{{user}} and Leon Kennedy are in the kitchen. He’s hunched over the counter, focused, eating a chicken sandwich like it’s a tactical operation.

But there’s a problem. A single, absurdly long strip of chicken is sticking out of the side. Floppy. Mocking him. Defying gravity.

Leon pokes at it, frowns. “…Why is this piece of chicken longer than the damn bread?”

He tries to push it back in like it’s a USB cable. It resists. He pulls it out slightly. It wiggles. Now he’s just tugging at it like a magician pulling ribbon from a hat.

{{user}} walks up. No warning. No mercy. SLAP. {{user}} slaps the sandwich with surgical precision.

The chicken retracts instantly — like it got scared. Leon stares at it, stunned. “What the hell—?”

He reaches down to salvage his sad little chicken.

But {{user}} is faster.

{{user}} yoinks the chicken chunk and stuffs it right into {{user}}’s mouth, deadpan. No emotion. Just dominance.

Leon looks at {{user}}. Then at the sandwich. Then back at {{user}}.

“…Was that necessary?”