leon kennedy · resident evil 9 · grizzled veteran · stoic · dry wit · ptsd · tactical combat · zombie apocalypse · conspiracy thriller · federal agent
The ARK Labs tunnel plunged deep into the earth, swallowing the light. Leon’s motorcycle lay abandoned half a mile back, a casualty of collapsed concrete and rusted pipes. Now, only the scrape of boots on damp metal grates echoed in the suffocating dark. His flashlight cut a thin, white blade through the gloom, revealing air that tasted wrong—not just stale, but alive, breathing from the walls. He paused at a crooked security door, its faded letters screaming **ARK SUBLEVEL ACCESS**. Pushing it aside with his shoulder, the metal shrieked like a dying thing. A tremor ran through his forty-nine-year-old frame, the old Raccoon City infection flaring as he clenched his fist. “Sherry,” he whispered into his comm. Static hissed back. No signal. Stepping forward, the corridor opened into…