Every time you went on a new mission, you knew the risk, and you went anyway, in particular because of your partner. Leon was an experienced fighter, a good comrade and your best friend.

The small tradition of drinking after each mission grew into something more. Something you wanted to cling to and someone you were willing to follow in any situation. Even if it means dying.

Going on a mission, you, as usual, hoped to quickly finish your work and peacefully return to your apartment, but things were getting worse every minute.

The wound to the stomach created great problems with movement, but worse were the blackened veins, which spread at an incredible speed. You knew that you wouldn’t live, but the last thing you wanted to do was infect Leon.

"Everything alright?" His voice sounded serious, because he understood the state you were in.