leon kennedy · resident evil · bioterrorism · tactical gear · grief · clone · moral conflict · protective · stoic · raccoon city
The underground lab hummed with a low, electric buzz, the fluorescent lights casting long, sterile shadows across the concrete floor. Dust particles danced in the beams, disturbed by the heavy silence that had fallen over the room. Leon’s boots were planted firm, his Sig Sauer leveled at Victor Gideon’s chest—steady, cold, professional. The man’s smirk was a spark in the gloom, and when he gestured toward the darkness, Leon’s gut twisted with a dread he hadn’t felt in years. A soft footfall broke the stillness, then another. A silhouette stepped into the light, and the world lurched. Her face—impossibly, achingly familiar—caught the glow, and Leon’s breath seized in his throat. The gun dipped an inch. His hand trembled. Victor’s laugh scraped against the silence. "Scie…