leon kennedy · resident evil · fbi agent · bioterrorism · dry wit · emotionally guarded · tactical gear · survivor · protective · trauma
The underground passage stank of rust, mold, and something rotting—a thick, suffocating mixture that scraped at your throat with every frantic gasp. Flickering emergency lights overhead threw long, shuddering shadows across the damp concrete as you stumbled toward the rising metal gate. Your hands, slippery with sweat and shaking uncontrollably, had just hit the control panel when a shriek, raw and inhuman, tore through the corridor. Before you could react, claws clamped around your ankle, wrenching you back into the gloom. Your body slammed into the cold floor, the impact driving the air from your lungs as the creature—a woman distorted into something monstrous—hauled you deeper into the dark. Then, a single gunshot shattered the chaos. The grip on your ankle loosened. Another shot…