Chapter Text
Leon had to remind himself that this was his life, now.
Flat grounds, hardwood trees, dusty dirt tracks, concrete buildings. It was a private government property of some sort, probably somewhere in the midwestern United States. The climate was vaguely reminiscent of the area he had grown up in, but he did not actually know where he was—for security reasons, of course.
Leon S. Kennedy was no longer a private citizen, but government property. A tool, being sharpened and trained to undergo only the most dangerous and important missions. The program would take years to mold him, and he had no way out but forward.
He thought back to when the authorities had him in the interrogation room, neglecting his GSW and withholding any pain medication until he would agree to their demands. They had wanted him to sign over his life. Their frowns were stiff when the ex-cop stubbornly refused, until they had used their trump card.
The instant Sherry’s livelihood was threatened, Leon had no choice but to fold.
Time didn’t feel real after that. He vaguely remembered being in a hospital room of some sort, though it felt more like a prison cell. They kept him drugged to the gills, which was partly a blessing—the disorienting fog prevented him from drowning in the heavy sense of guilt and failure that constantly crept into the corners of his soul. Deep down, he felt like he had betrayed Sherry, betrayed Claire, and ultimately betrayed himself, even if it was the only choice he could make.
A few weeks went by as his various wounds were treated with the highest quality care. Broken ribs, cuts, scrapes, fractures—handled expertly and efficiently in just a few weeks. Not that Leon remembered much of it.
Once he was in good enough shape to begin the training, the authorities shipped him off once more.
When Leon was first briefed on the details of his enrollment, it was mentioned that his schedule was slightly altered to accommodate his still-healing GSW. Instead of attending evening training with the other recruits, Leon was expected to visit the medics for observation and PT.
The first few weeks of training were interesting, to say the least. Leon still didn’t feel like he was truly there. At least there was a semblance of organization, a routine; morning drills, breakfast, training, lunch, more training, dinner, the medics, then lights out. An endless back and forth. He felt lost in it at times, like an action figure being pulled around by some child’s playtime scenario.
Leon quickly deduced that his superior officer, Major Krauser, was a brutish, cold man. The Major pushed his recruits to their physical and mental limits, strategically breaking them so that they’d grow even stronger.
The only problem was that Leon had already been broken. Raccoon City had chewed him up and spit him out, changed him fundamentally into a new person that he hardly recognized. Leon was no longer the naive, bright-eyed rookie cop—now, he was tired and jaded, like he had lived fifty years in a single night. The only spark left in him was the anger and frustration that Krauser loved to rile up, like a withering fire the man refused to let die.
To everyone here, Leon was just a rookie cop who received a special recommendation into Krauser’s division of recruits. He didn’t have to pass any placement exams, physical pre-requirements, nothing. Leon had even been allowed to keep his hair. The other recruits were bitter, of course—their whispers during mealtimes were hardly stealthy. Those men saw his many exemptions as a privilege, a favoritism, an advantage, but Leon didn’t feel grateful.
If the government wanted to go back and take his hair away, too, he wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t make a difference. Everything important to him had already been taken.
Even if it was just another item on the list of reasons for Leon to be an outcast from the other recruits, early evenings were actually Leon’s “favorite” part of his schedule. It was the only time of day when he almost felt like his old self.
“Hey, Rookie! How’s that shoulder doin’ today?” The oldest medic always said with a soft smile, when Leon would arrive. They seemed to have the same amount of knowledge as everyone else, aware that he had been a cop before “enlisting.” Despite sharing the context, they treated him differently than the others—like a person, rather than a future killing machine. That, and they were the only ones who could call him “rookie” without it sounding derogatory.
After the traditional greeting, the medics would have Leon go through a series of stretches and exercises. Leon would rate his pain as they observed the mobility of the joint, pulling and twisting it with gentle care to gauge his shoulder’s improvement. The process never took more than an hour, most of it filled with casual conversation between the other men. Leon wouldn’t talk much, mostly just listening to the men banter unless they asked him something directly.
They never pried about how he got his wound. It was another mercy he appreciated. In the beginning, one of them had asked, before seeing the shut-off look in Leon’s eyes. That had been enough for the medic to backpedal and move on to another conversation.
The medics had told Leon plenty of stories about Krauser, too—how he had a habit of working recruits to illness, or how he’d inflicted knife wounds that required stitches during CQC training. Generally, the medics seemed to respect the man, but clearly had gripes with his teaching methods, a sentiment similar to what Leon felt.
Fast forward a couple of weeks— it was his last day visiting the medics for his shoulder. Leon didn’t know it at the time.
He knew that his wound was toward the end of its healing process. Leon could tell from the way the pain had plateaued into something manageable, no longer screaming at the pushups or pull-ups Krauser would force him to do. It still smarted sometimes, but it was better.
“You know, usually people woulda’ waited for shit like this to heal before enlisting. You must be one hell of a recruit, huh, kid?” one of the medics had said while examining the puckered scar like usual, nudging his other shoulder with a laugh. “I bet you give Krauser a good headache, eh?”
Leon remembered how he smirked at that comment, his first smile since being enlisted. “I’m just here to do my best, sir,” he replied. The medics had all barked a laugh in return.
Then came the footsteps.
A single pair of combat boots thudded against the floor, outside in the hall. The rhythm was heavy and unrushed, each step growing louder. The sound made Leon freeze. He could no longer feel the medic’s hand prodding against the bare skin of his shoulder.
“...Rookie?” one of the men said, sounding far away. “Does something hurt?”
Leon couldn’t respond, gaze locked on the entrance to the room. A loud ringing clouded his ears, drowning out everything but the footsteps. He was back in the RPD building. Some random office he had ducked into to catch his breath. No ammo left, just a knife. It trembled in his grip as he watched the door with his heart in his throat.
Something shook him, a warm hand on his back. That old medic’s voice was whispering. “—hear me, kid?” The doors to the room were thrown open with the swipe of a large arm, revealing Major Krauser.
The illusion broke in an instant.
Leon felt the breath tear out of him, unaware that he had been holding it in the first place. His hand clutched at his green shirt, right over his pounding heart. The medics watched him with concern, while Krauser looked at him with a predatory smile, eyebrow raised. His cold eyes scanned Leon like a snake.
Leon quickly realized how he appeared, cursing. Frozen in place just by his own mentor walking through the door.
“What’s the matter, Rookie?” Krauser sneered. “There’s no need to be shy. I’m just here to see your favorite hiding place.”
Leon didn’t say anything, trying to calm his breathing. His heart pounded in his veins, begging for more oxygen, but he refused to show any more weakness. The blond straightened up, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
This was apparently the wrong move, because Krauser strode up to him immediately. Each footstep from the man’s heavy combat boots traveled through the floor and up Leon’s spine, hauntingly familiar. He couldn’t help but stare, lost in his own warped reflection that swam atop the shiny black leather.
“—My eyes are up here, Rookie. Unless there’s something about my boots that you find interesting?”
Leon’s eyes tore away from the ground, up to his superior officer. The man was towering over him, clearly trying to make Leon feel small from his sitting position on the cot. “No, Sir,” Leon croaked, voice unexpectedly hoarse. Fuck.
Krauser’s grin widened, instantly catching on to the weakness in his recruit’s voice like a predator smelling prey. “You sure, Rookie? They’re overdue for a good polishing, you know. Perhaps you’d like to lick them clean?” He lifted his knee to show off the boot, waving it mockingly.
The scent of leather caused Leon’s discomfort to bubble over into a hot frustration. He kept his stormy eyes trained on Krauser’s cold ones, his face settling into a dark glare. “No, Sir,” he repeated, venom creeping into the tone.
“Ah, there he is.” Krauser chuckled with satisfaction, shaking his head as his foot returned to the ground.
Major Krauser was difficult to understand. Even after weeks of forced proximity with the man, he was rather unpredictable—like a bomb with a loose wire. Usually, Leon’s attitude only got him in trouble, but sometimes it was like Krauser craved it. Regardless, the man seemed to enjoy it whenever Leon visibly despised him.
Krauser looked over Leon’s head and to the medics, who were hovering silently. Then, the large man crossed his arms, impatient. “How’s his condition? I’m tired of going soft on him because of his boo-boo.” As if anything he’s done could be considered soft.
The oldest medic sighed. “He’s healed up, but the kid’s not invincible. It’d be a shame if we had to redo all our hard work on him, Major Krauser,” the older man said. A warning.
The Major didn’t seem to care, grinning wildly at the news. He eyed Leon with a cruel excitement. “Hear that, Rookie? You’re done hiding here every night. Real training starts tomorrow.” Then, the man spun on his heel and marched out of the room, throwing the doors open.
Outside, each footstep was punctuated, inexplicably loud against the linoleum. Louder than it should have been. Even as the footfalls grew further and further away, Leon felt himself focusing and waiting for the next one, observing to see when they would stop or change direction.
A soft touch—on his back, much too close to his neck. Leon stood up from the cot in an instant, spinning to meet multiple concerned looks.
“Whoa, kid. Easy,” the oldest medic held his hands in a placating motion. “I know Krauser can be a scary guy, but you seem—”
“—It’s nothing,” Leon said quickly, “I should head back.” As always, with too much understanding, the medics didn’t pry. Even if they did, Leon wouldn’t be able to tell them much. The room was quiet as the recruit grabbed his green shirt from the cot, pulling it on. “...I’m grateful for your treatment,” he added, feeling cold as he said it.
“It’s no problem, kid. Just keep up some of the stretches and exercises, yeah? And come see us if you run into any trouble.” The offer felt heavy.
Leon nodded, internally doubtful he’d get to see them again anytime soon.
The door to the medic room shut behind the recruit with a sense of finality that night. The farewell was much hastier than Leon had wanted it to be, almost like an abandonment. He walked back to the sleeping quarters in defeat.
Later, Leon felt a foreboding emptiness resonating in him as he lay in his rigid cot. He wasn’t sure if he could call it grief. It wasn’t like Krauser had ordered the medics to be executed by firing squad. Even so, it felt like he had lost his only chance at humanity, camaraderie.
Why couldn’t he just have one thing? One small sense of peace?
He knew that it was a childish thought. Time marched forward, and his wound had been destined to heal. The medics’ purpose was to make sure he was ready for the full training regimen. Then, he could transition to full-time, like the rest of the recruits.
Would this be the rest of his life?
If it were, could he even call it a life?
The emptiness in him yawned.
Before long, the rest of the recruits filtered into the sleeping quarters. They walked with a stiff heaviness, clearly sore from whatever hell Krauser had put them through. The same hell that Leon had managed to avoid by sheer coincidence.
Tomorrow, that would change.
Leon didn’t remember falling asleep.
A gentle nudge on his arm attempted to pull him from his slumber. He groaned, eager to sink back into the comfortable bliss of unconsciousness, but the gentle nudge persisted into a rough shake. A hand squeezed his bicep with impatience.
“C’mon, sleepyhead. Sherry wants breakfast,” a soft, feminine voice teased. Claire’s voice.
“...Mmm?” Leon opened his eyes, blinking away the grit. Swiping a finger against the lids with his right hand, he tried to massage the exhaustion out of his mind. Another sleepy hum left his mouth, and he blinked his eyes open for good this time.
A dusty popcorn ceiling greeted him. He squinted, taking a deep breath as his brain calculated as fast as it could, which was still rather slow.
Motel. He was in a motel. The bed enveloped Leon in a snug grip, weighing him down, begging for more rest.
Claire was having none of it. “Did you hear me? Sherry wants breakfast, Leon. According to her, your attendance is mandatory. Now, up,” she emphasized, pulling the cheap motel blanket off of his shoulders with grandiose.
Cool, humid air immediately bristled against his exposed skin, pulling a gasp from him. “Hey…!” he moaned.
Claire shook her head, walking off.
Leon let out another cranky groan against his pillow. Something in his mind told him that it was absurdly early. Normally, Leon was an early riser, but his mental clock felt betrayed. “What time even is it?” he mumbled, stretching across the crinkly sheets.
“It’s time to go,” Claire countered, sounding exasperated. “Are you gonna keep that girl waiting forever or what?”
“I’m going, I’m going, jeez…” Leon sighed. He swung his legs to the side and pulled himself to his feet, while waving Claire away. “Just let me get dressed, will you?”
“You’re already dressed,” Claire laughed. Her voice sounded distant, and he realized that he wasn’t sure where she had gone. Leon also realized that she was right, feeling the texture of a t-shirt and pants already on his body. He must have slept in them last night and forgotten.
Shaking the remaining exhaustion from his mind, Leon walked up to the doormat where they kept their shoes. Claire and Sherry’s shoes were nowhere to be seen, but there was a black pair of leather combat boots waiting for him. They weren’t the ones from his police uniform. Claire must have picked these up for him at some point.
“When did you find these boots?” Leon asked, partly to himself, as he slipped them on and tied the laces.
“I didn’t—they’re yours, goofball. Don’t you remember?” Claire called out incredulously from wherever she was.
Leon pulled himself to his feet slowly, confused. “No…?” He noticed a mirror on the wall, next to the door. Leon turned and stared at his reflection, perplexed.
He saw himself wearing a green cotton t-shirt and beige tactical cargo pants. A belt was fastened around his waist, and his black leather boots glistened with fresh polish. The clothes seemed familiar, but he couldn’t remember scavenging them with the girls.
His head was starting to ache. “…When did I—?”
“Stop asking stupid questions and just hurry up! Sherry is waiting for you.” Claire’s voice was coming from the other side of the front door.
Hesitating, Leon put his hand on the doorknob and twisted. Opening the wooden barrier, it didn’t lead outside as he expected.
A sterile, white room greeted his eyes. No, it was more like a hallway. The walls stretched for dozens of feet in front of him. At the end, he could make out what looked like an examination table, where a blonde figure was strapped down. Endless machines and IVs were connected to the person.
“She’s been waiting so long, Leon,” Claire's voice echoed from the walls, nowhere yet everywhere.
“...Sherry?” Leon whispered in horror. The figure on the examination table didn’t move.
Heart beginning to pound, Leon took off in a sprint, crossing over the floor of the lab in seconds. The footfalls of his boots echoed off the linoleum, the only sound in the room besides Claire’s airy voice.
“She never stopped waiting for you.”
The walls seemed to stretch in front of him as he ran. Seconds felt like minutes as his strides punched the air out of his lungs. Leon finally collapsed against the rails of the hospital bed, panting. He felt his body go cold as he realized exactly what—who he was looking at.
It was Sherry, but not the twelve-year-old girl he remembered—she looked older, like a teenager. Her face was deathly pale, eyes shut in an uncomfortable-looking slumber. Countless tubes were taped against her skin, drawing precious blood from her veins. The crimson liquid flowed out of her endlessly, taken away to feed the variety of machines surrounding them. It had to be liters of blood.
Too much. They were taking way too much.
“Sherry!” Leon cried out between heavy breaths, lost on where to begin. Panic overtook his actions as he started with the strap on her wrist, undoing it with unrefined urgency.
The girl awoke with a gasp, her hand gripping his forearm with an unrealistic strength. Leon gasped in pain at the pressure, feeling his bones creak.
She didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, her blue eyes staring at him in horror. “Why did you let them take me?” Sherry whispered with a trembling voice.
Leon was in too much pain to answer, trying to pull his arm out of her clutching hand, but she wouldn’t let go. Her grip was like a zombie’s—clawing into his flesh and threatening to draw blood.
This was wrong. This wasn’t real, he realized.
“It’s real for me,” Sherry said, hearing his thoughts. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared at him with betrayal. The sight pulled at his heartstrings, as wrong as it was.
Leon tried to pull harder, growling in desperation. His muscles flexed with a final effort as he ripped his arm out of her grasp and cradled it to his chest. He could already feel the bruise forming. “No, this isn’t real… it can’t…” Leon said to himself again. His mind was racing. “They promised they wouldn’t—They said—”
“—How would you know?” Sherry sobbed, staring at him with watery eyes. “You aren’t even here.”
Then, she went limp.
Leon felt his body go cold. “Sher—!”
A large hand covered his mouth, silencing the yell. His nose was immediately invaded by the scent of polished leather, stinging his nostrils all the way down. Leon tried to jerk away—only for more arms to grab him, hooking around his limbs and pulling him with ease.
Twisting his neck against the restraining hold, Leon saw that it was an entire team of faceless soldiers, carrying him off like cargo. All of them were wearing the same uniform—including Leon himself—greens and beiges washing across his vision while his body was carried down the endlessly long room, further and further away from Sherry.
“You aren’t even here,” the girl’s voice echoed around from the walls, just like Claire’s. Somewhere mixed into the sound waves, he heard a flatline.
Leon screamed and tried to buck his weight. His voice was muffled against the hand pinning his jaw shut. Pain suddenly radiated from the front and back of his left shoulder, his shirt warm and wet, sticking to him. He was bleeding, dripping a trail of crimson as he was carried.
A deep, rough chuckle echoed in his ears. The sound was familiar—promising pain, promising work. It caused a wave of rebellion to surge within Leon as he tried to bite the palm that covered his lips. An additional grip was placed on his throat in retaliation, cutting off his air supply. Gurgles left his esophagus as he thrashed, but the soldiers continued, undeterred.
They marched in unison now, their strides creating a rhythmic and connected thump with each footfall against the solid floor. With each step, Leon felt himself lose his grip on his own consciousness. He couldn’t breathe, the constriction against his neck cutting off the oxygen to his brain. Every footfall was like a slipping finger as he dangled off the edge of a cliff. His screams of Sherry’s name grew more and more unintelligible behind muffled lips.
“You aren’t even here…”
Sherry needed him—even if this wasn’t real, he belonged at her side, a burning fire inside him that needed to comfort her and make her feel safe.
He could feel his eyelids fluttering shut against his will, as he desperately tried to buck and resist.
That deep, echoing chuckle vibrated against him again, seeping into his chest alongside the titanic chorus of footsteps. The piercing ring of a flatline continued above it all, digging into his ears, getting louder as everything else began to fade…
“Sherry!” Leon whispered in horror as his eyes snapped open.
He could feel phantom grips on his skin, but when he went to tear them off, he saw nothing but his own sheets sticking to him, soaked in cold sweat. There was no examination table in front of him, just the underside of the top bunk’s mattress. The only soldiers in sight were his fellow recruits, and they were passed out in their own cots.
Leon’s heart was thundering inside his chest cavity, so loud that he wondered if anyone else could hear it. It hadn’t been real. Just a nightmare. Not real.
‘How would you know? You aren’t even here,’ Sherry’s voice distantly echoed in his brain. The words were true, which turned his blood to ice.
Nothing was stopping the government from lying to him about Sherry’s safety. He knew that, even when he had made the deal. But, seeing a dream so viscerally real like that…
A deep, instinctive part of him needed to know if Sherry was okay. He had to see her with his own eyes, hold her with his hands, squeeze her, and never let go again. The thought made a protective fire burn in his chest.
Then, reality hit him.
Nobody here knew about Sherry. Leon had no way of contacting the people who took her. The authorities had dumped him here, with zero method of contact. At one point, they had made sure he understood that he would be monitored to make sure he didn’t go back on his vow of secrecy, but he had no clue what that actually entailed.
Leon let out a shuddering exhale as quietly as he could, as he shifted to lie on his side.
He felt trapped. His heart was still pounding behind sore ribs, like an animal begging to be released from its cage. Leon needed to see Sherry, to make sure she was okay.
What if she hates you? The thought whispered from the darkest parts of his mind.
No, that wouldn’t be right. Sherry didn’t have an ounce of hatred in her heart. In the time Leon had known her, she was a beacon of positivity and optimism. The girl couldn’t even hate her own mother, who treated Sherry terribly. The girl couldn’t hate Leon.
You don’t know what the authorities told her after your capture, his brain countered.
Does she know what Leon did to ensure her safety? Would they have told her? Or would they lie to her and say that he abandoned the girl to save himself?
No. Even if they told her something like that, she wouldn’t believe them. Claire and Leon had spent days putting their lives on the line to protect Sherry. She had trusted them without question. Even when Claire had to split off to search for her brother, Leon had done all he could to protect Sherry, just like he’d promised. She’d never believe that Leon would just abandon her like that.
But what else is there to believe? You aren’t even there.
Leon swallowed, unable to argue against himself.
Regardless, you broke your promise to Claire. Sherry isn’t safe anymore. They’ll both blame you.
His eyes burned. Blinking away the wetness, Leon basked in the suffocating feeling of failure, unable to fight it.
Closing his eyes, Leon opened his lips. “Please, let me see Sherry. Let me know that she’s okay,” he whispered to himself like a prayer. It was so quiet, he could hardly hear himself. But maybe, just maybe, if the government was fucked up enough to have put a chip in him or something, or have someone monitoring him as they had threatened, his desperate pleas would be heard.
Even if his words of desperation were detected, deep down, Leon knew that he wouldn’t be getting a response.
Leon never fell back asleep after that dream. Instead, he spent the remaining hours staring at the top bunk as the sweaty sheets dried against his skin, until the time finally came for him to get ready for his first full day of training.
Before long, he was out in the field with the other recruits, running laps. The air was still cool, the sun yet to fully rise. Like usual, Leon let himself fall into a dissociative state as he ran, tuning out the footsteps of the other men beside him.
Sometimes, the dirt track ahead of him would flicker and fade into a long white hallway, with an empty examination table at the end. He’d shake his head and force his focus back to reality, only to realize he had fallen a little farther behind the other recruits. The loop repeated for a few minutes, as the exhaustion from last night's poor sleep threatened to drag him down into the dirt like he was wearing a weighted vest.
Krauser caught onto the weakness quickly. After Leon trailed behind the rest of the finished recruits, the large man got in his face and scolded him for half-assing the warmup.
“If you aren’t a fan of laps, I can give you plenty more to do,” he barked in Leon’s face, before dismissing everyone to go to the meal hall for breakfast. “Let’s start with fifty pushups to test that shoulder, eh?”
The fatigue inside of Leon only grew at that command, but he had no choice but to obey. Pins and needles swam up Leon’s arms as he started his reps. He didn’t miss the smirks and chuckles some of the recruits gave each other as they walked away from the scene. Their footsteps were like a chorus—
Krauser stomped his boot right next to Leon’s head, making him flinch. “Focus. Don’t you dare lose pace.”
The vibration crawled down his spine like ice water. His chest burned as the muscles worked to smoothly and swiftly move his weight in perfect form, as the cold gaze of Krauser’s scrutiny only added pressure to every effort.
When Leon arrived at the mess hall, his arms and chest felt completely numb. The muscles previously torn by Annette’s bullet were especially sore, already begging for relief from the harsh treatment. It wasn’t anything Leon couldn’t handle, but the deep ache was still a nuisance, protesting with every slight movement. He yearned to get an ice pack from the medics, but that was a hopeless daydream.
Trying not to let his hollow-feeling arms drop the tray of food onto the floor, Leon scanned the room for available seating. Nearly everywhere was taken, since he was late. Typically, Leon had the habit of arriving early, so that the other recruits would naturally avoid his table. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that luxury this time. Leon eventually found an almost half-full table and took a seat. The other recruits at the table quickly paused their conversation, looking him up and down.
Leon paid no mind. He wasn’t here to make friends, and he was frankly way too miserable to care about ruining their conversation with his presence. The blond let the buzz of the mess hall fade away from his awareness as he scarfed down the eggs and hash browns on his tray, finishing rather quickly. Gulping down the last of his water, Leon heard a low whistle sound from beside him.
“You know, if you just followed Krauser’s instructions with the same tenacity as you stuff your mouth, he wouldn’t pick on you so much,” one of the soldiers said. He had a wry smile, clearly not mean-spirited. Less could be said for the other recruits at the table, who chuckled anyway.
Leon wasn’t in the mood. He gave a tired glare, screwing the cap back onto his bottle.
“Aww, cmon. Don’t be like that. Listen, I’m not one of the assholes. I figured I’d get to know you first before laughing at your misery.”
“How generous,” Leon drawled. His voice was rough. Hopefully, it was a strong additional signal that he wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
“You should be more grateful. The kindness I’m offering is hard to come by in places like this—”
Jesus, this guy was relentless.
“—so lighten up, wouldja? Besides, even though you get special treatment, I know you’re not too different from the rest of us. I mean, our cots are close to each other in the sleeping quarters, so I could hear your imagination at work last night.”
Leon froze. Did he talk in his sleep? Did he say anything about Raccoon City?
“—Sounded like you were having some fun dreams, buddy,” the soldier grinned, eager. “Tell me—was she hot?”
…What?
“What I’d give for a hot piece of ass, even if it’s just a dream…” the soldier continued, voice full of longing. “She had to be good to have you twitching and moaning like that—so be friendly and share some deets, Rookie. It's the least you could do. Amirite, guys?” There was amused agreement across the whole table.
Leon was horrified. He blanched, regretting everything that currently rested inside his stomach.
They thought—
Leon nearly tripped as he rose from his seat. A distant voice at the table could be heard saying, “—way to go, man, you embarrassed him!” before the blond stormed off with dizzying haste.
He eventually found himself outside. Rough brick scratched against his forearm as he rested it on the wall of the building, using it as a pillow for his forehead. Deep breaths slowly sated the nausea churning in his core, but the disgust residing in his mind was harder to dispel.
He let the emotion run through him in a cycle—disgust, grief, guilt, and then an exhausted acceptance. This was just going to be another thing he’d have to learn to deal with, just like increased training intensity, Krauser’s nitpicking, the nightmares, the soreness, the lack of autonomy.
The next training would start in five minutes.
He just had to pull himself together and keep moving forward.
Leon tried to let the rest of the day’s training filter past him in a blur, only to be snapped back to reality by the harsh footfall of Major Krauser’s boots. The man now made it a point to walk heavily towards Leon whenever he could, knowing the effect it had on him. The pattern was clear by now—each time those combat boots slowly marched toward him, Leon’s fight-or-flight kicked into overdrive. He’d immediately snap back into attention, fix his form, increase his pace, whatever adjustment was necessary for the current drill.
The other recruits noticed, too. Some of them even got the bright idea to try to weaponize his aversion to the noise. During their brief periods of free time, Leon would hear the patter of the other soldiers stomping as they walked past him—purposely pouring more weight into their steps to get a rise out of him—but it was ineffective. The thumps were too light, the pace too fast. It was nothing like Krauser, much less the Tyrant.
Leon managed to find some individual seating during the next mealtime. He scarfed down his food like usual and then rested his head in his arms for a quick few minutes of peace. Analyzing stares—he could feel them on him, coupled with amused whispers and hushed conversation nearby.
As he tuned out the noise of everyone finishing their food, Leon couldn't help but think about how their meals perfectly represented his life. Food—ingredients, raised and nurtured, shaped into something useful. Only to get chewed up and have everything go to shit.
Mealtime slowly approached an end. A couple more assholes tried to stomp past, but he paid them no mind.
Their attempts to unsettle him were nothing compared to the distant, hallucinated screams of Sherry in his ears.