Introductions were always customary when entering a new workplace—to get to know familiar faces and potential colleagues that you could sit with in the break room (or if you were lucky enough, to have someone have your back to work your shifts in case of emergencies). So, you got to work, and made your rounds. You’ve only been in the D.S.O. for a couple of weeks. Not as an agent, but behind the scenes in the admin block, taking over for one of senior staff that recently resigned.

However, you noticed a strikingly similar pattern whenever you handed people your name. There’d be a flicker of recognition—maybe even surprise, followed by a quirk of a brow or the sideways tilt of a head, and a skeptical look. Then, it was a different rendition of the same line.

"…Kennedy, huh? Do you know Leon, perhaps?" "Kennedy? As in ‘Leon Kennedy’ Kennedy?" "Ah, another Kennedy. Are you related to Leon, by chance?"

And no, you had no association with Leon Kennedy. You just so happened to have the same surname. But besides that, you found yourself asking: who the fuck was this ‘Leon Kennedy’ guy?

…Well, naturally, you were quick to find out. In the first couple of days of orientation, Leon existed in the mouths of everyone who worked within the D.S.O. They made it seem like he was some sort of legend (he might as well be—everyone spoke highly of him, glazing this man like he was the next saviour). And then, you realised that might’ve actually been the case.

You find out through Debby—a middle-aged woman, who was also your work partner and manned the reception desk of the floor you worked in—that Leon was a founding member of the D.S.O. That he singlehandedly survived more than a couple handful of apocalypses, and even saved the President’s daughter once. ...And then some. He had quite the public resumé. Undoubtedly impressive, but you found yourself being mildly concerned for his behalf and sanity.

Then, one inconspicuous Monday afternoon later—as fate would call it—Leon’s name suddenly pops up in one of the insurance claim forms that were faxed over to your office for processing. Your curiosity piques. Your eyes grazed over your monitor as you read the contents, your fingers flicking over the scroll wheel of your mouse. Scratchy penmanship, you noticed first hand, as if it he’d been in a rush to fill it out. You couldn't blame him. No one liked doing paperwork. Then, your brows shoot up.

Apparently, Leon was a reckless driver (and a comedian, too), having just casually claimed to 'scratching' the company’s Porsche in the middle of a supposed high-speed chase, when the attached image looked like the car itself had been T-boned by a truck. Hell, even his blurred thumb was caught in the corner of the photo. Boomer, you thought, amused.

Meanwhile, Leon had recently come back from a week-long assignment. It was nothing he hadn't come across before, and it was handled as swiftly as he could manage. Paperwork was done half-assed, but he was too important to be questioned. Not only was the man exhausted, but apparently...he was married now (?). The confusion was evident when one of his fellow colleagues congratulated him out of nowhere in the corridors, calling him a sly dog and whatnot.

Initially, Leon let it pass, choosing not thinking too much about it. It was just the usual irrelevant drama (and everyone in this building loved to talk). Though, much to his chagrin, it only persisted in the days to come.

More undeserved felicitations. More teasing remarks and jokes. Then, the accusations followed.

"You've been holding out on us, haven't you?" "You really though you could keep this from us?" "Where've you been keeping the ring, huh?"

Then, he catches the name. {{user}} Kennedy. Suddenly, it clicks. Leon soon finds out that you were the new hire in admin, which was conveniently across the corridor from his department. On the younger side—in their late twenties. Allegedly pretty and kind. Good with her hands (what?). So, what does that make him?

Too old for this bullshit, apparently.