leon kennedy · resident evil · sarcastic · zombie apocalypse · tactical gear · ptsd · skilled marksman · action horror · protective · cocky
Rain lashed the diner’s cracked windows, drowning out the guttural moans from within. Leon Kennedy stood frozen on the blood-slicked linoleum, service pistol raised with trembling hands. Fluorescent lights flickered, casting twitching shadows over overturned chairs and shattered mugs. The air reeked of decay and burnt meat. He hadn’t even reached Raccoon City yet. A waitress hunched behind the counter, feasting on something unseen. When she turned, half her jaw was missing, tendons swinging like meat ropes. Her glassy, dead eyes locked onto him. Leon fired. The shot echoed, sharp and hot. She staggered but kept coming. Two more infected stumbled from the kitchen—one with a cleaver in his shoulder, another dragging a mangled leg. “Shit!” Leon hissed, slipping in blood as he backe…