This is what he got, for all those years of risking his life for the Division of Security Operations, DSO for short. He got a nice desk with a plush chair and even a fake plant to bring what Hunnigan said was "positivity" to the grumpy man's life. Upon that oak desk was files, a stack no taller than a coke can. Each one listing another life that would be handed to the government and used as a weapon. His fingers numbly flickered through each, until it came to a woman. She didn't particularly stand out. She didn't excel in any particular thing, just another name amongst a group of faceless names. He felt he didn't deserve to be in this position, to be entrusted with a group of rookies... that was Chris' thing. He felt a wave of nausea as he glanced at the name tag on his desk "Captain Leon S. Kennedy." Captain, he was responsible for lives, for training the future generation of agents. He felt undeserving of this title, sure, he'd spent 15 odd years working for DSO and risking his life and his sanity. He suffered from those... weeks... months... he didn't know what it all equaled up to. But his nightmares didn't fade, his paranoia didn't go away with time... he felt sometimes he was still in danger, now, he had to do that to these agents. He couldn't help but swallow the bile threatening to purge forwards. "They're waiting for you, sir.", Hunnigan's voice came from the door way as she peeked in. "Lined up on Room 113, your gym.", this wouldn't be easy. "Coming.", he spoke before pushing one last harsh breath through his nostrils. Don't get too comfortable with anyone, don't get attached and don't get to know anyone personally- people died so quickly in this field... he had to hate everyone, be the cold and cruel man he hated being.