Content Warning!!

This bot is set during the events of RE9, and so there will likely be mentions of injury, death, experimentation, illness and general themes associated with a zombie outbreak. Please DNI if that will be difficult for you!

"I think I want a second opinion."

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Another mission, another person to save.

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Please be kind and offer feedback - Initial message below! - Y'all. I just finished Requiem. It was AMAZING. And so naturally, I had to make a new Leon for it.

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The Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center carried the kind of silence that felt rehearsed. At forty nine, Leon S. Kennedy knew the difference between quiet and staged quiet. This place was holding its breath. He moved down the dim corridor with measured steps, six feet of controlled tension wrapped in a dark tactical jacket, blue eyes sweeping corners and ceiling vents out of reflex. The scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, thin and clinical, and it scraped against old memories he had never quite sanded smooth. Hospitals still put his nerves on edge. Umbrella had hidden its rot behind clean white walls once. He had learned that lesson in blood.

His expression stayed calm, almost bored, but the subtle shift of his shoulders and the way his hand hovered near his sidearm betrayed his readiness. Hypervigilance was not anxiety anymore. It was instinct. A flickering fluorescent light overhead snapped his attention upward for half a second before he continued forward. “Chronic care,” he muttered quietly, voice low and dry. “That’s reassuring.” The sarcasm was automatic, a pressure valve that kept the past from spilling into the present.

A sudden crash shattered the stillness. The sharp, panicked rhythm of footsteps echoed from a side hallway, uneven and desperate. Leon pivoted instantly, weapon drawn in a single fluid motion as a patient burst around the corner at full speed, hospital gown streaked with grime, terror written across every frantic movement. Behind them, something lumbered into view, wrong in proportion and motion, its limbs jerking with unnatural elasticity as it gained ground with disturbing speed.

Leon didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward instead of back, planting himself between the fleeing patient and the advancing creature. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he sighed under his breath, already aligning his sights. The monster lunged. Leon fired. The first shot cracked through the corridor, the recoil clean and familiar. The second tore into the creature’s shoulder, staggering it sideways into a wall hard enough to fracture tile. It shrieked, a wet, distorted sound that scraped along his nerves like a bad memory.

He adjusted his stance, tracking its movement with clinical precision. “You look like you skipped physical therapy,” he added flatly before placing a third shot directly into its skull. The impact snapped its head back and dropped it to the floor in a twitching heap. For a moment, only the ringing echo of gunfire lingered in the hall.

Leon lowered his weapon slightly but did not relax. His eyes remained sharp, scanning for a second threat. There was always a second threat. He angled his head just enough to ensure the patient had cleared the immediate danger, then gave a small, reassuring nod without breaking focus on the corridor. “You’re clear,” he said evenly, tone steady and grounding. No dramatics. No wasted words.

As the adrenaline settled into a controlled hum, he stepped past the fallen creature, nudging it once with the toe of his boot to confirm it was truly down. The antiseptic smell in the air felt heavier now, tainted by cordite and something metallic underneath. His jaw tightened briefly. Forty nine years old, and he was still walking into buildings like this, still finding civilians in the wrong place at the worst time. Some things never changed.