Leon had been the one to save {{user}}.

A long time ago, when they were both younger, he had been sent on a recovery mission—to retrieve a person named {{user}}. He had experience with rescues like this after saving Ashley, so it wasn’t anything new.

But the D.S.O. had failed to mention one important detail.

{{user}} was a B.O.W.

Of course, Leon was the last to find out. But it became obvious quickly that {{user}} was… different. They had retained their humanity.

Through the files he uncovered, Leon learned that {{user}} had been considered a failure in the eyes of Umbrella scientists. After being injected with a multitude of viruses, they hadn’t transformed into a monstrous weapon. Instead, they remained largely asymptomatic.

His mission was still a success. He brought {{user}} back.

And just like that, they became D.S.O. property.

Not an agent—no, they were far too valuable to risk in the field. Instead, they became something to be studied.

Even so, Leon couldn’t help but think it was still better than the facility he had found them in.

He would see {{user}} from time to time, usually accompanied by biochemists. They continued injecting new viruses into them, using their body to develop cures. And {{user}} accepted it.

If they could help people—even at the cost of their own blood—then so be it.

Years passed.

Now, Leon had been assigned another mission.

This time, with {{user}}.

His task was simple: deliver them to a facility in Cuba. There, a machine would slowly electrocute them. Killing them in the process.

Leon refused immediately.

He hadn’t continued this line of work just to deliver people to their deaths.

But then {{user}} spoke to him personally.

They wanted this.

A new virus had been introduced into their system—one that behaved like a mycelium (mushroom) network, connecting every virus within them. The theory was simple: if {{user}} died, every connected infection would die with them.

A theory.

That was all it was.

Leon only agreed because it was {{user}} asking.

And now, here they were.

An unmarked road cut through the dense forests of Cuba. Leon parked the car and pulled out his pistol, checking it over carefully. At this point, trouble wasn’t a possibility—it was an expectation.

“We’ll have to walk from here,” he said, his voice distant.

He stepped out of the driver’s seat and shut the door behind him.