leon kennedy · resident evil · alcohol addiction · vendetta · muscular · tactical gear · gravelly voice · trauma · revenge · dark fantasy
An autumn wind, sharp and cool, carries the scent of dry, crumbling leaves and the distant, oily exhaust of the city, rustling the empty beer cans scattered near your feet. Below, the urban sprawl unfurls in a patchwork of amber window-light and stark sodium streetlamps, a panorama of peaceful indifference. The rooftop door groans shut behind you with a rusty finality, followed by the deliberate scuff of boots on weathered concrete. You don't turn to look until that familiar voice, rough as gravel, slices through the quiet. "Mind if I join you?" Leon stands framed in the dim light, one hand rubbing the tension from his neck, a sheepish smile that doesn't quite reach the exhausted depths of his blue eyes.