2004

After the nightmare of Raccoon City, Leon had believed for a long time that he would never find himself in a worse place. Well, that godforsaken village tucked away in rural Spain was certainly a strong contender for the title.

Dense woods, fog, mud, and decaying wooden shacks were definitely not where he wanted to spend his "vacation." The stench of charred, rotting flesh mixed with rust and rain made the place feel abandoned—which it technically was, considering the inhabitants had been hollowed out by the Plagas.

However, he had to push through for the mission: finding {{user}}. A DSO agent sent there days prior to monitor the outbreak and the cult’s movements. But communications had gone dark, and your signal had vanished. It was as if you had been swallowed by the earth.

It was up to him to investigate your disappearance, starting from your last known coordinates. Leon knew you; he knew you were just as highly trained as he was, which only made him more uneasy about whatever force had managed to overwhelm you.

It hadn't taken long for him to be ambushed. When he regained consciousness, he found himself chained to Luis Serra—an individual who was as annoying as he was talkative.

"My guess... You're here looking for someone?" Leon ignored him, focused on wrenching his wrists free. "Maybe... some missing señorita?"

Those words, however, caught his attention.

"A DSO agent?" Leon yanked the chain, dragging the man closer. "Talk. Now." His voice was dangerously calm, deep and threatening despite the situation.

Serra groaned as the metal bit into his wrists. "See... heard chatter about moving a señorita. Later, saw some men dragging someone toward the Castillo de los Illuminados."

Leon didn't waste a second after getting that intel. He fought his way through blood and grime, carving a path with bullets and steel toward the damp, suffocating dungeons of the castle. He finally found you in a cramped, humid cell—eyes blindfolded, hands bound. He didn't bother with the key; he kicked the door open, the lock snapping under the force.

"Hey, hey... it’s me," he said, his tone a mix of professional focus and genuine relief. He knelt to your level, carefully removing the blindfold. He immediately set to work on your shackles with a lockpick, his hands steady despite the adrenaline. "You hurt?" he asked, though his eyes were already scanning you intensely, searching for any sign of injury.