Chapter Text
Leon Scott Kennedy had several ideas of what his first day as an officer for the Raccoon Police Department might be like, but not a single one of those expectations could have prepared him for the chaos he was about to walk into.
It hadn’t seemed so bad at first. The few zombies traipsing around the gas station had been easy enough to deal with, and that’s where he had met that woman, Claire Redfield. But once the two actually reached the city itself, the extent of the calamity became all too evident. The streets were swarming with undead civilians, and there wasn’t a single surviving soul in sight, not to mention nearly everything was broken and/or on fire. As if that hadn’t been bad enough, he and Claire were separated, forcing him to trek to the RPD on his own.
The RPD was even worse. All his fellow police officers, people who should have been his coworkers, people who could have been his friends, were now nothing more than mindless monsters roaming the dark halls. Leon couldn’t even manage to save the few people who did last long enough to meet him. His stomach lurches every time he thinks back to Marvin and the look in the lieutenant’s eyes, the look of a man who has lost all hope of survival, a man who knows it is too late. He shudders every time he thinks back to Elliot, the blood splattering out from under the door as the man screamed in agony, his intestines spilling across the ground-
BANG!
Leon fires his gun at a zombie that just emerged from a side hall, just barely knocking it back before it has the chance to take a bite out of his neck. He shoots it a few more times in the head until it collapses, then quickly proceeds down the hall in case it decides to wake back up or more zombies are drawn to the sounds of the gunshots. Nothing around here ever stays dead, Leon has learned, and he can’t let himself get so distracted by his thoughts again.
Still, it’s difficult to not get lost in thought about everything he has encountered over the last few hours. There is something bigger than he could possibly understand going on here, that much is clear. His run-ins with that FBI agent Ada are enough to account for that, her vague words ringing in his head from time to time. And there aren’t just zombies running around this place. There are monsters. Real monsters. Skinless quadrupeds with long, razor-like tongues. A man who hardly looks like a man anymore, his head lolled to the side like a broken appendage, his entire right shoulder and arm overgrown into a hideous, pulsating tumor. Whatever the hell killed that prisoner Ben, some horrendous monster powerful enough to punch through a concrete wall and crush the man’s skull in a single leather-dressed fist.
This place is a nightmare incarnate, and if there are any answers to be found in his escape, then Leon’s determined to do whatever it takes to find them.
Of course, escaping can’t be simple either. All Leon needs is that keycard from Ben’s corpse, and freedom is as simple as an open parking garage gate. But he can’t open the prison cells, and now he’s on a quest to find some missing electronic components, get the damn door open, and retrieve his key out of this hellscape.
Leon isn’t sure if he is incredibly skilled or just incredibly lucky. He hasn’t sustained any major injuries from any of the horrors he’s encountered, just a few knicks and bruises here and there. Sure, he’s a good aim, and he’s quick on his feet. But these monsters are quicker. Stronger. Seemingly impervious to bullets to an incredibly frustrating degree. Especially those tongued monsters; lickers, as he’s settled on calling them.
Leon stops to reload his gun before turning the corner, then stops dead in his tracks. He completely forgot that this hallway is blocked by the remains of the helicopter that crashed into the side of the building, the massive aerial vehicle much too heavy for him to move aside. With a frustrated sigh, Leon starts to turn around to find another way past the obstacle.
The helicopter creaks, and Leon freezes, turning back to stare at the source of the noise. Before Leon can even process what is happening, the helicopter is being shoved to the side like it’s made of Styrofoam.
“Jesus…” Leon mutters, his feet glued to the ground, his eyes wide as he takes in whatever the hell was strong enough to lift a goddamn helicopter with one hand.
Before Leon stands a man that he can only guess is over seven feet tall. It’s skin is oddly textured and gray, its face emotionless, its body towering over the surroundings with massive musculature, its form clothed in black leather and buckled straps, its head topped by a hat that would be humorously inappropriate if not for the terrifying appearance of literally everything beneath it. Leon’s gaze drifts down to the monster’s massive fist clenched at its side, the hand clad with a leather glove, and a horrified realization washes over him.
This is the thing that punched through the wall and killed Ben.
And suddenly, the hulking monstrosity is making a beeline toward him with murderous intent in its eyes.
“Jesus Christ!” Leon shouts as he turns on his heels to put some distance between himself and his newfound pursuer. His mind reels as he hears the monster following him, its heavy footfall maintaining an uncomfortable closeness. What is that thing!? Is it human!? Is every goddamn monster here human!? Where is this shit even coming from!? Why does everything here have to be so intent on slaughtering me!?
Leon turns to look over his shoulder just in time to see a fist pummeling toward him with immense power, and he barely ducks out of the way of the attack. Surely taking that hit would have broken his ribs or caved in his cranium. He raises his gun while the monster recovers from its misplaced inertia, shooting at it in desperation. Yet it doesn’t yield. It doesn’t even flinch. It simply turns back around and cracks its neck with an irritated huff, a gesture that sends a rippling chill through Leon’s body.
Leon turns and books it down the hallway in the direction he originally intended, passing the helicopter that has now been conveniently moved out of his path. The hall practically shakes from the thudding footsteps of the hulking figure as it chases after Leon. The rookie officer turns a corner and just barely dodges a lurking zombie. As he continues down the hall he hears a sickening splat, and he glances over his shoulder to find that the giant monster has nonchalantly shoved the zombie aside so hard that its head splattered against the wall.
There’s no doubt in Leon’s mind that he’ll die the instant that thing catches him, what with it being capable of dispatching people so brutally without even trying. Something tells Leon that fighting the thing will be nothing more than a waste of bullets. At least the lickers have exposed brains, at least that horrifically mutated man had that eye on his shoulder and a relatively normal lower body, obvious indicators of human weakness, targets to shoot at. At least those monsters attacked with nothing more than reckless abandon, completely numbed to any previous cognitive capacity. This thing is none of that. This thing is symmetrical and all-encompassing in its damage-resistant form, calculating in all its movements. It possesses a certain determination in its demeanor, a certain intelligence, and that is more terrifying than any mindless animal could possibly be. No, fighting is not an option right now. The only hope Leon has to get out of this alive is to lose the thing in the winding halls of the RPD, maybe even lose it in a room.
Leon continues to dodge around zombies only for them to immediately get tossed aside effortlessly, some more fatally than others. He turns another corner and immediately ducks into the closest room, hoping that the monster can’t see the maneuver. He closes and locks the door as quietly as he can. In the panic of the moment, he proceeds to brace himself against one of the bookshelves and push it over to barricade the door, and the large piece of furniture crashes down loudly, completely defeating the original idea of trying to be quiet. Realizing his mistake, Leon rushes back to the far wall, preparing himself to juke around the monster if it manages to get into the room.
SLAM!
The door splinters into hundreds of pieces as a massive fist punches through. The bookshelf slides across the entire length of the room from the strength of a single kick, and Leon has to jump out of the way to avoid being struck in the shins. So much for hiding and waiting it out.
“This is insane…” Leon mutters to himself as the monster steps into the room, its body so tall that it has to duck down just to get through the doorway. It sets its stare on Leon before it stomps toward him, fists clenched threateningly at its sides. Leon leaps over the bookshelf and barely manages to duck under another punch, giving him a chance to escape the room and continue down the hall.
The monster doesn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry, simply stalking behind Leon with a steady walk, but it still manages to keep pace with him thanks to just how long its strides are. Unfortunately, Leon severely underestimates just how fast that seemingly casual pace is. He hears another loud huff behind him just as the monster’s fist makes contact with his shoulder blade, sending him flying into the far wall.
Leon scrambles to his feet with a groan, his entire back screaming in pain. He’s surprised that didn’t break his spine. Still, the incredibly powerful punch was able to disorient him just long enough for the perpetrator to gain the upper hand. Before Leon has any chance to counter, the monster has him cornered against the wall, an open palm stretching out toward him.
“No!” Leon looks for a way out, but his attacker is too quick. Thick fingers find their way around his neck, and Leon feels the ground depart from his feet as he is lifted into the air, his windpipe squeezed in the monster’s tight grasp. He chokes for air, his throat and lungs burning at the agonizing pressure, and he finds himself staring right into the monster’s eyes. They’re unlike any eyes Leon has ever seen before. They seem hazy, distant, the irises dark, the pupils almost reflective, silvery.
For a reason that probably has something to do with oxygen deprivation, Leon finds them strangely alluring.
It suddenly occurs to Leon that he still has a gun in his hand. He shoots blindly at the monster’s head, and after a few well-placed shots, it releases him with a pained grunt. Leon falls to the ground, his head spinning, his chest aching, but he doesn’t have any time to waste recovering or wondering how the hell he isn’t nothing more than a puddle of blood and viscera yet. Perhaps Leon inadvertently shot some hidden weak spot, because for some reason or other the monster staggers for a few moments, clutching its face in its hands with a droning groan. Leon takes advantage of the brief hesitation to spring back to his feet and make a break for it.
He can hardly run, his capacity to hold air in his lungs temporarily compromised by the fact that he almost had his trachea crushed. Still, he does everything in his power to get as far away from the threat as possible. He tries to pick up his pace as the pain in his airways gradually fades from his perception, darting around corners and into hallways and down staircases that wouldn’t seem logical to take under any other circumstances in an attempt to throw the monster off his tail. He eventually manages to achieve a reasonable speed, and the heavy footfall starts to fade into the distance. Leon decides to take another chance with his previously failed strategy, ducking into a room and squeezing himself into the corner between two of the bookshelves.
The footsteps grow closer to the room, the thunderous sound increasing in volume until it is just outside the door. Leon holds his breath, as if the monster might hear even the tiniest hint of his presence. Relief overwhelms his entire being as the footsteps continue past the room and down the hall, the monster completely unaware of its prey’s true location.
Even once silence has befallen the RPD once again, Leon doesn’t move on for several minutes longer, simply standing motionlessly in the darkness as his heart threatens to beat straight out of his chest. Once his adrenaline rush has subsided, he dares himself to emerge from his hiding place and push onward. After a brief examination of the room through which he finds nothing useful, he heads back toward the room’s exit.
Leon creaks open the door and peeks out into the hallway, checking to make sure the coast is clear. When he’s certain there isn’t anybody – or anything, rather – around to notice him, he steps out of the room with his gun poised readily at his side. That colossal thing could be anywhere by now, and the last thing he wants to do is run into it again by accident, or worse, draw its attention right to him. He’ll have to be quieter from this point forward, avoiding firing his gun unless absolutely necessary.
Leon continues through the halls trying to make whatever progress he can for what feels like an eternity, all the while trying desperately to think of anything other than the inevitable mortality that surrounds him. There are fewer zombies now, for one reason or another. Perhaps he took them out already. Perhaps something else took them out instead, something seven and a half feet tall and clad in leather. He shakes away the thought.
God, he’s never felt this physically and mentally drained. What he wouldn’t give to just be able to lie down for a moment and sleep away the exhaustion. But even if there weren’t zombies everywhere that would likely kill him in his sleep, he still wouldn’t be able to bring himself to indulge in the luxury of relaxation and rest. He needs to find Claire, help her find her brother, and help them get the hell out of here. He needs to find out what’s really going on, what Ada isn’t telling him, what started this mess in the first place. Sleep can wait.
That doesn’t change the fact that he feels like he’s treading through wet cement with every step, his head pounding with a throbbing headache, his muscles aching from all the running and shooting and dodging and throwing zombies off of his person when they succeed in getting too close and grabbing ahold of him. He can’t wait to get out of here.
Part of Leon ponders where he will even go if he manages to get out of this place alive. He came here to help people, but it seems like there’s nobody left to help aside from Claire, and he has no idea where she is or if she’s even still alive. Is he really supposed to just drive back home to his old apartment and move on like none of this ever happened? Get a job with some other police department in some other city that isn’t completely overrun by zombies and mutant abominations? How does he know this apocalypse is even contained to the city? Surely it isn’t impossible that an infected individual escaped the borders of the municipality. This could be the end of the entire state, the entire country, the continent, even human civilization as a whole.
To think he broke up with his girlfriend over all this.
Leon frowns as he thinks back to that painfully recent falling out. There’s no doubt that he feels bad. His obsession with joining the RPD to help investigate the string of murders in Arklay County put a strain on the relationship from the start. He should have been more attentive, more emotionally open. Now there’s one more broken heart out there because of him.
Strangely enough, Leon feels worse for his ex than he does for himself. In fact, he doesn’t really feel bad for himself at all. This isn’t his first breakup, and he doubts it will be his last considering that he’s only twenty-one, but simple familiarity isn’t the reason why he feels so numb to it all. It’s a matter of none of the relationships truly speaking to him. It’s not like he hasn’t tried to care more. He’s certainly cared about all of his girlfriends to some extent, but it was always to the extent that one might care about a friend, not a romantic partner. Breaking up always felt more like parting ways with a casual acquaintance than a shattering of the heart.
He hasn’t stopped trying, though. Certainly he’ll find the right person if he just keeps trying. But none of them ever click. None of them ever make his heart beat a little faster, his blood run a little hotter. It’s almost concerning, and Leon has definitely entertained the thought that maybe it’s just never meant to be.
He’s entertained other thoughts as well, but mostly in moments of weakness that he refuses to acknowledge.
Leon finds his mind drifting to all his near-death experiences so far. The semi-truck exploding just yards away from him replays in his head, the scene engulfed in fire and heat. His shoulder aches slightly as he recalls the licker that slammed him into a wall before he blew its brains apart. He envisions the drooling maw of the Doberman that attacked him in the parking garage, an attack that could have ended much differently had Ada not shown up and shot the crazed animal. He tries to comprehend whatever the hell was growing on that man, an amalgamation of eyes and flesh and sinew. Then, of course, there was his most recent encounter, that monster of impossible stature stalking him through the halls, death in its gaze.
Leon looks up at the ceiling when he hears the sound of heavy footsteps on the floor above. Speak of the devil. Hopefully it stays up there as long as he’s down here.
He thinks back to the monster of a man with greater contemplation. Leon wonders what it is, where it came from, what makes it so different from all the other monstrous creatures terrorizing the city. It certainly is different; Leon could tell that just by looking into its eyes. That gaze was piercing, almost beautiful in some strange way. There was definitely some deeper understanding behind that uncanny stare, something aware, something profoundly familiar that makes Leon uncomfortable in a way he doesn’t quite know how to describe, like windows into a human soul.
It’s strange, the vision Leon has in his head of the thing. For some reason his brain seems to want to emphasize the human aspects more than the monstrous ones. That haunting gaze, in particular, is burned into his mind, and he can’t help but wonder what was going on behind those silvery eyes. Every movement seemed so self-restrained and confident and carefully planned. This monster isn’t some stupid zombie, it’s smart. It took its time, never expressed frustration beyond a huff or two. The clothes were an interesting aspect as well. They weren’t ripped apart and bloodied like the clothes of all the other creatures running around. No, they were perfectly fitted to the monster’s body as if made specifically for it, as if the monster was never normal to start with.
Leon also can’t help but note that between the leather straps and the leather everything else, the outfit struck him as kind of kinky.
Wait, no, that’s weird.
He subconsciously raises a hand to his neck and touches the tender bruises the monster’s vicious grasp left behind. The thing really was massive, pure muscle, pure power. Leon wonders what kind of terrifying physique is hidden beneath that trench coat, probably a chiseled musculature that would put him and all his fellow officers from the academy to shame. Probably put a powerlifter to shame too.
Leon is suddenly snapped back to reality by the scuttling of claws on the ceiling.
SCREEEE!
Leon reaches for his gun, but the licker has already leapt from the ceiling while he was distracted by his thoughts. The two bodies go crashing to the ground, and the gun goes flying out of Leon’s grasp. He feels an unbearable stinging as the mutant’s claws shred through his leg, leaving huge bleeding gashes in their wake.
“Shit!” Leon kicks at the licker to dislodge it from his body, but that only makes it angrier. Its tongue whips out of its gaping jaw and lashes at Leon, slicing a gash into the arm he holds up to protect his face. Free from the licker’s weight, Leon lunges for his gun, wrapping his finger around the trigger and aiming just as the licker lunges for him once again.
BANG!
The licker stumbles back with another screech before clambering up the wall to the ceiling.
BANG!
Leon takes aim again and fires, striking the licker right in the brain.
BANG!
It jumps from the ceiling to land on top of him again, claws poised to strike, but Leon hits it with another bullet square between where its eyes should be, and it collapses to the ground.
Leon doesn’t stick around for it to get back up. He pushes himself to his feet with a groan, his fresh wounds bloody and painful. He rushes down the hall and out of the licker’s proximity, wincing every time he puts weight on his damaged leg. He should know better than to get distracted like that. His thoughts are a clusterfuck right now.
Leon digs through his uniform in search of a first aid spray or a green herb to treat his wounds only to recall that he stashed them all in the S.T.A.R.S. office. He’d reasoned that a backup stash of supplies on the middle floor of the building would be the most accessible from any other location, but he failed to reason that a backup stash is only a backup stash if he also keeps a primary stash on his person. He’d allowed himself to get overconfident, figuring that he could avoid injury altogether and negate the need to carry supplies that would take up pocket space and weigh him down. He internally scolds himself for making such a stupid move. He’ll have to limp his way back to where he left everything before he can even think of making more progress.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Shit,” Leon mutters to himself. It looks like all the noise managed to draw the attention of Mr. Stompy. At least it sounds like it’s coming from a few halls down. That should give Leon enough time to get out of the area, grab his stuff, and take refuge somewhere he can treat his wounds in relative peace. He doesn’t waste any time, staggering as quickly as he can despite his injuries toward the room containing all the supplies he so foolishly stored away earlier.
In some well-needed bout of luck, Leon manages to make it all the way to his destination without running into any more trouble, and the stomping fades down a completely different hallway. With a sigh of relief, he slips into the S.T.A.R.S. office and shuts the door behind him, then stands there for a moment just to take in the superficial feeling of safety in the temporary refuge. He pulls himself across the room to the place where he stashed everything, and thankfully all his stuff is still there. He digs around for the first aid spray and some gauze bandaging, as well as some green herbs for later. He knows better now than to go unprepared for injury again.
Leon steps back out of the room and across the hall to one of the side rooms, a smaller office that feels at least somewhat more secure thanks to its compact size and lockable door. This feels like a safe enough place to tend to himself unnoticed, although it seems there may have been some previous commotion here. Several of the filing cabinet drawers have been left open, and documents are scattered wildly across the floor as if someone just swept their arms across the surface of the desk. Still, if there was someone here before, they certainly aren’t here now.
Leon eventually settles on sitting on the floor behind the desk, hiding himself from the view of anyone who may open the door to peek in, just in case. He pushes the already-askew swivel chair aside, then settles down and leans back against the heavy furniture with a groan, his injuries still burning with every movement he makes. He sprays the liquid medication over the gash on his arm, wincing at the resulting sting, then wraps the wound with the gauze to keep it clean. Next is his leg, and now that he has sat down to examine it, he realizes just how bad it really is. He’s never been cut so deeply in his life, and his pants leg is soaked in blood. He sprays this wound as well, clenching his teeth to hold in a shout of pain, then wraps it with more bandages to stop the bleeding. The remaining gauze gets stuffed into one of his uniform pockets for later.
The realization suddenly hits that this is the first time he’s simply sat down since he got to this city, and it feels amazing just to take the weight off his feet. As much as he wishes he could stay like this, though, he knows he has to keep moving. He urges himself to stand, but his body simply stays put no matter how much the logical side of his brain yells at him to get up. He’s just so goddamn tired. Leon sighs and leans his head back against the side of the desk. He supposes it wouldn’t really hurt to just sit here for a few minutes, take a moment to calm down and clear his head.
He closes his eyes and forces his body to relax. Just a few minutes, and then he’ll be on his way again.
Just a few… minutes…
That’s… all…