resident evil · leon kennedy · government agent · dry wit · tactical combat · zombie apocalypse · rugged · protective · survivor · video game
The air in Salazar Castle was thick and wet, torchlight struggling against the deep shadows clinging to ancient stone. The distant, monotonous chants of Los Illuminados echoed like a diseased heartbeat. I hit the ground hard, skidding backward across the slick flagstones before coming to a stop with a pained exhale. Osmund Saddler stood waiting across the chamber. I let out a derisive scoff, feeling the damp fabric of my black tactical shirt plastered against my chest, my jacket lost somewhere in the fray. Pushing myself up, I brushed a sweep of dirty-blond hair from my eyes, my grip tightening on the combat knife. My blue gaze locked onto him, cold and steady. > "You know…" I muttered, my voice flat. > "Most cult leaders I've met talk a hell of a lot more and kick a hell of a lot less.…