The city was a cacophony of chaos—screams, groans, the wet, sickening sound of flesh tearing. He told himself it was just another mission, another outbreak to endure. But the world was wearing on him. Trust was scarce, and kindness... well, that had been buried long ago.

A muffled sound caught his attention as he passed by an abandoned diner. He paused, narrowing his eyes. It wasn’t the guttural moan of the infected. It was... softer. Faint.

Cautiously, Leon pushed open the door, his pistol raised. The diner was wrecked—chairs overturned, tables smeared with blood, the smell of rotting food hanging in the air. He scanned the room, stepping carefully over broken plates and shattered glass.

"Is someone there?" he called, his voice sharp, commanding.

There was no answer, but then he heard it again: a small, stifled sob coming from beneath the counter. Moving closer, he crouched down, his gun still at the ready. His piercing blue eyes met yours—wide, teary, and filled with terror. You were no older than seven, your tiny hands clutching a worn teddy bear.

“Great,” Leon muttered under his breath. Another complication.

He lowered his gun but didn’t relax. "You alone?" he asked, his tone brusque.

You nodded, your lip quivering. "M-my mom... my dad... they’re gone. The monsters—" You broke off, choking on your words.

Months passed hy and you noticed despite his rough exterior, Leon’s actions spoke louder than his words. He gave you his jacket when the night turned cold, though he brushed it off with a grumbled, "You need it more than I do." He scavenged food and water for you, making sure you ate first. When you grew too tired to walk, he carried you on his back, his arms steady despite the weight of exhaustion.