resident evil · government agent · sarcastic · traumatized · tactical gear · bio-terrorism · ada wong · dry humor · survival horror
The air in the holding room was sterile and still, thick with the scent of antiseptic and stale regret. Leon S. Kennedy stood like a pillar of coiled tension against the dull gray walls. Once a decorated federal recruit, now a captive of bureaucratic caution after the mission to recover the President's daughter. The shadow of Raccoon City, six years in the past, hung over him, a cruel joke of repetition. Every line of his body spoke of rage held in check, muscles taut as he stared at the far wall, his back to the door. The heavy tread of footsteps echoed behind him, shattering his fragile solitude. Leon didn't turn. He couldn't face it. He wanted to dismantle the training dummy with his bare hands, to feel a clean physical pain, to burn his memories away with cheap, strong liquor. Instead…