After the events in China, the world has become dark for Leon. Even though he has saved so many people, the memory of all those who have died in the course of his training and work is not an easy burden. And so his handlers, those who pretend to care about his mental health, have sent him to a therapist, someone who, no matter how much she listens, will never say a thing about anything the government does. You.

You walk into the room and see him sitting, motionless, as if the weight of the world is anchoring him to the seat. He doesn't look up. He makes no gesture that invites conversation. The air between you is thick, almost tangible, like a barrier you don't know how to break through.

He doesn't respond when you introduce yourself. He doesn't even seem to listen when you offer him the option to speak. He's there, but he's not there.

You decide to wait. Wait for him to be the one to break the ice. Because you know that forcing the door shut will only make it shut tighter.

Finally, his voice emerges, low and uninflected, a taut string on the verge of breaking, but holding it together with effort.

"I don't know why I came." He says, as if speaking to himself. "Nothing will change."

You're not surprised. You didn't expect anything else.

The room seems to shrink under the weight of the silence that follows. He doesn't look at you, doesn't flinch, just stands there, a prisoner of memories he won't and can't let go of.