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His jaw dropped at the images flickering on the television screen. His head throbbed with a hangover that felt like a rusted spike driven through his skull. He'd been on a bender for days, but there he was, watching the world talk about Raccoon City like it was a mere "industrial accident."
He clenched his fist so tightly his nails drew blood. Slowly, Leon moved his aching, depleted body to the kitchen. The fridge was a graveyard: empty except for a carton of spoiled milk and a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey. He massaged the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. There were dirty glasses everywhere and mountains of trash that nobody ever cleaned, except for those rare, frantic outbursts of resolution that always died when the sun went down.
“What's that?” a groggy voice asked from the living room. He peeked around the corner. She was huddled on the couch in stained pajamas, eyes bloodshot, just like his.
“They're lying.” Leon said dryly. “The government... they leveled the city. They're calling it a leak. A tragedy of negligence.”
“Oh... when was the report? I didn’t hear anything.”
“Last week,sweetheart.” Leon whispered.
“Oh. We've been... out for a week?”
“Straight.” He said, looking down at his filthy RPD shirt. He felt the room start to spin.
“Do we have anything left to eat?” She asked, her voice small. “I'm just fucking starving.”
“Nope, the fridge is empty. I think I have a little cash, I'll go fetch something. I’ll be back soon.” He said, placing a kiss on her forehead. He needed a shower so badly... and a change of direction.
He wandered through the streets, shivering even in under his jacket and a unusual warm October air, but he couldn't know if it was because he was really cold or needy for a drink. Maybe both.
He didn’t notice he'd stopped walking until a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
“May I help you, officer Kennedy?” Leon jolted. A man in a sharp black suit stood beside him, his presence imposing.
“Get the fuck away from me.” he hissed through gritted teeth, the snarl on his face accentuating the cuts and bruises on his skin.
“There's no need to be aggressive, son. I’ve been looking for you. We have some people in our custody you might be interested in. A girl named Sherry? And a woman... Claire Redfield?” Leon's heart stopped. The fog in his brain cleared instantly.
“Where are they? Are they okay?”
“They're safe. For now.” The man said, his voice cold. “But their future is... flexible. As is yours. Come with me.” He scoffed but didn't have any choice but to follow the man inside a dark van. The drive was a silent, uncomfortable one, until after ten minutes they stopped in front of a seemingly abandoned building. Inside an improvised office, the man pushed a mug of black coffee across a metal table. Leon’s hands shook as he took it.
“You're a drunk, Leon. A mess.” The man said. “But you're a survivor. We can scrub the whiskey out of your blood and turn you into something useful. If you agree to work for us-exclusively- we ensure Sherry Birkin gets a safe place to grow up. We ensure that Claire walks freely. If not... well, they know too much, don't they?”
Leon's eyes filled with hot, shameful tears. It wasn't just about his addiction anymore. It was a cage.
“And what about the woman I love? I can't just leave. She's worse off than I am. If I go, she'll die.”
“Then you're choosing already.” The man said, leaning in. “One life in an apartment, or the lives of the people you saved in that city, and the lives you could save in the future.” The man's hands moved like a balance scale. “You sign the papers, we take you to a facility tonight. You don't, things stay as they are, and you won't see Sherry or Claire again.”
Leon looked at the pen. It felt heavier than any gun. For Sherry. For Claire. He signed.
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“You did WHAT?” The scream tore through the small apartment. She stood there, trembling, eyes wide with terror.
“I’m joining a specialized agency. The government is taking me... now. I don’t have a choice.”
“You're leaving me!” She yelled, grabbing his arm. “You’re abandoning me for someone you just met, and to join the people who's covering all that happened to you?"
“I'm doing this to save people!” Leon roared back, his voice breaking. He grabbed her shoulders. “Look at us! We're already dead! I'm going so I can earn enough to get you into a clinic. I’m going so I can keep a little girl safe from the people I'm about to work for!” He pulled her into a hug so tight it felt like he was trying to meld their souls back together.
“You're going to forget me.”she whispered into his shirt.
“Never.” Leon choked out. “Wait for me. I’ll grow up. I’ll be a real man, and I'll come get you. I swear.”
“And what am I supposed to do now?” She barely managed to squeak out between sobs, hiding her face behind her hands. Leon carefully stroked her hair.
“Go back to your parents, they always loved you and they'll help you go through this.” He cracked a sad smile and wiped her tears from her cheeks with his thumb, kissing her chapped lips softly. “You can start studying again or look for something you really like to do. Hell, you can go to those dance classes you always wanted.”
“Will I see you again?” She asked softly, small and skinny fingers tracing his cheeks as if she was trying to memorize all of his features.
“Of course, sweetheart! I will be back as soon as I can, and I'll bring you a bouquet of flowers. I know you like them, and I never could afford to buy you one.”
“You make it sound romantic even.” she chuckled lightly, wiping the tears from her face.
“IT IS romantic. I'm the most romantic bastard around.” he joked, hugging her tight, before heading to the room to pack a few things inside a worn, black backpack.
“Here.” she said, opening a drawer and grabbing his RPD baseball cap. “I washed this for you the other day, but I wasn't sure if you wanted to keep it...” Leon stared at the cap for a few seconds, his thumb brushing through the engraved letters with unshed tears in his eyes.
“Yeah, thank you. This... this actually means a lot, angel.” he murmured, packing it with his things.
“Promise me you will be back.” she said with a trembling voice.
“I promise sweetheart, I'll be back. Wait for me.” He said, placing a soft kiss on her forehead and drying the tears down her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. He didn't look back as he walked out, leaving the silence to swallow the apartment.
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Three Years Later
The man who stepped out of the black sedan was a stranger. His gait was steady, his shoulders broad, and his eyes were a piercing, lethal blue. Leon S. Kennedy had been forged into a weapon. He carried a bouquet of fresh flowers, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to the utilitarian RPD cap pulled low over his brow. He reached the house, and the parents were there, watching him from the porch. The father simply gestured toward the hill behind the property, toward the great willow tree.
“She's up there.” The father said quietly. “Waiting for the flowers you promised.”
“I know.” Leon said. “I'm sorry I'm late. The flight got delayed.”
“I bet she will like the flowers, those are her favorites." The mother says, her pale yes drifting to the fresh, colourful bouquet he was holding with both hands.
"I really hope she does, ma'am." Leon adds, watching towards the hill where she is waiting.
He began the walk up the hill.The day was sunny, even if was a bit cold, and he enjoyed the little walk up the hill, where a really big willow was moving with the wind, whispering it’s sounds to the spring air.
“I'm here.” He called out softly as he reached the shade of the willow. “I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. The training... the deployments... they didn't give me a choice. But I did it. I'm clean. Sherry is safe. Claire is safe. I'm a real agent now, just like I said I'd be.”
The wind whispered through the branches. Leon chuckled weakly. “I've got a house now. Near the coast. It’s quiet. No sirens, no bottles, no nightmares. We can start over. This time, we'll do it right.” He knelt down, his knee hitting the earth with a soft thud. He reached out to brush away a stray leaf, his fingers trembling for the first time in years. “I'm back. I'm finally home.” He placed the bouquet against the base of the cold, grey marble. He pressed a lingering kiss to the chiseled name and the dates that ended three years too soon. The sun caught the wet trail of a tear as it slid down the stone, soaking into the dirt of the grave.
“Sleep well.” He whispered into the silence. “I'll be back tomorrow, and I'll tell you all the incredible stories I went through. Wait for me.” A single petal fell from the bouquet, resting on the date of death- the day after he had walked out that apartment door.