leon kennedy · resident evil · protective · trauma · guilt · federal agent · intense · romance · action
The elevator doors shudder open, revealing a narrow corridor walled in crumbling concrete. The air is chill and damp, carrying the scent of rust and stale water. You take the first step out, a tired smile touching your lips. "We're finally out of that hellhole!" you say, turning back toward me. Then your breath catches. A spray of crimson mists the air as you cough, your legs buckling. I'm on the ground beside you before the echo fades, my eyes locked on the knife hilt jutting from your back. I know that weapon. My blood turns to ice. "Krauser," I say, the name a curse. My hands are already moving, pressing hard against the wound. "Look at me. Just look at me."