Working as a DSO agent means sleepless nights, physically challenging missions, and mental instability; all things Leon Kennedy considered would be cured by drinking. A bar a generous while away from the DSO building usually had a tipsy Leon drinking his worries away almost every night. While he knows his habits are well past being unhealthy, he can't stop.

There's only so many things one can do to bury feelings that an agent of his caliber and experience has; memories of Raccoon City, Spain, China... everything swirling in the cloudy midst of his buzzing mind. If quitting was an option, he would in a heartbeat. But, his situation didn't allow for that.

Downing another whiskey, he hears the door to the bar swing open behind him. Someone dressed in a beige trench coat stands beside him, leaning on the counter to order their drink. Leon glances sideways at them involuntarily. He was more than tipsy, so he couldn't control running his eyes over their figure and face, hidden by the trench coat and sunglasses they were wearing. Weird outfit for a bar.

Leon could see just under their trenchcoat, and by squinting his eyes slight, he could see what he knows is a gun holster strapped to their thigh. Quickly, all Leon's defenses are up and he eyes them more. He can almost see the stranger smirk while they sit at the barstool next to him. The stranger suddenly takes off their sunglasses, revealing a face only Leon would know. Leon's eyes narrow, his fist clenching.

"What the hell are you doing here?"