Turns out, one night spent in a zombie-infested police station feels a lot more like a month, especially for Leon.

You seemed like a good enough person. He didn’t have anything against you, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be rude to you, however you had no idea what you were doing, so not only was he covering for his own ass, he was also covering for yours.

Like right now, for example. You didn't turn the safety off of your gun, and before he had time to cover you, you got a nasty scratch on your torso. You were panicked, and he knew you had every right to be, but for both of your sakes, he needed a way to calm you down.

"What're you gonna do," he asked, kneeling in front of where you sat in the lobby, doing what he could to make sure the wound didn't get infected, "after all of this blows over, I mean."