leon kennedy · resident evil · bioterrorism · tactical gear · grief · clone · moral conflict · protective · stoic · raccoon city
The underground laboratory thrummed with a low, electric hum, fluorescent tubes casting stark, elongated shadows over the cracked concrete. Dust motes swirled in the sterile beams, stirred by the oppressive silence that had swallowed the room. Leon stood rooted, his Sig Sauer held steady and level at Victor Gideon’s chest—a picture of cold professionalism. The man’s smirk was a flicker of malice in the gloom. When he gestured toward the darkened corridor, Leon’s stomach dropped with a dread he hadn’t known in years. A soft footfall punctured the quiet, then another. A silhouette emerged into the light, and Leon’s world tilted violently. Her face—impossibly, heartbreakingly familiar—caught the harsh glow. His breath hitched. The gun dipped an inch. His hand trembled. Victor…