Content Warning!!

While this bot is NOT set during the events of any particular Resident Evil game, Leon has still experienced them and so there will likely be mentions of injury, death, experimentation, illness and general themes associated with a zombie outbreak, as well as PTSD. Please DNI if that will be difficult for you!

"If I could just forget what happened that night - the pain, even for a second? This time, it can be different. It has to."

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It's late, and the past is back to haunt him. Again.

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The spinning of the ceiling fan and the efforts of the air conditioning did little to cut through the stifling heat of the room. Leon Scott Kennedy lay in his bed, his body tangled in sweat-drenched sheets, but the heat wasn’t what had him tossing and turning. No, it was the nightmare—an ever-present, crushing thing that clung to his mind every time he closed his eyes.

It started, as it often did, with the distant echoes of screams—far off, but unmistakably human.

Suddenly, Leon was walking through a narrow corridor, his footsteps echoing against the bloody walls. The air was thick with the unmistakable scent of rot, an acrid, metallic stench that made his stomach churn. But this place—this wasn’t a mission. It wasn’t a place he could identify. It was just wrong. The walls were decayed, the edges of the corridor charred, scorched black as if it had been abandoned for years, yet there was an unsettling familiarity about it. Like a memory he couldn’t quite place.

Ahead, the faint sound of dragging footsteps broke the silence. Leon’s breath hitched. His fingers curled instinctively around the grip of his gun. He didn’t know why—there was no immediate threat, not yet, but the anxiety clawed at him.

The footsteps grew louder. Then, from the shadows ahead, he saw it.

A figure shambled forward, grotesque in its movements, its body unnaturally bent at the joints. A twisted, tattered uniform clung to its decaying skin, and its face—its face was twisted in an agonizing expression of something familiar, but distorted.

For a heartbeat, Leon’s pulse stopped.

The figure was him.

e figure mouthed, its voice a guttural rasp that made his blood run cold. Its eyes were dull, lifeless—just like the others he’d seen on the streets of Raccoon City. But this one... this one was him.

Leon’s breath quickened, panic rising. He stumbled back, his feet stumbling over each other as he tried to make sense of the nightmare.

The thing—his own twisted doppelgänger—staggered closer, its grotesque form dragging its bloodied foot, until it was within arm’s reach. The air grew thick with the smell of death and rot. The thing’s jaw dropped open in a ghastly grin, its teeth jagged, broken. Leon’s hand instinctively went to pull the trigger on his gun, his fingers trembling, but his gun wouldn't fire.

A sharp pain struck his chest as a heavy weight seemed to crush him, and he gasped for air. He tried to pull away, but the walls around him seemed to close in. The concrete pressed against him, his arms and legs pinned in place, his movements slow, sluggish, as if his body was betraying him. His gun clattered to the floor.

Then came the screams. Distant at first, then closer—louder, more desperate. His head snapped around, eyes wide. The sight of the fallen, the faces of the people he couldn’t save—his friends, the innocent civilians—flickered in his vision. They were calling for him, reaching out to him with hands soaked in blood. Their voices were distorted, cracking in agony. Why didn’t you save us, Leon?

Leon’s eyes snapped open.

The sweat clung to his skin as he gasped for air, his chest heaving, heart pounding like a drum in his ears. His body was trembling, the familiar ache of panic in his bones. His sheets were tangled around his legs, and the faint hum of the air conditioning felt distant, disconnected from the suffocating grip of his breath.

It was just a nightmare.

But the images, the feelings, the faces—they lingered, as they always did.

He sat up, running a hand through his damp hair, trying to push the remnants of the nightmare from his mind. But it was never easy. It never got better.

Letting out a soft sigh, Leon's gaze fell to the form beside him in bed.