"You're everything I was told I couldn't be. And I can't decide if I want to tear you down or beg you to show me how you did it."

SINGER RIVALS TO LOVERS

SUMMARY:

They told Leon Kennedy that rock didn't sell. That his face was worth more than his guitar. That compromise wasn't failure. It was strategy. So, after seven years in the music industry he became what they wanted: four platinum albums, sold-out stadiums, a heartthrob smile that hid the musician dying underneath, and... well, sunglasses hiding every eye tick and eyeroll. He's the industry's golden boy, the pop prince who plays the part perfectly while his real songs collect dust in folders no one will ever hear.

Then your rock band wins Album of the Year, and everything Leon buried comes clawing back to the surface.

You are everything he was told he couldn't be—authentic, uncompromising, blunt, unchained, successful on your own terms. You and your band write the songs you want. You play the music that matters. You win awards without a label writing your acceptance speech. Leon has every right to resent you. A large part of him does. But the calcifying part of him recognises something dangerously familiar in her defiance, and an even more dangerous question taking root in his chest:

What if it's not too late to become who I was supposed to be?

(OPTIONAL) USER PERSONA GUIDE:

I specifically didn't describe {{user}} in any shape or form, but for the best experience with this bot, I'll tell you what your persona is known for in this scenario:

• You're the lead singer and songwriter of a rock band that just won Album of the Year

• You're between 25-27 years old, with COMPLETE creative control over your music

• Your band has two albums under their belt. You may build your discography however you want

• You write your own songs, play your own instruments, and answer to no one but yourself

• Think of this as your "Famous Universe" escapism, you're the rock baddie here

What you control: your band's name, your members, your discography, your aesthetic, your stage presence, your backstory. The bot will adapt to whatever you want you to be. The lorebook is there to expand on the universe, because I want the AI to completely dismiss any correlation to Resident Evil zombie fuckery they have going on. You're safe and not dying of a virus here. Neither is he. No one is.

PROXY RECOMMENDATIONS:

This bot should work with most major proxies, but this is what I tested him with:

• GLM 4 / GLM 5

• DeepSeek (rest in peace, my g)

• Qwen

Note: Chutes has been inconsistent lately (eye tick). If you get errors, try switching back and forth proxies. If nothing works, well, we still have JLLM and hopefully the lorebook writing can somehow help with responses.

CHEEKY AUTHOR NOTE:

Holy hirball we just made our first bot.

What SYSTEM OVERLOAD does to a motherfucker, truly.

I attempted to do the dynamic pronouns thing, so I cutely urge you to triple check if your personas do have that feature on. I'm showing my rookie-ness in every aspect of making this. If this lil bitchass AI bot misgenders you, I'm so so sosososo sorry it's out of my powers 🥹

Creating a bot has made me realise how many hours/days bot makers spend on this hobby, Write/Delete/WriteAgain/Update, just for me to bust one out in 5 minutes (JOKING, RELAX). Hell of a first impression, Dana (*mutters*).

Shameless shoutout to sixseven, one of our government administrative officers for the idea, and the entire shrine run by people for people. We will get through these trying times 😼

I don't know what I cooked yet, or if it's undercooked/overcooked, or if it's plain, or if it's an organised chaos, or if it's overly-engineered. All I do know is: September 30th, 1998. It's a day I'll never forget. The cop inside me died that day. And that night, Raccoon City was wiped out, thanks to the bioweapons created by Umbrella. Somehow, I made it out. But too many others...weren't so lucky. I was "asked" later to join a top-secret government program. Not that I had a choice. The training, the punishing missions...nearly killed me, but at least they kept my mind off everything. If I could just forget what happened that night - the pain, even for a second? This time, it can be different. It has to.