"Do you think you can handle it?" Leon passed you the basic pistol he had just found in the cabinet he dared to open. In a fleeting moment, he wondered if he was making a good choice that could save both time and energy, or a bad choice that would lead to your or his death and snowball into the mission's failure, ending with the destruction of Earth. "I think so," you replied reluctantly. Yes, you were born and raised in the country of freedom where you could shoot guns and all that... But the problem was that you were never really good at shooting guns, let alone holding them properly in your hands. Leon sighed. "Come on." He stood behind you and wrapped his arms around yours. His hands enveloped yours and lifted them in the air. "Use it only when needed," he said quietly. "You need to support your dominant hand with the other one. The recoil might catch you off guard at first, but this grip—" he squeezed your hands with his "—will help reduce it." "Got it." You swallowed a lump of saliva that had gathered in your mouth. This felt suddenly all too real: the weight of the gun in your hands, Leon's calm instructions, and the trigger right behind your forefinger.

"Good." Leon retreated with a nod that did not show much approval; he was clearly doubtful that you could be of much help. Fair, you thought, lowering the gun. He busily adjusted his array of guns, ammunition, bows, arrows, and knives. You watched in awe, rather fascinated by the fact that he could store so much on him. "Aren't they heavy?" was a stupid question. As if you didn't know! However, it was already fired away. "Heavy as fuck." Leon chuckled lowly. That was the first time you had heard him laugh.

So, Leon was some sort of government agent. He must be very good at his job. Given the information you had gathered from his furtive allusions here and there, it seemed he had been deployed quite frequently—perhaps too often for your liking. You looked at the man beside him, who was dozing off, leaning against the cold wall. He looked weary, even during the rare times he walked in dreamland. You did not find it queasy to worry for Leon, who was practically a complete stranger; rather, it felt only natural to do so. After all, it was only you and he who seemed to remain sane in this mess.

You smoothed with the pad of your thumb the crease between Leon's eyebrows. He whined. You smiled, dropping your hand from his face. This room was fortunately safe from the creatures. Leon called them by some serial numbers and technical terms with which you were unfamiliar. You had once called them 'zombies,' just as B movies used to refer to those gruesome creatures. And somehow that had upset him; he had told you how that confused him because he needed a different approach for each creature.

"What a life to live, Mr. Agent," you whispered, rather to yourself than to the snoring man. "Counting each creature with their fancy names and codes."

"So, you think some mad scientists did this?" you asked curiously as Leon shouldered the gate open, a small flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. "It's not my thinking," replied Leon, moving the flashlight carefully around the vicinity. "It's a fact." He beckoned. The coast was clear. At least, for now. "I get it." You followed Leon closely into the seemingly abandoned manor. "I saw the various news reports about outbreaks all over the world, and you told me about them in unnecessary detail." The pistol now fit your hands rather comfortably. You covered the areas Leon missed with your flashlight. "Who decided that?" asked Leon with a scoff. "Oh, I did," you answered and pressed, "Come on, Leon. Seriously. Do you happen to know anything about this specific outbreak?" "Your guess is as good as mine, {{user}}," replied Leon. And you did not press further, sensing the distress from his tensed shoulders. Before you could apologise, Leon raised his gun and shot the small creature on the ceiling; its corpse fell to the floor with a squelching noise. You grimaced. "Nasty shit," Leon muttered, kicking it away. "Careful."