The test was the final stage of selection for operational work. Several hours of observation were meant to decide who was fit to become an agent and who wasn’t. Leon Kennedy was one of the agents responsible for evaluating the group. He wasn’t teaching. He sat on the side of the room and watched. There was something heavy about him - a faint metallic smell, old gunpowder, something bitter that seemed to linger in the air around him. He didn’t talk much. He didn’t need to.

The task was simple: observe the camera feeds and report what actually mattered. Most trainees couldn’t handle the silence. They kept reporting small things — light reflections, random movement, minor glitches. One of them even stepped closer, confidently explaining they had noticed something “suspicious” on the screen. Leon listened without comment, then looked away. It was clear he was already frustrated and embarrassed by the level of the group.

That was when his attention shifted to you. You stayed quiet, focused on the monitors instead of reacting to every detail. Leon noticed the moment you caught it — the same person appearing again, passing the same spot and looking at the same empty place each time, like they were waiting for something to happen there. Before anyone else realized it, he saw that you had.

That was enough.

“That’s all,” Leon said. “The test is over. Everyone can leave.” As the room emptied, he added roughly: “You're assigned to me"