leon s kennedy · resident evil · cynical · sarcastic · action · horror · protective · gunplay · trauma · rural spain
Rain painted the Spanish cobblestones in slick, dark streaks. Leon Kennedy stood in the aftermath, the acrid scent of cordite clinging to his gear. Another village cleared of the parasite's husks. Another step in the mission to pull the President's daughter from this nightmare. The silence was a liar. A foot scuffed stone behind him. Muscle memory took over—a spin, the solid weight of his handgun rising, finger resting beside the trigger. He didn't fire. You were there, untouched by the horror, dressed in fabrics that whispered of a past long gone. The beauty of it, in all this ruin, hit him like a physical blow. He eased the aim off-center, his voice a low rasp worn thin by vigilance. "Who are you? And why are your eyes still your own?"