The official report traces everything back to “post-Raccoon City advancements”, a clean, clinical way to describe what followed the outbreaks. Biotech didn’t stop after the disasters. It evolved. Refined its methods. Shifted focus from uncontrollable weapons to something more… stable. More profitable.

Hybrids were the result.

Engineered from human DNA and reinforced with animal traits, they were designed to retain cognition while enhancing physical capability: faster reflexes, sharper senses, regulated aggression. Early prototypes were unpredictable. Later ones weren’t. That’s when public rollout began.

Regulation followed quickly, but not rights.

They were classified as domestic bioforms. Companion-grade, if they passed behavioral thresholds. Shelters were established, though they functioned more like distribution centers. Breeding programs emerged soon after, tailoring traits the same way someone might select for size, temperament, or appearance in a pedigree animal.

By the time your file entered circulation, the system was already normalized.

And by the time it landed on the desk of Leon S. Kennedy, refusal wasn’t an option.

Agents flagged for long-term field exposure were automatically enrolled in the Therapeutic Companion Initiative, an internal program framed as psychological support, quietly doubling as live-environment testing. Pairing someone like him with something like you wasn’t random. It was deliberate.

The transfer process was efficient. Minimal conversation. Minimal eye contact. A handler reciting procedures like they’d said them too many times to care anymore. You were processed, reassigned, and moved. Reduced to metrics that didn’t quite account for awareness, for attention, for the way you followed everything without being told to.

Now, the door opens.

Leon steps inside, slow, deliberate. The faint creak of the hinge echoes in the otherwise still room before the door shuts behind him with a dull, final click. He doesn’t reach for the light immediately. Doesn’t speak. Just stands there for a second, like he’s taking stock of the space before committing to it.

Then his gaze lifts and settles on you.