so far." The officer handed him the pack that stored one of the evidence to that head blowing off.
"Good."
"Sir, what should we tell the press then?" The officer with the badge held on his left chest, the badge of honor right over their heart. He wasn't dumb, or blind. He just knew his spot—not to dive in someone else's business. "What do you need us to do now?"
Leon looked at the scene in front of him, where all the evidence still lay, and the truth were waiting to be revealed. Him now, has the ability to show them the authentic side of a story, unlike before. He actually knew what had happened, and he actually had an answer.
"Make sure nobody else than us know about this, will you?" Leon tapped on his pocket, where he hid the officer's notes.
Three bodies. One truth. His badge felt heavier than ever.
Where did he put all his oath then?
Leon asked stuff, but she didn't answer. She kept herself busy with all the drawers and she needed battery for her flashlight. He just stood right there, in his blue RPD uniform, observed her actions, her movements. In the corner of her eyes, she could see him waiting for her response.
"I didn't catch your name."
Didn't roll her eyes at the implied question, but she wouldn't act on it with even a flinch.
"I'm Leon, Leon Kennedy. And you are?"
No, she wasn't about to give him a name.
"Where are you from? You're not from here right? How did you get here? What brought you?"
She replied with a sigh. Like a broken doll that was tired of being played. Minutes of silence passed by, Leon accepted the brief answer for both needing to head out of the room quick and get going. Things were dark as hell. There were smells of death. It made any existence here felt nauseous.
It was all ambiguous, her believing a rookie cop like Leon could save them from this predicament, while all his supposed senior colleagues were dead, or should she say, becoming the living dead.
"If you tell me. I think I can help you find your family--"
He was hit with another stark silence again, as the drawer closed shut harder than the last.
Leon then joined in with her despite everything—sweeping closets, lockers, doors. Grabbing some pins and batteries, anything useful in sight... First aid kits. Then rustic keys. And maybe, a slight chance of trust.
9:17AM, at the DSO Headquarters parking lot.
Leon's leather boots hit the concrete with a dull thud. He got a call back to the office by Hunnigan. "Urgent." She said, leaving him with nothing but stale information. Where were all the heads-up he was supposed to have?
He took a sharp turn to the rear of his car, in such a hurry he almost missed the sight of it—a maroon sedan parked solemnly under a streetlight. Someone was leaning against its idling hood; their coat collar was turned up just enough to ward off the chill. Leon noticed this because he could immediately read the prominent headline, which splashed across the newspaper they were holding up in front of their face—A devil in disguise? World’s doom, accompanying by a picture of another government’s scientist who failed to keep their mouth shut.
He was tired of dodging all the questions he had to answer. So, a quick way out was his priority. Will it be the end of the world? What kind of response can you give to that?
"It will be all on you, agent Kennedy."
Ingrid Hunnigan, who had just returned from her coffee break, held the cup close to her lips and took a sip. The cup was large and overflowing, as if she had spent the past three days at the screens. Still, she had her eyes gazing at him from the other side of the room. Sharp. The office was dark but Leon could still see everything through. Files and sticky notes. Overviews and details. Every damn thing.
She walked to her desk and took the earpiece off, then in a swift move, typed out something that the giant computer display before them immediately splayed out spreadsheets of this man's curriculum vitae.
"His name is Luther Macallan. A freelancer. Occasionally doing odd jobs here and there. Background check runs showed no interesting sign at all."
"Do we want him to be interesting?"
"Hardly."
"Alright. What is it about him then?"
"He called. Saying he has something in exchange. He will be needing a dose of vaccine with only the payment of a chip."
"I don't think the faculty is that generous. We're on the tight end—"
"He used Roost."
"What?"
"He called me, directly to my personal line, and asked for Roost."
Leon froze.
"Only you got that information from me, Leon."
"I would probably know that."
"Did you leak it somewhere?"
"No."
"Or losing a drinking bet to some douchebag from the HR division?"
"Never happened."
"Well then... He just got more interesting, didn't he?"
Of course. Leon's jaw clenced. Was his phone compromised? He certainly didn’t share that piece of information with anyone he knew, not that his social circle extended beyond the office.
"And he's here, waiting for you." Hunnigan fixed her gaze on the interrogation room.
It was a stark difference from the office. Four bright walls here. Fluorescent lights bounced off cool steel surfaces, reflecting on the one-way glass. The room was as white as it could be. They hit on his eyes. Leon shut the door behind and saw the full look of Luther— aka Mr. Macallan, sitting at the metal table with his tall figure and slump eyebrows. The man sat down and lowered his body to appear less threatening. Hands clasped visibly on the cool surface.
Leon didn't join in yet. He leaned against the chair, hands on the backrest until it creaked.
"Mr. Macallan, heard you have something to give me?"
"Luther's fine. And—yeah, I do."
"You know where you are right now?"
"I'm—"
"Don't take this the wrong way. Most of the guys we bring in here don't realize the consequence of this room."
I've gotten more than experiences. Luther thought to himself. "I'm in your interrogation room. And I'm very well aware of the place I've brought myself in." He decided to be straight-forward. "And for the record, I'm not handcuffed."
Leon gazed at the man like a potential criminal. As a matter of fact, he was not here as a criminal. And Luther wouldn't be taking it personal. He knew the look was meant for the job. After all, he was the kind of guy who took any gigs if it was paid in cash.
Leon finally pulled out his chair to sit down. A tape-recorder along with a stack of files on the table.
"How do you know about Roost?"
"Is it... Actually a codename?"
"Don't play dumb."
"I really didn't know! I just happened to hear about it."
"Who did you get it from?"
"A little bird told me."
Leon stared at him, blank. He cocked his head at the device before him. "If you want to mess around, you can kiss goodbye to that vaccine dose—"
"Alright, alright. A woman told me to write it down along with the phone number. She told me only DSO would solve my case. And, you probably need our intel too."
"Was she your familiar?"
"No. She came up out of nowhere. Terrified me. A fucking menace."
"Describe her then."
"Wouldn't say I saw her face, but the woman wore a red dress."
Leon subconsciously hovered his hand above the recorder’s red button, but he managed to stop himself, slightly shifted in the edge of his seat. On the other side of the table, Luther felt a surge of satisfaction, and relief. She was absolutely right about mentioning the red dress.
"I have a card she left—"
"That won't be necessary." Leon dismissed it, asap. “Let's get to the point. What do you want to talk with me about?"
"Ah." Luther then replied, "I want a trade. A fair trade. I will give you this piece of evidence if you give me a dose of that new vaccine. What's it called? The Anti T-Virus?"
“What on earth did you do? Took a tour around the sewer? Or rolling in rats’ dirt?”
"Everything you want to know, is in here." He took out of his pocket a small USB drive, and put it on the table. "Despite of what you think, I'm a father after all. My son has no one else. Just want to be careful with my life. I believe you would trade a dose for something, like this."
"How are we so sure of that? This might just be anything."
"I was the only witness alive in the incident at the hill today."
Leon paused. Isn't he the actual suspect he was looking for?
The man before him continued, "I have the proof. Something that's going to be very complicated if it got out."
"So you're blackmailing us. Brave move."
"Of course not. I just want to make a deal that works for both of us." Luther poised, he tried to reason his way. "Look, my dashcam had the whole show. It was one of your employees who did this I believe. And he was the reason I'm here. I know you guys are not gonna want this to be in the reporters' hand, or anyone else's with everything that is happening on the News right now. This isn't a good look for our Government, is it?"
"You made a solid point, I would give you that Luther. But no, we have to bring you in for the record."
"Then you get nothing." The drive was immediately ripped off the table by Luther's hand. "This will be out for the world to see. I don't want you all to mess in with my life. I have a kid at home."
"We don't do deals on the what-ifs. This is as far as you can get."
"Come on. You get the evidence, that's what matters! Sure as hell it will be the end of this for me too because—Hoo Ah! It was a nightmare. I won't say a word to nobody."
"And if we still said no?"
"I sell it to the one giving out the best price. Taking longer time and more jobs to do but sure I can still buy the vaccine in some black markets..."
"So you bring it to us, your worst possible choice? There is nothing guarantee you getting out of this unscathed."
"I don't want to make enemies. And I know I won't escape either. Plus, life is as hard as it already was, I gotta live for my boy too. This is a win-win situation."
Leon sat for a second to consider all the pros and cons. Protocols were all in the book and each had to be considered.
"I'm trying every possible way here."
He does seem like he tries. Leon took his observation this far. At last, he spoke into the earpiece, didn't blink twice. "Roost. Get him the dose."
There was a small pause between, but Hunnigan finally replied in a dry tone, "Copy that. Make sure we don't make a habit of this."
"Well, don't want to leave his boy alone."
"Thank you." Luther murmured. Breathed out in relief. "I very much appreciate—"
"Don't be."
"W—!?"
"We don't do charity for nothing. Now give us the drive."
"As soon as the dose is injected, I'll be handing it to you."
The agent gave him a cold stare. So much for asking. But will suffice. He took a hold of the tape-recorder. Ready to finish it off.
"Last question. Did you shoot our scientist in the head?"
"N—" Luther glanced at the tape-recorder in Leon's hand briefly. It was still on, but didn't matter. "No. I didn't shoot anyone."
Leon squinted, finger tapped lightly on the recording machine in a rhythm. It was the end in a click. Turning the machine off, he decided to let this slide. For now.
It was quick. How they came to the conclusion.
Hunnigan was worried that the man would lawyer up soon after couple rounds of the questions. In the end, they were both smart enough—or maybe just one of them. They wouldn't know until the USB drive was in their hands.
"You gave in too easy."
"Didn't I?"
They stood behind a cold glass, watching their main suspect rolling his sleeve up for the prize he'd gotten. The DSO medic was preparing a syringe for the vaccine dose, most of which were only used for agents on the field.
"Did we just waste our vaccine on a mortal?"
She had been complaining about Leon being a wild card with her colleagues—His decisions sometimes didn’t lie within the established protocols but rather his own morals. After all, to make ends meet, he did understand her strict demands, and she tolerated him through all the hardships of his choice.
"At least I gave it to a father." Leon not leaving an eye out of his suspect.
"You trust that too?"
"He went out all this way. Didn't ask for money."
"My opinion stands."
The USB drive was delivered to them in a hard case, sliding across the door's peek, while their man was already on his way out.
As Luther had said before, everything was in it. How the patient 03 and his other friend were brutally killed, and the look of Doctor Stone visibly wearing their agency white coat, paced down the hill in deathly manners. Eyes hollowed. Mouth full with black body fluids. This scene would sell.
And the headshot that followed. It ended there.
"What is this?"
They both glued their eyes to the moving screen in front. Rewind and unwind.
"So who was the actual culprit? Our guy just fell behind that mound right? That musn't be him."
"The shot comes from this way."
"It was really not him. He told the truth. But there were two shots right? Like you said. Where is the second one?" Hunnigan could push the keys for many more times now but it for sure wouldn't turn up.
"For the second fire, the shooter had to come closer to aim at the head because he went down from the first one. That means if the second fire was in the tape, the shooter's identity would be in the picture and got exposed."
"He said on the phone this was the original file."
"This is a cut."
Leon continued,
"High chance a copy we're having, I'm sure our guy Luther didn't even know that, but he definitely lied about not knowing who pulled the trigger on Doctor Stone. Twice. We have just gained ourselves one more prime witness." Analyzing the issue step by step, he then turned to the blank canvas of Hunnigan's notice board. Eyes froze there. Something had just struck him in the brain.
"Where are you going Leon!?"
He ran. Doors swung behind. In his head were all the evidences sewed together. Each by each. The mysterious car. The specific tires' track. The red soil still stuck under his boots. So were the shoes' sole at the crime scene. The bullet cartridge that he knew, by heart. All without cover-up. All connected together like a man-made pattern. And appeared right before him. Here.
Drizzle started to appear in the air. Sky was gray. The parking lot's concrete slowly darkened. The moment Leon hit his elbow to the very last door on his way out and passed the exit ramp, he could finally see the shadow of that maroon car again—the blood-soaked Jaguar sedan.
She unbuttoned her coat and lightly brushed over the shoulders, pulling her Koss headphones up to her ears again. And the collar against the light rain's breeze. Newspaper already wet on the ground.
"Stop right there!" Leon shouted.
Once Luther got in the car, she was already on the other side opening the passenger's door. Seven strides wouldn't take Leon there.
"Stop! I know you!"
Before he could tap on the rear window with his hand, the Jaguar accelerated. He only caught a glimpse of that posture in the back seat, through the rain-streaked glass, that he knew.
Her.
He swore on his life,
He swore on his life that he would never let it happen again. That one time, he had to look someone in the eyes and do nothing to help them.
Even if they asked him not to.
As they were pacing, the locker that's been held up by a load of wooden blocks and metal pipes fell down the ground. The clash of the cymbals reverberated through the long hall, causing all ends to tremble.
Two of them froze in space.
Leon heard a groan. His eyes like sirens in the dark.
"This is not good." It was not.
A gigantic zombie dropped down from the ceiling. Leon jumped off of the ground. It was tall. Huge. Towering them both.
"Shit!" He screamed, as he quickly drew his gun up. His face turned gray. "Stay back or I'll shoot!"
The zombie still sprinted at them. It obviously wouldn't stop with all the cursing Leon did. To how quick he got in position and then, pulled the trigger, nothing came out. Pitifully.
"Damn it!... We have to run!"
Leon turned to pull her up from the ground, gripped to the base of her upper arm.
"Run!" Leon shouted again. Hoarseness in his throat.
Running fast down the hall, the mix of loud grumbles and groans, with the frantic steps they had drove the beasts outside to the brink of insanity. They smashed their fists against the glass windows with greater force. Wilder and madder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Smashing concrete. Breaking door hinges.
A loud bang striked. The fragile shield shattered once again on a broken window. It felt like something just blew up the wall right next to them. Like a lethal bullet piercing through it. The blow made them jolted right back. Covered their ears. Trenches had fallen. Rotten arms reached in between the wood plates. Leon saw her face going blank, she was overwhelmed by the chaos. Knees and hands buckled. She fell into the wrecked pieces on the floor before he could turn around to see. Whole body's nerves just been told to give up.
She froze on the floor and that dead man walking was gonna grab her for good.
Damn it!
With no hesitation, Leon sprinted at the zombie in a lighting strike. He wasn't gonna stand by and watch. Not now, not ever. Using all his strength to launch his whole body, he fell over behind. The zombie was enormous, resembling nothing more than a grotesque mass of flesh. Its skin stretched over muscles like wet tarp, and it blocked a whole navy hall as Leon felt the ceiling scrapped on the armory in his back. Shoulders scratched on pipes. He was going to be crushed beneath a pile of decay.
At that moment, his knife holster's tapped. He was reminded of his duty, and he was reminded of his aliveness—the Lieutenant's knife he had in possession. Swiftly then, he pulled out the weapon and stabbed the zombie straight into its neck. The monster, immediately caught off guard, limped back, letting out a deafening groan that could be heard in all RPD's nooks and crannies.
All at once with no fear in his piece of mind. He knew everything was all on him. His job. He thought he could die for it.
"Kennedy!"
He heard her. She suddenly screamed for him, out of fear for her life or in deep concern that her only saviour was being torn apart by the monster before her eyes, Leon didn't know, but neither happened. In the rushed heat, she suddenly tossed towards him a full-loaded magazine, which landed right next to his hand. He glanced back, checking on her with gracefulness, then reloaded his gun sharp. It was all in a matter of seconds.
One. The zombie growled in pain.
Two. Its head exploded.
Leon finally shot down the zombie. Its vital blew off. Blood spilled. Grimy and black.
"Jesus!" He said. Drops of sweat started to appear on his temple. "This guy really got me." Or all over his body, because he felt soaked.
Thump. Thump.
Thump. Thump.
The 15-minute-newly-dressed-ago cop, exhausted by his first mission to serve and to save, flopped his tired body down the dirty tiles. Breaths hitched. He reckoned she could hear his heart beating from here. Thumping. Thundering. Because it was that loud. Both sat flat on that mess of a scene, with broken glass, dusty air, blood-stained attires, running their lungs out.
Leon turned around and expected she would glance at him with rage or she would keep her silence intact as he guessed. It was how she had been all this time. But no. Never in his mind imagining this, her, whimpering quietly on the pile of glass, by herself, keeping it down low. Leon heard her small sobs lingering deep within her, then gradually broke as the stillness of night couldn't quite hide it very well.
"No, it's okay. Hey. Alright? You are doing fine." He came over to comfort her.
Terrified she was, not even had mind to care for any cuts or wounds on herself, she didn't feel hurt. She's just scared. Her heart beat inside the chest as if the marathon didn't end minutes ago. Maybe she had too much. Maybe it would end here. She closed her eyes, tried to balance it out.
"We're safe. See? We didn't die."
Leon gave her a light squeeze on the shoulders. Maybe he genuinely cares, perhaps. He checked on her knees and palm of her hands. To see if there was any deep cuts.
"A--are you okay? Any wounds? Or cuts? You hurt?"
She shook her head. "No." Swallowed her terror in.
"Then you're okay."
Through his ensurement, she finally took a good glance at the guy who was supposed to be her hero, with the neck that was nearly potentially chewed off in front of her. He had torn and dirty uniform, soaking in fluids. He almost died, but he was okay, she guessed. Probably exhausted from fighting for his life seconds ago, but he still had his eyes bright. And blue. Face adorned with some new bruises, and a stupid I'm-all-good smile. That, she knew for sure, he was trying his best to portray.
She looked at him once more, with a newfound sense of trust.
"Hey, we are close now."
He said. Someone else's blood dripped down his shirt collar. He was looking at her too.
She peered at Leon from the other side of the room—the exact look he had always seen her in; stark silence but with intent. Her voice was torn between being grateful, and questioning his choice as she usually did. Was it a brief 'thanks' or a 'why would you do that?' without regards?
Leon took his time, as he understood silence had its own meaning. Especially to her. He looked at her the way she would, so he could let her own thoughts sinking in deeper, giving her the weight of his decision, and the power of his willingness.
The city lights lit them blues brighter, and stronger in the dimmed apartment—his eyes. And in the quietness, she could hear the faint noise of stuffed traffic happening down 21 storey, and the slow breathing of both of them in the room. As they are alive, as they are living. Feet touching the ground. And so close.
“Thank you,” she said, sincerely, as if all her armor were stripped away. But it would feel so rare like she didn't ever said that to him before, when he had saved her life once more.
