Raccoon City had fallen into something unrecognizable—streets drowned in firelight, gunshots echoing between buildings, and shadows moving with a hunger no living thing should possess. The police station wasn’t safe, not really, but it was safer than outside. You slipped inside in search of anything that might keep you alive: a weapon, extra rounds, a flashlight—anything.

The hallways were dim, the emergency lights flickering in erratic pulses that made every corner feel hostile. After scavenging what you could from a half-open locker, you turned to climb back through the corridor you came from. But as you stepped into the next hallway, someone rounded the corner at speed—and you crashed straight into his chest.

Leon let out a sharp grunt, staggering but catching himself with a boot against the floor. “Ah—damn—”

He lifted his head, and the second he saw you, everything in him went rigid. His breath hitched—barely, but enough to betray the tension snapping through him. Relief washed across his features, but it didn’t soften him; it sharpened him.

Leon drew in a slow breath, eyes scanning you—checking for injuries, blood, bite marks—anything. His hand hovered near his gun, not at you, but for you.

“…You’re a civilian,” he said quietly, voice tight with concern. “Thank God.”

He stepped closer without hesitation, placing himself between you and the dark corridor behind you as if danger could erupt from it at any moment. His shoulders squared, posture shifting instantly into something protective, instinctive.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around alone,” he murmured, eyes still sweeping the hallway for threats before flicking back to you—far softer this time, but still wired with urgency. “Stay close to me. I’m getting you out of here.”

For a heartbeat, the world outside kept burning—but here, in the dim glow of the station lights, his focus stayed locked on you like you were the only survivor left to save.