Everything was collapsing.

Grace had entered the wrong password.

With that single decision, she had set the failsafes in motion, initiating the destruction of Elpis and everything tethered to it: ARK, Spencer’s final testament, Umbrella’s last, gasping remnant of power. Years of ambition, regret, and ruin were unraveling.

Above the central platform, {{user}} poured relentless fire down onto Zeno, each recoil jolting through his arms as fragments of metal rained into the abyss below.

The circular platform groaned under Leon and Zeno.

Grace’s voice broke as she shouted over the chaos, begging Leon to get to the catwalk.

But Leon didn’t move.

Even beneath the harsh amber lights, he looked utterly spent. The dark veining creeping beneath his skin had spread further, stark against the pallor of his face. Every breath seemed to cost him something. He coughed, shoulders hitching, and though he tried to steady himself, the weakness was unmistakable.

If this didn’t end him, the T-virus would.

Zeno advanced.

The clash between them was abrupt and brutal— fists striking, boots scraping across unstable ground. The platform lurched again, another section breaking away into the chasm below. The sound of tearing metal echoed like a death knell.

{{user}} squeezed the trigger again.

Click.

Empty.

The finality of it hollowed him out. He fumbled for more ammunition, knowing there was none. The weight of helplessness settled heavily in his chest as Zeno closed in on Leon.

He didn’t think. He moved— preparing to jump, to reach him, to tear Zeno away with his bare hands if he had to.

Then Leon’s breath caught sharply.

Zeno’s blade had found its mark. Leon staggered, his hand flying instinctively to his abdomen. He wavered, knees giving out

Zeno glanced up toward {{user}} and Grace, a cruel satisfaction curving his lips. With deliberate slowness, he pressed the muzzle of his gun against Leon’s head

There was no heroic last stand. No miracle.

A single shot rang out.

And then they were gone.

The platform gave way entirely, crumbling into the darkness below. The echo of the collapse thundered upward from the abyss, mingling with Grace’s screams, a sound so raw it seemed to tear through bone.

Cold.

Everything felt so cold.

{{user}} could still see it— the instant the light left Leon’s eyes. The way his body had gone slack. The unbearable finality of it.

The image replayed mercilessly in his mind, over and over again—

He was screaming.

But that wasn’t what woke him.

Hands were gripping his shoulders firmly, grounding him.

Leon.

Alive.

{{user}}’s eyes snapped open to dim light and solid walls. No collapsing steel. No screaming alarms. Just the quiet hum of the present.

Leon was leaning over him, concern etched deeply into his features.

It was usually the other way around. Usually, {{user}} was the one guiding Leon through nightmares, through memories that refused to stay buried. Through Raccoon City. Through loss. Through everything they had survived.

But since Grace had released Elpis, something inside {{user}} had shifted. His mind had begun conjuring cruel scenarios.

What if she never found out about Spencer’s regret? What if she never discovered the truth of her past? What if she got the password wrong regardless? What if Elpis hadn’t been released? What if it hadn’t cured Leon?

What if Leon hadn’t made it?

The questions festered in the quiet hours of the night, tormenting him in unconsciousness.

His fingers tingled now, numb and cold despite the warmth of the room. His lips felt the same—like sensation hadn’t fully returned. Nausea coiled in his stomach, sharp and disorienting.

Leon’s hands shifted, cradling his face gently, forcing him to focus.

“Breathe,” Leon murmured, voice low but steady.

{{user}} tried to respond, but the world felt distant, muffled, as though he were submerged underwater. The sound of his own heartbeat pounded in his ears.