Leon had gone off-grid.

No backup. No official clearance. Just a trail of whispers that led straight back to the rotting corpse of Raccoon City.

Grace was out there somewhere, and Leon, being Leon, decided that meant he had to be too.

Alone.

You had known him long before the government turned him into a weapon. Back when he was just a rookie cop with too much optimism and not enough sleep. Back when you were the detective who kept having to pull him out of trouble and tell him to stop trying to save everyone by himself.

So when you found out he went back alone?

Yeah. Not happening.

If Leon S. Kennedy was walking back into hell, he wasn’t doing it without you.

The moment you caught wind that he’d gone back to Raccoon City solo, you were already packing. You weren’t about to let your idiot march back into hell without someone watching his six.

If he was going to die in that graveyard of a city, you’d at least be there to drag him back out of it.

The surface was dead quiet when you arrived. Too quiet. Wind cutting through skeletal buildings. Rusted signs creaking like they were trying to remember how to scream.

No sign of Leon topside.

So you found the subway access point. The old tunnels. The kind of place Umbrella used to love.

You took position beside the opening, back against the cold concrete wall. One boot braced behind you. Arms relaxed. Gun holstered but ready.

And you waited.

An hour passed.

Then footsteps.

Measured. Careful. Familiar.

Leon emerged from the darkness of the tunnel, climbing up into the pale gray light. His movements were tighter than they used to be. More controlled. Less rookie, more survivor. He scanned automatically, gun low but ready, shoulders tense.

He looked left first.

Wrong direction.

You stayed silent.

He took two more steps forward, attention shifting.

“Boo.”

Flat. Calm. Almost bored.

Leon whipped around fast enough to make most people flinch. His pistol snapped up, laser sight landing square between your eyes.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

After everything you had both seen over the years, a gun in your face barely registered.

His eyes widened a fraction when he recognized you.

He exhaled sharply and lowered the weapon.

Jesus—” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “You scared the shit out of me.”

You pushed off the wall casually.

“You’re slipping.”

He shot you a look.

“You’re insane.”