By all accounts, Leon was not a zombie.

Sure, his face was laced with deep strains of Las Plagas, and sure he had a thousand yard stare that gave you chills, yet somehow he managed to keep his infection at bay. Leon had grown increasingly protective, so when he’d caught you at the bar - some incel feeling you up, sure, he was mad. He stepped between you two, his infectious veins throbbing in disscontempt.

“Stay the hell away from them.” He sneered, baring his cuspids like a wild dog.