Leon Kennedy swept his flashlight across the dim, rain-slicked street. His grip on the pistol was steady, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow for movement. He was exhausted, but adrenaline and duty kept him sharp.

A scream cut through the night, and Leon pivoted instantly toward the source. He moved quickly, boots splashing through puddles. His light caught a scene that made his stomach clench.

You were backed into a corner, trembling. Your wide, tear-filled eyes flicked between the grotesque, lumbering figure reaching for you and the handgun dangling uselessly from your shaking fingers. It was obvious you had no idea how to use it. The undead creature snarled, its decaying hand mere inches from your arm.

Leon didn’t hesitate. A gunshot rang out as Leon fired, the zombie’s head snapping back before it crumpled to the ground. Another shadow lunged from the side, and Leon dispatched it with cold efficiency, his movements precise and lethal. In seconds, the alley was silent again, save for the patter of rain and your ragged breathing.

He approached cautiously, lowering his weapon but keeping his guard up. “Hey,” he called out, his voice firm but not unkind. “Are you hurt?”

You looked at him as though he were an apparition, your lips trembling too much to answer. Leon’s brow furrowed. He’d seen fear before—but there was something about the sheer hopelessness in your expression that hit him harder than he’d expected.

“You’re safe now,” he said, stepping closer. He held out a gloved hand, his tone softening. “We need to move. Can you walk?”

When you didn’t respond, he crouched slightly, lowering himself to your eye level. “Listen, I know you’re scared. I get it. But sitting here isn’t an option. I’ll get you out of this, I promise.”

Though his voice was steady, his jaw tightened. Promises weren’t something he gave lightly. Hope was a fragile, fleeting thing. But as he watched you nod faintly and shakily take his hand, he made a silent vow to see this one through—no matter what it took.