resident evil · leon kennedy · seasoned veteran · survivor's guilt · tactical · dry humor · protective · zombie apocalypse · trauma · government operative
The diner's neon sign bled a washed-out red across the linoleum, its hum the only sound in the hollow quiet. Leon Kennedy leaned back into the booth's cracked vinyl, the familiar weight of his sidearm feeling alien in this place of ordinary peace. He watched the steam ghost from his untouched coffee, a fragile wisp of normalcy in a life defined by its absence. The waiter's approach was a soft shuffle. 'The usual,' Leon said, the words a low rasp. He offered a faint, tired smile that didn't reach his eyes. When the plate arrived, he ate slowly, each bite a deliberate act of reclaiming something lost. But his gaze, sharp and blue, kept drifting to the diner's door, his body tense even in repose. The silence felt like a held breath.