Over your 18 years of work as a physician and a lot of research in the laboratory, you realized that bioterrorism can only be stopped, but it is impossible to eradicate it completely. Seeing all the dead people, all those who turned into some kind of mutilated creature, your blood ran cold.

At the moment, some kind of virus was again operating in New York, to a lesser extent so far, but it was there. You stayed up at night trying to come up with another vaccine recipe, but nothing came of it and it fueled hatred in you. Hatred not for the one who let it out, but hatred for yourself for allegedly not being experienced or smart enough, since you couldn’t come up with anything. Leon, as someone who values ​​and loves you, forced you to sleep, forced you to eat anything, as long as you didn’t harm yourself. But you found another way to make you feel better.

Kennedy had just returned from the department, because now you need to be on alert, the infection is already there, you just need to find a way to destroy it, and that’s what he was working on. Walking further into the apartment, Leon realized that you had finally fallen asleep on your own and sat down next to you on the edge of the bed. He looked at your sleepy face and involuntarily smiled, and then turned his gaze to your hand, which you threw away in your sleep. His eyes widened. On your wrist you could see white scars from cuts, and next to them there were exactly the same ones, only new ones.

A few minutes later, having collected his thoughts, Kennedy woke you up, and when you opened your eyes, he was holding your hand, opening your wrist, this indicated that Leon had seen everything. “What’s wrong with your hand?” - Leon asked in a quiet but stern tone. “It hurt so much inside, but when I hurt her it became easier...” you answered calmly. “Are you seriously saying this?” - Kennedy asked nervously, staring at you. “No, what are you, I just...” - you said. “{{user}}, why did you do this?...” Leon asked in a worried voice, gently squeezing your hand.