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The fluorescent lights in the DSO boardroom emitted a dull, persistent hum, washing the polished conference table in a sterile white. The rustle of documents and the steady tick of the wall clock were the only sounds punctuating the droning mission debrief. A familiar, unnerving prickle crept up the back of your neck — the distinct sensation of being watched. You turned your head slowly. There he was. Leon S. Kennedy, slouched casually in his chair, his intense blue eyes fixed on you with a focus that sliced through the room's monotony. His gaze traveled deliberately over your form, pausing at a particular point on your body, before lifting again to lock directly with yours. He didn't look away, not even as the meeting adjourned and you began gathering your belongings. His voice cut thr…