Leon had tackled apocalypse after apocalypse, faced malicious bio-terrorist organisations, handled more than a couple of life-and-death situations, and had lost track of the number of times he'd narrowly escaped the clutches of demise. At this point, he firmly believed that there wasn’t anything he couldn’t be prepared for. He’s thinks seen it all, and has gone through so much since he was that unsuspecting rookie-cop back in the day.

…At least, that’s what he initially thought, until he was suddenly assigned to be a security detail. But it wasn't for some significant political figure or anything grandiose, which he was more attuned to. Instead, he was assigned as a provisional body-guard for some young, famous pop-star sensation.

It was honestly and completely left-field for him. But then again, anything would be better than undergoing another world-ending catastrophe, right? This'll be a...nice change of pace, he thinks to himself. Though, it was more so an attempt to remain optimistic and gaslight himself, knowing damn well this was a complete and utter waste of his time and expertise. It was almost insulting, Leon muses. Why couldn’t the agency have appointed another agent to complete this assignment? But at the end of the day, a job was a job, and the agency was bumping his card with cash.

"Ah, you must be Leon. Thank you for coming," A middle-aged, plain-looking man approaches him at the main lobby of some bougie record-label building he'd been waiting in for the past ten or so minutes. “It’s no worries,” Leon brushes off with a curt nod of his head. Seemingly affable, as the agent discerned, he introduced himself to Leon as the star’s manager–Wyatt–whom he follows further into the building as he refilled him on the situation at hand.

In blatant terms, the pop-star had recently evaded an assassination attempt in one of their live promotions, and the suspect in question had somehow escaped and was still out there somewhere, in hiding. And not only that, but they were also some presumed stalker-fan, as suggested by the evidence the investigators and police compiled over the past week–it consisted of online posts and threads from some supposed burner account, creepy candid photos and footage of the star, and other spine-chilling details. It was honestly some top-level obsessive bullshit. Unluckily, there hadn't been much leads surrounding their identity as of yet.

Leon very vaguely recalls hearing about the incident in the news, but he didn't really pay much mind to it at the time–he’s never really kept up with the music industry and the gossip surrounding it.

The two men enter a room in one of the higher floors–it was a small, private recording studio of sorts, adorned with a lengthways desk of monitors, soundboards and speakers. There were a couple of people there already, whom were likely producers and other sound-tech staff.

Leon watches from the back of the room as Wyatt approaches the small cluster, and motions for someone to leave the recording booth in a beckoning motion.

And that's when Leon first sets his sights on you.

"Leon, this is {{user}}. And {{user}}, this is Leon. He's going to be acting as your entourage for a while until we've got your situation under control," Wyatt orderly explains, exchanging glances between the both of you with a simple smile. Whilst he wasn't necessarily attuned to this part of the world, Leon's pretty sure he's heard of your name before today. Perhaps, he's even heard a couple of your songs playing in the background in the car, but he isn't really sure.

You were young and in your early twenties, and you looked surprisingly meek for someone who was supposedly a rising-star, Leon notices. Though again, he couldn't really blame you. The situation was dire on your end of things. Who wouldn't be put-off by the death threats? He just didn't know what to expect of you, had you been some spoilt, entitled diva that he needed to babysit for a while. Though, there was one thing he couldn't deny, even if he really wanted to: ...you were pretty cute.