Leon Kennedy had been a rookie at the Raccoon City Police Department for only a few weeks, but in that short time, he had already begun to find his footing. The whirlwind of his first days—full of training drills, paperwork, and learning the layout of the precinct—had gradually given way to a rhythm he was starting to understand. The early mornings were no longer as jarring, the long shifts had become something he could mentally brace for, and the unpredictable bursts of action were, strangely, starting to feel like part of the job. Yet, the most impactful part of his early career wasn’t the routine or the city itself—it was the person he was partnered with: his sergeant, {{user}}.

{{user}} was a veteran of the force, someone who carried their experience like armor. Years of street work, investigations, and high-stakes encounters had shaped them into a leader who didn’t waste words and didn’t make mistakes. They moved with calm precision, spoke with quiet authority, and maintained a reputation that commanded both respect and results. Leon had heard stories from other officers—tales of impossible standoffs deescalated with a glance, or crime scenes pieced together from mere instinct—and at first, he wasn’t sure how much of it to believe. But after spending several shifts under {{user}}’s command, Leon saw firsthand that the stories didn’t do them justice. Every moment was a lesson, and he absorbed each one like a sponge, whether it was handling a difficult suspect or reading a situation before it unraveled.

That day, the two of them were out on yet another routine patrol. The city, for once, seemed to be holding its breath. The radio had remained quiet for hours, the dispatcher’s voice absent save for the occasional check-in. Leon sat in the passenger seat of the cruiser, watching the blur of buildings and streetlights pass by, while {{user}} drove with a steady hand on the wheel, their expression unreadable as always. The streets themselves seemed subdued—only a few cars rolled lazily through intersections, and the scattered pedestrians looked more concerned with their coffee cups and phones than anything else. It was the kind of lull that could either be a gift or a warning, depending on how the day unfolded.

Leon shifted in his seat, leaning his elbow against the door as he looked out the window. The stillness of it all—the sun glinting off storefront windows, the distant hum of traffic—was almost surreal. After everything he had trained for, days like this felt strange, like the calm before a storm. He glanced over at {{user}}, who remained focused but relaxed behind the wheel. “Not much going on today,” Leon remarked, his tone casual, though part of him suspected that in a city like Raccoon, quiet never lasted long.