OH MOTHERFUCKER THE BRAINWORMS HAVE STRUCK AGAIN-!
I'm blaming @polarspaz and their RookieBugAU for this, I saw the art and literally went
Look I like baby bug Leon okay?!
MASSIVE DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NEVER PLAYED RESIDENT EVIL, MY COMPUTER WOULD DIE IF I TRIED (also I don't do horror games)! IF I FUCK SOMETHING UP TELL ME PLS!!!
CONTENT WARNINGS FOR: CANON-TYPICAL GORE, DESCRIPTIONS OF ZOMBIES AND LICKERS, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, PANIC ATTACKS, AND PROBABLY A LOT MORE!
(Also I slightly tweaked how Rookiebug!Leon looks, mainly so I can actually draw him myself ((those mandibles look like a nightmare, no thanks)), so this could technically be an au of an au of an au? Idk just roll with it please)
Also, idea that came to me and I have no way of putting in this snippet: what if the Plaga rookie!Leon got poked with was a different species from the one Los Illuminados used (Plagas illuminados vs. Plagas umbrellacis, maybe)? One that was either always autonomous, or was experimented on by Umbrella to be self-reliant (and act more symbiotic rather than parasitic). Food for thought (it's also a good excuse for why Leon's not a puppet to the damn bug, since there's no helpful Spaniard to fix that).
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PAIN.
White-hot, agonizing pain was the last thing Leon remembered. So awful that it'd knocked him clean out in seconds (thank god he was somewhere… relatively safe). It'd felt like his body was ripping itself apart at the seams; he was pretty sure even his hair was hurting!
He groaned as consciousness slowly returned, feeling an all-encompassing (but far less severe) ache that soaked into his very bones. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but he was thankful that the worst had (seemingly) passed.
He pushed himself up carefully and got his feet under him - and then almost instantly noticed that something was very very wrong.
His legs were bending in ways that they absolutely shouldn't, and flexing his toes revealed them covering far more area than normal (where were his shoes…?). He felt something shifting and dragging behind him, every small movement telegraphed back to him. And, even with his eyes still closed, he could feel that he was higher up than he should be.
What the…?
He shook his head, eyes blinking open slowly. Maybe something landed on him? That'd explain the pain and the dragging (maybe), but then why wasn't he still hurting? And what the hell was up with his legs-?
His thoughts screeched to a stop as his eyes locked onto a pair of dark colored hands, lines of red racing along them as shadows cast by the flickering fluorescent lights above him. There were raised edges right where the light brown met red, almost like-
Carapace, it looked like fucking carapace.
Leon recoiled in shock and fear, tripping over whatever was dragging behind him as the hands followed him-!
His breaths became shallow and quick, his legs had flown up when he'd tumbled, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the light brown-and-red on them too. He'd seen - even if only briefly - how the limbs were snapped and bent backwards like some fucked up bird or dinosaur. Large three-toed feet tipped with goddamn talons flashed at the bottom of his vision, Leon feeling a fourth one - facing backwards - bounce against the tiled floor (which somehow didn't hurt???).
What the fuck what the fuck whatthefuck?!?! What happened?!?! He didn't- He hadn't been infected that he knew of; he- he would've noticed if something had gotten him, right?!?!
Horrible visions of the undead monsters he'd seen in his short time here flashed before his eyes; pale, bloody, and rotting bodies screeching and snarling as they hunted anything living. Their eyes were nothing but voids of solid, milky white. The note he'd read earlier came back to him too: an officer writing about some… thing with flayed skin and exposed muscles, jagged claws, and a massive exposed brain. Apparently blind, but having excellent hearing and a long prehensile tongue.
"Lickers" that note had named them, Leon hadn't seen any yet, but something told him that wasn't going to last forever.
Would he… god - would he become like them? Some new fucked up nightmare stalking and slaughtering innocent people?
No. Nononononononono no! I-I can't - I won't become like one of them!
Not a monster not a monster notamonster NOTAMONSTER-!
I'd rather kill myself before I become one of them.
Idly, his (clawed, awful wrong) hand rested on his holster, fingers contemplating grabbing his gun and just ending it. Put a bullet between his eyes, and save everyone else the trouble of putting him down when he inevitably snaps.
Do it then. A twisted and gnarled part of him hissed, "Save them the trouble" of putting down another monster.
As soon as that thought formed Leon slammed it back into the depths, remembering his promise to Claire, to Lt. Branagh, to himself. He yanked his hand away from his pistol, eyes wide and breaths short as he processed that near-dangerous stint of self-destruction.
No, he wouldn't kill himself. He still felt sane and stable - and that was the important bit: he hadn't lost his mind yet. His mind was (seemingly) clear; no mindless hunger, no rabid hunting of living people, no rotting or necrotic tissue. Nothing.
But then… what was he? He could've been infected by something else he supposed, something different from whatever made the honest-to-god zombies he'd been dealing with. Something that - apparently - turned people into giant fuck-off bugs.
Because how else could his limbs be described? The segmented plating at his joints and hands, looking like (and probably acting like) natural armor. The only odd bit were the claws - his fingers and toes all tapered into sharp points. Last time he checked, bugs didn't have claws or talons (at least not that he knew). But then what the hell else could he be?
Panic surged through him as he gawked at his twisted form, staring at the horrifically bent legs and feeling the talons scrape against the wooden floor. The warped limbs exploded from the shredded remains of his pants, the legs of which now ending just above his… knees? Were those his knees? Damnit he should've paid more attention in biology!
Letting his eyes move further up, he noticed two things: 1.) the armor did not stop at his extremities, the plating on his stomach looking… actually pretty close to his normal skin tone what the hell??? The red… undercarriage he guessed(???) was still there; Leon traced a claw over where the carapace darkened to match the color of his limbs, shuddering at the utter alienness of it. Although… running his fingers over it again, the armor on his stomach almost felt… scaly? A little further up was the second thing: his uniform was in an unfortunately similar state, hugging his torso tightly and ending just above his stomach, exposing the rest of his midsection to the world. Holes were torn into the fabric, not cutting, biting, or stabbing marks - these were rounded, looking like a hole-puncher'd had its way with it. He could see thin pieces of thread that hadn't given up the ghost yet, a wince worming its way onto his face. Well, he had an idea where the holes came from.
The right shoulder and sleeve of his uniform were completely trashed, shoulder armor erupting from the sewn fabric. Several lines of string were tangled between the brown carapace, getting stuck there as… whatever happened happened. He felt along his collarbone, the smooth texture of the armor fading as it neared his neck. Unfortunately instead of feeling actual skin again, Leon was dismayed to find more scales. They… honestly kind of reminded him of a snake's, the memory of petting one as a kid (what'd the guy call it? A boa?) jumping forward unabated.
He stopped short as his fingers grazed his jawline, feeling the scales grow smaller and more sparse as they climbed up his face. Small spikes jutted out along the back of his jaw, just below where his (pointed, covered in scales) ears were.
Leon forced his hand down, setting it on what he assumed was his knee as he shuddered. He did not want to find out how fucked up his face was, not in the state he currently was.
He stood up slowly, hands braced against his knees while trying (and failing miserably) to ignore the way his legs bent and unfurled. Talons splayed out as his weight bared down on them, taking it as easily as before the… changes.
He caught movement from the corner of his gaze, his heart hammering as he jerked around awkwardly, visions of snapping undead jaws sprung to mind.
Fuckfuckfuckfuck-!!! An infected is the last thing I need right now!
That panic and adrenaline stopped abruptly when he spotted… okay at first he wasn't sure what it was. When he saw the serpentine shape his immediate thought was "snake", but it was way too big to be a normal one.
Shit, are the snakes infected too-?!
But the longer he stared at it, the more a horrified dread sunk in. Because that "snake" had light-brown carapace with red in-between the plates and ridges, the skin-colored underside looking like it was covered with scales. Needle-like strands of… fur? Hair? started right before the end of it, colored a hauntingly familiar shade of blond. From the tip, what could only really be described as a scorpion stinger from hell jutted out.
Okay… so that's the tail, but where's the head?
He trailed his eyes along the thing, hoping and praying that its other end wasn't far. That train of thought crashed and derailed spectacularly when he spotted, tangled amongst more bristle-like fur/hair, the unmistakable fabric of his fucking work trousers.
Leon was decently sure he was going to be sick, a feeling that only worsened when he shifted, the movement traveling through the tail attached to him.
The rookie cop gulped, forcing the bile in his throat back down.
What. The ever-loving. Fuck?!?!
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Leon wasn't sure how long it took for him to calm down - or at least, calm down enough to move again.
He slipped through R.P.D. quickly, stepping over the re-deadified bodies (bodies of people you killed) while trying oh-so-desperately to ignore the consistent tap tap tap his new talons were making with each step. His plan was painfully simple: get back to Lt. Branagh, meet back up with Claire, find her brother (along with whoever else was out there), fix whatever had happened to him, and get the hell out of Raccoon City.
He wasn't naive enough to believe that the city could be reclaimed; not by a small group of survivors, not when all it took was one slip-up for the undead's ranks to grow. No, they needed to get out and call for help.
Maybe a cure could be made, at least to save the people who weren't too far gone.
He refused to look at any windows as he walked, keeping his eyes locked on the hallway ahead. When he had to pass through rooms to get past blocked off sections, he'd stare down at his alien form until the door was open.
The first time he did this, he smacked his head on the wall. Apparently he'd gotten significantly taller while he was knocked out (…that really shouldn't have been shocking, given the state of his poor clothes), having to stoop to pass through a doorway.
His tail swayed with each step, instinctively matching his gait and balancing him out. Leon was… slightly thankful for this, however it certainly didn't ease the feeling of wrongness (that for once had nothing to do with the apparent undead population) that had been permeating this whole ordeal. He felt the new limb's every shift, felt the air shift through bristle-like hair, and even felt a jolt those first few times when the stinger had smacked against the walls.
After several minutes (Leon would admit he was dragging his feet a little bit), he stepped into the (extravagant, over-the-top, fucking massive) atrium and began scanning the room for Lt. Branagh. His talons tapped against the tiled floor, announcing his inhuman presence to anyone listening.
Leon winced, trying to ignore the noise as he glanced around. He couldn't see the older cop anywhere, but maybe if he-?
"Lt. Branagh? Are you here?" He called out slowly, tongue nearly getting nicked on the razor-sharp fangs his teeth had been replaced by.
Worry began to grow when he didn't get a response, looking around more frantically as he spoke a bit louder, "Hello? Lt. Branagh?"
Suddenly a loud metallic crash reached his ears, followed by loud banging as a familiar voice shouted, "Over here rookie! Hurry!"
Leon raced in the direction of the noise, heart pounding as adrenaline flooded his veins. Warped legs carried him to his destination far quicker than he could've imagined, the loud clack-clack of claws and carapace against tiles being impossible to ignore.
He spotted his lieutenant trying to close the shutter door he'd come through earlier, emphasis on trying. Several zombies were half-stuck under the door, snapping and clawing at Branagh with a primal ferocity. Leon didn't hesitate, bolting over as he yanked out his gun. He yelled for the older cop to move, firing at the undead while trying to suppress a horrified shudder.
They were people they were people they were people THEYWEREPEOPLE-!
Not anymore, they aren't.
The instant the infected stopped moving Leon lunged for the door, slamming it down with… a little bit too much strength. The shutter door screeched and rattled, metal screaming in protest as it was forcefully yanked down. The bodies blocking it from closing were no match of the sheer force Leon'd apparently put in, getting sliced clean in half like they'd been put under a giant guillotine. Blood splatted against the door and floor, coating the area in an unnatural black-and-red.
Leon coughed and gagged at the scene, tail coiling and writhing in disgust as he fought to get his stomach under control. The smell of rot, blood and god-knows-what-else was nearly overwhelming. The smell alone could've knocked him flat on his ass, it was only through sheer bull-headed stubbornness that he was still standing. God why hadn't he noticed that stench earlier?! It was so obviously present that you'd have to be nose-blind to ignore it!
Fuck that was gonna be in his nightmares for the next… forever.
The atrium descended into silence as the mutant rookie caught his breath, only the sounds of the storm outside and the moans of the undead breaking the calm.
"Fuckin' - oh I hated that…!" He wheezed in-between fits, hunching over just in case he lost his fight with his stomach. A warbling whine was wrapped between his words, coiling and entwining until the two were impossible to separate. The noise was so inhuman that it sent another shudder down his body; another reminder that he wasn't the same anymore.
"…Leon?!"
Oh shit, Lt. Branagh.
He wheezed a bit as he fought against his gag reflex, giving the older cop a thumbs-up instead of trusting his still-testy stomach and throat.
He could feel the other man's shocked gaze, wincing as he no-doubt stared at every inhuman aspect he could see. Leon could imagine the disgust and horror on the man's face, bracing himself for whatever happened next.
"Jesus Rookie, you alright?"
Leon blinked in surprise at the sudden question, coughing a bit before responding in a slightly raspy voice, "Gonna have to be more specific. If you mean the gagging, I'll be fine - I think."
Lt. Branagh raised an unconvinced eyebrow.
"As for… this," He winced at the hiss that mingled with his words, "I… I don't know."
