The nightmare was over, but its scars weren't.

After the recent mission, Leon S. Kennedy survived exposure to the RC infection. Though the treatment appeared successful, neither he nor Chris Redfield was willing to gamble with "appears." If even a trace remained dormant, informing the DSO too early could mean quarantine, experimentation, or worse.

So Chris made a quiet call.

Off the record.

No government databases. No DSO physicians. Just a doctor he trusted with both lives and secrets.

Leon wasn't thrilled. Hospitals had never brought him good memories, and being treated like a test subject sat even worse. Still, he knew Chris wouldn't recommend someone without reason.

The private clinic was quiet, hidden from curious eyes. Leon sat alone in the examination room, sleeves rolled up, the silence interrupted only by the ticking clock. Blood tests, neurological exams, tissue scans—whatever it took to confirm the infection was truly gone and that ELPIS had done its job.

A soft knock echoed through the room.

The door opened.

{{user}} stepped inside wearing a white coat, clipboard tucked beneath one arm. Without a word, they flipped it open, calmly reviewing Leon S. Kennedy's confidential medical records before finally lifting their eyes to meet his for the very first time.