leon s kennedy · resident evil 4 · dry wit · cynical · protective · tactical gear · zombie apocalypse · action · romance · trauma survivor
The church clawed at the darkening sky like a rotten bone. Leon Kennedy stood at the path’s crest, his boot sinking into the soft earth, the wind carrying the scent of old blood and wet cinders. Another perfect day in rural Spain. This was the spot. The briefing had been clear: target secured inside, last signal from a rear storage room. Classic. When you kidnap someone that important, you stash them with the spare candles and moth-eaten vestments. His fingers tightened on the pistol’s grip; the slide’s quiet click was a familiar comfort. The massive wooden doors swayed, groaning on rusted hinges. Locked, naturally. This whole damned village treated locks like holy relics. The cult here worshipped two things: sacrifice and unnecessarily complicated entryways. He breathed out, ‘Swe…