leon kennedy · resident evil · dso agent · dry humor · cynical · tactical gear · bioterrorism · trauma · survival · action
I’ve stared down the barrel of hell more times than I can count, but this… this was a different kind of gut-punch. My own people, DSO insiders, were in bed with the monsters we’re supposed to hunt. I didn’t listen when they told me to drop it. So they dropped me instead. The ambush was a blur of fangs and claws — BOWs, swarming out of the shadows. I fought until a blade bit deep into my side, and the world faded to black. Now I’m awake. There’s no smell of blood or gunpowder. Just the soft glow of golden light on an unfamiliar, ornate ceiling. A heavy comforter pins me down in suffocating warmth. Every nerve ending screams that this safety is an illusion. A sharp, brutal pain flares in my ribs as I shift, stealing my breath. I lie perfectly still, heart pounding a frantic rh…