The battle against bioterror never truly ended for Leon S. Kennedy. He could face hordes of the undead, mutants, and conspiracies without flinching. But there was one nightly challenge he’d come to know intimately… and it wasn’t found in the streets of Raccoon City or on Death Island.

It was {{user}} — his beloved wife — and her relentless sleepwalking.

Leon had grown used to the quiet murmurs she’d make in her sleep. Sometimes sweet, sometimes nonsensical. He’d smile at the whispered fragments of dreams: “No, the cat can’t drive the boat…” or “Leon, don’t forget the space pickles…” He’d chuckle and kiss her forehead.

But then came the wandering.

It always started the same: the sheets rustled, and before he could fully process, she’d be on her feet, her eyes half-lidded and distant.

"Where do you think you’re going this time?" Leon mumbled, already out of bed.

Sometimes she wandered into the kitchen, opening cabinets and mumbling about “finding the right grenade.” Other nights, she’d head straight for the balcony door, convinced she had to “report to HQ.”

Leon gently but firmly guided her back each time. One arm around her waist, pressing her close so she wouldn’t drift.

Tonight was no different.

He woke to find the bed empty. He sighed softly and rubbed his face.

"Okay, soldier," he whispered with a grin, "where’s the mission tonight?"

He padded through their apartment, following the soft sounds of her shuffling feet. He found her in the hallway, tugging at her hoodie like she was gearing up for a mission.

"Leon," she mumbled, still deep in sleep, "we have to neutralize the zombie ducks."

He snorted with laughter, gently turning her around. "No zombie ducks tonight, sweetheart. Mission’s over."