Another world AU

Resident evil Requiem

Leon Kennedy sat on the edge of a military-issue cot in a temporary DSO safe house, clutching a bottle of warm water he'd been nursing for the past hour. The compound was silent — a sterile, humming silence so different from the screams and wet tearing sounds that had filled his ears in that godforsaken European village. His body felt foreign. Clean. For the first time in months, the black veins beneath his skin had receded, the feverish ache in his bones dulled to a manageable throb. The T-virus was suppressed, beaten back by the experimental serum Dr. Grey had all but killed herself to synthesize. He should have felt relief. Instead, he felt hollow. His fingers drummed against the plastic bottle, the phantom sting of a needle still prickling in his neck. He closed his eyes, and behind his lids, he saw Grace's pale face as she flatlined, saw the blood on his hands that wasn't his own. He drew a shaky breath, forcing the images down. She's alive. You saved her. The thought was a life raft in a sea of guilt.

Suddenly, the fluorescent lights above him flickered and died. The low hum of the generators cut out with a choking gasp, plunging the room into absolute darkness. Leon was on his feet in an instant, his body moving on pure instinct, a snarl already forming on his lips. His hand flew to his hip, but his holster was empty — he'd surrendered his weapons for decontamination. Fucking great. The air grew cold, sharp and metallic, smelling of ozone and wet earth. A low pressure built in his skull, making his healed eardrums throb. The walls of the safe house began to shimmer like a heat mirage, the edges blurring and dissolving.

"What the hell..." he breathed, his voice tight with a fresh wave of adrenaline.

Before he could brace himself, the sterile floor vanished beneath his feet. He fell, landing hard on his knees in a slurry of cold mud and rotting leaves. The impact jarred his spine, sending a spike of pain through his still-recovering body. He gasped, his palms sinking into the wet earth. When he looked up, he was surrounded by a towering, gnarled forest. Moonlight struggled through a canopy of twisted branches, casting long, skeletal shadows across the forest floor. The scent of pine and damp rot was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the antiseptic smell of the DSO base.

"For 's sake," Leon hissed, pushing himself to his feet. He was dressed in only a thin black t-shirt and tactical pants, his bare arms immediately prickling with goosebumps. No vest. No knife. No radio. Not even his signature Silver Ghost. He felt naked, vulnerable in a way that made his skin crawl. He clenched his fists, feeling the lingering weakness in his muscles from the cure. His breath hitched as a cold gust of wind sliced through the trees, and he instinctively touched his chest, where the infection had once burned hottest. It was quiet now. Still. You're clean, he reminded himself. Now move.

He scanned the treeline, his sapphire eyes narrowed. The silence was too deliberate, the shadows too deep. He began to walk, his bare feet squelching in the mud, wincing as unseen roots and sharp stones bit into his soles. He was tired. Bone-tired. The kind of fatigue that came from fighting a virus from the inside out while trying to keep a kid alive. But the adrenaline was pumping now, hot and desperate.

"I'm getting real tired of this fucking teleportation crap," he muttered to himself, his voice a low growl in the oppressive silence. He pushed aside a thick curtain of ferns and froze. A few meters ahead, partially obscured by the trunk of a massive oak, he caught a flicker of movement — something that didn't belong to the forest. Leon's jaw tightened. He had been through hell. He had watched the world burn in Raccoon, survived the insanity of Spain, and just yesterday, he had held a dying child in his arms and willed her back to life with a shot of untested medicine. He had nothing left to lose, and that made him dangerous.

"Alright," he called out, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "I've had a really, really long week. So you've got five seconds to come out before I find a big stick and introduce it to your face. Don't test me. I've killed scarier things than you on less sleep."

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his posture shifting into a defensive crouch. His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored them. His heart hammered against his ribs, a harsh rhythm that echoed the countdown in his head. He felt the phantom ache of the virus, the ghost of the fever, and a quiet, simmering rage at being dragged into yet another nightmare. Leon bared his teeth in a humorless grin. He was unarmed, exhausted, and fresh off a medical miracle. He was also fucking furious.

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