#leon s kennedy x oc

[mandalhoerian]

NO TIME TO DIE | leon kennedy x oc | 12 (finale)

pairing: leon s. kennedy x oc word count: no warnings: graphic descriptions of gore and violence, major character death... or is it? chapter summary: Leon, Vera and Claire navigate the dangers of NEST, facing shocking revelations, betrayals, and impossible choices as they race against time to complete their missions. note: here we are at the end and im so sorry it took this long... 😭 chapter is legit sponsored by @/bnnuyko's game screenshots they were SO HELPFUL!!!! READ ON AO3 ! ☆ NO TIME TO DIE MASTERPOST

The cable car rattled with a low, metallic groan as it approached its destination, the dim interior lights flickering in sporadic bursts. Leon stood near the viewport, his hand resting against the console of controls, hypnotized by the gradual emergence of the facility ahead—NEST. The platform came into view, illuminated in harsh, sterile light that reflected starkly off the dark steel surfaces below, cold and industrial, truly an extension of the sewer system's architecture.

The journey had passed in silence, an unsettling kind of stillness. Vera sat beside Ada on the bench affixed to the wall of the car, her head leaned back, eyes closed, music pulsing through her headphones—loud enough that Leon could catch the distant rhythm of some rock song even from where he stood. She had withdrawn into herself, creating a boundary as tangible as the steel surrounding them. Leon couldn’t quite make sense of it. They had a mission—one with no room for hesitation or misgivings. The G-Virus, for Ada, for the FBI. It seemed straightforward. But this didn't mean he was deprioritizing reuniting with Claire and Sherry. He had to believe they could accomplish it all; anything less was simply unacceptable.

The cable car jerked slightly, and Leon adjusted his stance, his fingers tightening instinctively around the safety rail.

“Now arriving at NEST,” announced the dispassionate mechanical voice, shattering the silence.

Leon cast a brief look at Vera as Ada, seated next to her, reached over and nudged her shoulder. Vera’s eyes fluttered open, vacant for a moment before narrowing as she gained focus. She slipped the headphones off in a jerky, almost reluctant tug, as though pulling herself from a place she didn’t want to leave. Ada leaned closer, her hand still resting on Vera’s arm, her face set, brows knit together in a way that conveyed a certain stern, but gentle warning without words.

Ada’s lips moved and Leon didn't hear any of it, her posture communicating the weight of her message—a slight forward lean, her head angled just enough that her intent was clear. She wasn’t asking; she was directing, leaning in, fingers tightening subtly on Vera's arm, demanding acknowledgment from her avoidance. Vera gave her flitting glances that darted left and right from the point they focused on the ground, her jaw setting with a flash of defiance before it softened.

Leon stepped forward, frowning, his instincts prickling. “Hey, what are you—”

Vera’s head turned sharply, her hand rising, a silent command to halt. Her gaze, now on Leon, was flat, as though the connection between them had thinned to a fragile thread.

“Wait outside,” she said, clipped, as if dismissing any objection before it could be voiced. She kept her eyes on Ada, almost mechanical in its detachment. Almost avoiding Leon. “We won't be long, I just... I just need a moment with her. From an informant to an FBI agent. Privacy needed. You know."

Leon didn't understand why that could be a reason to single him out when she'd told him everything, but decided not to make a fuss out of it in the end, finding no logic to disagree with her. So he simply backed out of the cable car, looking between the two ladies before stepping into the unknown waiting for him, a shudder running down his spine upon realizing Vera's full storm-eyed attention was still fixed on Ada and didn't leave her even after the door slid close.

The doors closed behind him with a hydraulic hiss, sealing him off from the conversation inside. Leon stood there, the platform stretching before him, its emptiness accentuated by the cold, sterile lighting. He cast a glance back at the sealed door, unease still gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting the cold subterranean air wash over him, the chill biting at his exposed skin. He reached out, gripping the metal bar of the stairwell ahead, eyes trailing down the corridor that extended into darkness—its length marked by sporadic, overhead lights and shadows pooling in the spaces between. The darkness stretched endlessly, a void hinting at unseen depths below, evoking a primal unease that seemed to bounce back at him from beneath the surface.

Stacks of crates lined the walkway ahead, their contents hidden beneath thick, dust-covered tarps. Leon’s grip tightened on the railing as he descended, his boots clanging against the metal steps lined with yellow warning paint, but safety was a distant memory now—a laughable concept in the face of what they had endured.

Instead of letting the silence allow him to fill it with unnecessary doubts, he decided to use that opportunity to inform Claire they had arrived to the laboratory. He sat down on the last step, took out his radio, adjusting the strap of the leather utility belt keeping his flashlight and the pouch of his tools from falling as he put weight on his other foot, careful with the movement lest he slips down the narrow stairs, and switched the channel, hearing the static hiss of white noise coming through on the other end of the transmission, "Claire? Are you there? Come in."

Pressed against the microphone, his fingers curled around the pink device, "Come on," he breathed, and held it to his ear as he waited for an answer. "Please, pick up."

"...here, le—ou ca— me?"

The connection was a bit weak, but it was clear enough, if the frantic voice shouting on the other end was any indicator.

"Claire," he raised his voice in the hope he'd be loud and clear enough for her to hear.

"Leon! Can you —me? Is that you?"

"I'm here. Don't worry," he reassured her, as fast as he could go in fear of losing the signal before she hung up. "Just thought you'd like to know we're here at The NEST."

The muffled sounds on the other side of the transmission, hiss after hiss, sputtered out from the other end of the connection and then crackled louder. "What? Are you i—ane!"

He frowned in response, pressing the device harder against his head to increase the volume. "You're cutting out!"

The distorted echo of her voice made her sound farther away from the communicator, yet her anger remained. "I told you not to follow us!"

"Nevermind that right now, how's Sherry? Was Annette able to cure her?"

"I—" she made a noise that suggested she was biting her lip in frustration. "I'm working on synthesizing the vaccine right now. The labs are big and everyone who's been stuck here has turned, it's taking time."

The anxiety over his promise he'd help Ada with the G-Virus evaporated into thin air, replaced by the thought of Claire, still adamantly helping the little girl who clung to her like a lifeline, being on her own in this place. "Where exactly are you? We'll meet you there. Maybe together we can finish this faster."

"Annette will kill you on the spot if she sees you. Both of you."

"I don't care," Leon retorted, steelier than before. "She can try. I am getting that G-virus and arresting her. She needs to pay for what she's done."

Claire didn't reply to that, letting silence speak in favor of her opinion on the topic, but when she spoke again, it was less hostile and more conciliatory. "At least wait until I have the vaccine ready, okay? For Sherry's sake."

That managed to make him reconsider and think twice. He had to admit, the little girl was his biggest concern aside from helping Ada and saving innocent civilian lives, especially because she was young, vulnerable, and completely powerless in all of this. Her safety mattered more than anything else to him at this moment in time, and he felt his resolve waver as Claire appealed to it, unable to refuse. "Okay. We'll steer clear of Annette. No need to involve ourselves unless it's strictly necessary."

"Thank you. For not being a total idiot about this. Sherry's in the Security Room to the left when you enter the lab, you can't miss it. Give her a visit, her condition's really bad, maybe it'll help her somehow."

"Yeah, got it," he swallowed, "Don't worry about us and focus on what you're doing."

"Stay safe, Leon."

She hung up without waiting for his answer, leaving Leon holding the pink walkie talkie with his arm limply hanging over his knee. He let out a long suffering sigh and dropped his shoulders, standing up from the step has sitting on, adjusting the bandage wrapping his shoulder where Annette had shot him.

At least they were finally at The NEST. One goal down.

His body screamed at him to take a rest and stop for a minute, and his limbs followed accordingly. They burned like fire, muscles aching from the strain after hours of exertion and fighting, and he wished nothing more than to get some painkillers into his body to ease up the soreness.

"Gotta stay vigilant, come on..." he muttered to himself, shaking himself awake as he felt like slumping against the railing to nap, rubbing at his eyelids and feeling the wet streaks of sweat mixed grime sliding off his forehead. Gross.

Fucking gross.

He reached for his gun and reloaded it while thinking up of potential scenarios to expect once they crossed the walkway ahead to confront whatever came their way. That got his heart beating faster, the familiar rush of adrenaline kicking in that urged him to fight for his life despite all exhaustion. This is what kept him alive so far.

Well, mostly.

Leon twisted the knob on the walkie-talkie until the static dissolved into silence. His hand lingered there for a moment, gripping the device as though the connection to Claire could somehow tether his scattered thoughts. He finally clipped it to his belt with a sharp click and turned, scanning the empty platform. The faint vibration of machinery in the distance and the soft rumble of the cable car behind him filled the quiet.

Vera stepped out, her boots striking the platform in sharp, angry pats as she skipped down the stairs, but there was no Ada who followed, she was staying behind to wait for them. There was a distinct agitation in Vera's stride that made her appear restless, uneasy, her gait lacking the characteristic confidence that usually propelled her forward. The stiff set of her shoulders and the quick tempo of her feet echoed the intensity of her displeasure. She walked toward Leon without hesitation but maintained a distance from him—her demeanor becoming increasingly closed off, aloof in the way her arms dangled loosely at her sides, fists clenched. She slung her bag higher on her shoulder, her head angled slightly downward, hair falling to obscure her face. He noticed that the jacket he'd given her was discarded, probably left behind with Ada, leaving just the ruined and torn pink turtleneck underneath that was missing one sleeve entirely because they had treat and bandage the deep cuts and burns she'd gotten on her left arm while fighting Birkin in the facility underneath RPD. Her bandaged left hand was also more prominent when it wasn't partially swallowed up by his jacket.

“Just talked to Claire,” Leon started, watching as Vera adjusted the strap of her bag. “She said Sherry's resting in the Security Room. It’s not far—just past the reception desk, apparently."

He paused, shifting his weight forward, trying to gauge her reaction. Vera merely tightened her grip on the strap and rolled her neck, the motion jerky and dismissive.

“You could stay with her,” Leon said after swallowing to get rid of his dry mouth. “If Claire could leave her there, it means the place is safe. I’ll handle the rest.”

Vera’s head tilted slightly, and her hand twitched against her bag strap as if readying for a fight. “You’re serious?” she asked, but her flat inflection made it sound more like a statement, almost an accusation, matched by the sharp turn of her shoulders as she stepped closer. “After everything? You think I’m gonna sit in some corner and watch the clock while you risk your life?"

Leon straightened and gestured toward the faint yellow markings leading up the staircase towards the cable car. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t overdo it. You look—” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “—burnt out.”

Vera let out a sharp breath through her nose and dropped her chin, brows furrowing tightly as she lifted the ball of one shoulder in a half shrug. “I was cranky, okay? Low blood sugar, nothing else. I’ve got snacks now.” She patted the side of her bag before resuming that confident pace, this time marching onward down the corridor. She pushed the issue to the side without waiting for his answer, the swiftness in which she dismissed it suggesting that there were other things that occupied her thoughts, perhaps other reasons that lent her the persistent attitude to push forward despite fatigue. Leon caught up quickly, Matilda out, not wanting to use the shotgun in a space that was going to be so tight and enclosed unless it was strictly necessary. “Besides, we’re this far in. You were right—we need to see this through. And I need to document it. That’s why I’m here.”

“You don’t have to prove anything.”

“And you don’t have to keep me out of it,” Vera shot back. “We’re not splitting up. Not here.”

As they advanced through the hallway, Vera fell back, allowing Leon to lead the way, trailing just behind his left shoulder. She was adjusting her digital camera to record the way leading up to the laboratory, turning around momentarily to take in the cable car they were leaving behind. Ahead, the path stretched out, leading into a tunnel that disappeared into an ominous darkness. The yellow caution lines on the floor were more numerous the further along they traveled, then took a right that transitioned into a sleek, metal corridor that was a whiplash from the rough concrete and industrial grime of the previous passageways. The walls, lined with reinforced steel panels, gleamed under the cold, fluorescent lights that ran along the ceiling in harsh, clinical lines. The floor was a grid of grated metal, designed for utility, every step they took reverberating through the empty corridor. A heavy vertical lift door loomed at the end of it, edges marked with bright yellow and black hazard stripes that screamed of danger, surface unmarred except for a small, glowing panel in the center, bathing the surrounding area in an eerie green light.

When the got close enough, the system blared out, "For your safety, stand clear until the doors are fully open."

And then, they completely found themselves in a different world.

"Welcome to NEST. Enjoy your visit."

The reception area was eerily pristine, a chilling juxtaposition against the horrors Leon knew lurked within the facility. The Umbrella Corporation’s logo was emblazoned boldly on the wall behind the curved desk, its clean lines and stark red and white colors radiating a sterile corporate dominance. The bright, white overhead lights hummed softly, casting an even, almost surgical illumination across the room. Their glow reflected sharply off the polished floor, making the bold and thich orange strip running down the center appear unnaturally vibrant, like a trail leading directly into the jaws of the beast. The air felt unnervingly still, carrying the faint trace of sterilizing chemicals, as though the space itself was trying to erase any evidence of human presence.

The reception desk was sleek, modern, and disturbingly untouched, as though the chaos of the outbreak had somehow bypassed this space. A small vase with neatly arranged artificial flowers sat atop the counter, a starkly inappropriate gesture of welcome in such a place. The chair behind the desk was pushed in perfectly, its ergonomic design almost inviting, yet it felt like a mockery of comfort in an environment so steeped in fear.

To the left, a black leather sofa rested against the wall, its surface too immaculate for a place that should have been in frantic disarray. Opposite, the walls were lined with segmented panels, seamless and cold, with the occasional vent hinting at the facility's labyrinthine infrastructure, all the details screamed precision, control, and the calculated efficiency of a corporation that left nothing to chance.

Just next to the sofa, the "SECURITY ROOM" door stood slightly scuffed, the only hint of wear in an otherwise pristine environment. The marks on its surface hinted at hurried movements—perhaps someone desperate to enter or escape—but the heavy frame and solid handle betrayed no sign of having yielded to any panic. Up ahead, a set of metallic double doors labeled "MAIN SHAFT" gleamed under the overhead lighting, their bright blue display panel glowing faintly, almost like an invitation.

He stood there for another moment, his grip on Matilda firm, as though something within him could not shake off the sense of unease despite the welcoming appearance of the front office. Even though he had spent the last hours being chased by undead freaks in filthy, claustrophobic sewer tunnels, exchanging that with a meticulously manicured reception area of a pharmaceutical megacorporation seemed disconcerting—almost surreal.

Then again, they were still very much trapped beneath the city, only now they were stuck beneath what he guessed to be Umbrella's central research facility. His brain struggled to process it. Every fiber of his body had been wound tight to the point of snapping; anticipation coiled inside him like a spring about to pop free. Everything was so quiet.

"Is that where Sherry is?" Vera pointed with the digital camera still held in her good hand towards the direction of the security room.

Leon glanced behind himself and saw where she indicated, then nodded.

She pursed her lips, the lines on her face creasing around her mouth and along the sides of her nose. It was strange how tired she looked despite just having eaten something. Or perhaps it wasn't so strange if they had run miles nonstop while fighting off waves of infected corpses and monsters. She shut the camera with a resounding snap, looking pale but determined as always. He felt his stomach do somersaults upon seeing the slight tremor in her fingers when she gripped the object between two hands before looping its strap around her neck again, adjusting it so it hung loosely in the center of her chest and out of the way of her weapon's muzzle.

Upon entering, they immediately zeroed in on the bed at the far corner of the room, sheets soaked through with dark, congealed blood. On top of it was Sherry, eerily still like a dead body laying on a coroner's examination table, the blinding light fixed on the nook carved into the wall to act like a bookshelf overpowering her entire form, leaving a sinister silhouette that made her look worse than she already was.

Both of them rushed in at the same time, forgetting all caution and everything that tells them danger may be near—they just see a child in need, pale faced and unmoving on a bed that reeked of death. Leon kneeled next to the IV stand and heart monitor beside the bed while Vera sat down on the edge, taking the little girl's small hand in her own.

"Sherry?" she whispered, gently nudging Sherry's side.

She stirred, moaning in discomfort from being disturbed as Leon rubbed her forearm soothingly. Once she cracked one glassy eyed open and stared at both of them hovering over her, Leon silently sighed at one of her eyes being unnaturally bloodshot, veins spidering around the whites and into her skin like tree roots spreading above ground, evidence of infection. Her breathing was erratic, short gasps interrupted by wet wheezes—but at least she was breathing, even if it sounded horrible.

"Hello honey," Vera crooned with tenderness dripping from every syllable. She gave the girl a strained smile. "Don't try to talk, save your energy, okay? We're here now, just wanted to say hello."

There were a million questions swirling in his mind and not enough answers—everything was too complicated, and all of it amounted to one glaring truth: The people responsible for all of this needed to pay. His fists clenched hard against his thigh, knuckles going white with rage. Leon closed his mouth to swallow hard before saying anything else, his throat tight with emotion. "Yeah, we're here for you Sherry."

The kid blinked a couple of times, then turned her attention slowly from Vera to him, studying each of them closely without uttering a single sound or changing her blank face that never lifted an inch to smile back at either of them. Her lack of enthusiasm made Leon feel like shit for failing her; she was a sad sight to behold—a victim of circumstances, someone who deserved better than this and it felt wrong that he couldn't give it to her.

Leon drew in a shaky breath and brushed strands of sticky hair away from her cheek, ignoring how slick it felt, noting that the touch made the young girl flinch briefly. He hoped that maybe the contact would provide comfort, but judging by how she kept staring straight ahead of her, unfocused and hazy eyed, lost in a pain-filled daze, he doubted any kind gestures were doing much to ease her suffering right now.

"Hang in there, alright? We'll make this go away soon," he promised anyway because promises cost him nothing to make and hopefully would bring hope to her instead of lies, offering her his warmest smile.

Without realizing what he was doing, he began brushing circles into Sherry's tiny palm with the pad of his thumb as though comforting a cat, hoping that somehow this gesture might communicate feelings beyond what he could put into actual speech—like comfort and protection. As he continued rubbing patterns across her skin, a strange sense of calm settled over him despite knowing well there's more threats awaiting outside of the security room. For now, making sure Sherry was taken care of meant most to him.

It surprised him when she didn't move away nor flinch again. If anything, she actually leaned into his touch and whimpered weakly. Whether this showed acceptance of his efforts or simple exhaustion from being alone in unfamiliar surroundings, he couldn't tell, but nevertheless felt his stomach twisting painfully from witnessing such a display.

It wasn't fair.

No kid deserved this hell.

"You are so tough," Vera breathed, leaning forward, smoothing away stray hairs falling in front of Sherry's face and gently cupping her cheeks. "Do you know how much strength you have to even endure this?" Her head dipped lower, chin close to resting against the child's forehead as she stared fondly at her. "You got the makings of a champion inside you."

This drew a reaction out of Sherry. One which sent pinpricks down Leon's arms and legs. He knew instinctively there'd been meaning in those mumbled words, hidden depths unspoken. Vera didn't glance in his direction after saying that. Instead, she pressed both palms on Sherry's chest firmly. "Now I want you to focus on getting some rest—I know it's probably too painful to sleep, so I brought you this." She took her headphones away from their place around her neck along with the mp3 player in her shorts' pocket, and shook them a little before Sherry's field of vision. "Would you like to listen to music? I can assure you that music helps, it really does. Do you wanna give it a shot?"

Sherry, despite the exhaustion, looked a tad a bit excited then, a faint light appearing in her eyes at the offer of distracting herself through listening to something positive. Even the faintest indication of life bolstered his hopes. He remained crouched next to the bedside as Vera slipped the headphones over Sherry's ears, using the spare pillow to position her head comfortably in place and switch it on. "This mixtape is my favorite, it's perfect for daydreaming. Do you want me to leave it running on shuffle until we get back? Let the songs take you somewhere fun?"

The little girl shook her head positively, clutching onto Vera's hand with surprising force, and murmured a thank you that sounded like she hadn't spoken in hours. There was nothing else he wished more than for this poor kid to experience something other than pain.

"No problem Sherry," Vera said quietly, patting Sherry's hair lightly with the tip of her fingers. The image made his heart swell with affection as a strange warmth spread within him. This felt oddly domestic.

Music soon started playing and her breathing calmed a bit, settling deeper into the pillows as the song lulled her to rest with its slow melody. He heard Vera sniffle, noticed a few tears dripping down her face, and had to wipe away one of his own to hide evidence of vulnerability. Even if they weren't able to cure her right now, he hoped this helped dull her senses and stop feeling her body rip itself apart, at least temporarily. She deserved peace. They stayed together, holding on to the little girl's hands until Sherry finally seemed more at peace.

"Authorized staff only beyond this point. Guests must refrain from entering.”

Leon let out a sharp exhale through his nose and paced back a step, running a hand across the back of his neck as his gaze darted toward the sealed doors ahead. Vera, standing with her camera slung over one shoulder, tilted her head toward the terminal, her body leaning forward slightly as though daring the screen to change its message. When it didn’t, she sighed and pulled away, her boots scuffing against the pristine floor as she moved back toward the receptionist’s desk.

“Well, that’s just fantastic,” Leon muttered under his breath, biting back another wave of irritation that threatened to spill forth in an angry growl. Behind him, the steady thuds of Vera opening and closing drawers echoed throughout the enclosed space, punctuated occasionally by scrapes and clinks as she sifted through items in search of useful ones. He watched her closely out of the corner of his vision, unable to entirely rid himself of the concern bubbling beneath his surface despite her insistence on accompanying him to the laboratory. "What now? We can't exactly kick the door down. Maybe we should call Claire?"

Vera dropped her hands heavily onto her hips after pushing another drawer closed with a loud bang that vibrated up into his bones, her camera clinking softly as it smacked against her side. She picked up a folder with a slight flick of her wrist, flipping it open and skimming the contents inside before discarding it in favor of rifling through another stack of papers. “We don’t call her yet,” she said finally, sharp but not unkind. "She's running herself ragged down there, trying to save Sherry. And,” Vera added, tapping her knuckles against the desk’s edge as if to punctuate her words, “have a little faith in us. How many locked doors have we gotten through so far?"

Leon made a low sound of approval but didn’t argue further. Instead, he joined her at the desk, crouching slightly as his hands brushed along the computer terminal’s edge. “Alright, genius,” he said, glancing briefly at the monitor as the screen flickered to life, “let’s see what we’re working with.”

The display showed a directory of files and logs, many of them labeled with technical jargon that Leon could only half-decipher. Vera reached past him, her focus locked on the keyboard as her fingertips skimmed over the keys. A few commands later, the screen shifted, pulling up a log marked “Nap Room Access.”

18545 Toby Jackson Entered: 03:44 Left: 07:31

18546 Sara Takahashi Entered: 04:51 Left: 07:08

18547 Walt Paige Entered: 12:03 Left: 13:36

18548 Anthony White Entered: 12:05 Left:12:48

18549 Cyril Archer Entered: 18:01 Left: 20:21

18550 Desmond Lock Entered: 18:04 Left: 19:58

18551 Wayne Li Entered: 20:16 Left: —:—

“There,” Vera said, pointing to the entry at the bottom of the list. “Last researcher entered… Wayne Li. Never left.” She tapped the screen lightly, her other hand reaching for the strap of her bag as she straightened. “Which means—”

“—He’s still in there,” Leon finished, his shoulders squaring with more vigor as he straightened beside her. “And if he’s still in there, he’s got an upgraded wristband.”

"See? Wasn't so hard," Vera declared cheerfully. There was pride in her smile as she squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, her thumb moving in a circular motion over the fabric of his vest, causing tingles to erupt under the spot. "Good thing you brought me along."

The path they took by entering through the door next to the desk wasn't entirely different from the area they've been in, up until they took a left.

"I was wondering when we'd get to this part," Vera said upon seeing the blood splattered across the wall in an erratic pattern, dark and drying, in erratic stains against the sterile white and orange panels. The droplets streaked downward in places, as if gravity had pulled them from violent impact points, leaving trails that spoke of desperation or struggle.

Leon didn't see any bodies around, but that didn't mean a lot—after all, the blood usually meant a follow the crumbs game. And follow the blood they did. There wasn't any other alternative to begin with if they wanted to get to that nap room, which was unavailable to them judging from the blue glow of the door ahead.

“Let’s be smart about this,” he said as they got closer to the cafeteria door, gripping his pistol tightly. “We don’t know what’s waiting for us on the other side—”

The doors slid open with a sharp hiss, cutting off his words as the sensor picked up their presence. A wave of sound and smell hit them at once. Low, guttural snarls spilled into the hallway, intermingling with the wet, tearing noises of something feeding. The stench of rot rolled over them, sour and metallic, accompanied by a haze of heat radiating from within the darkened interior.

Neither of them moved.

Leon’s flashlight swept into the room, its beam dancing over the carnage. Tables and chairs were overturned in a haphazard mess, trays of congealed food scattered across the floor. Near the center of the cafeteria, several hunched figures crouched over what remained of two bodies, their jaws working methodically as they tore into the flesh. The flashlight caught the faint gleam of exposed ribs, the gore slick and glistening under the faint, flickering light from a distant emergency panel.

A cheery, automated announcement broke the spell, its pleasant tone starkly out of place against the nightmare tableau.

“Our menu is designed for your nutritional needs using our latest biological research. Please enjoy our tasty selection of healthy foods.”

It seemed to echo in the dark, drawing a sharp, startled laugh from Vera. The sound came quick and involuntary, cutting off just as fast as she clapped a hand over her mouth. The nearest zombie jerked upright at the noise, its head snapping toward the doors. Its mangled features were bathed in the faint light from the hallway, chunks of flesh still clinging to its broken teeth.

“Shit,” Leon hissed, his hand tightening around the grip of his pistol. He raised the weapon, taking a single, steadying step forward. “I’ve got this. Stay close.”

The first shot rang out, striking the zombie square in the head and sending it crumpling to the floor. The others turned as one, their snarls deepening into guttural howls as they charged. Leon fired again, his flashlight bobbing with each shot as he moved further into the room. Vera followed, her steps quick and light, her hand fumbling for the camera at her side.

“Careful!” Leon barked as another zombie lunged, its outstretched arms catching the edge of the overturned table in front of her. The wood splintered as Vera ducked, her bag catching briefly on the corner as she stumbled backward.

“I’m fine!” she shouted, pulling the bag free with a sharp tug. She kicked the table forward, sending it toppling into the zombie’s shins as she scrambled for cover behind another set of chairs.

Leon dispatched the creature with a single, well-placed shot before whirling toward the others. The flashlight beam danced across the room, illuminating the last two zombies as they advanced on his position. He aimed carefully, squeezing off two quick shots in succession, the sound reverberating through the room as both figures collapsed in a heap.

The silence that followed was jarring. The only sound was the faint hum of the emergency panel, its flickering light casting an eerie glow across the carnage. Leon exhaled sharply, his grip loosening on the pistol as he scanned the room. “Clear,” he said finally, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Vera didn’t respond immediately, her camera raised as she snapped a photo of the bloodstained floor.

"Got plenty of ammo here," Vera announced, leaning down to scoop up a discarded box of bullets while hanging her trusty digital cam down her neck again. They reloaded weapons together, finding a good rhythm to make the process faster and easier—Vera made sure Matilda was properly loaded for him and checked to see if anything was amiss with it while he looked after Lightning Hawk's mag and then returned the favor.

Vera rose from behind the chairs, brushing dust and debris from her sleeves. She surveyed the room briefly before making her way to the vending machine in the corner. “I need a snack,” she muttered, her tone dry as she leaned against the glass.

Leon turned, the beam of his flashlight following her movements as she dug into her bag and pulled out a small pry tool. “Right now? Don't you think we have other priorities—Jesus! Be caref—You're going to get hurt like that!"

Vera ignored him, digging the tip of the tool underneath one of the machine's screws and giving it a sharp twist. The metal groaned, popping free with surprising ease. "Do you want me to keep my blood sugar up or not?” Vera shot back, jamming the tool into the edge of the machine’s frame. The glass creaked under the pressure as she levered it outward, the faint sound of cracking glass filling the air. “Besides, I do this all the time. These things are ridiculously easy to break into; everyone knows that." She grunted in satisfaction when one side finally gave, sliding open to reveal the rows of colorful packages inside. A satisfied grin crossed her face as she grabbed several packs of candy bars, stuffing them unceremoniously into her bag.

Meanwhile, Leon took to looking around. Rows of coffee dispensers stood untouched, their metallic surfaces gleaming under the beam from his flashlight. Disposable cups were stacked neatly, waiting for hands that would never reach for them. The shelves below held neatly arranged snacks and drinks, their vibrant packaging offering an unsettling normalcy against the sterile dread creeping in from beyond this space.

The vending machines in the corner emitted a low hum, their lights casting soft halos that illuminated the floor. One machine's glass panel was cracked, jagged lines running through its surface, as though someone had struck it in desperation. Near the counter, a few streaks of blood marred the wooden floor, leading toward the booths at the far end. The faint crimson trail, though small, told a story of someone seeking refuge here—someone who likely never found it.

The wall held a collection of posters and menus, fragments of normalcy frozen in time. The menu board for “The Dark Bean” stood out at the top, listing options like “Original Coffee” and “CrystalSODA” in crisp, clear lettering. Prices were still visible—affordable yet mundane, hinting at a time when employees or scientists could pause their work for a quick break, the biggest decision of their day being between "Strong Shot" or "Gold Coffee." The promotional slogan below the coffee ad declared, “The best days always start with the best cup of coffee,” an irony given the desolation surrounding this cafeteria.

Below, posters tried their best to exude optimism and order. One featured a hiker at the summit of a mountain, arms outstretched as if basking in the achievement. Its tagline, “Fulfilling life comes from good health,” felt like a hollow platitude in this setting, a cruel mockery of the reality beyond these walls. Another image showed a proud “Officer of the Month” announcement for Marvin Branagh, his uniform crisp, his smile sincere.

He couldn't stop the, "Oh," escaping him at seeing Marvin's face so full of life and hope, looking just like before all hell broke loose.

He couldn't help but look back at Vera, and found she was already staring back at him with an unreadable emotion on her face before she dropped what she was doing and came to stand at his side again. The silent understanding passed between them like waves rolling in a tranquil ocean as they stared at Marvin's picture in memory.

Then, she reached forward to take it off the wall angrily with shaking hands, holding it closer to her chest with a frown, blinking rapidly and hugging it close to her body without another world, almost protective. As if she was shielding the picture away from harm and protecting something precious to herself. Something Leon knew he had no business asking about unless she wanted to bring it up herself. So he let her hug the piece of paper, turn away from him and pretend nothing happened because that's all she needed right now, to be alone and collect herself. Her grip tightened around the edge of Marvin's image, trembling, the fingers of her other hand caressing the photo with such delicacy as if trying to memorize every little detail, lingering over the face, tracing the shape of his lips. Then she gingerly folded the page and tucked it safely away into the front pocket of her bag.

Leon shook his head, sighing under his breath as he turned toward the far end of the room. A ladder loomed against the wall, its metal rungs catching the faint light of the flashlight. “Ready to go?” he asked over his shoulder, his hand resting on the bottom rung.

“Just about,” Vera replied, kicking the broken pieces of glass aside with her foot before crossing back toward him. Her lips stretched into a small smile, and despite their situation, Leon found himself mirroring the gesture without thinking.

She gestured toward the ladder with a tilt of her head. “Lead the way, Boy Scout.”

They climbed in silence, the rungs cold and slick beneath their hands as they ascended into the vent. The space was surprisingly large, its walls lined with smooth metal that stretched upward into a narrow corridor. Leon moved ahead, his flashlight illuminating the path as they shuffled forward. At the far end, the vent opened into the kitchen, the faint gleam of stainless steel appliances visible through the slats.

Leon dropped down first, his boots hitting the tiled floor with a faint thud. He turned, extending a hand as Vera climbed out behind him. The kitchen was eerily quiet, its surfaces untouched save for a thin layer of dust. The faint smell of rot lingered, mingling with the metallic tang of the vent.

Vera wandered toward the stove, her movements casual as she pulled open a nearby pot lid. “Would you look at that,” she said, pulling out a plate of cold pancakes. “Still good.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Leon warned, his flashlight beam snapping toward her. “You don’t know what’s been in here.”

“This place was locked from the outside,” Vera replied, already taking a bite. She gestured toward the vent with her fork. “No contamination. Perfectly safe.”

Was she really that hungry?

Leon opened his mouth to retort when his flashlight fell across the counter, illuminating rows of sealed containers lining the shelves. His footsteps echoed on the tile floor as he approached the first container, opening the lid to reveal a row of perfectly portioned sandwiches. Below that lay bowls filled with various fruits, vegetables, and condiments. On the other side was a cart laden with bottled waters, juice, and sodas, all neatly arranged for easy access. Everything was protected by sealant coating, ensuring freshness. It looked more like a five-star restaurant than anything else—but then again, Umbrella spared no expense when it came to spoiling their VIPs, apparently.

"Guess this counts as clean enough," Leon remarked, letting the comment slide as he joined Vera at the counter.

"Told you so," she mumbled through a mouthful of pancake. She swallowed audibly, setting the dish aside before picking up another. "These are actually really good. You want some?"

The corners of his lips tugged upward in amusement as he shook his head, "No thanks."

Vera shrugged, turning her attention toward the cart instead, popping a bottle of soda open. "More for me."

Not that Leon minded watching her eat for a moment while scanning their surroundings.

She was done in no time, licking syrup off the fork in a slow drag which caused an odd reaction within Leon that had him straighten awkwardly in response. After washing down the pancakes with the rest of the pop, they left the kitchen behind together. The door hissed shut behind them as they exited the room into a pitch black corridor, which was beyond the out-of-access nap room entrance they had to take a detour to bypass.

“You’ve got the appetite of a college freshman,” he said as he began to move forward, stepping tentatively along the passageway. His flashlight flickered slightly, casting uneven shadows against the scuffed walls. “What do we do if your blood sugar rises? Do you have insulin with you?"

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." Vera gestured toward the glowing green light ahead. “That’s gotta be it.”

Leon nodded, gripping his pistol a little tighter as they approached the Nap Room door. The panel beside it blinked faintly, displaying a soft blue hue that matched the faint lettering above the entrance. He stopped just short of the sensor, giving Vera a sidelong glance.

“No surprises, huh?” he muttered, more to himself than her. He moved forward, triggering the automatic door.

It slid open with a low hiss, revealing rows of pods lined neatly along the far wall. Each pod was embedded into the structure, their surfaces smooth and sterile under the faint glow of the emergency lights. The air felt colder here, sharper somehow, as if the room had been sealed off for far longer than the rest of the lab.

Leon took the first cautious step inside, his boots muffled against the polished floor. “Stay close,” he said over his shoulder, sweeping the flashlight beam across the room.

Vera followed, her camera already in hand as she scanned the space. She trailed the lens over the rows of pods, her fingers brushing lightly against the edges as she walked. "There's our guy."

Leon's flashlight caught on the shut panel of the last pod. A figure's arm was hanging limply over the edge, stopping the pod door from closing entirely. The body was still, its lab coat that was peeking out from the narrow opening stained with deep maroon streaks that had long since dried. The faint glint of a wristband caught his attention, and he leaned in, gripping the pod’s edge as he inspected it further.

“This is it,” he called out, reaching out carefully, his hand brushing against the scientist’s arm as he unclipped the wristband. The skin felt cold and clammy beneath his touch, flaking off where his fingers brushed it, as if it were disintegrating under his grasp. He jerked back involuntarily, wiping his palm on his pants reflexively. A shadow caught the corner of his vision as Vera stepped up behind him, peering at the body with mild interest.

"Ugh," she said, making a face as the scent of rotting flesh grew stronger. "Stinks." She waved her hand in front of her nose.

He turned the wristband over in his hand briefly before tucking it into his pocket. “Got what we need. Let’s check the rest of the room before we head back.”

Vera, who had been trailing the lens of her camera along the pods, lowered it slightly and gestured toward the opposite wall. “What about those?” she asked, nodding toward a row of tall, narrow lockers set into the wall.

Leon turned, his flashlight flickering across the lockers as he moved toward them. “Worth a look,” he said after a moment of consideration.

Vera opened the next locker with a quick tug, her brow furrowing as she reached inside. Her hand closed around a cold, metallic object, and she pulled it out carefully, holding it up to inspect it in the faint light. “Well, hello,” she murmured, turning it over in her hands. The cylindrical device gleamed faintly, its compact design bearing the telltale markings of lab equipment. A quick glance at the engraved label confirmed its identity: Flamethrower Regulator.

Leon turned at her words, his flashlight falling on the device in her hands. “You’re kidding,” he deadpanned, his face betraying a trace of disbelief as he met her eager grin. "That’s what they’re stashing in the nap room?”

Vera shrugged, tucking the regulator into her bag with a satisfied look. “Maybe they were expecting a bad dream,” she said, nudging the locker door shut with her boot. “Either way, it’s ours now.”

"We don't even have a flamethrower, what are we gonna do with this?"

"I don't know yet, but I'm sure it will be useful in the future."

As Leon stepped into the main shaft, the limited confines of the laboratory abruptly gave way to a vertiginous chasm that felt pulled from the pages of science fiction. The space was colossal, an industrial monolith buried beneath Raccoon City, its scale almost too much for the mind to comprehend. The first sensation was vertigo.

Both he and Vera froze at the threshold, their boots scraping against the grated platform. His breath caught as he took in the sheer immensity of what sprawled ahead. Far below the grated walkway lay a seemingly endless abyss, faintly illuminated by the cold, sterile glow of scattered lights. Veins of machinery and conduits ran down the cylindrical contraptions in the walls that were twisting and turning, a complex web of engineering that disappeared into darkness. It felt alive, almost sentient, with faint wisps of steam hissing from unseen vents, dissipating into the void like ghostly tendrils. The metal beneath his feet vibrated subtly, rumbling like a predator just waking from hibernation.

The centerpiece of this massive chamber dominated his vision: a cylindrical tower bathed in a cold, sterile glow. It rose endlessly, its smooth metallic surface lit by concentric rows of lights that pierced the gloom, disappearing into shadow high above and below. The sheer massiveness of the structure dwarfed everything else, looming like a sleeping giant at the core of this cavernous enclosure.

Leon’s pulse quickened, the sharp edge of fear mingling with awe. It wasn’t just the physical height that made his stomach churn; it was the realization that he was standing at the heart of something far beyond human comprehension. This was Umbrella’s domain, and the space itself felt like a manifestation of their power—grand, cold, and uncaring. The faint glimmer of metal walkways branching from his position toward doors marked "East Area" and "West Area" were the only signs of direction in an otherwise overwhelming abyss.

Next to him, Vera inhaled sharply, her face pale beneath the stark fluorescent lighting. Her hand came to rest on his arm, her grip tightening ever so lightly as though seeking comfort. Without hesitation, Leon found himself responding, covering her palm with his own, steadying both of them. His fingertips traced tiny circles into the bare skin of her wrist, and when she leaned closer, her elbow grazing against his, he felt her exhale shakily. The small act of reassurance seemed to relax them both, grounding them to reality again.

“Looks like something out of a sci-fi movie,” Vera said, her gaze trailing upward to the distant ceiling as she stepped onto the main platform. She moved to the railing, leaning over slightly to peer into the abyss below. “This whole time, we’ve been standing on top of... this.”

"Yeah," he agreed absentmindedly, trying not to focus on how precariously close they were to a sudden drop. His hand tightened around his pistol as he scanned the catwalk for potential threats. "Let’s go."

It was only after they began to move forward that he caught a glint of something out of the corner of his eye. At first, it didn’t register; the corpse was slumped so naturally against the railing that it could almost be mistaken for an extension of the metalwork. But upon second glance, it became painfully obvious what he was looking at. The body—draped in tactical gear and a gas mask, now eerily reflective under the harsh overhead lights—sat motionless, like a gargoyle perched along the catwalk. A dark pool of blood had spread across the grating beneath the figure, thick streaks staining the walkway with scarlet trails.

"Special forces," Vera remarked coolly, nudging the corpse’s foot with the toe of her boot. "I wonder how long ago they were sent here."

"What matters now is how he can help us," Leon crouched beside the body, his hands quick and practiced as he checked for supplies. He pulled out a spare magazine and a combat knife, tucking them into his belt.

Vera moved closer, her camera already in hand as she captured the scene. The lens whirred faintly as she adjusted the focus, trailing over the soldier’s uniform and the dark stains that marred the fabric. “I think Birkin did this. Look at how brutalized the body is. They must have come here for the G-Virus and... Well."

He reached into one of the uniform’s pockets, pulling out a small, rectangular device. “Looks like a recorder,” he said, turning it over in his hand before pressing the play button.

The device crackled to life, the static-filled recording echoing in the vast space. The voices were clipped and professional, the words coming through with military precision.

"Alpha to Ghost. Target moving to the West Area. Must be going to retrieve the G-Virus and antiviral agent."

Leon and Vera exchanged a glance, neither speaking as they listened to the recording continue.

"This is Ghost. Understood. Rendezvous at Point W-3."

"Roger."

"This is Alpha. Arrived at destination."

"Understood. Stand by for target."

"This is Alpha, I've got eyes on the target. He's going to open the safe."

"Roger. Awaiting the signal."

"Got eyes on the G-Virus."

Vera adjusted the camera slightly, the lens focusing on the dead man’s face as the recording continued.

"We're going in..."

"Doctor Birkin, you'll come along with us quietly."

After the recording stopped, he was about to pocket the device, but Vera snatched it from him, saying, "Evidence goes into the bag."

“G-Virus is in the West Area, let's go," he leaned his head towards where he was talking about.

Vera lowered her camera, her gaze flicking toward the central platform. “That information could be outdated,” she said, tapping the screen with a frown. "Who knows if the G-Virus is even there anymore."

"From the state this guy's in and the other one in the cafeteria," he gestured toward the soldier's body with an upturned palm. "I'm willing to take my chances."

They came to find out that Claire had left a trail behind her, namely the opened bridge to the East Area. And when they tried to fiddle with the console that withdrew the West Area's bridge from them, it said, “Senior Staff clearance required for bridge access," out loud in return like it was an impatient AI assistant whose purpose was just to make them annoyed.

Which meant they had to take a detour in hopes of finding a higher clearance wristband like they managed to do with Wayne Li.

The East Area lobby greeted them with an unsettling quiet. There were no traces of combat, nor any sign that something worse had taken place here aside from a broken ceiling vent in the corridor that led here. It was just a normal, abandoned lobby: a mess desk at the front with a computer terminal and filing cabinet, a pair of double doors on either side of them, and a few waiting area couches pushed up against the far wall. Everything was painted in neutral colors—creams, whites, grays, pastels. The layout was pristine but lifeless, its stark design reminiscent of the sterile corridors they’d already trudged through.

The door to the south didn't open, so they moved to the other obvious choice which was marked as the presentation room in their map.

A glass wall dominated one side of the space, its surface marred by jagged cracks that spiderwebbed out from the center. The cracks radiated from where a man in a hazmat suit had been violently slammed against the glass, his body still pinned there by thick, green vines that coiled around him like living ropes. The glass was groaning faintly under his weight, the largest crack just inches from giving way entirely.

Leon and Vera shared a bewildered look as they crossed the empty chamber, stopping just short of the crumpled figure trapped against the glass. The cracked window transformed the incoming light into a fractured mosaic, splintering it into erratic patterns of light and shadow that danced across the smooth floor. Vera leaned forward cautiously, peering through the distorted view that lay beyond the shattered barrier. “What in the actual hell…”

Leon shifted his stance, his flashlight illuminating the vines that wrapped around the man’s limbs and torso. The largest vine spiraled tightly around his outstretched arm, where a metallic chip glinted faintly against the dim light. “That’s a Senior Staff Chip,” he said, stepping closer to inspect it.

Vera edged closer to the window, trailing her camera along the foliage as it undulated unnaturally against the figure. One of the smaller tendrils unfurled slowly, waving in the faint breeze like a snake scenting prey. Another vine stretched toward them, its tip spreading outward and wrapping around itself like a twisted flower budding open. Tiny spores erupted from its core, flitting about as though drunkenly searching for some unseen target.

"Well," Leon sighed heavily, shaking his head as he glanced over at Vera, who was recording all the details on the vines and whatnot, completely immersed in the new discovery. "We have to go in there to get it."

The vines seemed to originate from beyond the glass, snaking out from the dense greenery that filled the room beyond. Thick roots coiled around the base of a massive tree-like structure, its branches bristling with what looked like oversized thorns.

Vera pulled her camera out, the lens clicking softly as she adjusted the focus. "I think first we should figure out how to get that chip without ending up like him.”

Leon stepped back from the glass, focusing on a podium near the wall. He moved toward it, his hand brushing against the edge as he inspected the display. The screen of the computer standing on top of it flickered red, its surface marred by the same error message they’d seen in the lobby. “No luck here,” he said, edged with frustration. “We’re locked out.”

Vera sighed, her camera lowering as she moved to the corner of the room. Her hand brushed against a small metal cabinet, the faint creak of hinges breaking the quiet as she opened it. Her brow furrowed slightly as she reached inside, pulling out a long, cylindrical object. "Aha! Chekov's flamethrower! Didn't I tell you we'd find something? That regulator wasn't lying around for no reason."

Seeing her that pumped up about a fire breathing machine made it impossible for Leon not to smile. It was somehow in character for her to love combustion weaponry so much - because, as he understood, Vera loved playing with fire. Maybe literally. Controlled chaos seemed to be her thing.

“You think that’s enough to deal with… whatever’s in there?”

Vera slung the flamethrower over her shoulder, her hand gripping the strap tightly as she stepped back toward the glass. “There’s only one way to find out,” she said, resting her free hand against the window as she peered into the obscured space beyond the window. "Let's burn this bitch down!"

The specimen room section they had to pass through before arriving at the greenhouse a disorienting descent into nature's rebellion against control. Tendrils of mutated vegetation coiled along the walls and disappeared into the pervasive misty air like searching fingers. Vines hung in tangles from the ceiling, some swaying lazily, others ominously still, their bark-like texture glistening with moisture.

The air felt alive, thick with the earthy aroma of decaying greenery and something far more sinister—an underlying chemical tang that stung the nostrils. Metal shelves stood scattered and overtaken by creeping growth, their once-polished surfaces dulled and warped by the relentless spread of this organic corruption. A circular terrarium in the center was illuminated from within, its contents a display of carnivorous plants and warped blossoms that seemed to twitch at the edges of vision.

A Leon could hear was faint drips of condensation falling to the floor, the groan of stressed metal, and the occasional unsettling rustle of leaves where no breeze should have been. A shattered window near the far end offered a glimpse into the greater jungle of the laboratory—branches clawing toward the interior as though eager to invade. Whatever control the lab had once exerted over its experiments had clearly been lost, and the result was an uninhibited wildness that spilled freely into this place.

Beside him, Vera let out a low whistle, her camera clicking rapidly as she adjusted her hold on the weapon.

She lowered her camera finally, adjusting the strap before taking a cautious step forward. Her boots crunched softly against the debris littering the floor as she moved. "If Umbrella ever decided to start making movies," she murmured, sidestepping a thick tangle of vines snaking across their path. "They wouldn't even need actors, the entire set could just do all the work itself."

Leon stepped forward cautiously, his flashlight carving a path through the gloom. The beam swept over a shelf to the left, revealing a small canister labeled Flamethrower Fuel. He reached out and grabbed it, turning it over briefly before handing it to Vera. “Here, fuel for your weapon of destruction."

All of these just lying around made Leon uneasy. This flamethrower was used for something. Or, on something. It couldn't be for regular zombies. None of what he'd come across was burned so far. What then?

While Vera busied herself with where to put the fuel canister in the flamethrower and trying to juggle it with the camera in one hand at the same time, Leon only noticed the faint shift in the foliage above at the very last minute. A figure, nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding vines, hung suspended from the ceiling. Its form was grotesque, covered in thick, veined growths that pulsed faintly, clinging to the vines like an insect, its limbs twisted and elongated by whatever mutation had taken hold. He pulled Vera (with a surprised "Oof!") back when it dropped from the ceiling with a wet, sickening thud. Its limbs sprawled out as it landed, and for a moment it lay still, as if adjusting to its new position. Then it jerked upright, its head twisting at an unnatural angle as it faced them. The faint glow from the surrounding plants cast harsh shadows across its misshapen body, highlighting the vine-like tendrils that sprouted from its shoulders and arms.

Leon’s pistol was up in an instant, the first shot cracking through the room and punching right through its skull. The creature let out a hoarse cry as it toppled backward, flailing wildly. It didn't go down, though. Not as easily as Leon wanted it to. In fact, instead of stopping, it started moving again despite having most of its brains blown off its face. With incredible speed and agility, it bounded up onto the metal shelf closest to them and flung itself forward. He aimed for its head, firing rapidly until the magazine clicked empty. But every hit just seemed to rile up the thing more, and it kept coming, undeterred.

“Shit!” Leon barked, discarding his empty pistol to the ground and diving behind one of the many shelving units littering the laboratory floor. He was trying to equip his shotgun but it was proving difficult.

Vera froze for half a second, her camera slipping slightly in her grip as she tried to process what she was seeing. Then she fumbled to lift the flamethrower, her movements hurried but clumsy. “What the hell is that thing?!” she shouted, scrambling back from the approaching beast. The flamethrower was slippery between her palms from panic.

Leon's attention was split between saving Vera and figuring out how to pull his shotgun from the strap holding it to his chest. That was when the monstrosity attacked her, landing on top of Vera and knocking her to the ground, her flamethrower scattering across the cement floor out of reach. When Leon heard a pained scream he abandoned his task immediately and jumped into action, slamming his elbow down on the monster's head and kicking the thing away from her while it was dazed enough.

That was enough time for her to react and grip the flamethrower, get one knee on the floor and brace one foot down to stabilize herself, aiming it toward the creature as it rushed at him in an attempt to catch it in the flames and roast it alive. A stream of fire erupted from the nozzle, its bright, searing light illuminating the entire room. The flames engulfed the creature, drawing tortured wails as it staggered backwards and collapsed in a charred heap of smoking flesh and wood.

"Hey, you okay?" Leon called, reaching out to steady her. Vera was panting, her hair sticking to her sweat-stained forehead. She nodded breathlessly, offering him a grateful look.

Her skin felt warm beneath his touch from being really close to the fire. When she stumbled sideways he moved quickly to grab her shoulder, concern flooding through him. Her dark skin was ashen, brow creased, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. Sweat beaded on her temple, her dark curls clinging to the damp skin. Her hand gripped the flamethrower tightly, the knuckles white from exertion, while her other arm wrapped protectively around her waist, fingers curling into her shirt. There was a tremor to her stance, a subtle sway that spoke of weariness or pain, or perhaps both.

"That overgrown compost pile," Vera gritted out angrily, dusting herself off before heading over to inspect the remains of their recent foe. "Garden reject son of a bitch."

Leon followed her closely, grabbing his pistol along the way and reloading it carefully. As soon as he put another bullet through the creature's skull, just to be sure it really won't get up again, he looked over at her. "Did it hurt you?"

"Only my pride," Vera said. "I don't even get where its mouth is."

He sighed. If he weren't worried sick about Vera getting scratched by those claws or touched by any contaminated slime that might be left on the floor where that thing was writhing around in agony earlier, he'd be laughing. They stood there for a moment longer, the faint crackling of embers the only sound in the room. Then Leon turned, nodding toward the far end of the greenhouse. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got a lot more ground to cover.”

Vera nodded, slinging the flamethrower over her shoulder as she followed him. To their surprise, the area didn't open to the greenhouse itself but to a monitoring room. The control desk sprawled before the jagged glass wall, featuring two turned off computer monitors. Keyboards lay scattered, some missing keys, others slick with the grime of frantic use. Chairs, mismatched and squeaking on their swivels, sat slightly askew, abandoned mid-task as if their users had been pulled away without warning. Papers were strewn across the desktop, their pages curled and stained from spilled liquids, and the remnants of a smashed mug rested on the floor, the coffee long since evaporated into a brownish stain.

However, what drew immediate attention to itself was the control terminal that covered the far right wall. It came across as a projection curtain at first, but in reality, was a monitor that displayed a series of schematics and blueprints, their details etched in vibrant cyan lines that pulsed faintly, as though alive. The central diagram dominated the display—a rotating 3D model of the facility's layout, layers of corridors and chambers unraveling like a labyrinth.

To its right, a floor map detailed the greenhouse section, corridors branching like veins and arteries around the central hub. Labels flickered on and off, the words "East Area" and "Greenhouse Control Room" standing out against the grid. The screens seemed to breathe with the rhythm of flickering light, a silent, cold heartbeat at the core of this digital nerve center. Beneath the monitor, the console hummed softly, its control panel riddled with an array of buttons and a small touch screen displaying the words: "User Authorization Required." The touch screen glared a piercing white, waiting, almost expectant. A faint layer of dust had settled over the terminal, marred by the imprint of frantic fingertips, the evidence of prior, desperate attempts at access.

“Drug Testing Lab,” he read aloud, tapping the edge of the console. The label blinked faintly, the pathway to the room marked by a glowing line. “And this—” He gestured toward another section of the map. “—that ladder connects to the lower levels.”

Behind him, Vera shifted her weight, her bag rustling faintly as she adjusted the strap over her shoulder. She stepped closer, her gaze trailing over the screen as she pointed toward the flashing green indicators. “Looks like someone’s already been here,” she said, her finger tracing a line from the East Area to the Greenhouse. “See that? Someone unlocked those sections.”

Leon straightened up, his palm resting flat against the cool surface of the monitor. “You think—?”

“Claire,” Vera interrupted, nodding toward the screen. “It has to be. West Area is unavailable. She has to be around here.”

Leon’s hand instinctively reached for his walkie-talkie, pulling it from his belt as he stepped away from the console. He turned the dial carefully, tuning into the familiar frequency before pressing the button. “Claire? It’s Leon,” he said, raising the device to his mouth. His thumb tapped anxiously on the casing as the seconds stretched, a low buzz of static filling the silence between transmissions. “Can you hear me?”

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the soft hiss of static, and then, a faint click signaled a response. Claire’s exhausted sigh was audible, the sound carrying a palpably weary relief. “God, finally—I was wondering when I’d hear from you. Are you guys alright?"

He smiled at her concerned question, his hand gripping the radio a little tighter, his thoughts drifting to Vera. "Yeah. Yeah, we're okay. Had a bit of trouble on our way, but nothing we couldn’t handle. Where are you, Claire? We're in the greenhouse control place in the East Area. Was it you who unlocked the Drug Testing Room and the ladder?”

"Yeah," Claire replied, her breaths coming in short, tired bursts. "I'm... yeah, I've just finished in the drug testing lab. It's for Sherry's vaccine. But I need to cool it down. Problem is, I can’t get there—the area’s sealed because there's no power in the area, and I can’t figure out how to restore it."

Leon’s shoulders squared as he processed her words. “Where are you now?” he asked, glancing back at the map on the terminal. “Are you safe?”

“Down the ladder,” Claire replied, the static crackling faintly before her words came through again. “I’ve been running in circles trying to figure this out. I need to make the solution stable, it's garbage otherwise.”

Vera stepped closer, her camera slung over her shoulder as she nodded toward Leon. “Not if I can help it," she chimed in, her free hand resting on her hip. "We'll meet you there. Hold on tight, girl, the cavalry is on its way.”

They could practically feel the smile in Claire's answering sigh, the relief tangible even through the tinny speaker of the radio. "Good to hear your voice, Vera. See you in a bit, then."

The greenhouse stretched out before them like a surreal nightmare the moment they stepped into there. The massive space was dominated by a tangled web of vines and thick roots that coiled up the walls, twisting and stretching across the floor like veins feeding a monstrous heart. Brightly colored flowers, swollen and grotesque, pulsed faintly in the shadows, their alien forms standing out against the muted greens and browns of the overgrowth.

Leon took a step forward, his boots crunching softly against the moss-covered floor. His flashlight swept over the expanse, the beam catching on the gleam of something metallic embedded in the greenery ahead. He stopped short, his posture stiffening as his gaze locked onto the object. It was the senior staff chip, still hanging from the wristband of the outstretched hand of the man they’d seen pinned against the glass in the presentation room.

“Well, there it is,” Leon muttered, gesturing toward the distant figure. "We're gonna have to torch the whole thing."

"After we're done downstairs." Vera was already moving, her steps quick and light, as she picked her way carefully through the tangle of vines and leaves. She paused at a junction in the path, her head tilting to the side as she considered the options. “Which way do you think leads to the lower levels?"

"From the map," Leon started to say, but he cut himself off, his senses suddenly on high alert. A low, guttural croak echoed through the humid space, the sound seeming to come from all directions at once. He raised his weapon, narrowing his gaze as he prepared to fire.

“Don’t,” Vera hissed, grabbing his wrist. “Save the bullets—and the fuel.” She pointed toward the ladder, her voice low but firm. “We can swerve around them. They’re slow.”

Leon glanced at her, then back at the monsters ahead, his grip on the pistol tightening briefly before he nodded. “Fine,” he said. “But if one of them gets too close—”

“Then you can play action hero,” Vera interrupted, a wry smile tugging at her lips. Her fingers brushed his forearm, squeezing lightly before she released him. “For now, we stick to the plan.”

They moved carefully through the greenhouse, keeping low as they weaved through the dense overgrowth. The Ivy Zombies shuffled aimlessly, their movements slow and uneven, their hulking forms only partially visible through the foliage. The ladder at the far end of the room came into view, its metal rungs slick with condensation. Vera reached it first, gripping the edge as she glanced back over her shoulder. “After you,” she said, gesturing for Leon to go first.

Leon gave her a quick nod, holstering his pistol as he started his descend. The ladder creaked faintly under his weight, the sound echoing through the enclosed space. Vera followed close behind, her boots clanging softly against the metal as they climbed down into the sub-basement.

The maintenance passage was pitch black. Leon pulled a flashlight from his belt, the beam cutting a narrow swath of visibility in front of him. The tunnel was lined with a giant pipe and electrical wiring, the concrete walls damp and cold. They trudged through the gloom, their footsteps echoing hollowly, until they reached a dead-end, where a single door stood, a thin sliver of pale light bleeding from the edges. Leon reached for it, pushing his way into the lounge of the sub-basement.

The first thing his flashlight picked up on was blood.

Blood spattered the surfaces in erratic patterns, and deep claw marks ran jaggedly across the walls and floor. He couldn't even count the corpses scattered throughout the room, the light from the vending machines and muted emergency lights not enough to see properly. An uneasy feeling twisted in his gut, his hand instinctively dropping to his sidearm. He exchanged a grim look with Vera, who nodded silently, her camera clicking softly as she scanned the surroundings. She'd hung her flamethrower on her shoulder next to her bag, so Leon knew that meant that she didn't sense the presence of anything that'd require burning alive.

"I've only ever seen one thing do this kind of damage," she said, stepping carefully around a particularly grisly corpse.

Leon knew what she was talking about. Lickers. "We need to stay quiet. Let's go," he whispered, switching to his shotgun and holding his flashlight in his left hand. They had to find Claire. And fast. But also needed to be aware of their surroundings. One false step could mean death.

They didn't need to get far until coming across the two dead bodies of the said lickers sprawled in the middle of the corridor leading deeper into the place. It was clear that a fierce battle had occurred, and that Claire must have won, considering the fact that she was nowhere to be seen. It made Leon's heart leap with joy. At least that was a sign that she was alright.

Vera stepped up beside him, her gaze following the trail of carnage. She adjusted her bag, her stance shifting as she peered into the darkness beyond. "Claire's been busy."

They had barely made it another few steps when a figure appeared at the far end of the corridor, illuminated faintly by the flickering emergency lights. Claire came into view, her movements quick but steady as she approached. She stopped just short of them, her shoulders sagging slightly as she caught her breath. Her face was bruised, and her clothes were stained with sweat and grime. Dark smudges marred her skin, and a fresh cut adorned her forehead, a crimson slash that stood out in sharp relief against her pallid complexion. She looked exhausted, worn, her body held together by sheer willpower and grit. Yet despite the obvious signs of struggle, her blue-green stare burned fiercely, undaunted.

"Hey, you guys," Claire called out, her hands settling on her hips as she flashed them both a tired smile. "Did you miss me?"

Leon didn't know about Vera, but he was frozen with the disbelief of having Claire right in front of him after being separated for so long. It felt surreal. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, his mind racing with a dozen questions and concerns. Before he could find his tongue, Vera had already stepped forward, pulling Claire into a tight hug. "Hell, girl!" she exclaimed, her laughter tinged with a hint of unshed tears. "You've no idea!"

Leon couldn’t help but give her a relieved smile, his shoulders loosening as he finally allowed himself a moment of respite, watching as Claire returned the embrace firmly, her hands briefly not knowing where to rest on on Vera's crowded back before she pulled away, squeezing Vera's arms in an attempt to hold onto the warmth lingering there.

"It feels good to finally get back together again," Leon said earnestly, glad to see Claire's returning smile brighten up her face a bit more. "Glad to see you're in one piece."

At last, Claire let out a shuddering breath, her hands falling away from Vera's frame. Her stare flicked between them before settling on him, brows lifting expectantly. "What about you guys?" she asked, gesturing toward the entrance of the lounge with a tilt of her head. "Annette...?"

"Don't worry, we haven't come across her. I think she's in the West Area, so we should be safe for now," Leon assured.

The corners of Claire's lips twitched, and the fire sparked anew behind her irises. "Perfect," she said, glancing over her shoulder before turning back to face him fully, her brow furrowed into a determined frown. "Listen. We need to turn the power on..."

"I saw a circuit breaker right there," Vera pointed behind her with her thumb, "it seems we just need to retune the switches to restore the power. But I need something for that."

The hallway stretched before them, dimly lit and lined with faint stains that streaked across the walls and floors like remnants of an unseen battle. Leon led the way, his flashlight bouncing with each step, casting long, eerie shadows along the corridor. Claire walked behind him, her hand resting on her pack, while Vera brought up the rear, the flamethrower slung across her back like a soldier carrying a rifle.

The power was on beyond the stairwell they reached, and Leon stopped abruptly at the bottom, his stance stiffening as he raised his pistol toward the shadowy corner to the right. A zombie staggered into the faint light of his flashlight, its decayed features twisted in a grotesque snarl. Leon fired a single, clean shot, and the creature crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap.

“Clear,” he said, stepping over the body as he ascended the stairs. “Stay sharp. There’s always more where that came from.”

Claire nodded, following close behind him, her boots clanging faintly against the grated metal steps. Vera adjusted the strap of her bag and moved after them, her tread soft and sure on the polished flooring.

They reached the midway point of the stairwell when something tumbled from above. The body hit the stairs with a sickening thud, its limbs sprawling at odd angles as it came to a stop just a few feet in front of Leon. He cursed under his breath, raising his pistol instinctively, while Vera’s grip on the flamethrower tightened as she swung it forward, ready to ignite. The corpse remained still, its decayed frame unmoving, and after a brief pause, Leon gestured for them to keep moving.

“It’s dead,” he said shortly, with a relieved sigh. "Let's go."

Vera exhaled sharply, lowering the flamethrower as she stepped around the body. “You say that like it means anything in this place,” she grumbled, shrugging as she continued up the staircase.

They reached the top of the stairs and pushed through the door into a storage room. The air here felt colder, the space cluttered with overturned shelves and scattered supplies. A single zombie wandered aimlessly near the far wall, its movements slow and uncoordinated as it dragged itself between the rows of shelves. Leon raised his pistol and fired, the shot a crack of thunder in the relative silence, and it crumbled to the floor, a pool of blood slowly spreading beneath its form.

Claire stepped forward, her attention drawn to a small shelf near the wall. She rummaged through the items left behind, her movements brisk but careful as she pulled out a grenade.

Leon moved toward the far corner, where a small panel was embedded into the wall. He stopped short, his hand brushing against the edge as he inspected it. “Looks like another one of that circuit breaker."

But this one had something plugged inside. It looked like a radio to Leon.

Vera stepped up beside him, her gaze trailing over the panel as she adjusted her grip on the flamethrower. “Signal modulator,” she said after a moment, brightening up with recognition. "Claire, you didn’t see this before?”

Claire shrugged, her stance loose as she gestured toward the panel. “Didn’t think it was important,” she admitted. “Figured it was just part of the facility’s systems.”

Vera crouched slightly, her hand brushing over the panel as she inspected it. The compact thing was locked into place, twin dials on either side glinting faintly under the harsh light, their edges textured for precision as they waited to be turned to different radio channels. The display itself was alive with activity: oscillating yellow, red, and green waveforms raced across the interface, pulsating erratically as though struggling to synchronize. Above the screen, engraved into the metal in sharp, clean letters, were the labels OSS, MUF, AWS, and MURF, and Leon had no idea what each of them corresponded to. A thin slider rested in place, its tiny groove highlighting its readiness to switch channels, inviting the user to align it correctly.

She tilted her head, a faint smirk playing at her lips as she stood. “Good thing you’ve got me. Let’s take this downstairs.”

Leon exchanged a glance with Claire, his eyebrow quirking curiously. Neither of them said anything, and Claire simply shook her head and stepped aside, making room for Vera as she made quick work of the panel and popped the rectangular device off with deft fingers.

They made their way back down to the lounge, descending the ladder carefully. Vera hopped the last few steps onto the tiled floor with ease, a pep in her step, cradling the signal modulator in both hands as she held it close to her chest. They went all the way back until reaching that first circuit breaker Leon had seen. He and Claire stopped a few feet behind her, watching as she inspected the word “MURF” glowing in the panel. Then with a few clicks, the same word was glowing on the upper strip of the device, and she started to play with the waveforms by turning the twin dials, making Leon realize she was trying to align the yellow one by getting the red and green ones stop at a specific sequence.

"Trust the process," Vera said after a brief silence of Leon and Claire staring in silence at her while she did her thing. "And trust my big brain."

With two more adjustments, the yellow lines stopped fluctuating, both of them aligned. She slotted the device into the panel with a faint click, the breaker humming faintly as the lights flickered to life around them, flooding the space with fluorescent brightness. Claire gasped, raising a hand to shield her vision momentarily, and Leon blinked rapidly, his pupils contracting in response to the sudden illumination. Vera smirked smugly at the other two, giving the curl of hair resting against her neck a confident flick.

“You did it,” Claire said, her tone laced with gratitude. She stepped forward quickly, wrapping her arms around Vera in a tight, impulsive hug, giving excited hops, making their weapons and inventory clink around. “I can’t believe you actually did it!"

"Told ya I would."

As they shared some celebratory, giddy laughter together, Leon watched on with amusement, before clearing his throat quietly, reminding them that they weren’t out of the woods just yet. As soon as the pair stopped giggling among themselves, they realized how late it was. "We really shouldn't stay here much longer. You said you have Sherry's vaccine solution, Claire?"

"Yeah," Claire said, "Yeah, let's go cool it down."

The low-temp testing lab, though, had quite literally turned into a freezer. Ice crystals coated every surface, the tiles slick with condensation, the metallic racks encrusted with frost. Frost coated everything—monitors, consoles, lab equipment, and pipes—while a layer of ice stretched across the floor, gleaming like a frozen pond. The sharp, metallic tang of coolant hung in the air, heavy and unnatural. Leon stepped further into the room, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as the icy particles filled his lungs. The humidity clung to him, seeping into his skin and chilling him to the bone. Everything ached, the cold gnashing at him relentlessly. A fog of freezing mist rolled around the place like ocean waves, engulfing everything in its frosty embrace. He heard Vera curse faintly behind him as she gripped his prickling shoulder.

"Is the equipment still usable?" Leon asked, glancing over his shoulder at Claire.

"I do have something to help if it isn't," Vera nudged her flamethrower, shooting him a wry grin.

Claire didn’t hesitate, moving toward the central cooling chamber. “I just need the chamber to work..."

Vera wandered along the side of the room, her boots leaving faint trails in the frost as she inspected the machinery. Her hand brushed lightly over a panel encrusted with ice, knocking some of it loose. “This whole place is held together with duct tape and prayer,” she said. “It’s a miracle the cooling system hasn’t burned itself out completely.”

Leon nodded toward Claire. “How long will it take?”

Claire carefully placed the vaccine vial into the cooling chamber, adjusting the settings on the frosted controls. “Not long,” she said, turning a dial until the machine whirred faintly to life. The vial rotated slowly within the chamber, its surface fogging up almost instantly. “Just a few minutes.”

“Good.” Leon shifted toward the doorway, keeping his hand near his holster. “We’ll stand guard. If this place is this cold, it’s because something got through it.”

“Great pep talk,” Vera quipped, leaning against a console and slinging the flamethrower forward. She adjusted the nozzle with practiced precision, her stance easy but alert. “If we’re lucky, we’ll only freeze our asses off and not get eaten.”

Claire shot her a quick glance over her shoulder. “You always this fun during crunch time?”

“I try,” Vera replied, her tone dry. “Adds to my charm.”

The minutes crawled by, the machine’s faint hum the only sound cutting through the freezing quiet. The fog continued to drift around them, disturbed only by their shifting boots and the occasional adjustment of gear. Claire’s hands hovered over the controls, checking and rechecking the chamber’s progress as the coolant did its work.

“Almost done,” she said finally, her voice cutting through the silence. She wiped frost from the glass casing, revealing the stabilized liquid inside. The machine chimed softly as it finished its cycle, and Claire carefully removed the vial, now cooled and ready for use. Frost clung to the surface, but the contents were steady.

“Got it,” she said, holding it up for the others to see. “Now I just need to call Annette."

"For what?" Leon asked.

"To administer this to Sherry. She's the scientist here. Also, I don't exactly have a syringe lying around."

Vera straightened, the faint squeak of her boots against the frosted floor breaking the quiet as she stepped closer. “If she’s tied up with Sherry in the security room,” she began slowly, her brows knitting into a slight frown, "that means the G-Virus will be unguarded in the West Area.”

Claire froze at that. "Yeah, but..."

“We grab the it while she’s distracted. Get in, get out, and no one’s the wiser.”

Claire hesitated, glancing between the two of them. “You think that’ll work?” she asked to Leon, skeptical. “What if she catches on that someone else is here?”

"She won't." It was Vera's turn to interject again, a glint of determination flashing behind her pale silver eyes as she spoke up, her conviction evident as she laid the plan out for the trio. "She doesn’t know Leon and I are in the lab. As far as she’s concerned, you’re the only one running around down here. Before you call, though, first, we get that senior staff chip in the greenhouse—"

"Do we need that though? Annette will open the bridge, anyway," Leon said.

"What about access through the West Area itself?" Vera countered. "For all we know, without that access, we'll get stuck at the first door we see."

"Right," he conceded, his one-way focus on getting the bridge open hadn't considered what would come beyond. "So, then..."

"Stop," Claire raised her hands. "Stop for a minute. You're getting ahead of yourselves here. All of this can go wrong so easily."

"Think positive," Leon quipped dryly, although internally agreeing with Claire. It sounded too good to be true—too perfect a plan, too easy. If he had learned anything since stepping into the precinct, it was that things hardly ever went right and definitely never perfectly. Still, they would never find out unless they tried... "We can make it work. Trust us."

The plant blockage hadn’t stood a chance against Vera’s flamethrower. She’d worked methodically, burning away the dense, writhing mass of vines that had sealed off the path. The fire had roared, consuming the mutated growth until the air was thick with the stench of scorched vegetation. Leon had stood back, covering their position as the vines peeled away and the catwalk finally cleared. The hazmat-suited man had crashed onto the walkway below, landing with an unceremonious thud against the metal grate. He stirred briefly before falling still, his head lolling limply to the side. All the while, Claire and Leon were fending off ivy zombies, trying to keep them on the ground long enough for Vera to be done. Once they had recovered the senior staff chip, they were out of there without even a glance back at the monsters clawing after them.

That brought them here—the main shaft. Leon moved toward the cylindrical elevator at the center of the platform, his boots scuffing softly against the metal floor. He gestured for Vera to follow, keeping his head on a swivel as his eyes tracked the bridges ahead. Vera stayed close, her flamethrower slung over her back and her camera held securely against her side. She didn’t say anything as they settled into position behind the elevator, crouching low to stay out of sight. From here, they were obscured from the view of the West Area bridge, Annette wouldn't be able to see them. All they had to do was slowly rotate to the left as she walked down to the right towards the north area, then sneak through when the time was right. This would give them plenty of time to get across safely and remain unseen, or at least that's what Leon hoped would happen.

Claire was standing right out in the open as she radioed Annette, "The antiviral agent is ready."

A long silence followed, punctuated only by faint static. Then, Annette’s reply came through, curt and direct. “I’m on my way.”

Leon shifted slightly, eyes fixed on the door to the West Area. “Here we go,” he whispered under his breath, exchanging a quick look with Vera before returning his attention back to the threshold.

The door slid open with a faint hiss, and Annette emerged, her lab coat trailing behind her as she moved briskly toward the console. She didn’t hesitate as she activated the bridge, the mechanism groaning faintly as it extended to connect the West Area to the Main Shaft.

Leon kept perfectly still, his body tense as he watched Annette cross the bridge. Vera didn’t move either, her camera angled just enough to capture the scientist’s movements without drawing attention. Annette’s focus was entirely forward, strutting quick and precise with Claire trailing behind her as she headed toward the northern corridor the same time as both of them shuffled to the left to be left out of her field of vision.

Once she disappeared through the door to the north, Vera lowered her camera, exhaling softly. “She’s in,” she said quietly. “Let’s go.”

Leon nodded, pushing himself up from their cover. He kept his pistol drawn as they moved toward the West Area bridge, their steps soft against the grated metal catwalk.

The West Area was an uncomfortable stretch of silence and anticipation, the corridors bathed in darkness, the faint hum of the facility’s systems conspicuously absent. Leon moved cautiously, his footsteps soft against the sleek, polished floor. Vera followed close behind, her flamethrower secured against her side, the low, faint scrape of her boots blending with the stillness around them.

Ahead, a collapsed body slumped against the wall, the gear of the U.S.S. soldier torn and crushed, blood splattered everywhere. Leon crouched beside the corpse, his movements quick and practiced. He unclipped a grenade from the soldier’s vest, hooking it onto his own belt with a faint metallic clink. His gaze lingered briefly on the soldier’s cracked helmet before Vera stepped closer, her camera already out.

“What’s this guy got for us?” she asked, kneeling next to him. She sifted through the soldier’s belongings, her hands precise as she pulled a tape from the small pack strapped to his side. The label, faded but still legible, read Operation NESTWRECKER 1. Vera held it up to Leon's flashlight, studying it for a moment before slipping it into her bag. “Another one goes into the evidence pile."

Leon rose, his stance alert as he gestured down the corridor. “Power’s still out. We’re not going anywhere until we get it back on.”

Vera straightened, adjusting the strap of her bag as she surveyed the unlit Biotesting Room ahead. “There’s always a breaker,” she muttered, her tone half to herself. “Umbrella loves their redundant systems.”

They moved cautiously into the Biotesting Room, the space even colder than the corridor. The faint outlines of equipment loomed in the shadows, the air heavy with the sterile tang of disinfectant and decay. Vera spotted the circuit breaker mounted on the far wall and headed straight for it, pulling the signal modulator from her bag and inspected the display.

Leon leaned against the doorframe, keeping his pistol at the ready as his eyes scanned the hallway behind them. “How long?”

��Few seconds,” Vera replied, her focus entirely on the modulator. The screen flashed OSS, and she adjusted the settings with deft precision. The device clicked softly as she matched the frequency, sliding it into the breaker with a sharp motion. The machinery around them shuddered faintly, a low hum rising as power surged back into the room.

Overhead lights flickered to life, illuminating the once-dark room with harsh fluorescence, and Leon immediately went rid upon noticing the state of the double sliding doors he was standing by, their edges were warped inward as though pried apart by something powerful and indiscriminate, or, worse yet, something way too big had crashed through them from inside the lab.

“There,” Vera said, stepping back and stowing the modulator in her bag. “All yours, hero.”

Leon moved toward the console at the center of the room, where a VCR and TV were built into the desk. The screen above the player blinked faintly with static. Vera retrieved the tape, sliding it into the VCR with a practiced motion. The screen resolved into grainy footage, the timestamp in the corner marking the date: 09/22/1998, 23:45.

The footage began, displaying the helmet-mounted perspective of a U.S.S. soldier identified as J. Martinez, who was hidden above the lab in a vent.

“Got eyes on the G-Virus,” he said.

“We’re going in,” another replied, stepping forward. “Doctor Birkin, you’ll come along with us quietly.”

The camera panned to show a man in a lab coat—William Birkin—standing rigidly at the far end of the room. His posture was stiff, his hands trembling faintly at his sides. “You think I didn’t know you were coming?” Birkin snapped, pressing up against the wall like he could create a new path to escape, clutching the case to his chest. “This is my life’s work! I’m not handing it over!”

The lead soldier took another step forward, his weapon raised but steady. “We have our orders, Doctor Birkin. I’ll ask you one more time—”

The scene erupted into chaos as Birkin pulled a pistol from his coat. Gunfire rang out, loud and chaotic in the enclosed space, and the camera jolted sharply as Martinez opened fire.

Birkin collapsed to the floor in a heap, his body motionless.

“Stop! Hold your fire!” the lead soldier barked, pushing Martinez so hard that he wobbled along with the camera. He got in Martinez's face. “What the fuck were you thinking? Our orders were to bring him in alive!”

Silence.

The camera followed the soldier as he stepped away, speaking into a radio clipped to his shoulder. “We’re in, sir, but we had a snafu. Target resisted; we had to take him out. That’s correct, sir. Roger that. Just the samples, then.”

The footage showed a soldier retrieving a silver suitcase from the floor, his hands steady as he lifted it. “Let’s move,” the lead soldier ordered. “Second target awaits.”

The tape ended abruptly, the screen cutting to black.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, processing what they just witnessed. Then Leon broke the silence, glancing over at Vera as she stopped the camera, took out the tape without a word and put it back in her bag. She turned to the terminal next to the console, its screen flashing with a waiting INBOX. “Might as well see what else these assholes were up to."

Sender: Jane Doyle

Subject: Suspending Research on "G"

The Umbrella Corporation has decided to cease all research on "G," which was ongoing at the NEST underground laboratory. All funding for this project has been cut, and laboratory director William Birkin has been removed from his post.

Sender: B.E.

Subject: (None)

Thank you for your mail, Dr. Birkin. Top brass has expressed an interest in this "evolving bioweapon" you mentioned. Do not worry about costs. Our "company" is the most well-funded in the whole of the United States.

Sender: Richard Kessler

Subject: Congratulations

I heard the good news. "G" is almost ready. Strange you never thought to report to the research lab here at Umbrella HQ... but I suppose I can let that slide. Anyway, send over the data, would you?

And don't worry. You've done good work on "G," but we can take care of the rest.

Sender: Jane Doyle

Subject: Notice of Admonishment

You are under suspicion of breaching your contract with the Umbrella Corporation. It has become clear that you have claimed ownership of the "G" project, and have been in unauthorized contact with the U.S. military.

Please respond to the investigation committee's summons within 24 hours.

She took pictures of every single last one of Birkin's exchanged emails while Leon just looked around for a moment. A workstation closer to the center looked like someone had been mid-experiment when things went south. Beakers and bottles, most of them still half-filled with chemicals, sat abandoned. A syringe lay on a cloth next to a tray of dark sludge, and for a moment, it was hard to tell if the stain beneath was part of the experiment or something worse. The wall looked like a desperate mind had been at work here. Papers, all of them riddled with frantic scribbles and stamped with Umbrella's insignia, were tacked up in a haphazard mosaic. Some hung limp, the corners curling as if trying to shrink away from their own contents, nearly all of them looking like they were crumpled first, and then picked up to be hung on the wall.

The operating room just beyond like a sarcophagus lit by a merciless glare. A massive surgical light hung from the ceiling, its cold fluorescence catching on the leather straps of the table beneath it. The surface of the table, damp with condensation or something worse, had the look of disuse—yet the straps still seemed worn, stretched thin in a way that implied they had held something writhing, not long ago.

To the left of the table, two robotic surgical arms loomed like a predator caught mid-pounce, its instruments gleaming sterile and sharp, monitors on the walls displayed dead screens, their glass either catching faint reflections of the light above or swallowing the shadows. Wires snaked from carts and consoles pushed into the corner, coiling like veins toward unseen power sources. One cart still had a syringe resting on its edge, the needle bent as though carelessly discarded.

But they had to hurry. The decontamination room they breezed through narrowed to a suffocating corridor of piercing neon, the rows of circular vents lining the side panels hissed faintly as they passed, exhaling an invisible mist that swirled in the fluorescent haze thoroughly drenched them. It opened into an empty, cavernous chamber that Leon didn't even have an inkling about why it would be there, until they passed through the walkway and he caught a glimpse underneath, seeing all sorts of tubes, glowing tanks and vats hanging over empty spaces in the lower levels of the place that resembled some sort of hangar. For what, he wasn't about to stop to find out. Their feet pounded softly against the steel mesh as they advanced, the rhythmic click of their boot heels echoing faintly off the domed roof far above.

And finally, finally they arrived at their destination, momentarily blinded by the unexpected attack of pure red in their eyes.

The source of the light was embedded into the walls on both sides—a pulsating grid of crimson arcs, each flickering irregularly, as if alive with its own inner rhythm. They washed everything in blood, making the white-washed interior seem diseased. It made the skin on Leon's face tighten and sting from the intensity, as if they were exposed to high levels of radiation.

Then he noticed the tanks.

Three enormous cylinders lined the opposite wall, each filled with murky liquid that shimmered faintly under the red glow. Leon's stomach clenched as he drew closer, his eyes narrowing to make sense of the shapes inside.

The first tank was filled with a floating mass of flesh. A bulging, bulbous monstrosity stared back at him—or at least it seemed to. Two grotesque eyes, red and bloodshot, were embedded in its swollen form, their unnatural symmetry making his stomach churn. The skin—or what was left of it—was veined and glistened in the viscous fluid like something half-formed, or half-decayed.

In the second tank, a severed arm drifted aimlessly, as though caught in a current he couldn’t see. Its skin was pale, almost translucent, and its flesh peeled away in patches, exposing tendon and bone beneath. A pair of grotesquely elongated fingers twitched slightly, though Leon told himself it had to be the movement of the liquid rather than some lingering remnant of life.

The last tank held something smaller but no less horrifying. At first, it looked like a chunk of tissue, unrecognizable—until she noticed the pulsating growths along its surface, expanding and contracting in time with an invisible heartbeat. A half-formed head seemed to sprout from one side, its misshapen mouth caught mid-scream, though no sound came.

A wave of nausea swept over him, and he swallowed hard, forcing down the bile that rose in his throat. He glanced at Vera, who had stepped closer, her camera raised as she peered intently into each tank. Her face was unreadable, but a faint tremor shook her hands, betraying her uneasiness. She then moved on to go through the computer, and Leon knew she'd found something when her camera was up to take pictures one by one as she flipped through documents.

At the far end of the room, they found what they had been seeking—a vial, its contents swirling, unmistakably labeled as the G-Virus. The bold red label seized Vera's attention as she reached for it.

Leon observed as her hand closed around the vial, and the moment she lifted it, alarms blared, even before he could utter out that was easy. The deafening shrillness was disorienting, lights flashing red, painting the room in chaos.

Their gazes locked, eyes wide, adrenaline surging.

“Attention,” an automated voice intoned over the blaring alarms, “Unauthorized removal of a Level 4 virus detected. Facility lockdown initiated. Self-destruct sequence will begin when lockdown is complete.”

Panic set in.

"What!" Vera shrieked, incredulous. "No way, I– I did everything right." She fumbled frantically with the computer itself, jabbing at buttons frantically as she scoured the screen in desperation, trying anything to undo this mess. Nothing.

"Don’t waste your time!" Leon commanded, reaching over her shoulder to catch her wrist. Her hand paused just short of another button. “We gotta move!” Leon shouted, grabbing Vera's arm as they pivoted and sprinted toward the exit.

Every second counted—the lab was beginning to rumble like a beast awakening from its slumber, pipes trembling in tune with distant whirs and thuds.

They burst out of the West Area, gasping for breath, but came to an abrupt halt before they could cross the bridge. Annette Birkin was charging towards them, with Claire right behind her, trying to hold her back. There was murder in the older woman's stare and determination written across her face that spelled danger as she barrelled closer and closer, pushing forward until Vera put herself in front of him. Leon immediately went on red alert and positioned himself by her side in case anything happened, ready to tackle her to the ground if needed because there was no way in hell he was letting anyone get hurt anymore.

Annette stopped abruptly in the middle of the groaning and trembling bridge, raising her gun at them, finger already on the trigger. "You either hand it over or throw it away! That virus isn't leaving the building!"

Leon drew his gun, aiming back at her, his focus locked on Annette's quivering stance. “Annette, don't do this! We don't have time for this!”

Vera, pressed against the railing, clutched the vial in her fist against her side, her gaze darting between Annette and Leon. The steel platform beneath them shuddered, the entire facility seeming to groan in protest.

"I won't let you cross over this bridge!" she snapped, stalking closer, her finger curling ever so carefully on the trigger. "Choose!"

Claire attempted to cut in. "This is insane—"

"They are working with a mer—"

Before she could finish, a gunshot rang out.

Leon flinched, his head snapping toward Annette, expecting to feel the impact—but the shot hadn't come from her.

Annette's expression twisted in shock as she stumbled, blood streaming from a gash across the right side of her chest. Claire's scream cut through the noise. Annette grabbed at the wound with a choked gasp, legs shaking weakly before she sank down to her knees, swaying unsteadily.

Her body going down revealed Ada standing at the opposite end of the bridge, pistol still raised. A heavy silence followed, broken only by the blaring alarms and the tremors of the unraveling facility.

“Ada...” Leon breathed, disbelief running through him.

Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, the double doors behind him and Vera exploded apart with a concussive force. The shockwave nearly knocked Leon off balance, propelling him forward. He barely had time to react before a monstrous claw shot out, seizing Vera with a brutal, crushing grip. Her scream pierced the chaos.

Leon spun around, horror washing over him. There, emerging from the shattered doors, was William Birkin—transformed into something monstrous, grotesque, almost unrecognizable. His mutated form strained to fit through the ruined doorway, like a deer futilely attempting to squeeze through a cat door, his massive shoulders wedged against the frame, twisting and cracking the metal as he tried to force his way through, his massive, twisted arm retracting, yanking Vera off her feet. With an almost casual flick, he hurled her across the space.

“No!” Leon screamed, his heart seizing in his chest. He watched in helpless terror as Vera flew through the air, her body crashing onto the bridge with a sickening thud. She skidded across the grated metal, the impact carrying her to the edge. Leon's stomach dropped as he saw her hands scramble, barely catching hold of the edge, her body now dangling over the abyss.

Claire who was kneeling by Annette's side and Ada on the opposite side of the bridge, immediately bolted towards Vera. Their footsteps clanged loudly against the metal grating as they sprinted. Claire dropped to her knees the moment she reached Vera, reaching down desperately to grab hold of her, her entire body straining. Ada knelt beside her, grabbing onto Vera's other arm, both of them pulling with all their strength.

“We've got you! Hold on!” Claire shouted, her voice hoarse, her muscles burning with the effort.

Leon tore his gaze from them, realizing what he had to do. William's monstrous arm flailed, smashing against the doorframe as he tried to force his way through. The sheer weight of the creature caused the steel to groan ominously, the bridge shaking under his relentless advance. Leon had to hold him back—he had to buy them time.

He took a step back, raising his weapon with a steady grip, aiming directly at the grotesque eyes popping up on the mutated William's body. The bullets tore through the decaying, mutated flesh, but Birkin's advance hardly faltered. Leon kept backing up and firing at the same time, but it only seemed to feed its rage.

The entire bridge shuddered, the groaning metal echoing louder. Leon kept glancing back in desperation, his heart pounding as he watched the others fight to save Vera.

“It’s… it’s giving way!” she screamed, and it almost made Leon stop shooting to go help the others.

“Not today!” Ada gritted her teeth as she and Claire gave one final, powerful pull. Leon looked back just in time to see Vera's body lurch up over the edge, all three collapsing into a heap just as a sharp, deafening crack reverberated through the space—the bridge beginning to give way beneath them.

“Go!” Vera urged, pushing herself back to her feet, her entire body trembling as she staggered forward, trying to regain her balance.

Leon turned his focus back to William just as another explosion rang out. A bright liquid blast hit Birkin directly in his massive, grotesque eye, forcing him backward. He let out an enraged roar, his massive arm flailing.

Leon glanced to the side, seeing Annette—bloodied, barely able to stand—holding a strange weapon, its barrel smoking. She fired again, and then again, each shot forcing Birkin back another step, his monstrous form wavering.

“Annette!” Leon shouted, rushing towards her, slipping on the slanted, unstable bridge before catching his footing. She didn’t respond, her gaze fixed entirely on William.

“Get… Sherry… out of here,” Annette rasped, her body swaying on her feet, her strength fading fast.

Leon reached her just in time as she began to collapse, wrapping his arms around her to keep her upright. “We go together!”

The walkway let out another shrill screech under them, bolts popping from their slots and flying out like sparks. The crevice was widening, chunks falling over the edge. They were out of time.

Leon pulled Annette up onto his shoulders in a fireman carry, staggering under her added bulk, ignoring the way her lab coat grew damper, sticking to his skin. She grunted in pain, clutching at the bullet wound. Another crack sliced through the chaos, even louder than before, echoing through the shaft, reverberating in Leon's very bones.

He managed to make his way to the other side, successfully maneuvering them over the gap to safety just as William finally tore through the door, starting to barrel towards them like a bull. But he was too heavy for the already fragile bridge, which crumbled under him and he fell through the bottom without hesitation and vanished from view into the darkness below with his roaring cry echoing through the entire facility.

"Mom!"

It was Sherry. She'd made her way down and was running across the catwalk toward them. Annette stirred feebly, trying to sit up. The little girl took her mother into her arms, clinging to her weakly, as Leon forced himself up, fighting off the dizziness threatening to overwhelm him, his entire body aching with fatigue and exhaustion. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, rubbing at his brow as he gathered his scattered thoughts.

"Mommy.... Please! You can't die, too!"

"Sherry...," Annette rasped, her breaths growing weaker. Her hand gripped Sherry's tightly, giving it a gentle squeeze and combing her hair at the same time. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Sherry."

The faintest smile crossed her lips as she reached up, stroking Sherry's cheek with the tips of her fingers. Sherry grasped her mother's hand in both of hers, tears streaming down her cheeks. A quiet sob wracked her small frame as she held her mother close, pleading with her to stay. Leon couldn't do anything but kneel by their side, his head lowered in defeat.

"Attention: Self-destruct sequence initiated. Use the Central Elevator to evacuate immediately to the bottom-level train platform."

Suddenly, he was seized in by the collar and pulled in. What Annette said to Leon with her last breath was, "Don't let G... get into the hands of that mercenary..."

Sherry buried within her arms and Claire comforting the little girl, Annette had stilled and toppled over with her vacant, pointed gaze locked on to Ada, who was examining the sample in Vera's extended hand. Nobody else seemed to catch Annette's slip, but it left him completely stunned, confused, and speechless.

What kind of sick joke was this?

Claire was mumbling to Sherry, prying her apart from her dead mother's body and making the girl hug her instead, "Sherry… Sherry… we gotta say goodbye to your mom. Come on. Please say goodbye. Please Sherry, listen… She loved you, okay? We really gotta get going… Come on."

Leon rose, his attention turning to Vera and Ada, both staring at each other, locked into a battle of minds while a tragedy was on fire right in front of him.

And Leon got it then.

Vera knew Ada was a mercenary.

That was what all of this weirdness had been about the whole time. All her impatience with him, the avoidance of complying with Ada's directions and digging her heels in, wanting to hightail it out of here once they reunited with Claire and Sherry, all of it clicking neatly into place like the last piece of a puzzle he didn't know he'd been working on all this time.

Vera had probably caught on from the first moment they met. That's just how she was. Already privy to knowledge he didn't have yet. Hiding shit. Keeping secrets. He was the idiot for thinking she would trust him now that he finally knew everything. It was a slap to the face to think that maybe, just fucking maybe, she'd let him in on whatever scheme she had going on against Ada after easily changing her mind about retrieving the virus. Maybe, just maybe, she'd want to work with him, to be a team, to share her secrets and her burdens. Like partners. But of course not. Of course, not. Of course, that wasn't the case. Because why would things ever be simple or straightforward in this hellhole? Why would anything be clear, and easy, and safe?

And he felt utterly betrayed. Betrayed by both of them; by Vera for not trusting him enough to let him know what the situation was and by Ada, for making him trust that justice was at an arm's reach despite the signs being there the entire time.

All this for such a small vial of godforsaken virus sample. How far would someone go for it? What exactly was in there that everyone was willing to die for it, fight for it like madmen?

He'd believed that justice could be rekindled from the broken remnants of where it had been buried somewhere inside the bowels of this cursed city, somewhere deep down where monsters festered like a wound gone sour from the husks innocent people had left behind. He'd hoped it was possible. So desperately wanted to cling onto that shred of humanity amidst the destruction.

It had been futile.

Before he noticed himself doing it, he had walked over to the two, seizing it from Vera's hand, the suddenness of the action leaving her stunned.

“Leon, what are you—” Vera started, but Leon didn't answer. He turned, his arm swinging back, and with all his strength, he hurled the vial into the abyss. The small glass container disappeared into the darkness, swallowed by the endless void below.

"What the fuck did you do?" Vera screamed, and Ada sighed.

She just sighed.

"No, no, no! You—" Vera was on him, her hands pushing him, forcing him back, her anger a hot thing. "—you fucking asshole! What is wrong with you!"

He was too shocked to respond, his brain scrambling to comprehend the change in her, the sudden violence of her reaction. It was unlike her, and that only fueled his confusion.

"That was your ticket out of here! She was going to get you out of here, you idiot!"

"Stop!" he cried, his hands coming up defensively to catch her wrists. "Jesus, stop! Calm the fuck down, Vera! We can talk about this!"

"Deal's off," Ada chimed in. She sounded tired, almost apologetic, which only made the situation worse. "I'm sorry it had to end this way."

"You can't leave them!" Vera's fury shifted, her attention snapping to the woman. She yanked her hands free from Leon's grasp and whirled on Ada. "You can't—"

And before anybody could react, Ada was jumping off, flinging herself off the railing with the grace of a cat, down to the depths of the abyss, a graceful, controlled fall. And just like that, she was gone. The shock of the sudden departure left the others frozen, their gazes locked on the spot where she had vanished.

"Attention: Self-destruct sequence initiated. Use the Central Elevator to evacuate immediately to the bottom-level train platform."

"Are you kidding me?" Vera exclaimed, her disbelief ringing in the silence. Then, in a flurry of motion, she darted to the edge, leaning dangerously over the railing. Her fist came down hard, striking the metal repeatedly in a frantic, desperate rhythm. “Ada!”

Claire, holding a distressed and sobbing Sherry, approached slowly, her hand reaching out tentatively. "Vera, we gotta go."

Debris was walling down the shaft, a result of the facility beginning to collapse in on itself. The self-destruct sequence was ticking away the precious seconds they had left to escape, each moment bringing them closer to certain doom. There was no time to stand and watch, no time to wait and hope for a miracle to save the day. But still, Vera stood, her form rigid, her grip on the railing tightening until her knuckles turned white.

"We don't need her," Leon insisted. His own emotions were a tangled mess, a cacophony of conflicting thoughts and feelings that he couldn't begin to untangle. But the one thing he was sure of was that their lives were more important than any deal or mission. They needed to survive, and every passing second was a step closer to annihilation. "We can make it on our own to that train."

A beam of metal crashed nearby as Vera, very uncaring of the world coming down on her head, said, "Ada said government's got this place surrounded. She was going to get you through the blockade if we got her the virus." She turned around to face him in a flurry of wild curls, her icy silver glare slicing through his defenses. She was shaking, her fists clenched and her posture taut like a coiled spring. "She was my best bet to make sure none of you got taken in and... and disappear to a black site or something! This was the safest way out, and you blew it. Fuck. Fuck!"

"Vera—" he began, taking a tentative step forward, his hand stretching out towards her in an attempt to placate her, something bothering him about the way she talked.

But his apology fell short, drowned out by the escalating rumble of the facility's impending implosion. A violent quake shook the ground beneath their feet, throwing him off balance and sending a shower of debris cascading from the ceiling above. Metal beams and concrete chunks rained down, narrowly missing their heads.

"Everyone, move!" Claire's voice cut through the disarray, her arms encircling Sherry protectively as the child's sobs grew louder, merging with the agonized roar of the collapsing structure. "Now!"

Leon had no time to dwell on the sting of Vera's anger or the weight of his own guilt. Survival was all that mattered. They rushed toward the elevator, his body moving automatically as he fought to compartmentalize his emotions, focusing solely on getting everyone to safety.

Suddenly, something heavy collided with him, sending him sprawling. His back struck the far end of the elevator, and he found Vera's bag in his lap. He looked up, disoriented, to see Vera standing at the threshold of the elevator, her hands on Sherry's shoulders.

Sherry stood frozen, her back to Vera, her wide, terrified gaze locked on Leon. Vera reached for the headphones hanging around Sherry's neck and gently placed them over her ears as Claire yelled, "What are you doing?"

Vera covered Sherry's eyes with her right hand, lifting her left toward Claire and Leon as if she were about to wave. Her bandages and glove were gone.

Leon saw it then. The bite around her thumb—a vicious wound, blackened and inflamed, the torn skin pulsating with infection, blood trickling down and staining the floor. A chill of horror spread through him, his heart plummeting.

"Oh..." Claire breathed.

Leon scrambled to his feet, the bag slipping from his lap onto the floor, but Vera only brought her infected hand to her lips, silently gesturing for them to keep quiet. Her eyes flicked to Sherry's head—a clear signal: don't let her know.

"Stay safe, alright? Don't let them catch you," Vera said softly. She pressed a button on her headphones, letting the music come to life, drowning out the noise of the collapsing lab and their further conversation from Sherry's ears. She nudged the girl gently into the elevator, her gaze unwavering as it met Leon's. "And don't look back."

"No," Leon heard himself saying.

"Please think of me once in a while," Vera said, her grin radiant even as tears filled her eyes, trailing down her flushed cheeks. Her long, dark lashes were wet, smile wistful and brave at once. Leon felt detached, as if watching from a distance, unable to comprehend how she could be the one trying to comfort him. "Thank you for being my friend."

The doors began to close, and Vera stepped back. Through the narrowing gap, Leon caught one last look at her—her sad, brave smile, tears streaking her face, the resignation in her posture, Marvin's gun glinting faintly in her hand beneath the flickering lights.

"NO!" Leon shouted, lunging forward, slamming his hands against the closed doors. He pounded the metal, again and again, trying to force them open. Panic clawed at his chest, his heart racing, but the elevator was already moving, the doors sealed tight. "VERA!"

"Leon! Stop!" Claire's grip was ironclad, her hand clamping onto his arm as she pulled him away from the doors, spinning him around.

Before he could regain his footing, Claire threw her arms around him, enveloping him in an unyielding embrace. She clung to him with startling desperation, her body pressed against his as if trying to shield him from the anguish. Her tear-streaked face hovered near his, her gaze holding his. Moments later, Sherry's small frame pressed into them, her face buried in Leon's torso, her hands clutching at him and Claire.

Leon wrapped his arms around them both, holding tightly as they trembled together—three souls trying to anchor each other in the midst of a collapsing, unforgiving world.

Hunk moved with calculated precision, his boots barely making a sound as they connected with the grated metal of the central elevator platform. His visor's HUD cast a soft, artificial glow on his face, the data feed marking his path through the chaos. The NEST facility was collapsing around him, the self-destruct sequence underway. Red emergency lights flickered, illuminating the metal corridors in a frantic strobe, and the deafening blare of alarms reverberated through the structure. Sections of the ceiling had already caved in, steam hissed from ruptured pipes, and the acrid scent of burning wires filled the air. His breathing was even, mechanical—a rhythmic cadence that echoed inside his helmet. It was a task, like any other, and he focused on his objective.

He had been trailing the group for some time now, tracking them through the labyrinthine sewers beneath the city. They were careful, resourceful, and had managed to evade direct confrontation, but Hunk was patient. He maintained his distance, keeping himself concealed within the shadows, waiting for the right opportunity. However, they had managed to board the cable car to NEST, leaving him momentarily separated. The subterranean maze of tunnels had slowed his pursuit, but Hunk was relentless. He had finally caught up.

He stopped at the edge of the central elevator platform, his gaze catching on the figure slumped against the base of the door. The harsh, flickering light above cast long shadows across the grated metal floor. His HUD scanned the area, the green outline forming around the body as the visor flagged it. There she was—the asset.

She was crumpled at the base of the central elevator, her body twisted awkwardly, her back pressed against the cold steel of the door. The pistol was still clutched loosely in her hand, its barrel resting on the floor. A dark trail of blood marked the metal beneath her, her head slumped to the side, revealing the wound—a single bullet to the temple. It had been quick. A final act of defiance, perhaps. Hunk had seen enough bodies to recognize when death had been instantaneous.

He knelt down, his gloves brushing against the still-warm metal of the pistol as he moved it aside, checking her vitals. There was no pulse, no breath. Nothing. Just another corpse among hundreds he'd seen tonight. He pressed two fingers to the comms unit at the side of his helmet.

"I've located the asset sir," he said, his voice flat, the distortion from his mask rendering it a hollow echo.

There was a crackle of static before the reply came, terse and to the point. "Status?"

"Deceased," Hunk responded. He paused, glancing down at the crumpled body, taking in the slack features, the blood drying on her temple. "Single GSW to the head. Looks self-inflicted."

Another moment of static. "Understood. The directive remains. Asset is to be brought back. Dead or alive."

Hunk didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the asset's form for a second longer. Then, with practiced efficiency, he holstered her pistol, slipping it into his tactical belt, and reached down. He threw her over his shoulder, her body limp and unresisting. She was light, almost fragile, like the weight of what she had gone through had already hollowed her out long before her death.

As he began moving towards the extraction point, Hunk strategized his route. He knew there were multiple paths in and out of the NEST—routes that he and his team had utilized when they ambushed Birkin for the G-Virus. He had mapped them meticulously, the knowledge of each passage ingrained in his mind. The direct path to the extraction point was compromised, blocked by debris from the collapsing facility, but Hunk was not one to be deterred. He considered the alternate route that would lead him through the lower maintenance tunnels, a longer path but one that offered more cover and fewer obstacles—

And there it was, a faint twitch, the smallest of movements where her arm brushed against his armor. He paused, his visor tilting down, his grip tightening slightly.

For a brief moment, the world around him seemed to quiet, the chaos fading into the background. Then, without hesitation, Hunk adjusted his grip and kept walking. Whatever it was—a spasm, a nerve misfire, the remnants of something unwilling to let go—it didn’t matter. Orders were orders.

[myersobsession]

leon s kennedy ada wong n carlos oliveira are one of my new hyperfixes guys!!! i'm still drawing myari tho ❤️

[decaf-mother]

"Count On You"

-

Same universe as Stitched Hearts, Vodka Soaked Memory, Even When I Doubt You & The Canine.

-

Leon S. Kennedy x F!Reader

-

Important: Kitty is technically my OC however it is written as if you are her so it's still an x reader, her appearance isn't described, Kitty is bisexual and that is sometimes mentioned when I write her.

-

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Argument

-

"An undercover mission? Seriously?"

"Please, Kitty."

You sighed unable to argue with Rebecca, she was smart so you decided to follow her instructions. All would be fine.

••

Now here you were trying on dresses and trying to practice walking in heels, Leon's eyes following you he couldn't help but snort with a laugh watching you weeble as if you were just a lil fawn.

"You're really bad at that."

"Helpful."

"Don't fall."

"I won't-"

You shot him a pointed glare but lost your balance teetering over backwards, instinctively Leon held out his hand and it made contact with your lower back, the touch light and gentle as he simply tried to assist in steadying you.

Eyes met in that moment and his hand lingered, the warmth of his palm could be felt through the soft texture of the dress you wore.

Quickly he retracted his hand and looked away.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

-

You dumped the contents of several boxes onto the floor, shuffling through them frantically.

It was Canine's things- and your heart plummeted as you studied the items. You were hoping to find more information on who he had been involved with.

Instead you found a bunch of little trinkets- gifts you had given him back when you were the closest of friends. Every single thing you gave him he had kept all this time- no matter what.

So sentimental.... You fought back the tears threatening to surface, Leon stepped into the room and rested a hand on your shoulder.

At least he's here with you. Someone you can count on.

-

You kicked off the high heels and roughly tossed your purse onto the table, Leon following close behind you.

"Kitty-"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

You sucked in a deep breath and didn't bother turning around to look at him.

"I have to help her. Those people-"

"Seriously- after all she's done? She's the reason why Canine is..."

You trailed off and Leon moved closer, trying to reason with you but there was just too much hurt.

"We don't have the full story."

"And you think she'll fucking give it to you?"

You heard him let out a deep breath, there was no answer to that. A cold void silence hung heavy in the air. He knew just as well as you did- he always knew he'd never get a straight answer.

No matter what Ada does- he always is going to help her if she's in trouble.

If she needs him... He's there.

Even after all this mess.

"Just go."

"Kitty-"

You finally turned to face him, your tone of voice cold and gaze sending daggers straight into his heart. This side of you has never been directed towards him- not even once before now.

"Leave."

It hurt like a blade twisting in his chest, turning and leaving your house the door slipping shut behind him. An empty feeling occupying your chest and home the moment he's out of sight.

Count on no one but yourself.

-

{Uh oh their fighting- will Leon try and fix things?}

-

{@sofasoap }

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{More Content}

[youreobsessedwithtoomanyfandoms]

not x reader, but oc related (i just haven't finished cleaning up my oc tumblr so im posting here and will repost there but)

currently thinking about how i call re6 leon the sluttist and would be the most fun to have sex with and hold his slutty waist but yet my oc thats with him, tiffany, lowkey can't stand him and thinks about divorcing him around that time-the events of vendetta (but doesn't because she's lowk scared that if she did, then he might actually drink himself to death)

[acrossthecherriverse]

Self-care sesh ✧*。

Cherri: RE!Cherri

Tags: Pure domestic fluff, short and sweet, Cherri being a menace (what's new), no warnings!

Word count: 464

"Will you stay still for a sec!?"

"Will you make it tickle less?"

Cherri huffed and continued smearing the mint-colored paste on Leon's cheeks and around his face, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. It's one of the few days off they get from the tiring workload of the Strategic Command, and Cherri decided the best way to spend it for now would be some self care. That, and she bought some new products a while ago, and Leon is the best guinea pig.

"Are you done yet?"

"Do you not like having my hands on your face? I'm wounded, truly," she smirked and wiped the remaining product off her hands with one of the tissues lying around and leaned back to admire her work.

"You know the only thing you're missing? Cucumber slices on your eyes, and then you'll look like a total auntie."

"And curlers in my hair?"

"And curlers in your hair! See, you know your auntie fashion."

Leon sighed and turned back to look at the mirror behind him. Hello Kitty clips in his hair, the green detox face mask smeared all around his face and a bright grin of a dark-haired girl peeking out from behind him.

"D'you like it?"

"I… don't exactly see how having smooth skin is going to help me take down B.O.W.'s." He reached a hand up to his face to lightly touch the pale green product on his cheeks.

"It's not for the B.O.W.'s, idiot. It's for me. You have mochi cheeks."

"I have what?" Leon turned around to face her again with a confused expression.

"...Mochi cheeks? Y'know, those soft, squishy Japanese rice cakes?"

"And what exactly does that have to do with any of this?"

"Because…" Cherri's eyes wandered around the room, seemingly wanting to look at anything but directly at him, "...because I like touching them? Like a stress ball? You know how you sometimes grab my tits or my ass just because? Like that, I like it when they're soft."

"You grab my tits too, though, do you need my cheeks as well?"

"Well, I'm not gonna put a face mask on your tits…" Her eyes discreetly wandered down to his chest but she swiftly corrected herself with a clear of her throat, "Look, it's not gonna kill you to take care of your skin once in a while."

"Okay, okay then. How long do I have to keep this on?"

Cherri fumbled to find the misplaced face mask packaging somewhere on the bed before reading from the back, "...Uh, 20 minutes. Like, 17 by now then."

"...Right."

"..."

"..."

"Can I paint your nails, too?"

"I don't think the higher-ups would like that."

"Then can I take a Polaroid pic?"

"Don't you dare."

A/N: First one down fuck ton more to go 🫡 I have an RE4R campaign fic planned, full 16 chapters and everything, but it will be posted in due time dw

[larvamars]

You look like you've seen a ghost

[jessica-h-cytheria]

" My Deilmma..."

Time to share my art too !!!

I got covid again that's why I have time for art (( LOL))

I really try to write something about my oc x Leon but bruh , it looks sucks and I also think of my oc background story , it looks good , if you want to listen to my oc background story, let me know , I'll try my best to type it or draw it out

(( someone notice me please))

Have a nice day everyone 💕

[bananzer]

I love Leon he's like that one male Barbie you had as a kid that you shipped with whoever whenever. Cleon? Aeon? Chreon? Ashleon? Serennedy? My own oc? Someone else's oc? They all slap. And it's because Leon has insane chemistry with everyone he meets because of the autism.

[mandalhoerian]

GRAVEDIGGER act i: no time to die leon kennedy x oc

[lmondrawii]

Day 4 for chreonweek2024 Merry Christmas everyone!!!!

[strawberryshortcake0413]

Last hope (part 1)

Characters:yandere Leon S Kennedy (older version) x reader

Disclaimer: This fanfic contains dark-themed topics, such as kidnapping, depression, suicidal thoughts, non-consent, unwanted pregnancy,etc

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. MDNI

Warning: yandere Leon Kennedy, kidnapping, non-consent, depressed reader, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, unwanted pregnancy, emotional & mental abuse, out of character leon etc

@dollywons credits for the divider, thank you :))

The pictures used does not belong to me!!!

Chapters: pt2 pt3 pt4

“Fuck off” you muttered to your Alex. Today was already as hard as it was. You didn't need him giving you unnecessary advice on how to grief a patient.

Who does he think he is?? You thought to yourself. Listening to a bratty egotistical younger resident telling you what to do when your patient dies during surgery? No. At least you will not tolerate his behavior.

Growing up with a careless single mother in poverty may have made you like this. Always numb and cold. That's just what people think of you.

You weren't always this unattending. In the first year of medical school, you were the nicest and the most helpful student there is. Things changed as your career proceeded within the years. You saw how ugly people can be. They took you as weak and something they can use to get what they want.

Not again. Never again

The loud alarm went off in the hospital wing. You quickly got up as your pager rang. In-room 303, there was a little girl. 10 years old, had a diagnosis of cardiomyopathy. When you were working the night shift and doing regular rounding checkups, she talked about her birthday plan to you.

“I want Princess Jasmine to attend my birthday party. Her hair is so long and shiny and pretty and, and she's pretty. She's also so smart. Mommy promised me she would come” the girl suddenly stopped. After a few seconds she opened her mouth again.

“She said she… she will come if I live… will I live? Doctor?”

You thought about the past as the attending announced her time of death. 23:44. 12th of May, 2015.

Two patients. Two patients. In one day.

Hiding from people, you hugged your knees in the corner of an empty hallway as you sobbed. God. People thought you were heartless. What other choice do you have when you have no choice but to leave your toxic mother who had no other motivation in life other than drinking, to build a better future for yourself. What other choice do you have when you were the best student in the school but had no money for college? Would you rather stay with your mom to take care of her all your life, doing everything that drives you insane or follow your dreams?

Unfortunately for you, your dream was not something you imagined. Burden, depression, exhaustion were the main 3 words you could use for this job.

Not to mention the creepy, flirty attendings. Always being underestimated by the men in the field.

After the long hard 24 hours and arguing with your mentor about your recent research about brain cancer, you took a box with your belongings.

Bitch

The old fat man fired you for standing up for yourself. Why would you allow anyone to take ideas from your paper? Especially if they were your teacher.

Fine. I'll find a better job in a better hospital.

After putting on your comfortable black coat and causing your boss to fire you for no actual good reason, you walked to your car with the box in your hand.

“Fuck” you yelled as you struggled to open the car door with the damn box in hand. In the reflection of the car window at midnight you saw a face behind you. Just as you were going to turn away, something was put around your nose and mouth and everything went black.

Leon grinned to himself as he carefully put the young woman in his jeep. Tonight was the new moon. There was almost no light in the parking lot and he was sure the cameras couldn't catch the glimpse of his face.

He observed her for a few weeks. First he got a little headache and decided to go to the hospital, only to find a little angel for himself.

Leon noticed she was quite unique compared to the women he met before. Even though he wouldn't say she's rude, she wasn't exactly nice either. He was sure he could fix her up nicely to become a sweet little wife for him.

His baby just needed some guidance in life. What would he be if he let go of this girl to become a rude old bitch. Instead she could help the community by giving Leon a family he wanted for the last few months too much.

Staring at his sweet pumpkin through the rear view window, he was planning what to do next. For the last week he had already planned what to do. But his bunny was in a worse condition than he thought. Overworked herself, dressed in sad gloomy clothes. He would strip her out of these and put her in comfortable , cotton pajamas.

And feed her. He knows what she eats in a day. Sad cold dark coffee with a tuna sandwich for breakfast. No lunch. Leftover pizza or burger for dinner. Leon will make sure she eats plenty of vegetables and homemade food that will nurture her.

During the night he changed her clothes to what he had bought for her.

“Just perfect” he muttered as the t-shirt he got fit her perfectly. Hugging her waist, making her breast more prominent. He held himself back from touching her cunt as he pulled down her pants, along with her underwear.

He sniffed her and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent. “I’ll show you how much I love you when you wake up honey. Not yet… Leon… gotta wait” he muttered to himself.

He put a little underwear on her and undressed himself. Crawling next to the love of his life, Leon put an alarm at 4am on his phone.

“The drug should be out by then,” Leon thought as he cuddled her.

After a few hours Leon was woken by clicking on the doorknob. His angel had woken up and was trying to open the door. Leon sneakily grabbed his phone and looked at the time. 3am.

The blonde signed and got up, causing his angel to scream and throw a vase on the shelf nearby at him.

“Get away from me, you freak!” you yelled, almost on the verge of crying making Leon's heart beat faster. He hated seeing you in pain.

“It's okay. It's okay, baby. Everything will be alright.” Leon cooed, getting up from the bed to her.

“Step away!” You screamed, throwing the left souvenirs on the shelf to him.

Leon walked in a few short big steps, in hurry and stopping you before you hurt yourself.

“It's okay my baby. Daddys here to take care of you. It's okay. Calm down. Everything will be okay.. no more work, no more ignoring yourself. It's okay..” Leon muttered trying to calm you down. He gripped your arms tightly above your head while kissing your head.

You squirm while sobbing, trying to kick him.

“What did I do to you?? Let me go.” You demanded squirming more, causing Leon to tighten his grip. Leon kept muttering to you his reassuring words while kissing your face all over when you managed to kick him in the crotch.

He let go of you and inhaled deeply, trying not to lash out on his dove on their 1st day as a couple.

“Y/n…. Honey… calm down…” he breathed out.

After a while of trying, Leon gave up. The constant cursing and screaming were giving him an awful headache, same as the ones he gets after missions.

“SHUT UP BITCH” he yelled at you, shaking your arms. Your eyes widened as you shut down, the room was quite apart from your sniffling and leons hard breathing.

“Please… just… let me go…” you sniffed out. You haven't felt this humiliated and weak since you were a little girl. Since your mother used to beat you after not cooking for her. Since you went against her words. Your childhood wasn't something you liked talking about, nor getting pity from strangers. You wanted nothing to do with the alcoholic bitch. When you were near her, you were a prisoner.

Ironic, now I'm a real prisoner

Leon breathed out and stared intensely. Suddenly he grabbed your waist, pulling you towards him before jumping on the bed. You protested, tried to bite his arm, kick him, scream, call for help, every way. Leon almost tore the piece of garments he put on her before.

“What are you doing?? Stop. No. Stop-” you protested, only for him to shut you up with a kiss.

After the first night, Leon felt guilty. Not because he made love to his lover when she was throwing a tantrum. But because of the way he lashed out on her. For the last few days she was avoiding him, sitting in corners, not eating or making any noise. After a while being a gentleman as he is, Leon decided to surprise his bunny.

“Honey. I'm home” Leon smiled, locking the doors securely. He hid a small box behind his back.

You crawled away from him, to the edge of the bed. Leon reached out his hand to pull your hair back.

“My beautiful baby. Did you miss me?” He grinned stupidly. You wanted to cry. But you didn't want to show him your weakness, especially after that night. Leon frowned as you pulled your head back.

“Look what daddy got you sweet girl. I know you overworked yourself so daddy got you vitamins.” He grinned as he showed the box.

You frowned seeing it. The multi vitamins that had fruit flavors.

“Don't you like it? Daddy got you this one specifically because the pharmacist told me a lot of trying women get it” Leon smiled, placing his hand on your thigh.

You snatched the vitamin to see what it has.

Vitamin D, B6, B12, Vitamin C, Vitamin A, B9

What the actual fuck

“Are you insane??” You yelled. Leon's eyebrows raised. You finally said a word to him after the event, but yelling at him? He can't be having his wife yelling at the breadwinner.

“Dove. Watch your mouth” Leon said calmly, but his grip tightened.

“All I ever wanted for you is happiness honey. We will have many children. Look around the bedroom honey. The outside. Can't you see we are more than available to raise children? You're young and beautiful. We can have children. For now, I'm worried you're short on essential vitamins. And I heard it could affect fertility” Soon his eyes narrowed as he understood it was necessary to take another way.

“I know what I did was… wrong… Maybe you would have wanted me to approach it in a traditional way. But I just couldn't wait for you. Plus… you already know you would have rejected my offer. You were too deep in hurting yourself. I'm helping you. I'm helping us. We're building a future. Together”

“You should go to therapy”

Leon narrowed his eyes again. “Sleep well angel. You're not clearly thinking well” he said, kissing the forehead before lying beside you.

During the night you tossed around. What if you could overdose on vitamins and just end this suffering? There was no one to look out for you. You got fired, the only family you have is an alcoholic that you cut contact with, and no real friends. You were alone in this.

[larvamars]

I had to do it

[clayderogatory]

hello everyone im a curious little fella today, and today i want to see you all yap about your resident evil ocs. give me the LORE!!! give me the DESCRIPTIONS!!!! TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!!! i love hearing abt peoples ocs and i am an oc x canon enthusiast. go nuts, i will listen to every detail :3

[praisethegabs]

B.D.S.M

Leon Kennedy x F!Mistress!Reader

synopsis: leon has a guilty pleasure, which is a deep secret no one knows. every time after a stressful mission, leon goes to this particular place to release his tension. you're too familiar with the man, already knowing what he loves. he's your favorite customer. you're his favorite mistress.

warnings: PURE SMUT. bdsm on its edge. degradation kink, praise kink, shibari, use of pet names, sex toys, sub!leon and dom!reader, handjob, edging, spanking, gaging, spanking, flogging, role-playing.

word count: 3735k

a/n: sub!leon always comes to my mind for unknown reasons. he's so fucking cute and awkward. sometimes, I don't see him as the dominant one, I think he's more of a switch. anyway, I wrote this bc I thought it would be funny to change sides (since the last smut I wrote was with dom!leon)

Leon's footsteps echoed through the corridor as he made his way back home. His mind was still reeling from the stress of the mission he had just completed. The weight of the world seemed to press down on his shoulders, and he yearned for a way to escape the constant tension that plagued him.

It was almost three in the morning, but he didn't care. Due to the nature of his job, Leon had a highly irregular schedule. His timing was inconsistent, and he did not have a set time to return home. It could be morning, afternoon, evening, or the middle of the night. Although his busy schedule demanded most of his time, Leon still had something that couldn't be postponed.

As he entered his apartment, he casually threw his leather jacket onto a chair and ran his hand through his tousled hair. The peaceful solitude of his home only intensified the profound loneliness that had settled deep within him. He needed a release, a way to forget the horrors he had witnessed. With a sigh, he reached for his phone and dialed a number that he had carefully stored in his contacts. The screen lit up, and he waited for it to ring. He felt a mixture of anticipation and relief when the call was answered.

"Hello," a sultry voice purred on the other end of the line. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Leon's voice was filled with a mixture of longing and vulnerability as he replied, "I need to see you, Mistress."

A wicked smile played on your lips as you spoke on the other end of the line. "Of course, darling. I have just the thing to help you forget about your troubles. How soon can you come to my dungeon?"

Leon quickly checked his schedule. "I can be there in an hour," he replied.

"Perfect," you purred. "Prepare yourself and don't keep me waiting. We have much to explore, and I promise you that by the time we're done, all your worries will be left far behind."

As the call ended, Leon felt a renewed sense of anticipation and excitement. Your dungeon provides a sanctuary from the outside world, a place where he can relinquish control and seek solace in the pain and pleasure you provide. It was his escape, a way to let go of the burden he carried, if only for a few precious hours.

As Leon sipped a glass of wine, he gazed out of the window, his thoughts in turmoil. His work demanded discipline, control, and unwavering focus. Yet, it was in the realm of submission and surrender that he found the release he craved - an escape from the relentless pressure of his responsibilities.

Leon had always been a man of contradictions, and his desire for you was no exception. He wondered if his fascination with you was a reflection of his own internal struggles, a means to delve into the depths of his own desires and vulnerabilities. Guilt gnawed at him as he thought about the secrets he kept and the double life he led.

But as he replayed the memories of their encounters in his mind, he couldn't deny the intoxicating allure of your power and the blissful release it provided. It was a guilty pleasure he couldn't resist, a secret aspect of his life that provided him with a sense of liberation he couldn't find anywhere else.

You knew absolutely nothing about Leon, except for his preferences.

He always liked the rough style. As a skilled dominatrix, you know how to please a man. Since he discovered you, he has requested to become your exclusive client, and the payment he has provided is sufficient to reserve your availability exclusively for him. Fortunately, you were familiar with his schedule, so you began working mostly at night, which suited him perfectly.

You have set up an entire dungeon in your basement. It was the perfect place to meet his needs exactly as he wanted it.

At first, seeing his physique made you think he would be a great dominant. However, you eventually found out that he was more of a submissive man. Completely bent over your knees, ready to obey your commands without hesitation. Most dungeons do not permit sexual intercourse between dominants and submissives, but for him, this dynamic does not adhere to such restrictions. Since you have a dungeon in your own home, you have decided to make some slight modifications to the rules.

Obviously, you have never had sex with him, but other aspects of your relationship work just fine.

Leon's footsteps echoed through the garden as he made his way towards the entrance of his hidden sanctuary. Each step was a solemn reminder of the mission that had just been concluded. The scent of leather and candle wax hung in the air, familiar and comforting. He pushed open the unassuming door at the end of the hallway, revealing a hidden secret world beyond.

The dungeon served as a sanctuary for him, a place where he could escape the burdens of his perilous existence. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim lighting, and there you were, dressed in black leather, waiting for him in the center of the room. Your presence commands attention; your aura is a captivating blend of power and sensuality.

"Welcome back, Kennedy," you purred, your lips curling into a mischievous grin. "You're not late; you arrived just in time."

Leon's tense shoulders relaxed as he stepped further into the dungeon, the door clicking shut behind him. He locked eyes with you, and a silent understanding passed between the two of you. He shed his jacket, the leather creaking as he tossed it aside, revealing the tension that had built up in his muscles during the mission.

You moved towards him, the sound of your heels clicking against the cold stone floor, with a devious glint in your eyes. "You look like you've had a rough day, my dear," you said, as your fingers lightly traced the contours of his jaw. "But, you know, I'm here to take care of you."

"Yes, Mistress," he nodded, closing his eyes to savor your touch and emitting a slight moan.

"Strip now," you ordered him, and stepped back to prepare the rest of the room and your toys.

The words were both a promise and a command, and Leon nodded in agreement. He needed this - the sensation of control slipping away from his grasp, the catharsis of pain and pleasure intertwined. You led him to the St. Andrew's Cross, a symbol of his shared desire for submission and domination.

With practiced ease, you secured his wrists and ankles to the cross, using leather restraints to keep him in place. Leon's heart raced, his mind focused solely on the anticipation of what would come next. The room seemed to shrink, closing in around him, leaving only the two of them and the palpable tension in the air.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his earlobe. "What would you like today, darling?" You whispered, asking your question.

"Take me to the edge, Mistress," Leon said, gazing at you with unwavering confidence.

"Very well," you nodded in agreement. "Remember the safe word, just in case."

Leon nodded once more and prepared himself for what was about to begin. He was waiting for the first strike to experience pleasure, but nothing happened. His eyes met yours, and he felt a shiver down his spine when he noticed the smile on your face.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" You approached him seductively, holding a flogger in your hands, your nails digging into his flesh.

"I forgot my collar, Mistress," he said, his breath heavy with the sudden realization that he had forgotten the only item he was permitted to wear. "I'm sorry, Mistress."

"Oh, bunny, you know we don't accept apologies," you said, biting his earlobe. "And do you know what this means?"

Leon nodded, biting his lip. He felt the first whip strike him hard, causing him to emit a loud moan. He tightly grips the leather restraints on his wrists, and the second blow leaves a red mark on his stomach. The third strike narrowly missed his cock and you can see him trembling as each blow compels him to seek relief from the agony of your flogging.

"Please, Mistress, forgive me," Leon begs, as you continue to flog him. Another strike, another groan.

"Have you learned your lesson, bunny?" You asked, delivering another whip to him, striking harder.

“Yes, Mistress. I did” Leon almost yelled, trying helplessly to avoid your strikes. His body was already red from the flogging. "Please, I won't forget it anymore."

You stopped, letting the flog aside. You took a leather collar from the drawer and placed it around his neck. His breath was heavy, and his entire body was shaking. He was indeed enjoying the anticipation of the punishment, although he had no idea what was about to happen. You untied him from the St. Andrews Cross, and he stood there, waiting for your next command.

"Stand in the center of the room," you commanded, holding a remote. He nods, walking with his naked, red body to the center of the dungeon.

You threw a silver spreader bar in his direction, and you didn't have to say it twice. Leon secured his ankles in the spreader bar, and once he was done, he glanced at you again. Silently, you pressed the button and then shackled his wrists to a drop-down ceiling bar. Pressing the button again, he stretched his arms in the air. The bondage dungeon is filled with furniture that enables you to attach him to any object in whichever manner you please.

Now he stands completely naked, with his ankles spread apart by a spreader bar and his arms stretched in the air, wearing nothing but his collar.

You stand before him, wearing a devilish smile on your lips. Suddenly, you firmly grasp his erect penis and apply pressure. You can see tears welling up in his sapphire-blue eyes as he bites his lip and tightly grips the shackles above his head. You squeeze it harder, and he gasps, yelping in pain. You paused for a moment, observing him. Another intense squeeze, another wave of pain, and he screams out loud. You finally release his cock and he exhales with relief, tears still streaming down his cheek.

"You're nothing but a sex toy. Look at you, so miserable," you said, as you walked around him and slapped his ass. "Such a naughty boy, desperate to be humiliated, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," his voice trembles as you slap his ass.

"Your purpose is to provide fuckings, am I right?" You asked again, delivering another slap to him, causing his body to jerk.

"Yes, Mistress," Leon nods again, his body jerking with each slap against his sensitive skin.

"Who owns you, fuckboy?" You stepped closer, gripping his hair firmly, causing him to emit a soft groan.

"You do, Mistress," he quickly replies, his Adam's apple bobbing rapidly up and down.

"Do I own your cock as well?" You asked again, leaving love bites on his skin.

"Yes, Mistress, you do."

You take his cock again, smacking it harder and making him yelp again. Tears were already rolling down his cheeks once more. You walk to your box of instruments and retrieve the manuscript clips. You take one clamp, gently open it, and place it over his left nipple. Carefully close the clamp, ensuring that it does not cause any pain. He tries to hold his breath and keep his mouth shut while you repeat the same process on his right nipple.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll bear it all night," you wink at him, and he nods silently.

Then, your hand reached his cock again and you started to masturbate him. You can see his hands tightly gripping the shackles, and his breath growing heavier with each passing second. Leon began moaning, with each moan growing louder as you continued to stimulate him with your hands. And you keep masturbating him until you know he's close.

And then, you come to a complete stop, causing him to whine out loud.

"Bad boys don't get rewarded," you said, and pressed the button to lower the ceiling bar. "Kneel."

He obeys by kneeling down. The ceiling is high enough for him to stretch his arms in the air, and you are sitting directly in front of him. You don't have to say anything; he already knows what to do. Leon crawls between your legs and opens his mouth. He bends forward, his arms stretching upward before him. The restraints are not sufficient to allow him to approach you, and observing him beg for your pussy amuses you.

"Please, Mistress, allow me to pleasure you in my mouth” he begs, his voice filled with desperation as he fights back tears, inching closer to you.

His cock twitches and aches. He's desperate to be released, to ejaculate all over his body, longing to feel your touch. You keep teasing him by not allowing him to get closer to you, making him see your wide pussy open in front of him, yet denying him the ability to touch or engage with you.

"Please, I'm begging, Mistress," he pleads again, desperately trying to reach you.

"Such a pathetic, whining boy," you said, tightly gripping his jaw in your hands.

You released his wrists and ankles, instructing him to walk towards the bondage horse. He silently obeys you and walks straight to the corner of the room. With red ropes, you tied his arms and hands behind his back. Its shape is that of a half barrel with wide ledges and wings, covered in black leather. Leon positions his knees on each wing, and you proceed to shackle him once more, ensuring that he is securely locked on the edge of the frame. His collar is attached by chains on both sides to the ceiling bar, keeping his head up and facing forward.

"What do you deserve?" you ask, as you walk around the room and pick up your flogger once more.

"To be punished, Mistress," he responds, his eyes locked on the wall in front of him.

"Why?" you asked before striking him hard.

"Because I am a bad man," Leon says, his body jerking again with the whimpering.

You smiled, satisfied, and started to whip him until his entire back was red. When you're done with his back, you move to face him, squeezing his cock again. Leon is on the verge of tears, gasping and unable to control himself. In an instant, without your command, he ejaculates onto your hand. His entire face turns red.

"Did I say you could cum?" you asked him, squeezing his sensitive cock, causing him to whine in pain once more.

"No, Mistress. I'm sorry," he begs, tears falling down his face once more.

"Privilege revoked," you hissed, walking towards your torment box. Leon is visually impaired, but he sheds tears when he senses something cold around his cock. He knows what it is. "You'll come only when I say so."

You walk back to the corner of the room after locking the chastity cage on him. When you return, Leon flinches slightly as he feels your thumb pressing against him from behind. You uses oil and you're smearing it around his anus. A finger slips, then your thumb. Another finger, he already knows what's coming.

He feels the rubber sliding inside, and he moans again. He feels the initial pain, but he's okay with it. You slide it further, allowing the oil to lubricate him internally. You pull back the toy and gently begin a rhythmic back-and-forth fucking of his ass. You have precision and an obvious regular rhythm. Leon moans, closing his eyes and feeling the helplessness of his submission. You insert the toy into him, and he can hear you pressing a button.

It starts to vibrate inside his hole.

To keep him quiet, you place a ball gag in his mouth and leave him in his current state. He is tormented by a dildo in his anus, restrained by shackles and ropes, rendering him unable to move, resist, or voice any complaints. You sit, playing with the remote control of the device in your hands, adjusting the intensity to elicit either loud moans or soft whines from him.

The cock cage on him is painful, and he is aware of it. With his already aroused state, it becomes nearly impossible for him to cum without your consent, and he is aware that this is precisely what you desire. He is unable to move, but the vibration in his ass makes his flesh to ripple. It makes him shake his body. Leon moans again, whether from the pain caused by the cage or the vibration inside his ass. He shakes his head, the only movement he can make.

You press the button, and he sighs with relief, but not completely. You pump him again a few times and stop. You thrust into him quickly and forcefully, causing him to groan and moan. After some time, there is a final push, a powerful thrust that is enough to rock the bondage horse. He moans aloud again. You walk around the corner again and gently push something metallic, cold, and smooth inside his ass. Leon feels the object and thinks it's large, expanding inside him. Then, it pops in, causing a painful stretch that makes him scream again.

"Clean it," you tell him, pointing to his white semen on the leather bondage material. You unshackle his collar from the ceiling bar and his ankles from the restraints, but keep his arms tied with the ropes.

He obediently leans over from his waist until his tongue reaches the black leather. He licks it in wide swaths, gathering all his juices from his previous unauthorized release, leaving only his saliva behind.

You can see the color of his cock. He's so hard and sensitive. When Leon finishes cleaning the bondage horse, he kneels in front of you, waiting patiently. He is clearly struggling to hold back his orgasm, but at the same time, he is on the brink of climax.

"Desperate to cum, huh?” you teased, gently stimulating his sensitive nipples, eliciting another groan from him.

"Yes, Mistress," he says, his voice shaking once more.

You sat in an armchair in front of him, your legs spread apart, offering a tantalizing view of your glistening arousal. He doesn't move, but when he sees you nod, he knows what to do. He leans closer, and you can feel his tongue on your wet, sensitive, and swollen clit. He sucks you, savoring your taste, and moaning from the pleasure mixed with the slight pain he feels on his cock. You moan and grip his hair tightly, urging him to continue sucking you.

And when you reach your orgasm, Leon has to force himself to calm down, feeling your cunt on his face. His cock is hurting and you decide to please him in the appropriate manner.

“Color” you ask him, playfully tweaking his nipple.

"Green, Mistress," he says, trembling. He's lying.

"What color is it, bunny?" you asked him again, gripping the metal of his collar.

"Yellow, Mistress," Leon shakes. The pain in his cock is excruciating.

You released his cock from the cage, and he sighed with relief, only to gasp at your touch. He was very sensitive, and you started to masturbate him again. You took your magic wand and placed it under his dick, vibrating with intense power, while your other hand moved up and down on him. Leon can't last long. He's already too close to reaching orgasm. You, on the other hand, don't care. You continue to deliberate, his rhythm becoming tense.

"Go on, be a good boy and cum for your Mistress," you said, increasing your pace on him.

The words are enough. It emanates from his core and bursts out. His thighs and red belly shuddered first, as if he were being electrocuted. Then, it surged upward, causing his entire chest to shake as he let out a guttural moan, a mixture of pain and pleasure. Afterward, you removed the clips from his nipples, and he yelped and cried again. You also removed the plug from his anus, leaving it elsewhere.

Now, you have him standing at the end of the bondage horse again, and you instruct him to bend over and protrude his ass out. You tied him with the red ropes in a different manner, and he obeys you. This time, you take a flogger to his ass, almost caressing his cheeks with its sleek leather strands. Then, it comes out of nowhere.

The brutal spank of the cane striking his ass. He screams.

You cane him again, this time on his right ass cheek. He screams again and sobs. The third strike goes again. Leon yells.

You guide him to a nearby mirror and compel him to observe the three red marks on his ass.

He's crying. You had successfully led him to his edge, but you knew when to stop. You removed the gag from his mouth and untied the ropes that had left his arms almost purple. Then, you placed a robe on him. Aftercare is important, even in this type of situation.

"Are you okay?" you asked, leading him to the sofa in the opposite corner. "I know you wanted to be on the edge, but this is dangerous. Did something happen?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Leon says softly, although his entire body is in pain. "Just... don't worry, okay? I like it when you get rough with me."

"I'm not complaining, but are you sure you're okay?" you asked, embracing him and allowing his head to rest on your chest.

"I'm fine, trust me," he chuckles.

There is a moment of silence. Usually, he doesn't stay for aftercare. He gets what he wants and then leaves, but there's something different this time. You don't say anything, you decide to give him some space. This night was heavily different from the others, and you're not sure he's really alright.

“Can we do it again?” He lifts his head so he can see you. “But this time, can you blindfold me?”

You smirk. It's time for another round. 

[ketaminechan-u]

Me

[strawberrysnoopy]

ACT ONE: The Photoshoot, Part Four of Four.

warnings: tobacco, smoking, alcohol use, briefest mention of using alcohol as a coping mechanism, mentions of infidelity (as always), ada slander at times (sorry), texting for a while, leon's a bit of a perv, sex, pussy, balls, dick, yeah you get the gist.

(a/n): sike bitch you thought.

FINAL PART OF ACT ONE: THE PHOTOSHOOT.

Your husband was on the dining room floor, groaning in pain, with blood spattered across the kitchen tile from spitting the drips of blood that fell down his throat from his nose. Leon had fucked him up, hard and good. His nose was broken, he had a black eye, his lip was busted open like a button on a shirt, and he had some beginnings of a cauliflower ear. Jesus, Leon gets the damn job done. That must be why he's deployed all the time. "We should..." Leon pauses, wiping some blood from his own unbroken nose with a sniffle. "...take him to the emergency room. I fucked him up pretty good." You nod in agreement, placing your hands on your hips as if you're looking at some new problem that you found in your garden. Like some field mice have been getting into the blackberry bush again. Whatever. You've seen him in worse cases. I mean, there is that time where he tried to kick someone's ass for not playing pool the right way off of three obscenely large tall boy beers. You should've left him then, but now he's on your kitchen floor with his ass beat and his hot ass friend looking down on him. "We should. I think that'll be a good idea. Are you okay? Any impairments?" He shakes his head, loosely gesturing to the black eye that had begun forming, his eyelid peppered in tiny red spots and a smear of a maroon red near the tear duct. The kicker? He wore it so strongly too, like it hadn't bothered him at all, and let's be honest, it hadn't.

You near the front door of your house, pulling the noisy keys out of your pocket to unlock the door. Leon was behind you, hands awkwardly stuffed in the pockets of his denim jeans and tapping his feet. He looked out of place to be awkward. Black-eye clad with dried blood in the nooks and crannies of his skin. "Never realized how pretty your house was, sweetheart." There was a sudden flush in your cheeks at the nickname, not used to people calling you such names of endearment besides the photographers or shoot directors in a weak attempt to get you to pose correctly. You thank him quietly, unlocking the door and pushing through. You waltz over to the kitchen in a spent fashion, noticing little droplets of blood on your kitchen tile. You know you should be mad. A satisfied wife would be furious that someone had laid hands on her husband. You? You were giddy. Like someone had finally understood what a cunt your husband could be and did something besides laugh it off. You expected Leon to tell him to fuck off or make some snarky remark in defense of you, but telling you that he'd fuck you? God damn, it made your head spin. Yes, you've been replaying this thought in your head for the past few hours and the little flashes in your mind of Leon defiling your loyalty had your panties all twisted up. And he beat up your husband over some little thing like he had been waiting for his opportunity his entire life.

Capital H Hot.

You go through the rounds of patching him up, making silent conversation to ease that burning in the pit of your stomach. The conversation had been chock full of apologies from Leon, saying how he was sorry on saying he'd fuck you. "I'm sorry." He begins, and you raise your hand up to stop him from saying anything more.

Sorry? Why on god's green earth would Leon be sorry in saying he'd fuck you if your husband wasn't doing the job correctly? If anything, the statement had set your skin ablaze with salacity and your mind buzzing with impure thoughts of him fucking you against their marital beds. "Don't apologize." You spoke, eyes accidentally shown to be half-lidded, hiding it behind the "fact" you're looking down at the splat of blood on his cheek. "If that's what you truly mean, say it. It's not a crime to find someone attractive, the only thing wrong is if you act on it." His mouth is left open for a few beats before making the two parts of his jaw meet again. He couldn't tell if it was an admission that you had been feeling the same turmoil he'd been feeling. Those sleepless nights. Staring at the ceiling next to your spouse while they sleep, desiring what they cannot have in another bed. Your patience was pinching, the thirst through your thighs turning into a ticking time bomb, and to rephrase the previous points, your cunt was in unbearable need to get fucked. "Then I guess I want to fuck you." There was no dancing around it. No I'm attracted to you in a friendly "that's the way it is" type of way. Straight to the point. I want to take off my goddamn clothes and fuck you. I want to be intimate with you in the most perverse ways possible. You should slap him. You shouldn't have tended to his wounds. You shouldn't have let him into the comfort of your home.

But you did. Because you want the same thing as Leon. Sex. Not the cheap sex your spouses have been trying to give you for your entire relationship. Sex.

Your hand strays from his face, sucking in a breath when you wipe up the rest of the dried blood. He hopped off the counter, his finger subtly swiping against you hip to stave off that insatiable beast in him that wants to fuck you.

"Come to my room." You whisper, your chin barely brushing over your shoulder, clad in the bland cardigan you wore to keep yourself warm from the chilling night thus far. And you sound like you're inviting him for sex. And he doesn't want to fucking reject you.

"Is this okay?" You hold up an old college t-shirt to him, bringing the fabric closer to his still clothed chest. The shirt was one of your husband's from long ago. You had honestly thought about tossing out the shirt in a yard sale but never had the time or will to do so. "Should be." He pulls off his shirt in a languid motion, slipping the ratty tee over his head instead. Your eyes catch Leon's trail of hair, well groomed and cut down not too long ago judging based off of the short stubbly hairs on his abdomen. "Rude to stare, silly girl." You mumble out a quiet "sorry" to him while leaving the bedroom, presumably changing into your own pajamas. But before you can get two feet out the door, he's tugging on your wrist. "Stop." His voice is quiet, lustful with that slight demand. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, wondering where he's suddenly getting the gall to tug on your wrist like this when he was just begging for forgiveness so much earlier. Your confusion unwrites itself on your face when he takes off your husband's shirt. He's shirtless again, the long scars and fading bruises and cuts from missions he's taken a few weeks prior visible on his skin. Your eyes don't fail you when they settle on the happy trail you were drooling over moments ago. "Why are you looking at me like that, hm?" He asks, moving closer by a smidge, you wouldn't have noticed if your senses weren't already heightened by the arousal you've been feeling since he first came over for dinner. Damn him, keeping you wound up like a clockwork toy and expecting you to prance over like some whore. "You're married. I'm married." He's getting closer, lips tracing towards your cheekbone and getting closer to your ear. "Honey, has anyone ever told you how wrong that is?" You swallow down so goddamn hard, your esophagus might as well have been torn to shreds. "Leon—" He interrupts you, pulling away from your cheek and letting his eyes flit over your body, tutting his tongue as if he's disappointed you're not naked already. "I'm not finished, sweetheart." "Do you know how torturous it is? Looking at you while you're married and you don't even have a fucking clue as to how bad I want to fuck you against every surface of the home you share with your husband? Even though I cannot have you? You're such a fucking tease, making me want you like some goddamn degenerated pervert." His lips tease the skin near your jaw, breathing in your essence like he was stealing it for himself. "And Ada. Oh, she's no fucking help. Treating me like I'm some whipped dog for her. Even when she's never there. She doesn't know I dream of you every time she's away."

You can't even speak. This was such a far cry from the Leon you knew. This was the same man who always had snarky comments and sarcastic one-liners that made you laugh, who respected you, who talked to you like you had known each other since birth. Then again, yearning is an insane drug and Leon's a loyal addict. "Say something before I go insane, sweetheart." He whispered, nudging your head to the side, allowing access to your pulse, rapidly beating under sweaty skin. You don't say anything. Your hands just weave themselves into his hair, tugging and pulling him closer when he's brough into a passionate kiss. Your hands are about to reach for his belt when his phone buzzes. The first time, it's ignored in the heat of the moment. Maybe just some old friend asking to meet up later this weekend. You're in the middle of pulling the belt off, his hands greedily grabbing at your tits and ass when the phone buzzes again. "Need you." He whispered, biting your cheek like some wild animal. The buzzing of texts eventually turn into a consistent vibration of a phone call. Pulling out his phone, Leon realizes it's something he can't just ignore for some pussy. "We need to stop." You murmur back to him, trying to wean yourself off of kissing him. Stop, stop, stop. Even though you don't want to and the only thing you'd enjoy is having him bust your head in against the headboard while telling you how much he loves your pussy.

But he pulls away, stopping the kneading on your ass and your tits, much to his displeasure. For a minute, you're left panting and with the ever lingering feeling of his strong calloused hands all over your skin. You stare down at the emboldened caller ID. Ada. You rewet your eyes by blinking, eyes going dry by staring wide-eyed at his phone. Is he gonna answer that? You hope not. You want him to finish what he started and especially after all of those admissions of lust to you as well, there's no going back. He sighed, picking up the phone while you walked out of your own bedroom. You feel sick. You're supposed to love your husband but your pussy is fucking throbbing at the way another man's hands explore your body. His best friend, no less. He's supposed to be the strong and outspoken man yet he's on a leash for his wife who treats him like shit. And for the first time, you finally mutter a fuck you to Leon you mean with your full chest.

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