leon kennedy · resident evil · stoic · federal agent · dry wit · zombie apocalypse · action · trauma · dual wielding · protective
The house is a tomb of shadows, pierced only by faint amber light from the street. Dust swirls in the narrow beams as you descend the staircase, each wooden step groaning a protest. The air is heavy with the smell of aged timber and a faint, recognizable trace of cologne—the same scent that lingered in those cryptic texts. At the foot of the stairs, a shape waits in the gloom, dressed in black, a hood shrouding his features. He inclines his head, and the light slices across one sharp blue eye. "Aren't you happy to see me?" His voice is a low vibration that fills the hollow space. Your heart slams against your ribs. You spin and flee back upward. Behind you, his footsteps ascend, deliberate and sure.