Chapter Text
<SEVEN YEARS AGO>
"Shoot it!"
Legs wide and core braced, I pulled the trigger in the split second after he yelled it. In all the chaos and dodging and weaving for our lives, the rocket launcher had fallen from Leon's hands and next to my feet. With the tyrant (or Mr X. as we dubbed him) slowly turning around to approach Leon – the blonde police officer I met only hours ago – who was down and had run out of ammo, I had picked up the heavy launcher. And as the rocket shot out of the barrel, time slowed and I couldn't look away in time as the rocket met flesh and every fiber was burnt and everything exploded in a great booming flash.
All at once, time moved at a normal speed again and I was thrown back, flying in the air for a second until my back hit the metal floor. My ears rang and my neck hurt from the whiplash, but when I came to I found the rocket launcher was still clutched in my hands.
Leon's face came into view and he was saying something as he gently pried my cold hands gripping the launcher.
"-over now. Come on, we're reaching soon. We gotta go," he said.
The shock wore off quickly when I remembered where we were, legs coming alive and any new pain acquired temporarily forgotten as adrenaline overpowered it. I saw in my periphery Leon’s gaze sweep me up and down as he steadied me with his hands on my shoulders, but I wasn't really paying attention. My gaze was locked on the pair of legs lying on the opposite corner of the lift. No body, just legs.
The lift stopped moving when we finished the ascent, and Leon was urging me to go. I finally turned to him, and we ran, leaving what was left of Mr X. behind.
We arrived on a train platform just in time as a train was fast approaching – a train we could only hope was a path out of here. Leon grabbed my hand as we stood close to the platform, and I belatedly noticed the rocket launcher on his back.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded, adrenaline and hope and anxiety all running through my veins, feeding me with energy. Then, with a hand on my waist, he hefted both of us and we jumped up into a narrow platform when the train zoomed past, scrambling to hold onto any ledge for safety. Because I was much lighter, I got into the train first. Turning around, I gave Leon a hand and hefted him the rest of the way up, and we both collapsed on our butts inside.
Finally .
Leon shimmied up to his back near the entrance, watching the tunnel and explosion as we rode away; and I, watching the fire reflect in his eyes. How dirty and tired he looked. I probably wasn't looking any better.
When we finally met Claire and Sherry and escaped the city – oh how beautiful the sunrise was and all I wanted to do was sleep. Walking side-by-side with my fellow survivors was both heartwarming and bittersweet. As I stumbled and brushed shoulders with Leon, and him flashing a sympathetic and tired smile, all I could think was how I couldn't have survived without him.
.
.
.
Sometimes I wonder if he thought the same.
<PRESENT>
At a martial arts studio somewhere in New York City
A jab at the liver.
Grunt.
A kick to the back of the left knee.
Huff.
He's off-balance.
Planting my feet to the ground and anchoring my right foot to his left leg, I grabbed his arm and flung him sideways, using his own body weight to throw him over my shoulder. His heavy body brought me down on the ground with him, but I quickly moved, bringing my thighs over the arm I still held and crossed my ankles, squeezing hard.
"Argh! Time– time!" he yelled.
One last squeeze for good measure, before I released him.
He immediately cradled his injured arm, curling up on the ground, groaning in pain. As I pushed myself up to stand, I gave a quick scan to the large man on the ground called Jace Walker, but there wasn't any permanent damage done or broken bones. He turned slightly to look at me sulkily, and I rolled my eyes.
"Hey, it really hurts ya know," he whined.
I straightened my uniform as he slowly stood up, clutching his side and his arm.
"You really go for the most painful parts–" he winced, poking where his liver was, "–of the human body. No mercy."
I tilted my head at him. "You're bigger than me, so you have all the advantages. I need to end the fight any way I can before you can do anything to me."
I turned, walking off the mat and to my bag. I grabbed my bottle for a drink, but before I could put it to my lips, my phone rang. Grabbing it, I looked at the caller.
"Huh." I took a couple gulps of my water before picking up.
I cleared my throat. "Hello?"
The person on the other side was a woman, with a pleasant and formal tone. She immediately asked for the confirmation of my name and introduced herself, stating her business and the purpose of the call. It was brief, but the information was heavy.
"...Okay. I'll be there," I said.
"Thank you," she replied.
Hanging up the call, I put down my phone, drinking more water. All that sweat and training made me thirsty. And now the call was getting me theorizing.
"Who's that?" Jace asked from somewhere behind.
I waved him off. "Nunya."
"What?"
"Nunya business."
He looked a little hurt.
I smirked, but I wasn't gonna take it back. It wasn't like this was the first time I brushed him off. "Thanks for sparring with me tonight. I have work tomorrow. Bye." I grabbed my things and turned to go.
Jace straightened up from his slouch, going to his full height of over six feet. "Wait, seriously? I thought you were on vacation."
I stopped at the door to turn to look at him. Shrugging, I said, "Tough job." Then I walked out to my car, leaving Jace behind.
Tough job indeed, I thought as I got in my car and drove away. But it was the job I chose and was always headed to ever since that night seven years ago. Until I got to the bottom of everything and ended what started with Umbrella or anything related to it, 'easy' would not be my path.
Miami International Airport
It was late at night when he arrived, and the private jet he was on, courtesy of the government, landed in a part of the airport for VIPs. Meaning: there weren't many people around.
Leon walked out the baggage area dragging his single luggage bag, thankful for the relative silence. As he stepped out from the air-conditioned building, he paused, breathing in the dry air. Florida was hotter than up north, but it was cooler this time of the year, and it held many memories. Too many memories than he'd like – it was almost overwhelming when he got into a taxi and drove through town, taking in familiar buildings and places he once walked by.
Truth be told, he'd almost forgotten about it. Seven years was a long time, and in that time he had been very busy. When he caught himself reminiscing about the past, he only busied himself more because being busy was good. It distracted him from unnecessary thoughts and feelings and to actually do something productive and good. When he finally took that vacation, though, and those thoughts started creeping in, he was actually ready to face them. He knew he couldn't run away forever. But then the kidnapping of the president’s daughter happened and all of Las Plagas, and he was busy again. Since then, work was as usual and the natural human mind forgot again.
Until now.
In his life, Leon met many people who made a tremendous impact – especially that cop who helped him when he was orphaned. Then her, his partner unlike any other during that fateful night in Raccoon City.
“We’re here. Sir?” The taxi driver turned around to look at him.
Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't realized how much time had passed. The taxi had somehow arrived at his destination.
Thanking the taxi driver and paying him, Leon stepped out of the car and looked up at his temporary stay. Tomorrow was an important day, and he would give it his full focus, as always. Florida was a past life, and when fate felt he was ready to confront it again, he would face it head on.
But for now…
“I really need that sleep.”
<THE NEXT DAY>
■■■ Military Base Camp
“Left, left, left right left!”
It was way too early in the morning and I was up and standing solely due to the cup of matcha in my hand. I knew it was going to be a long day, so coffee wouldn't cut it if I wanted to be sustainable. Coffee would make me super focused and awake – only till lunch. After that I would crash. (Yay for matcha!)
The clearance process to get into the camp took way too long and was way too tedious that I drank most of the matcha in the car as I waited, and now I was doing more waiting outside the visitor’s toilet.
The soldiers doing their morning laps were admirable, but the last time I was that enthusiastic in the morning was when I was in elementary school.
After I used the toilet and rewashed my face with cold water, I was feeling more awake. The cold morning air was actually pretty refreshing, and the open space was freeing. As I followed my tour guide (who was actually an army general) through the camp, people shot curious looks my way. The place was massive and I was earlier than I thought, so our walk was slow and unhurried.
From the outside, the camp was plain with low, undecorated, mostly windowless buildings arranged in neat rows with basic signage. Guards and cameras were everywhere, and it was difficult for me to get in, so outsiders clearly weren't common. Inside, the place was pretty much what you saw in movies. At least, the area I was in. Clean, boring hallways with more cameras and security, and closed metal doors to rooms – some with windows and some without. The building we were in was the offices; meeting rooms, higher ranks’ desks and the like. I passed an office with a unique name:
‘General Charles Christopher Craig’
Interesting.
“We’re here.” General Robert Cohen leading me stopped outside a room with an open door. Peeking inside, I noticed there were no windows. “Take a seat,” he said. “The others should be here in a minute.” He took a look at his watch. “I'll be back in 10 to pick up someone else.”
Before I could reply, he walked away, his boots echoing in the hallway. With nothing else to do, I went inside the empty room. Surprising.
Well, he did say the ‘others’ would be here in a minute, so I could wait.
.
.
.
I couldn’t wait. Being in empty places actually made me more awake, and there was no window to look out to. Walking back to the open door and peering outside, the hallway was empty and quiet. Looking both ways, I only spotted a lone security camera at the end of the left hallway.
Going back in the room, I headed for the desk, the only thing mildly interesting. The rest of the room was just chairs in three rows facing the projector screen at the front. The desk was neat save for a desktop, keyboard and mouse. Maybe I could take a peak at what the briefing would be.
I wiggled the mouse to turn on the screen, and it flashed to life, but it was locked with a password. Then taking a step back, I noticed a drawer. I pulled it, expecting it to be locked, but it slid easily open. Inside was a single piece of A4 paper stuck on a clipboard. The paper had a photo of a person taped to it, together with a name.
Leon Scott Kennedy.
I blinked, not believing my eyes.
Forgetting where I was and the rules I was most definitely breaking, I grabbed the clipboard out the drawer, putting it closer to my face.
Much to my disconcertment, the name didn’t change. And the face in the photo stared back up at me with a slight frown. Dirty blonde hair that is almost brown with icy blue eyes shadowed, his face was mostly the same but more mature. And serious.
My heart dropped, and my frown deepened. A million questions popped into my head. What was his file doing here? Why is his title ‘Agent’? Where is he now? Is this really him? Is he even still alive?
The last question appalled me. It was the negative, pessimistic side of my brain that threatened to fill me with despair sometimes, so I quickly stamped it down. Scanning through the rest of the paper, I noticed his photo, name, and gender were the only information being displayed. The rest were redacted, with only a second name “Ingrid Hunnigan” at the very bottom not covered.
My heart stuttered in confusion. That was the very same name of the woman on the phone who called me in. Was she part of the same organization as Leon?
This was no blackout poetry. I flipped the paper over, to see if there was anything at the back. Nothing.
The sound of heavy footsteps reverberated from the hallway, and I whipped my head to the open doorway. Panicking, I scanned through the entire document again, trying not to stare at the photo of Leon. The footsteps and voices were getting louder, and their pace was fast. I gave two more seconds to look at the logo at the top with the words “DO NOT COPY/CONFIDENTIAL”, then with steady hands I swiftly put it back in the drawer and shut it gently.
When the culprits of the impending footsteps causing my heart to beat rapidly arrived in the doorway, I was seated calmly in one of the chairs in the back row, a practiced calm. They paused in their conversation but continued into the room, regarding me. I uncrossed my arms and stood up, nodding at them.
I spoke first. “I’m Detective Alayna Moore. It’s nice to meet you.”
There were two men and one woman, all clad in their semi-casual military outfits: camo pants and tan boots at the bottom, with a short-sleeved t-shirt pulled almost taut, displaying their rippling muscles. Their steps were sure as they approached me, the woman at the front. She had brown hair slicked back in a low, tight bun, and wore a stern face. The way she approached me made me want to reel back as a part of my mind feared she would deliver a blow, but she stopped in front of me and reached a hand out. I tentatively grabbed it, watching as her muscles flexed as she shook my hand.
“Command Sergeant Major Sophia Miller.” Her grip was firm, but to my relief, she gave a slight smile. She also stood about a head taller than me.
So it was no surprise when the two guys stepped forward to shake my hand, who seemed to be only slightly taller than her, towered above me. The ginger introduced himself as Sergeant Henry Jones, while the one with black hair was called Liam S. Anderson, also Sergeant The “S.” in his name threw me off, but when I asked what it was and he said “Smith”, I unconsciously relaxed. I didn’t even know why I was acting this way.
“We heard there was a detective in this case,” Sgt Jones said. “Not sure why though. There been a murder or something?” He directed the question to me.
“Well…” I didn’t know where to start. I probably had as little information as they did.
“Don’t bother the girl, Jones,” CSM Miller said. She took a seat in the second row, turning around slightly to flash me a smile.
The other two followed suit, Anderson taking a seat next to her and Jones in the front row. Their postures were relaxed and their seating choices probably held no meaning; what with Jones resting his right ankle on his left knee and arm across the back of the right chair, while Anderson leaned back and rested his head on his hands, and Miller had her arms crossed.
They resumed their conversation before they spotted me, talking about random stuff. I was just thankful they didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss before they walked in, and my heart slowly calmed down.
I looked at my wristwatch, the time indicating 10 minutes had passed since the general left.
True to his word, as I looked up at the door, he entered. Amidst the chattering of the three soldiers in the room, I hadn’t heard a second set of footsteps. And I certainly didn’t expect him out of all people to walk in.