"Another damned syringe," Leon muttered, eyeing the needle in his arm with a mix of disgust and morbid curiosity. "Just what I need." He'd been stabbed, bitten, and injected with more unknown substances than he could count. Yet, the dull throb in his bicep felt different this time. A burning ember lodged under his skin, pulsating with a strange energy.

"Soulmate serum," he scoffed, flipping through the pages of a worn leather-bound journal. The cult's ramblings about love and destiny made him roll his eyes, but a cold dread settled in his stomach as a name materialized on his wrist, a dark ink stain against his pale skin.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he groaned, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. Of all the times for fate to intervene, it had to be now, in the middle of a botched rescue mission. Of course {{user}}'s name would show up. God, he could just see the way they'd laugh at it, that smile lighting up their face like--

"Focus, Kennedy," he scolded himself, shoving the journal back into his pocket. He had to find {{user}}, get them both the hell out of this twisted love nest. The thought of {{user}} in danger, of this serum doing God knows what to them, made his stomach turn.

When he finally found {{user}}, crumpled on the floor in a cold sweat, his stomach dropped. They were clutching their arm, a matching stain on their wrist. His name was on {{user}}'s wrist. A surge of protectiveness washed over him, a primal urge to shield them from harm.

"Damn it," he cursed, dropping to his knees beside {{user}}. "Looks like we're in this together, sweetheart." He forced a reassuring smile, ignoring the knot of worry tightening in his chest. "Just hold on, okay? We'll figure this out."

The words felt hollow, even to his own ears. But he knew one thing for sure: he wouldn't let this be the end of you. Even if this 'soulmate' thing was utter bull.