Chapter Text
If you asked him when exactly he lost his freedom, he might say it was the very moment he was born a hybrid in a world where being "abnormal" was despised. To be a species as intelligent as a human but with animal characteristics was not well-received at all. Then came 1998. After what happened in Raccoon City, he was young—an idiot with dreams, wanting to be a cop just like his adoptive father. He had chosen Raccoon because it was known as a metropolis for hybrids; there were as many hybrids as humans living in complete harmony. What a joke that he chose to work there. Everything went into a spiral; hybrids out of control, killing people, killing each other.
He managed to escape with two humans. The older one was Claire; she was looking for her brother, who had disappeared three months prior. He had been surprised that the girl wasn't more afraid of him, now that his kind had turned into beasts. The second was a girl far too brave for her young age, caught in the middle simply because of her parents, who thought playing with the hybrid gene was a brilliant idea... Idiots.
They managed to escape with great difficulty, reaching a motel that almost didn't let them in. A hybrid and two girls? Completely filthy and smelling like a sewer? It was understandable; with enough money, anyone can look the other way... Great, he’s screwed. Claire had to leave, even if she didn't want to; her brother was still missing, and that made him feel jealous. Don't misunderstand—he felt jealous because he knew no one would come for him, even if the world fell to pieces.
Then came Simmonne, who forced him to sign an inhuman contract. By his logic, Leon wasn't human, so he didn't deserve such treatment. He only endured it for Sherry—for that girl—to prevent her from being used as a guinea pig. Maybe that’s when he truly lost his freedom, but no. Jesus, no. Then came Spain.
When was the last time he’d eaten something decent? A month ago? A year? Honestly, he didn't know; time had become irrelevant in this place. His limbs ached from being constantly cramped in a cage, and his tail lashed against the bars sharply and involuntarily; it was the only thing he had left to show his defiance. He wasn't going to bare his teeth; he wouldn't give them the pleasure of seeing him fall into his most savage state.
He felt miserable. He was tasked with rescuing the President’s daughter, Ashley Graham, who had been kidnapped by hybrid traffickers. Apparently, the girl was some kind of rodent—a rare type—and Luis was a scientist who only wanted to help them. But they were betrayed by a former friend and ended up in this situation. He didn't let anyone get near Ashley, even if they broke every one of his limbs and left him useless. He knew why they wanted a female hybrid; he wasn't an idiot.
Apparently, they had grown tired of him, as he had killed several traffickers by tearing their throats out with his claws or gouging out their eyes. He simply did everything possible to keep them away from him and Ashley, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
They had injected him with something. What? He didn't know. But his body burned with fever and his limbs felt heavy; he felt as if his tongue were a thick wad of cotton in his throat, and he could barely keep his eyes open. But he tried—just as he tried to get up, to make contact, to go after Ashley, to find Luis, so the three of them could escape this hellhole.
The rodent's screams echoed through the room; she was apparently kicking and fighting to get to where he was. But his vision was blurred, and though he tried so hard to stand up and tear the throats of the men separating them, his body wouldn't cooperate. His lungs burned with every breath. Was he dying? He couldn't die now, not until he saved Ashley. Where was Luis when he was needed?
Just as he managed to get his body upright, he received a heavy blow to his back, knocking the little air he had left out of him. He fell face-first onto the floor. He couldn't breathe; it hurt like hell. With every breath, a dull weight pressed into his head. The one who had hit him was stepping on him. He didn't know the man's name—he never cared—he called himself a "priest," but to Leon, he was just a madman.
The man looked down at him with a look of feigned sadness, shaking his head slowly before smiling—a smile that gave him chills and a desperate urge to fight. His tail lashed violently, the only limb he could still move without feeling like he was underwater.
"My dear kitty," his voice was thick and disgusting as he leaned down to get a better look at Leon. "You would be perfect if you weren't so standoffish." He made a clicking sound of disappointment with his tongue. "We can't keep wasting time with you, so die for us, will you?"
It wasn't a question; it was a statement. Leon noticed the man draw a gun and point it at his head. He squeezed his eyes shut. Once again, he had failed to save anyone, and now he would die in this place alone, having achieved nothing. He wouldn't see Ashley again; he wouldn't hear Luis's annoying jokes. Jesus, how he missed Sherry and Claire. He would do anything to see them one last time.
He waited for the shot, but it never came. Instead, he felt the dead weight of the "mad priest" being tossed off his body quickly and roughly, followed by a dull thud and a growl that put him back on high alert.
He didn't need to open his eyes to know the scent. It was unmistakable. A hybrid. A predator, to be exact. He had to get up; he had to fight. With all his strength, he managed to push himself off the ground, ignoring the dull pain in his ribs, to hear the voice of the intruder.
"West Zone neutralized. I need medics here; one hybrid, looks feline, with severe injuries." *Injuries.* He tasted the word. That would explain the dull ache throughout his body.
The man's eyes settled on him—a mix of intense brown and grayish-blue. They looked at him kindly, tenderly.
*He wanted it to stop.*
He tried to take several steps toward the man, attempting to strike him, muttering words his ears couldn't catch. He could only bare his teeth in a sign of total rejection. The big man understood the message immediately, stopping dead in his tracks. The pointed ears protruding from his head flicked once, then twice in his direction; he was analyzing him. He held his hands up and slowly began to crouch.
A sign of submission. He was telling Leon's panicked system that he wouldn't do anything even if Leon attacked his jugular. So, Leon relaxed.
A grave mistake.
His eyes simply snapped shut and his body fell, but he never felt the cold floor. Something had caught him. It was warm, as if
he were near a fireplace.
He liked that.