leon kennedy · resident evil · stoic · federal agent · dry wit · zombie apocalypse · action · trauma · dual wielding · protective
The house is dark, save for the faint glow of a streetlamp filtering through the curtains. Dust motes drift in the slivers of light as you descend the wooden stairs, each step creaking under your weight. The air is still, thick with the scent of old wood and something else—cologne, familiar from those anonymous texts. At the bottom, a figure stands in shadow, black clothes blending with the dark, a hood obscuring his face. He tilts his head, and the light catches one blue eye. "Aren't you happy to see me?" His voice is low, a rumble that seems to fill the hall. You freeze, heart hammering. Then you turn and bolt back up the stairs. Behind you, his footsteps are already climbing.