“I throw myself into you.” Multifandom blog. Writing-exclusive blog on: incandescent-liberator, Ao3: loveiscosmicsin, Twitter: @loveiscosmicsin Header GIF by harmonization. Valeveira PFP by @annaoi
In honor of the upcoming Veronica game, just gotta color Claire in that boss fight from RE2r where I died too many times lol. Claire and the gatling gun (mini gun) will never not be cool. She has the most awesome guns in the game imo. Also, was practicing coloring because I'm rusty and I plan to color the next comic.
I realized I made enough fan comics to make this masterpost. Believe me, I didn't plan to make this much, I'm just going along my feels for this man lol.
Aaaaaand the title card for this Resident Evil game appears on screen. (Dunno the title for this game though... Resident Evil: White Out? RE: Frozen... something? RE: Continuum? LOL)
Just wanted to create another Jill and Leon story.
Special thanks to @loveiscosmicsin and @theycallmedarling for correcting my horrible English once again. Gifting you once again with some Jarlos.
This stemmed from my desire to see a Leon and Jill team up in Requiem. 'Coz Jill deserves to be kicking butt with Leon (along with Claire, but I'm too in a rush to add more characters in this comic). I headcanon that Leon and Jill have a sibling dynamic with Jill lightly bullying him at times lol.
Special thanks to @theycallmedarling for the proofread and to @loveiscosmicsin for the support! Also I made this more Jarlos for you guys hehe.
i'm not used to him looking straight at the camera, and something about that makes me feral because look at him 😭
like the cutscenes he's in are filmed like movies so he obviously can't look at the camera, but then we don't see him outside of that because he's not an actor who does interviews or photoshoots, he's just a pixelated lil guy 🥺
Headcanon: Leon used to play basketball in the academy. He stopped or didn't get a chance to play ball again after the Raccoon City incident. Even though he was forced into the special agent training, he came to like mixed martial arts. By Requiem's time, he found himself liking rifling just to blow off steam most of the time. He can shoot those flying ceramic plates no problem obviously.
After Leon gave Elpis to his friends. Chris is too busy to join this chat unfortunately. They're all older here so I had to give them slightly different hair.
Just now noticing this angle of Leon during the Emily scene, facing Grace’s reaction after pulling the trigger, and the tears in his eyes did something to me.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Published: 2026-04-25, Completed: 2026-04-25, Words: 7,334, Chapters: 2/2
Notes: Because @annaoi told me about the movie No Time to Die (2021) in how similar the virus in that was like to Resident Evil, I had to watch it and felt inspired to try writing out action scenes and I've watched that particular scene to get a sense of it and how a civilian with only two months of training and one survived outbreak under her belt would adapt and Leon not leaving her completely on her own.
Leon met his wife first during an outbreak incident in which Daniela was a survivor and he was called in to contain the outbreak. They spent time together during mandated quarantine before his work made him lose touch with her. Where it would be statistically small to have a second in-person meeting in another country, only to be in another incident.
Summary: Leon meets a familiar face again during an undercover operation in Havana, where a chance reunion quickly escalated to chaos.
Chapter 1
Havana, Cuba
“Kennedy on station.” Leon Kennedy announced on the radio, finger on the concealed jewel in his left ear.
“Hunnigan here,” Ingrid Hunnigan’s voice chimed in. “What's your sitrep?”
“Our resident bioweapons terrorist - The Butterfly Man,” Leon reported as he deftly dodged out of the way of a passing car. “It’s likely he’s in The El Nido Bar.”
A pause on the line.
“Our intel was correct, then. Excellent work.”
“I’ve been tipped off that there might be other persons of interest present. Dunno how much water that holds.”
“Understood,” Hunnigan replied, tapping of keys followed the confirmation. “We’ll verify as you go. Ignore all distractions—focus on the target. Proceed with caution.”
“Yeah,” Leon said, under his breath. “I’ll pencil it in after ‘don’t get shot’.”
Another pause—lighter this time, almost imperceptible.
“Keep your nose to the grindstone and stay by the book, Leon.”
“No promises.”
The line clicked off.
Havana – the capital of Cuba, the City of Columns.
Leon had read that in a travel brochure that was tucked in the mission dossier. He stood beneath a skyline where time seemed to fold in itself and the abundance of vibrant buildings and pillars stretched as far as the eye could see. The air was thick with humidity, salt, and smoke that permeated through his clothes. The nightlife vibrated with boundless energy and activity.
But Leon wasn’t here to partake in the grand sights and tourist traps. He had his eyes set on the neon sign that read: The El Nido Bar. He was to traverse in the lion’s den and move swiftly to complete the objective before razor sharp teeth sought him out.
The assignment was clear: Infiltrate The El Nido Bar for covert extraction of the target The Butterfly Man. The Butterfly Man was reported to have plans to unleash a new virus strain at tonight’s event. Leon would be going in alone and was ordered not to engage with any members affiliated to The Connections.
Why the government would want to acquire a terrorist instead of eliminating him went beyond rational thought. He usually went after terrorists with ties to The Connections to eliminate potential threats, not to detain.
Leon had to wear a three-piece suit – slim, precise, cut to move without ever looking like it could. Narrow notch lapels. Black tie cinched just tight enough to feel like a restraint. Black Oxford shoes polished to a mirror shine that didn’t belong to him. Even with the bulletproof vest tailored seamlessly beneath the fabric, covering vital areas of the body, save for the head and lower body, he felt exposed. Clothes like these weren’t made for survival. They were made for appearances – for rooms where danger smiled, shook his hand, and waited for him to slip.
The music inside was swelled warmer than the streets outside. Slow, layered, the kind of sound that encouraged people to chance entering a new world and forget why they came.
Movement caught the corner of his eye. A woman in a midnight blue backless gown with a high slit up her thighs sat alone at the bar with a near empty highball glass for company. An unusual sight given that other attendees were either partnered up or linked up in their social circles engaged in boisterous conversation. He stuck out like a sore thumb if he didn’t blend in with the environment himself.
Leon took the empty seat at the woman’s right and summoned the bartender’s attention. “Can I get a bourbon on the rocks?” Thanking the bartender, he glanced at the woman next to him, her straw was caught between her teeth as she stared at him, unblinking. When their eyes met, she quickly looked away and drained the rest of the cocktail.
He took this chance to study her profile. Warm, olive complexion. Subtle speckled freckles across a delicate, but sharp nose. Long dark lashes casted soft shadows on her cheeks as she kept her eyes fixed on the empty glass. The way she tucked her wavy shoulder-length hair behind her ear strummed a chord in him, even as her hand lingered for a moment longer before dropping it. He had run the exact movement in his head a thousand times, only for the connection to slip further from his reach.
“Excuse me.”
The woman’s soulful, dark brown eyes, complimented by her smoky eyeshadow, were on him again, wide-eyed, the soft overhead light illuminating the golden honey flecks in her irises as they swept over his face. People who asserted brown eyes were boring had never seen them close enough to appreciate their true beauty. He found himself riveted to the spot and momentarily speechless.
“Um… I think I know your face from somewhere,” he disclosed his observation, the purpose of calling her attention nearly slipped his mind. Though he wasn’t blind or foolish to dismiss that she’s an attractive woman, the comment wasn’t a lazy pickup line and hoped that it wouldn’t be misconstrued as one.
The woman frowned, but didn’t speak a word. It had occurred to Leon that she may not be fluent in English.
"¿Te conozco de algún sitio?" (Do I know you from somewhere?) Leon asked.
The woman nodded and leaned on her hand, raising an eyebrow. "Sí. ¿No te acuerdas de mí?" (Yes, you don't remember me?)
"Uhh..." Taken aback by the woman’s proficiency and dialect, Leon struggled to summon the words to respond appropriately and formally. It’s been a while since he’s held a conversation in Spanish, having kept verbal communication sparse and direct with the locals.
"Leon,” she said, throwing him a lifeline. “It's me." A smile formed on her wine red lips as her side-swept fringe fell forward. “You still owe me a pudding cup for my blackjack win."
The weeks they spent together in quarantine. The night they met during the outbreak. That was a little over two months ago. Only one woman would place bets on the one hot commodity in an overall unappetizing menu and kept him from losing his mind during mandated captivity.
“Daniela?”
Daniela Moretti beamed at him. "I haven't been 'out of sight, out of mind' yet? Incredible."
Leon chuckled, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s just that you…”
The last he saw of her she was dressed modestly and the time before that, bloody and torn fatigues, exhaustion carved in her features.
“...look different,” he finished the thought.
The gown she wore had a plunging V neckline in the front that accentuated her svelte form. Brilliant diamonds glittered around her wrist, neck, and ears, completing the sophisticated and elegant look. More suited for the red carpet than a dilapidated establishment. A different life layered over the same person.
“Nice…” He gestured vaguely at her, the dress, the sheer improbability of reuniting under this circumstance and at this inopportune timing of it. Clearing his throat, his eyes snapped back to her face determinedly. “Hair,” he observed, quickly. “You cut your hair.”
“I did.” The young woman wrapped a lock of dark brown hair around her finger. The length used to be past her shoulder blades. She appraised him with an appreciative look. "You look incredibly sharp. That jacket fits your shoulders perfectly.”
The bartender returned with Leon’s order. Leon was to voice his gratitude before the sound of shattering glass alerted him. Though he didn’t turn to look, his hand had already moved to his concealed firearm. It took some restraint to regain his composure and focus back on the woman next to him.
“It’s not a pudding cup, but let me get you another drink?” After gaining her approval, he flagged down the bartender again. “She’ll have a…”
“Mentirita,” she answered.
“What should we toast to?” Leon asked, raising his glass when the bartender returned with Daniela’s drink.
“Chance encounters, perhaps,” Daniela replied, mirroring him and meeting his eyes.
“To chance encounters. May we look forward with happiness, and backward without regret.”
“¡Salud!” They chorused, clinking glasses.
Instead of drinking, Leon placed the glass on the counter where it would remain untouched. “First time here, or do you always pick places like this?”
“It’s my first time, actually,” she said after taking a sip of the caramel-colored spirit. “I was attending an education conference at the Palacio de Convenciones for networking and workshops. Now that’s over, I'm looking for a more off-the-beaten-path experience and soak up the atmosphere. Let my feet decide.”
"Did you come with a group, or are you flying solo?"
"Just me, the best company I know,” she answered with a laugh, adding, “Until you showed up. Second best company I know.”
The DSO agent’s hand, resting on the table tightened into a white-knuckled fist. The air seemed to vanish from his lungs. Of all nights, she had to be here. A university professor, a civilian at that, was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time just two months ago… She’s a magnet for danger, whether she knew it or not. And this was coming from someone whose career was marked by danger and exposed him to relentless life-or-death situations and extreme stress.
He almost told her to leave. Nearly told her everything. He couldn’t risk her being placed under the government’s custody again for getting involved. “Let’s call it a night here.”
“That’s it?” Daniela asked, stupefied by the sudden shift of attitude. “I thought we were just getting started.”
“So did I.” The words came out lower than he intended.
He reached into his pocket, setting a wad of Cuban pesos on the counter, then held out a few bills toward her.
“Get back safe,” he said. A beat. “Text me when you do.”
“Hold it.”
He didn’t get far when she slipped her hand around his arm like it had always belonged there.
“I had my suspicions, but you just confirmed it,” Daniela’s voice was breathy as she searched his face, gripping her velvet clutch bag. “You’re not here for pleasure.” Leon’s impassive expression should have been an indicator for her to cease conversation, but it only emboldened her. “Wouldn’t having a companion be more convincing for your cover?”
“A companion? Didn’t you come in alone?”
“Not anymore,” Daniela said smoothly, her grip tightening just enough to hint at her enlistment. “Besides, men like you don’t come to places like this without a reason.”
Leon’s gaze flicked briefly to her hand on his arm, then back to her face. “You seem very sure of yourself.”
“I have to be.” She jutted out her chin, a faint smile playing at her lips. “It’s how I stay alive.”
That, at least, earned a pause.
The music swelled around them—something low and decadent, strings layered over a pulsing beat—and for a moment they stood too still in a room designed for movement. Leon exhaled quietly, a calculated breath.
“You don’t know anything about me,” he said.
They may have been tied to an incident that was no fault of her own. Keeping her at arm’s length would prevent getting her dragged in another. Three weeks under quarantine was not enough to exchange lengthy narratives, but he cannot deny that he felt a connection with her.
The same stubborn resolve she demonstrated that night burned bright before him. She wasn’t budging no matter what command he issued. Her words when she shot down his self-sacrificing plan still echoed with him to this day.
“No,” Daniela admitted. “But I know what you aren’t.” Her eyes flicked past him, toward the entrance and winding corridors. “You’ve been watching the exits since you walked in. You didn’t touch your drink. And you flinched when that man dropped his glass.” She surmised her deductions, “You’re hard at work.”
Leon’s jaw tightened—barely, but enough.
“And you,” he said, voice lowering, “are either very perceptive… or very reckless.”
“Why not both?”
A corner of his mouth almost moved—almost.
Among the costumed dancers, servers, and celebrants, there was no distinguishing who and how many of their numbers were enemies or civilians. Everyone in attendance was agog with excitement for the main event that was to come and with his instinct and experience weighing in, he couldn’t afford further distractions.
“Fine,” he said, at last. “Walk with me.”
Daniela didn’t hesitate. “So glad that we’ve come to an agreement.”
“Don’t misunderstand,” Leon replied. “If this goes south, you’re on your own.” But there was no weight to his words at this point.
She leaned in slightly, her voice brushing his ear as she shoved the bills in his breast pocket. “If it does, you’ll be glad I’m not.”
Together, the DSO agent and the university professor entered the ballroom, carried forward by the tide of well-dressed bodies. White dual staircases on either side and a center stage where a band played greeted them.
“Stay close to me,” Leon murmured, constantly surveying the cluster of people, potential exits, and any signs of disruption.
“Anyone we’re looking for?” Daniela asked, keeping her tone light though her eyes mirrored his vigilance.
“Not yet,” Leon said. “Right now, we’re just another pair at a party.”
“We’re doing a great job of that.” She affirmed after receiving some admiring glances pointed at their direction, nothing warranting alarm or suspicion.
“Keep it up.”
An amorous couple passed too close, laughter jubilant and careless of their surroundings, and Daniela instinctively stepped closer to Leon. His hand hovered briefly at the small of her back, not quite touching, but close enough to intervene if he needed to. When his eyes met hers, she gave him a nod and he lowered his hand.
“We have to get closer,” Leon said quietly, his attention already moving past her, toward the surge of bodies gathering near the dance floor. From there, he’d have a clear line of sight to the upper balcony—where the real movement in the room was beginning to concentrat
Daniela followed his gaze. “You think your person’s up there?”
“I think someone is,” he said. From high up, the enemy could simply look down. “I don’t like crowds I can’t read.”
“You two about to start dancing?” The voice came from their left. A man in an expensive white suit leaned against a pillar nursing a champagne flute in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. Black shades obscured his eyes, but his posture carried an easy, practiced confidence.
Case in point, he thought.
Daniela’s attention snapped to the mystery man, surprised.
“I’m still working up the courage to ask her,” Leon answered effortlessly as he schooled his face.
“Still, you should do it while you can.” Amused, the well-dressed man affably lifted his glass to them. “None of us are promised tomorrow.” He nodded in Daniela’s direction. “She’s not going to wait all night, you know. Fetching woman like her? She’ll have options.”
“I’m sure I would,” Daniela interjected smoothly before Leon could speak. On the surface, she was smiling, but her words had a honed razor sharp edge to them. “if I were collecting them.” A casual toss of hair that didn’t soften her stance so much as underline it. She deliberately glanced at Leon before settling on the man in white. “But I’ve already got my choice for tonight.”
The man in white held her gaze for a moment, unhurried as he took a slow drag of his cigarette. Plumes of smoke curled from his lips as he spoke, “Fair enough.” He flicked the cigarette away and snuffed it out with his boot. He was already turning away from the two as the conversation naturally ran its course. He didn’t look back as he vanished into the crowd in the opposite direction, whatever interest he had waned and he decidedly moved on.
“Who… was that?” Daniela asked, looking visibly perturbed. The fiery bravado was gone as if the man in white stole it with his departure. “Something about him made my skin crawl.”
“I don’t know,” he said, finding no comfort in it or being in a position to offer any to her. He couldn’t catch a glimpse of white in the crowd he disappeared into. Too many bodies and blind spots. More than he hoped to account for and predict movements. “And that’s the problem.”
The man in white had positioned himself by that pillar and intended to speak with them. That was no random encounter. Whatever he was aiming to achieve here, he walked away like he succeeded.
Leon didn’t like that.
He certainly didn’t like the man’s keen interest in Daniela either.
He looked at her, saw her trembling, shoulders tight, and staring outward.
“Hey, Dani…” He gently squeezed her shoulder, his deep voice had dropped by a fraction. The nickname had slipped out unceremoniously, unbidden. “Stick close to me.”
“Dani?” Daniela’s breath caught in her throat as she softly echoed the nickname. “That’s new.” A flicker of a smile formed on her lips. “But I don’t hate it.”
Then as if they had always been doing it, she followed him to wherever the night took them.
“Now that’s a sight you don’t see everyday.”
Leon watched three goons move through the corridor like they were escorting royalty— matching black suits with bowties, rigid posture, and a level of seriousness that didn’t match the absurdity of what they were escorting.
The goon in the middle carried a velvet pillow with reverent care and mounted on it sat a metallic, iris-like device. It rotated slightly and blinked as if it was cognizant of everything that went on in the building. Images recorded by it must be transmitted to the ones operating it.
“Nothing says top-tier security like a sentient Magic 8-Ball with trust issues.” Leon muttered under his breath.
The eye shifted toward them in passing.
“Did it… just wink at us?” Daniela blurted out.
Leon’s mouth twitched, already halfway to a smirk. “Yeah,” he said dryly, coping with foreboding situations the best way he could. “Pretty sure that means it likes you.”
Daniela shot him a look, equal parts horrified and offended. “Leon.”
“What?” He shrugged, glancing back at the thing as it emitted another faint whine and swivel. “I’ve had worse first impressions.”
“It doesn’t have an eyelid,” she insisted, gesturing sharply at the pillow like that alone to justify her bewilderment. “It shouldn’t be able to wink.”
“Tell that to it,” Leon replied. “I’m not getting into an argument with something that clearly has its eye on you.”
She stared at him for a long moment before letting out a disbelieving groan, crossing her arms. “You’re insufferable.”
“Hey, if it starts flirting, I’ll step in.”
Daniela laughed. “I’m not sure if that’s something I want to see, but that’s somewhat… reassuring.”
The melodies produced by the live band wrapped itself around the room, not so much as demanding as completing it. Spellbound patrons danced as though their hearts were ensnared by the rhythm. One misstep here would disrupt the trance. Arm on arm, Leon and Daniela unremarkably weaved through couples and servers to maintain distance from the metallic eyeball’s devoted entourage slowly nearing center stage. The songstress’s lyrics dreamily drifted, settling into the spaces between heartbeats.
¿Dónde, dónde estabas tú?
¿Dónde, dónde estabas tú?
¿Dónde, dónde estabas tú?
¿Dónde?
Leon pressed a finger on his earpiece. “You read me, Hunnigan?”
“Loud and clear.”
“They’re wearing earpieces. Any chance that you can intercept?”
“Scanning.”
Static flooded his ear, laughter, fragmented conversations, and various voices bleeding into each other. Then, the audio recalibrated itself to reveal something bizarre and ominous.
“It’ll be all clear. It’ll be flawless. It’s pure. It’s as pure as it can be, pure as the driven snow. Make your way. Follow the music.”
Leon’s steps slowed then halted. Daniela, who wasn’t privy to the contents of the radio transmission, was perplexed by the disconcerted expression on his face. She could only stand helplessly as Leon continued to be pulled in where she could not follow.
“Feel my warm embrace. Experience a delicious surprise. Let us shepherd humanity with our new power. I’m here. Fulfill your destiny, and all will be forgiven.”
Leon advanced toward the stage where the eyeball throw pillow retinue awaited, standing at attention. Daniela took a step toward him, but Leon held out his hand. The woman remained in place by the column, her wide eyes pleading, but he had no words of conciliation. The madness mantra continued to accompany his strides.
“But I see you from my little eye and my little eye says hi. Now, see, now, we emerge from the shadows… as gods on Mount Olympus. Calling you forth for oblivion.”
Other patrons surrounded the stage, no longer engaged in dance or socialization when Leon stood among them.
“Here’s to the end of our pariah. Oh, my burden, my brother…
“Leon S. Kennedy.”
The music ended abruptly and the lights in the room dimmed, replaced by rays of spotlight darting around to dramatically land on him. People who were at his side previously took several steps back to bear witness to the agent’s trial. The exalted eyeball loomed above all, serving as judge, jury, and executioner. The voice continued to taunt him.
“Goodbye, Leon.
“You can’t run. It’s too late.”
The press of a button activated the trap above.
Gas deployed from hidden vents, thin at first, then spreading, curling downward like something alive.
“It’s already crawling under your skin,” the voice crooned. “So delicious. So intoxicating.”
At first, no one reacted. Silence so deafening that a pin dropping couldn’t fracture it. Then a cry of alarm rang out. Leon spun on his heel to see that a portly man had fallen, excruciating and festering lesions had developed on his face – the light in his eyes gone.
An elderly woman, shards of glass at her feet, raked her nails at her neck raw as if an unknown force seized her by the throat before she, too, succumbed to the man-made affliction – dead before she hit the ground.
The gas thickened, seeping into the ballroom occupants’ lungs before they realized what was happening to them. And for those around them, unaffected by the bioweapon, petrified of the invasive threat that had no scent or color to warn them, only people seizing, clawing at their throats, and matching facial abscesses. Patrons around Leon folded and collapsed in a macabre display of tangled limbs and gaping mouths from futile efforts to draw breath in their failing bodies.
Confusion then erupted into mass hysteria as more people convulsed and crumbled. Those left standing sprinted for the exits, staggering over or mourning the dead. The distribution of gas showed no signs of cessation.
It could be too late for him, but—
Leon turned, searching through the chaos and found her where he left her, a hand braced over her mouth and nose and rooted in place. “Dani!” He bellowed, rough and commanding. “Get out of here!”
Daniela didn’t move. She swayed slightly as bodies rushed past her, but her eyes stayed locked on Leon, as if nothing else existed in the room.
“Move!”
Someone lunged out blindly from behind and slammed hard into Leon’s back. The half-collapsed table absorbed most of the impact when he tried to catch himself, forcing him down on a knee and sucking in a breath.
“Leon!”
She cut through the falling bodies, seemingly unaffected by the increasing volume of gas as she ran towards him. She reached for him as he tried to push himself up, her hand caught his arm.
“Up,” she commanded, voice sounding exerted but constant.
Leon chortled sardonically as he rose to his feet. “You really don’t listen, do you?”
“Save it,” she snapped.
Together, they made their retreat outside the ballroom.
Leon staggered away from Daniela’s grip and braced himself against the wall.
Daniela stood a few feet away, hands on her knees, catching her breath.
Their eyes met with unspoken solemnity. Waiting for the gas to finish what it started. The modulated voice Leon picked up confirmed that there were no safeguards to its invasive nature, breathing in or not. Exposure was inevitable. The effects were immediate, but still…
Leon’s throat worked once, twice. He dared to draw a breath, testing his lungs. His heart hammered against his palm, spiked due to adrenaline but steady.
Daniela’s posture straightened as she touched her cheek, retrieving a compact mirror from her clutch and scanned her reflection with clinical focus. No blisters or oozing abrasions.
After what felt like an eternity, they were still standing.
“You feel anything?” Leon asked, cautiously, finding his face to be clammy, but not inflamed.
“No,” she answered, snapping her compact shut and shook her head. “I thought–” She didn’t finish the thought, but he understood what she meant.
“We should be on the floor…”
“Yeah, we really should. Why?”
A somewhat theatrical and smooth voice answered Daniela’s question: “You weren’t the virus’s intended targets.”
As if he manifested from smoke, Vincent Vogler, also known as The Butterfly Man, stood at the end of the corridor, detached from the chaos he personally engineered and unleashed. There was no mistaking the profile from what Leon had reviewed on the dossier. He carried a titanium suitcase, but was otherwise unarmed. Looks could be deceiving.
“Leon Kennedy. I knew you’d come for me. Ah, how long have I waited for this most auspicious day…?” The Butterfly Man approached them as if he were caught in the middle of a leisurely stroll. He turned to Daniela as though he just noticed her presence. “I don’t know who you are, madam, but I know what you’re not. The absence of a certain marker in your DNA allowed you to come out unscathed.”
“What do you mean by that?” Daniela asked.
“The Connections knew you were coming, Mr. Kennedy, but my modifications threw the spanner in the works.”
Leon took a half-step and stood in front of Daniela. A tailored pathogen for The Connections. DSO operatives had their hands on outdated or incomplete intel for who knew how long. He couldn’t prevent the catastrophe. No matter the intended target, mass murder wasn’t justice. Be it that they share a common foe, for the moment, a man like that could easily turn the virus on them if it pleased him.
“So, you dismantled an entire syndicate in one fell swoop.”
“No, not all of them,” the bioterrorist’s face twisted with silent wrath, sounding deathly calm. “There are those who still live. My only regret.”
Horrified, Daniela’s voice came out in a whisper. “Why did you go this far?”
“It’s personal,” the bioterrorist tilted his head slightly. “And I prayed that it left a mark they cannot ignore for what they stole from me.”
“Enough,” Leon drew his firearm out in one smooth motion, leveling it at The Butterfly Man’s chest. He had it with the bioterrorist’s justifications that fit neatly with his own agenda. Orders be damned. “What’s in the suitcase?”
“My life’s work. It would be a shame if it fell into the wrong hands.” The bioterrorist pulled at an oily lock of red-violet hair. “My gift to the DSO when they receive me.”
“You flooded a room to make a point,” Leon said. “I don’t see the upside in keeping you breathing.”
“You would shoot an unarmed person?” The question was deliberate and meant to provoke. The bioterrorist showed no fear of death. In fact, he sounded… disappointed.
“No,” Leon said, unflinchingly. “But don’t confuse unarmed with harmless.”
"¡Atrápenlo!" (Get him!) A voice cracked from above.
Two gunshots rang out and neither of them came from Leon’s Sentinel Nine.
-
An armed combatant tumbled down the stairs when bullets pierced through flesh.
Smoke curled from Daniela’s pistol as she held her aim a second longer, just to be sure. It didn’t look like a friend of Leon’s.
Leon’s attention snapped to her, like he meant to ask what she had done.
But there was no time.
He pivoted instead, firing over her shoulder and shot another combatant descending the parallel staircase.
At the same time, Daniela reacted late—half a beat behind—then corrected, raising her weapon and firing down the opposite corridor.
Leon strode toward the avowed, eccentric mass murderer—who had fallen on his backside—and hefted him upright by the arm and shoved him forward. “Move.”
The three turned the corner and spilled into the foyer.
Gunfire met them instantly.
Leon dropped into motion without hesitation, neutralized two targets at the entrance and another near a parked vehicle outside the bar. Daniela fired from cover as they retreated behind a banister, returning fire down the corridor they had just come from.
“Is that what they teach in school these days?” the DSO agent muttered, brushing himself off as though the situation were merely inconvenient.
“I’ve had two months of training,” Daniela said between breaths, forcing her hands steady as she reloaded. Her movements were precise, but rigid, like she was recalling steps rather than instinctively maneuvering them. “Just in case.”
Leon glanced at her briefly. “Perfect,” he said. “Now I can be impressed and concerned at the same time.”
Daniela stuck her head out. “It’s clear.”
She confirmed the absence of threats in the room, but couldn’t have accounted when the skylight exploded around them.
Leon’s arm met her shoulders, dragging her down as glass and debris rained from above.
For a split second, Daniela froze. Then she sucked in a breath, tightened her grip, and rose back to her feet.
The bioterrorist and his suitcase were gone. Leon’s sharp gaze zoned in on the shattered skylight.
But now wasn’t the time to lament over stolen targets.
Gunfire resumed and Daniela dove back hard behind the banister. “You need him, don’t you?” She huffed, air blowing back at the fringe framing her face. “Go—I’ll try to cover you.”
Leon picked off anything that moved in Daniela’s blind spots while she focused on the mouth of the foyer. Her pistol clicked empty and she hadn’t another clip to reload. He snatched up the submachine gun, checked the magazine by instinct, then turned and tossed it toward her.
Daniela fumbled the catch, barely keeping hold of the unfamiliar weight. Heavier than she expected.
“Short bursts,” he instructed. “Don’t hold the trigger.”
She adjusted her grip, then corrected herself. Her breath catching as she forced her finger off the trigger. “Short bursts…” This was an entirely different feeling than desperate swings and improvised throwing of random projectiles.
She risked a glance up the staircase as Leon vaulted the railing, already in pursuit for the bioterrorist. “Be careful,” she muttered under her breath.
-
Leon burst onto the rooftop, dress shoes skidding against gravel as he locked onto the fleeing figure ahead—a mercenary in black, hauling the bioterrorist with her.
A grappling hook fired with a sharp metallic snap, the line going taut as it caught the edge of the adjacent building. In one fluid motion, she clipped in and launched herself—and her captive—into the air.
Leon raised his weapon.
One shot.
The cable snapped.
Momentum propelled them forward—but not far enough.
The mercenary and the bioterrorist slammed hard against the building’s edge, fingers scrambling for purchase before both dropped out of sight.
Leon hit the edge of the rooftop and stopped short.
Too far. No way across.
Gunfire ripped past him from below and behind—The Connections’ hired guns, spraying the rooftops without discrimination. The mercenary threw the bioterrorist behind cover and returned fire.
Leon fired at the nearest gunman, forcing him back as rounds sparked against the railing.
Another closed in from the side.
Leon stepped into him, grabbed the rifle, and wrenched it free. The man staggered—Leon drove him back into the balcony.
Wood cracked under the impact.
-
Daniela held down the trigger. Once, twice.
Click. Click.
Her pulse hammered in her ears.
“No, no, no—” Frowning, she shook the gun and slapped at the receiver as if that would magically change the reality of the situation. She was out of ammo.
Repeated cracks of gunshots echoed from a distance, but not for her location. Unless her hearing betrayed her, the commotion sounded like they were coming from deeper in the building, buried under stone.
Then came the screams. Sharp. Cut short. Voices shouting over each other—orders, panic—unraveling into incoherent noise she couldn’t separate.
Hand tightening on the now useless firearm, the woman took shelter behind a column and forced herself to look.
Five crooked shapes lumbered into the foyer with heavy, unsteady gaits, trailing after a gunslinger who stumbled and went down hard, one hand clamped over a bloody wound at his neck, crawling away from them.
Her stomach turned.
Faces ruined with lesions, eyes gone hollow and dim. Guests who had not survived the gas assault. Wrong, hollow creatures driven by one thing – their need to feed on the living.
Not again. Her mind supplied the memories of that night before she could stop it.
Back then, a bite was all it took. From where she was crouched, she saw no such wounds on them. Nothing obvious like that.
She held a hand over her mouth, biting on the side of her palm to ground herself, when two of the infected guests devoured their victim. The gunslinger let out an earth-shattering scream that was then reduced to hapless gurgles. Until all she heard was the squelching rhythm of flesh being torn apart. Three other figures wandered aimlessly searching for the next living being in the room.
“Okay... Okay. You can do this,” she said to herself, voice thin.
Stepping out of her hiding spot while she still had the advantage, she winded up the empty machine gun and swung the butt into the nearest infected’s head—once, twice—bone-jarring impacts that barely slowed it. She did it again when a second one lurched toward her, the outcome the same as the first. The commotion caught the attention of the third infected in which she threw the weapon with both hands. The impact hit hard enough to knock it backward, granting her an opening.
Her attention jerked to the gunslinger’s corpse, namely to the rifle still strapped to it. Safeguarded by the two infected who feasted on the corpse.
If she can grab that—
Two shots soared and struck their targets true - the two infected jerked violently before falling forward. Headshots. Dead.
“Now!” Leon’s voice shouted over the chaos. He was already engaged—weaving under an assailant’s swings, kicking it hard enough to stagger it back while another closed in. Even like that, he had carved her a path.
Daniela didn’t allow herself to think. Her legs moved.
The body was pinned—wedged beneath the weight of the two fallen infected, tangled in limbs and resistance. She planted her heel against the gunslinger’s corpse and still, no give.
The snarls behind her closed in.
“Come on…” she hissed.
She dropped her weight fully, bracing herself, and wrenched the rifle strap with both hands.
It resisted—
—then snapped free with a violent jerk.
Daniela stumbled backward with it, nearly losing her balance as the sudden release sent her off-center.
A shape lunged into the space she’d just been in.
Too close for comfort.
She brought the rifle up on instinct and pulled the trigger. The first infected crumpled over. Two more left.
The recoil snapped her shoulder back like she’d been struck. Not allowing herself to waste time to grimace, she squeezed the trigger again and again until none were left standing. Her shoulder screaming in protest all the while.
Daniela’s legs were trembling, but there was no time to steady herself—not yet. She kept the rifle up, scanning through the aftermath, waiting for the next thing to move.
A sudden crash ripped through the space above.
Wood splintered until the foundation gave way.
Leon dropped from the balcony, taking someone down with him.
He hit the bar below hard enough to shatter it on impact—glass exploding outward, liquor spraying across the wreckage.
For a moment, everything paused.
Daniela stared. “What the hell…?”
Leon was in the debris for half a beat, then pushed himself up like he’d simply taken a bad step off a curb. His eyes met with Daniela’s.
“I’m fine,” he said immediately, already checking the room. “Been meaning to get down faster anyway.” He glanced up at the broken balcony, then shrugged slightly as if he didn’t just fall from that height. “The elevator was too slow.”
Daniela blinked once. “Right. Of course.”
“He’s not getting away.” Leon grabbed a fallen weapon and stepped into the doorway, cutting down the men outside the bar with quick, controlled bursts.
The path wasn’t clear—but it was enough.
The vintage car sat just beyond the entrance, engine still running. The driver was slumped forward over the wheel, dead. She yanked the door open, dragged him aside, and slid in behind the wheel. Her hands hesitated for a fraction of a second on the controls—
The keys were still in the ignition.
Through the windshield, she caught sight of him—
The mass murderer Leon was aiming to recover, scrambling along a stretch of unfinished framework, one leg swinging over the railing, balance slipping.
“Oh, there you are.”
She drove straight at it.
The collision collapsed the framework like a stack of cards.
The bioterrorist dropped with it, slamming onto the hood as the vehicle lurched to a stop beneath the collapsed frame.
“Stay there!” Leon had issued that order at the bioterrorist before approaching the driver’s side. “You okay?”
Daniela let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. “I’m great!”
Leon glanced at the crumpled hood and then back to her, his eyes filled with mirth. “Remind me not to let you drive again.” He helped her out of the car.
-
Sirens wailed, growing louder. Blue and red lights flickered against buildings.
Leon grabbed The Butterfly Man by the collar and yanked him forward. “We’re out of time. Move.” Leon didn’t break stride as he connected to HQ. “Target secured. The Butterfly Man is in custody,” he said, dragging the bioterrorist moving towards an alleyway. “We’re en route to the rendezvous.” The titanium suitcase fell under his scrutiny, it was still intact despite everything.
The agent turned to Daniela who was still there.
This was where they split.
The operation had gone clean enough. Messy in execution, but it held together where it mattered.
And she had been part of that.
Leon gave a small nod. “Not bad.”
“Coming from you… I’ll take that.” A soft breath escaped her lips, and a smile followed, bringing a quiet warmth to her eyes. “We really should stop meeting like this.”
Leon didn’t answer right away. He returned the sentiment with a smirk. “Agreed.”
The Butterfly Man made a face. “Are you two done?”
For a fraction of a second, Leon’s eyes stayed on Daniela.
Then he broke eye contact, earlier than he usually would and turned slightly toward the street.
“Move.”
-
Chapter 2: Epilogue
When the mission came to a conclusion, Leon reached out.
Almost immediately, Daniela sent him a location.
Playa Santa Maria del Mar.
The shoreline was quieter than it had any right to be at dawn. Like the world had decided to move on without asking for permission first.
After everything—the noise, the gunfire, the chaos—the steady rhythm of the waves crashing felt almost unreal. Distant, indifferent. Leon spotted her a little ways down the beach, silver heels in hand, letting the water wash over her feet as she marveled at the scenery. Like her, he hadn’t been able to change out of his clothes from last night.
He approached her without rushing, his footprints in the white sand cataloguing his unhurried path. For once, there was no urgency driving him forward.
“Hey.”
Daniela turned at the sound of his voice, surprise flickering across her face before easing into something softer. “Hey… You made it out in one piece.”
“More or less.” He shrugged, then glanced out at the horizon before looking back at her. Even though he didn’t instigate on why she would give him her location, he moved knowing that he wanted to see her. “I owe you a dance.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You said I was your choice last night.”
He kept it simple, no elaboration, no entitlement bound to his words. It was restating how he remembered it.
For a second, she just looked at him, deciding whether he was serious. If he was going to rescind the invitation. He didn’t.
“Of all the things you could’ve followed up on, you picked that.” She smiled, leaving her heels behind in the sand. “Let’s dance.”
Leon let out a quiet breath. He stepped closer, offering a hand—not as steady as he’d like, but steady enough.
She accepted it.
There was no music, just the ocean and the cries of seagulls, but it didn’t seem to matter. He drew her in carefully, one hand settling at her waist, the other holding hers. Daniela rested her free hand against his shoulder, and together, they found a slow, experimental rhythm in the sand. Every few steps she would glance down at their feet – hers were bare and he still wore dress shoes.
Leon guided her through a small turn. Awkward at first. But she flowed into the movement gradually when he led into a few more bold turns, her steps more certain and loose that she stopped looking down at her feet.
Daniela steadied herself easily as she came back to him, a hint of amusement in her expression. “I didn’t expect you to be this good,” she said. “My toes are still intact.”
Leon glanced down briefly, then back at her. “Low bar.”
“It’s an important one,” she said in her defense.
“I’m meeting expectations, then.”
“Only time will tell.”
They exchanged smiles as if agreeing to an unvoiced consensus.
Another step.
Then another.
The distance between them thinned—gradually, unnoticed until it wasn’t.
Leon’s gaze dropped for a fraction of a second—then returned to her eyes.
“Are you free tonight?” he asked.
Daniela glanced up at him, a hint of curiosity coloring her expression. “That depends,” she said. “What do you mean by that?”
Leon hesitated, faltering just enough to show he hadn’t fully planned the wording. “…I was thinking dinner. With me.” The latter he supplied directly, like clarification was needed, even if it didn’t.
Daniela didn’t answer. Not right away. It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard it. The question hung in the air with the gravity of what it could mean moving forward. She just looked at him, like she was weighing something she hadn’t expected. No deflection, no teasing to soften it or any intention to disengage. Her lips parted as if she was going to say something, but didn’t.
The rhythm slowed.
Then nearly stopped.
Leon leaned in.
Not fully deliberate. Not hesitant either.
The world narrowed to the sound of the tide and the quiet rhythm they hadn’t quite let go of.
His hand shifted slightly at her waist—not pulling her closer, but not letting her drift away either.
Just enough to close the space that was already gone.
Daniela didn’t pull away. But she didn’t close the gap either.
Instead, she let out a quiet breath, the hint of a smile returning like she understood the choice they had made.
“…You were saying something about dinner?” she asked softly. Her breaths ghosted his lips.
Leon let out a faint exhale, something almost like a quiet laugh under it. The tension didn’t break. It just shifted.
“Yeah,” he said. “Dinner.”
Daniela studied him for a moment, something softer settling in her expression. “Tonight?” she echoed his invitation.
“If you want.”
This time, there was no hesitation in her answer. “I’d like that.”
They picked up the slow rhythm again, like nothing had been interrupted—except now, the space between them felt different. Charged. Promising something neither of them rushed to claim.
