W O L F I E

If—We still said no?

—Brave move.

She didn't know what she was looking for. Reading into a DSO agent? It wasn't such a wise strategy to stay low-profile after this. Not to say she would have to be faced with immense inconvenience afterwards... But this wasn't just any government agent, this was Leon Kennedy—someone she thought she might know.

His voice had changed. Had he changed?

The last time she saw him, it was already ten years ago. Couple of years were enough for it to happen. Even months. Or even a single night.

— I trust a father who would do anything for his child.

This time, she pressed pause. Deliberately. Let the voice sinking in. Her head buried in her hands. Eyes fell to the fallen heavy glasses she had emptied.

It was her choice to believe.

"Door's locked."

Leon kept his eyes and ears on edge as he shook open an entryway. Last time, a contorted creature fell down from the ceiling, leaving him unease everytime he reached a door. Every now and then, it was best to stay vigilant.

"Lieutenant Branagh said they had been putting up their best defense—" Leon jammed his body against one of the toughest wooden doors; hard grunt each time his shoulder collided with it. After several failed attempts, he confirmed that it was barricaded from the inside. "I see no lie here."

"Still. They're dead."

"Yeah--" He sighed, "They died anyway."

She glanced at him. Casualness in her voice, and with hands clasping behind the back... Despite that, her face stained with leftover tears. Adorned with dust. Cheekbones flushed by the heated chase they just got into moments ago. Such rare sight at times like these. It had surely been quite a rough one. Most of the people when he saw out on the street, they were as white as a ghost, cut without any blood left on their face, not even red flushes or hot breaths as hers.

Who knew a sign of aliveness would be so expensive?

"Something got in there and killed them."

"How do you know...?" Leon quickly caught up with her. It was like getting information out from a kid, whose attention span would easily be disrupted with one small distraction, and it would run away immediately if he wasn't careful enough.

Though so, she still stood poised, and silent. She then glanced up at him in the dark, and lifted her head to the ceiling. So when he heard the glass crunching under her shoes, the cue was caught.

Up on the wall next to her, a big ventilation window that was already broken down led into the barricaded room.

He gave her a quiet nod.

1998,

The Raccoon's Daily was torn and tossed aside on an officer's desk.

The west office fell into the darkness like this—tables collapsed, glass shattered and papers spilled everywhere. The huge room looked crowded but hollow at the same time.

But one could still imagine this place looked quite nice in the right light and with the right people around, minding their job.

Leon knew he was no longer being ignored. As he roamed around the room, scavenged for parts and clues of his old future, her gaze followed him everywhere. Anywhere that the sandy fawn colored hair gave her a different feeling from the deathly shadows that stood here. Truth was, it was all fair. He earned it hard—he had literally thrown himself to death for her. Plus, the left over batteries he'd found in officer Lakes' locker also had a role in it too. It took Leon twenty minutes to crack the damn code. "These men had too much free time playing riddles and stuff... You know..." Despite the exhaustion, he still ran for the lock, hunting down each capital letter for her dead flashlight.

It was still raining outside. Thunderstorms were becoming the only thing they could hear. First was only the little pit-a-pat on thick glasses, now it had turned into crashing sequences, following one after another. Flashed thunderbolts blinded their eyes until they pretty much got used to the lightning everytime it roared.

She perched on a table by the window Leon had boarded up. Sleeves rolled up to elbows but did nothing than watch. The strange young woman wore her pristine white blouse—supposed to be neat, came with defined collar but buttoned carelessly starting only from the third, like she had already ripped her ties out to breathe. Two small thin suspenders over her shoulders, clipped to the black shorts. She had one leg tucked into her stomach while her hands tugging at her sock languidly, and the other leg was left dangling off the table. Blood stained still on her shoes, her socks, her ankles.

"I'm not crawling up there." She said, when they had found their way into the room. Her eyes full of demands. Leon had to climb on the shattered vent and broke down a three-door-worth of barricade so she could walk through the door without ripping her shirt.

Did he genuinely waste all his survival time for her? Yes. Would he do it again? Well, no problem. It was strange, but she had it in her to ask for more with just stares and silence on her side. She knew the method. People usually got uncomfortable with stark quietness. It's uneasy. It's awkward. And they would try to break that down with anything.

When she finally saw the batteries in his hands after ages, with his eyes glowing blue of hope staring at her, she then pointed at a black board in their corner, spoke in cutout sentences again. "Look," to where they would see. The visible passcode. Written in full. Thick chalk. "We have this here the whole time."

Leon stopped dead. He had digged up the whole place for that code to just simply be written on a board.

"Why didn't you just tell me!?" He scoffed. The cop looked at the chalk, then at her, out of exasperation.

"I could have been killed!"

"You haven't." Had only shrugged shoulders and a little smug smile perked in the corner of her mouth, she got her flashlight fixed and that was all she seemed to care about. "And I only found out minutes ago."

"Still, a thank you would be nice."

"For what?"

"For how I almost die!? For you?"

And just like that, unlike what a sensible person would do, she looked up at him and stared into his soul for a brief moment of gratitude. "Thanks, officer." Half daring, half shy. Having her cheeky smile on. Turned out, Leon had to be the one with warm cheeks and red ears instead. He could feel her eyes were stirring his insides up good. All pink hue slowly raising from the crook of his neck.

"It's alright—You're very welcome."

He raised his timid hand up to scratch that spot.

Leon had known nothing about her since they first met, but he would get to it soon. It wasn't a pace to be quick. Rain was pouring. Fire was blazing. He met her after the explosion, and nearly broke his nose due to it. He was glad her first impression wasn't him with a bloody face.

The ordeal turned out to be the same on her side. She also got into a car accident a few blocks away from the station. From what he had gathered, her driver was mauled by a group of zombies. The scene left her traumatized and she had told him pretty much nothing, since.

She held some large significance to a part of society, at least according to Lieutenant Branagh’s words; he mentioned something of 'An exceptional visitor to the city'. Leon remained perplexed about the extent of it. When she came up, somehow Branagh was surprised that she was still alive, but once he knew she was with Leon, he preferred that she be protected and kept safe through and through.

"Rookie, it's best to keep that girl alive and well. The Chief said she was some kind of a national treasure, and I don't want us to get the bad rep."

"Lieutenant, you are the only one left of our station. What can a bad rep do to us?" Literally.

She wasn’t anyone’s daughter and didn’t appear to be the last person capable of saving the city. So, why was she being taken care of so closely?

"Aren't you too? You're the only man left standing in here---Our 'national treasure', ain't ya—" Branagh laughed at his own joke, until he coughed out a big blood clot. "Just do your fucking job, rookie. It's all on you now."

By the time they had left Lieutenant Branagh alone in the main hall, he was only able to teach Leon about priorities and survival instincts, not about dealing with the consequences afterwards. So he warned when Leon turned away, back facing to him, that from now on, he is on his own.

Leon arrived at the West office but without the vision he had hoped to see.

Each desk had a name. Real people's names with real actual lives. They would gather here, talk briefly about cases and debate what should they eat for lunch. Anything but this. Lifeless. Rottenness.

"Here's my seat."

It was his voice on the other side, enough it could break. She walked towards him, while he unlocked the roll top desk. Both saw his name tag placing neatly on it. A bit dusty but tidy—a state where it definitely had been waiting, for the new owner. Then when they lifted their head up to the ceiling,

The decorations were there.

Welcome Leon. With stars.

Leon saw it. But he immediately lowered the flashlight to examine his desk, while he also dropped his collected temperament. He went on indifferently. Supposed to care, but he was trying not to be.

Leon’s main focus was on his new upgraded parts. Not the new files on his desk, nor the instruction manual of how he should operate his first patrol with the training officer... He reacted to nothing. His future. He didn't need it anymore.

Behind him, she could sense the disappointment from far away. She read his mind. Dampening in blue.

She watched him quietly pulling the wooden chair out from under his desk to sit down. It was beautiful, crafted from oak, intricate carvings along its edge; Somebody had prepared for him. He sat there for a moment. Staring long and cold at his trusted 'Matilda'— his gear of strength, and all the efforts he had worked for to be here. There was something happening in him that she began to feel the peculiar sombre air in the room.

"I've pretty much grown on you, right?" Suddenly he spoke.

He didn't need to turn around, knowing that she was investigating him every inches. He could feel the transfixed look and the slight furrowed brows from here. His comeback in response broke them down in a second, but she had already gotten all the glimpses of him. He let it slipped until it didn't anymore.

"I'm fine."

Leon brushed off, just shook his head, like he was shaking off all the thoughts he had before. Would he ever pass this? Yes, and no. He would, and he eventually wouldn't. Leon just gave her a forced smile, and casually told her to keep going.

Rains fell on the glass window. This time intact, and unbroken. Between ferroconcrete on a sky-high build.

He splashed water on his face. 2AM. Then almost 3. Hadn't been able to sleep. He saw her. Again. After almost ten years. The sink was cold under his palm. He glared at himself in the mirror.

Raccoon City had come again and dragged him by the throat. He couldn’t stop reliving the playback tape in his head. He remembered every oath he had sworn and never sworn to do. And, her. He wouldn't forget that face. That gaze. He remembered her.

Hunnigan hadn’t been reporting back at all. She couldn’t get on with any information about the blood-colored Jaguar. He found it absurd. How is it so difficult to find a particular 90’s sedan in the middle of day? His bedside kept glowing blue lights as he checked his phone in the dead of night.

He hadn't forgotten that night too.

Obviously, he had it on every time his eyes closed. He dreamt about it every day. Some days were just fleeting flashes that he couldn’t remember after waking up. On most days, he had nightmares, with cold sweat seeping through his pillow. And days when he couldn't sleep and spent the rest of the night thinking of how he would do things so differently.

A beat. After staring blank at the phone screen for quite some time, he turned, and got out of the bed. He went to washed his face off, and planned to adorn this sleepless night with a dingy coffee cup he would make in the kitchen. Just a sloppy instant pack he bought in boxes down the convenience store. His coffee always stayed clumpy no matter how hard he whisked.

The phone buzzed.

Found the Jaguar—Texted Roost.

He didn’t immediately reach for the phone when the notification appeared. Instead, he leaned on the counter to retrieve his wallet. Inside, a yellowed and worn piece of folded paper which he had kept all this time. Ten years were the times where it survived.

Leon flattened the paper out against the counter; paper corners had curved, and torn. He sipped on his bitter coffee and read it.

The ink was already fading,

but surely she didn't.

The restroom shrouded in darkness, but it appeared to be the only place even the zombies would bail due to the bad odor. It overruled any sense left inside a body.

Leon stood right before a toilet, the only one that remained and wasn't all burst up like the rest. He was thinking. In his hand, a thirty-three millilitres bottle of absolut vodka was being turned over and over.

"I'm gonna do it." He whispered to himself. "Fuck it, I'm going to-"

Didn't let the encouragement end, he twisted the cap open. Gritted his teeth. His mind would slip if he let the damn thought slide for three more seconds.

Twenty-One, he was supposed to ace this. He promised with his friends at the academy, or perhaps his frenemies, that he was gonna be a greater cop than any of them. In a fabricated, hopeful mind, it should have been more like a thrilling ride. Things would get gradually harder, and then easier. At least. Not all at once. Like this hellhole. He probably picked the wrong cards; this wasn't a Twenty-One. 
Leon poured his liquor down the toilet. Watching it drained to the very last drop, then throwing the bottle in too. Waiting for it to vanish. Fuck it. He flushed it down. Fuck it. He said, once again. The sound echoed off tile. Water churned, pulled the glass down, and took the last of his recklessness with it. Now, he is a good cop. Now, he's going to be a real one.

"I can do this!"

Finally, he breathed. For the first time in the last few intense hours, his hands stopped shaking. He let the cold ceramic bit into his skin. Cracked mirrors splattered across the floor. He saw reflections of himself. He might had it again soon, but for now, things are doing just fine. He had sweat, he had bruises. Cuts on his arms, and cheekbone bled. His heart was giving out. But for this one very first day, he was finally a cop, not a kid playing one.

The flush finished with a gurgle. Somewhere deep in the pipes, something had shifted. And so, he exhaled.

At the end, Leon snapped his head up just as a creak howled outside. Not from his stall. And slow footsteps. He opened the door to see her standing right there, waiting for him to get out. Hands twisted behind her back like she was tied by her own silence. Her one shoe dragged a slow line in the grime on the floor. Idling. Counting dust.

He knew he did the right thing getting rid of the liquid courage. A clear headed man should be present in time like these.

Leon instructed her. His voice came out steadier than he could realize. "Women's room is on the other side."

"I heard sounds. I don't want to be anywhere else." She meant the things outside. "Actually, I'd just rather---be here, with you."

Leon felt a stupid, small spark of pride at that. Trust. At least he could be somewhat trustworthy. Maybe he still had something left to give. Maybe he still had something in him to pull this through. If not for him, then for her.

"Do you mind?"

"Mind what?"

"That I'm around?"

"--Ah, no. Not at all."

"You sure?"

"It's alright." Leon nodded.

Water and sewage growled inside the wall. Air thick enough to taste, metallic and rotten. At the stall he had walked out from, a hairline crack raced up the porcelain. Caused by a strange object it had to swallow previously. Like a chain reaction—one burst and others would follow.

Glancing at the object to his guilt, Leon explained the situation that no one asked of, "Well, apparently this one can't be used."
She peered at him.

"It's nothing." He explained again.

What did you actually do in there then? She continued to give him the weary eyes. He could read it in her face. What did you do?

"Hey," He quickly retaliated, "That ain't me! I'm serious!"

"I'm not saying anything." She replied in lowercase. Had already made up her mind. "I only fear that sound might attract things."

They could feel the tiles vibrating under their feet violently. Another toilet down the row burst with a wet cough of sewage. The smell rolled out like toxic. They got to get out of here.

"So, you ready to tell me your name yet?"

Leon said, as he was walking ahead, leading their way. The air was clearer outside, but not so much, in terms of safety. She didn't answer, but he stopped her anyway. Fully facing her. "Well, you don't want me to mix you up with Carl right there, do you?"

He jerked his chin at the dead man laying flat in the corner, with the hollow eyes. Half of his head opened. Brain missed a spot.

She frowned. A beat. "He's not Carl."

"He looks like a Carl."

"You made his name up."

"I will make your name up too if it's suit me." Leon chuckled out loud for them both. Unceremoniously. Too loud for the quiet. He turned to continue walking beside her, their shoulders brushed after she managed to escape his hostage with a barrage of questions. "Beside, you know my name already. It's not fair."

"No." She immediately refused out of spite.

"You saw my name tag. On the desk. Remember? And I told you—

"I don't remember anything."

"Oh come on man. You remember everything. You're smart."

"I don't remember everything. That's absurd."

"You do!"

"Pardon me?"

Leon stopped walking. Pulled a crumpled, week-old Raccoon's Daily from his jacket. The paper was damp, edges chewed by devastation. He smoothed it against his thigh. Slow but deliberate. Like a change he luckily picked off on the sidewalk on a rainy day, or his most unlucky day going to work—either way worked.

The moonlight through the broken window was thin, grey, useless. But enough to catch the headline. He held the paper up between them. Close. Too close. Forcing her to look.

"Obviously, you do." Taking a little bit of time to flatten it out as the piece was bunched up into a wrinkled ball, he said. "A prodigy even. Learned by heart the whole sonnet at just three years old. Damn!"

She got her astounded, froze on her ground, staring blank at the article in front of her. Not like she hadn't seen it for a millionth time, but because he’d dug this exact page out of a desk drawer in a building that was bleeding, and filling up with monsters at every corners. That took a massive effort.

"Miss Beaufair, handsome, clever, and extremely gifted, possessed an extraordinary brilliance and an exquisite memory that defied explanation. Her artistry bordered on the divine, seemingly uniting the finest blessings of musical talent--" He held the newspaper to his nose, reading it thoroughly in the mere moonlight. "At the age of three, she had already mastered a Mozart's ten-page-long sonnet on the piano—It literally says here you are a prodigy! You're on a business trip, performing for the mayor and his sponsors--"

"It's a sonata."

"A what?"

"It's not a sonnet. A sonata. Sonata is a music composition written for a solo musical instrument, or a duo. Sonnet is a fourteen-line poem. They're strictly different. And it was the sonata everyone knows at birth. Not like my memory is any special, but—"

She stopped abruptly because Leon was looking at her in a strange way. He was in awe. Past the grime, past the “don’t talk to me” wall. This was the time she had talked the most ever since. He stared at her and roared,

"Damn!"

"Stop! They will hear--" The sound bounced down the corridor. Her eyes darted to the dark end of the hall.

"I'm not gonna stop. You need to stop keeping it down!"

"You'll kill us--Shh!"

"You are basically a celebrity!"

"No I'm not. You're such a nonsense, Kennedy."

"Well I for sure won't be shutting up about this. Miss Beau. Yes, I'm going to call you Beau. You see, you know my name, I know your name. That's fair."

"You don't know my name," she scoffed, like she was losing a bet to him, like a damned magician got stripped from his tricks. "And I don't know what your S stands for."

"I'll take my wild card." He said it like it was his greatest riddle he could think of, and tucked the paper back inside his jacket, now folded neatly. And he grinned, "I bet you'll figure it out too, Beau."

She squinted at the namedrop, but said no more as she let him had his win for this one. Fine. She's Beau.

The two kept walking. Silence again. But different now.

The line and space between them had not changed drastically, but it was no longer the brittle, armed quiet of two strangers who had to look back at each other with doubts. It was something closer and heavier. Names have weight to them. It was the responsibilities and intangible commitments, now that they knew each other.

Maybe she could get used to this.

Maybe it wasn't that bad after all...

Her hands flexed on both sides of her thighs as she was walking. Then she clenched, then unclenched. She could feel the trembles, visibly and cold. It wasn’t at all the kind of quivering caused by adrenaline every time she stepped out of the darkness and the curtain rose; her fingers then finally met the piano keys and went out strong. Powerful. Precise. No. It wasn't like that. These trembles were weak, making her feel utterly incompetent. All the things that she hated, and not wished on her worst enemies.

Eventually, she knew she had to start giving up after the long stretch of this—running away from her truth. Oxygen would be drawn out of both lungs. There wasn't any certainty that this would last as long as it could. And the feeling was eating her alive. She hated this. I hate this! She wanted to shout it out loud for the world to hear, but it would only put her in a worse situation due to the fact that: One, she was all alone in this chase; Two, if the world meant a hoard of living dead people, then yes, they could hear; And three, maybe she still wanted to live.

Didn't she?

The hallway was dark and unpredictable, in every corners she turned, to every doors she passed. There was a big possibility that she would run into her end, literally her dead end. But, to stop or to turn around would only ensured that possibility even more.

The long hallway just had to end anytime soon.

It did not hold for long.

"Beau?" He would call her after awhile, to check. When it was too quiet to bear.

Leon’s boots glided on the grimy floor as it stopped abruptly with a loud crack. Like he had stepped on a bone. They had reached to the end of the corridor. The window-hinge before their eyes shook violently against the heavy vortex outside. Then, another sharp and ugly crackle began. Near their ears. The sound was wrong in the stillness. It sounded much like a bone snapping in half.

—Kenne—Kennedy—

A voice came through, or the ruin of one. It cut through her series of thoughts in a muffled crack. Felt like a distant away. And in fragments, like the glass that had been broken. But both her and Leon were able to catch on the name. His name.

"Lieutenant? Do you copy?"

Leon stopped mid-step. His eyes wide at her, in said 'This isn't going well at all'. Didn't need to put more words out. It was already understood. His blues petrified.

His hand went to the radio at his vest. Thumb on the button by memory.

"Lieutenant, is that you?"

There was no answer. Only static, rising and falling like bad omen. They did not need to be told no more. Their eyes had already flung to the West wing, to the dark mouth of the corridor that led to the main hall. Leon was already turning, his boots silent on the debris. Rushing his way.

"Is he okay?"

"Last time I checked, he was still alive."

"You went back to see him three times in a row—"

"It's not that bad. I'll get him... I'll get us out of here soon."

The assurance was there even without any firm believer. But the smirk was gone. The banter was gone.

Dim lights of the main hall were painted in a sullen dark ochre hue. Thick in dust. Marbles shattered and pale. The goddess of Justice stood tall and mighty on the rotunda. Her arm held high. Eyes blindfolded with a sharp edge crack. Despite of her physical state, she still spoke for promises and integrity, as she was witnessing.

Lieutenant Branagh slowly lifted his head up to see her for what might be the one last time. His eyes bloodshot, and mouth red. His skin had taken on a gray cast, and beneath it, the veins unveiling, looking like it was eaten inside out. He looked unalive.

"Lieutenant Branagh!" Leon called him, reverberating in corners. "Marvin—"

A big snarl came out of Branagh as Leon put a hand on his shoulder. The rookie shuddered back immediately, not out of fear, but for her grabbing his arm and pulling him back too fast by quick instict. The grip was strong, and Branagh's condition was worse than anyone had predicted. The wounded officer's eyes wide open, as if he just came out of a daze, waking himself up from the illusion with gazillions of blinks and headshakes. He saw the rookie's worried face came into view. And for a moment, he realized he was still here. Human in spirit. But beaten down in flesh.

"Leon." He rasped. His throat worked its best. "It's you—"

"Marvin, you alright?"

"Of course--" Branagh could say it again and again that he was fine, but the coughs and the pains that visibly tormenting him inside out had exposed him. Leon with his bare eyes wouldn't be tricked. "Ah—who am I to cover this---big ass lie, huh?"

"I can get you to the nearest hospital now, sir. Hopefully the doctors can h—"

"Yeah, hopefully." Branagh cackled weakly. "Using big words in these trying time--You're being overly positive, rookie."

As he held himself up, Leon peered beneath his skin, which was graying and bruising, something monstrous ran along his veins like a bio-virus of unimaginable magnitude.

Leon quickly reacted when the officer decided to move, but the man had stopped him. I can walk. Branagh refused his help. He was miserable enough like this, limping and trying to keep his contents inside the flimsy stomach of a wound.

But more so, it was mostly due to moments ago, he was not being able to hold it back. He saw how the girl look at him. He was out of his mind. Couldn't help it. He was going to attack Leon.

His blood tracing on the pedestal to the marble floor, and to the bench in front of the statue, Branagh dropped his incompetent body down with a grunt.

"Sir, what are you doing—?!"

"I'm walking---to my resting site."

He panted. His face fell flat with no tears or blood boiling—unlike Beau, he was exactly a ghost in an empty shell. Maybe he had been a seasoned veteran, maybe he had suffered enough to feign an expression, but it was all obvious; he'd been giving up to the pain. His young colleague was looking at the gauze in the stomach he wrapped himself up. Blood bloomed through the thick garment as fast as spilled ink. Even it seeped onto his hands like barb wires.

His wound was deep red. Drenched and wet. Branagh bit on his last awake nerve to ask a question that seemed important to him the most at this time.

"I just wanted to know... On the way to here, by any chance have you met a little girl--who looked a lot like me?"

Both of them took a glance at each other, not understanding the meaning of this question.

"She was wearing the red mary-janes?"

Leon didn't get a real grasp of these question. Clueless he was.

"No."

It was a big pause until she spoke out of the blue from behind Leon's shoulders. She denied, conclusively. "I didn't see her."

"Huh--" Branagh chuckled. Said it with a contorted face full of pain and wearies, "You didn't."

He would receive nothing else back from her but a look. All blank on her face. No further more assurance. If anything happened, she hid it well.

"She likes you, miss Beaufair--" Branagh continued, "I couldn't keep her still for five seconds, and you got her sitting down at the keyboard for days—almost forgot dinner."

Seconds in, she slowly recognised a father who was reminiscing memories about his child, with their last happy remnants. Though so, even if the sentiments washed in in waves, or even in floods, she didn't want to giving out more of those empty words. So it wouldn't be too plain... Or obvious, that she was lying.

But she thought he knew.

Leon saw it in the Lieutenant's face—he is now surredering to the searing pain. He couldn't look at Marvin Branagh directly.

He would know better. A young cop in Raccoon city, the place that lived on front pages for all the wrong reason, would know better. He could be anything else than naïveté. But somehow, he still was, or he just chose to be.

"It's okay. I'll get you out. I'll find a car and bring you to the hospital. I'm not leaving you like this, Lieutenant."

"Bullshit, Leon." Branagh groaned after his head finally jerked up from a swirling sensation which took over him hard. "Look at me! I'm no more than a fucking baggage. I'll just slow you down."

And Branagh who had seen enough of this for the last one week of horror, wouldn't let it go any further.

Do not make one mistake twice. He definitely wouldn't.

"If you're as smart as I think—Rookie, you know it's not possible."

Could he think of something else this time, knowing he would fail all the way? No. Leon glanced up. Not a single sense on his solemn eyes. He looked into Branagh's, but even then he couldn’t find the next step he needed. It was not going to save him.

Branagh continued to gasp for the very last bit of oxygen, "This thing can't be spread—" Amidst uncontrollable tremors, he lifted one hand in the effort of making it two, trying to reach his sidearm on the belt. The fingers were all refusing to cooperate. His gun slipped and fell onto the marble, making a sound that was too loud and harsh for anyone to hear. "I've seen these things for days. And I don't want you to make any mistake that costs your life like me. You see those things even in uniform or not, you need to stop them immediately."

"Lieutenant, I—"

"I believe you will be able to do that. I have no doubts." His hand moved in a shallow motion. Shaking senselessly. He was able to pick up his sidearm and holding it out as for witnessing. Not to himself. To the goddess of Justice. To Leon.

"Starting here."

The barrel faced himself. Trigger to the young cop. His expression said it was final.

"You have my permission, Leon."

The sound was horrid.

And the scene—

She wouldn't dare to describe it, even with just one word.

Branagh's body fell down in front of the statue, the same place he had sworn and prayed for his sole loyalty. He laid there as if a final farewell salute. Hot liquid bled out across the dust-cobbled marble floor. It got on the trigger. On the badge of his armor. And the turning white knuckles that still gripped tight to his gun, in Leon's hands... Everywhere.

Smoke billowed from the pistol, and the rookie was gasping for air at the sight of his dead captain. But his hand was steady. With only a slight betrayal of his pulse, once or twice, he saw what it had been said, what he needed to do, and what had been done.

The gun slid down from his palm and met with the cold hard ground. Veins stood out tense in his forearms, pulling tight like they may snap.

Had he dropped it out of fear, or because of something in the air had shifted?

A dark, sharp hitch in the room.

After the deafening explosion of that Glock 17 next to her, she had lost all senses of her hearing. The sound berating in her eardrums made head spin, so much that she couldn't give out when and where she was at the moment. And she even stopped knowing how to breathe. Her lungs were stones, and her chest was a vise. Air couldn't come in.

"Beau..."

Her eyes wide open, but all she saw was the blurry silhouette of blue. Just blue.

Leon called for her, but she was too much out of her mind.

"Stay with me. Okay? I'm sorry. Just... please don't run," he quietly said. Empty hands up in the air. "It's okay. It's safe. I really don't know what will happen next. But we're okay. And that is what matters the most."

No.

He saw her face changing color, red flush turned gray.

No. No.

"Don't run!"

In a matter of seconds, her heels turned 180. She ran. Back to the corridor. Back to the dark. To anywhere but here. She panicked to face the truth she had to bear. Branagh was dead, and his daughter too, was dead.

"Beau!"

His car hurried down the streets of city central. Black as onyx. Leon drove like he would never be abandoned in a chase again. Between his fingers on the steering wheel, the bullet cartridge glimmered under city lights, turning purple, blue, and red, then golden. He didn't need to look, he knew its shape and size like the back of his hand.

No doubt, it was once his. 'The Matilda'.

Matilda, his first piece of gear that he had always kept tucked away in his jacket’s back pocket. He recalled sliding it under the door slit to her. In a panic, she locked herself in the storage room at RPD. Despite Leon’s pleas and persistent knocking, she refused to open the door. He feared that her trust in him had been shattered. Driven by the heat of its moment, he decided to give her the weapon that he had entrusted to her. After all this time, she had kept “The Matilda.”

“Looking for someone, sir?”

4:13AM— More than an hour later...

“Ah! Glad to see you alive and well, Luther."

Leon arrived at the dive bar downtown, where the red neon lights contaminated the whole street corner. Brownstone wall and single green wooden door, with an ancient copper peep hole. A small chill cast over. He wasted no time. On the other side of the street, the maroon Jaguar parked there and Luther was sitting on its hood, holding a crossword magazine while he chatted with couple of taxi drivers. The chauffeur’s eyes crinkled as he spotted Leon approaching.

“You know ‘Ghost of the Mountains’?” Luther tapped the crossword column with the eraser end of a pencil. He turned to his friends who were about to leave for their shift. “Anyone?”

"Isn't that wild cat on the ice mountains in Nepal?" His other buddy chimed in before leaving him to deal with a man dressed in fierce leather and a firm attitude.

Silence befell. As Luther scribbled in his thirteenth word. Leon let him finished. Red neon turned to orange. Then a truck roared by behind them. Its horn blaring.

"Where's she?" Asked Leon.

"Ah, everything got a good price tag to it." The chauffeur said with a grin. Still continued to solve riddles in his magazine. "Not anyone can see the snow leopards, you know. Even when you come all the way to their resting site, they'll probably not let you see them that easy."

"So you've been to the Himalayas before?" Leon seemed to realize what he said had a double meaning. He came closer to the Jaguar, where Luther was sitting. "Guess I can ask the local's way of how to catch the rare species then?"

"It depends, sir. You willing to pay?" The chauffeur tapping lightly on his car horn like a threat. One single alert and the 'leopard' would flee.

"At what price now?"

"Whatever you feel like."

Leon pulled his wallet out and a fifty folded from his fingers. He glanced at the guy's face.

"No."

" 'scuse me?"

"I believe you're much better than that, special agent."

Leon grumbled under his throat but still slid a hundred in the chauffeur's vest pocket. His eyes out cold, opposite with Luther's eagerness. Eventually, that was his main job. A hundred dollar in his pocket, a friendly tap on the chest. Leon then grinned. Leather gloves. Sharp pale blues.

"We should try grab a drink some time, Luther."

He crossed the street and headed back to the green, rusted door. Red lights bled into view.

Lights darted in through the windows' slits, painting sharp edges into the dark navy shadow of the station. The helicopter’s engine erupted outside. Leon leaning close to the dead officer to hear the crackled sound of the radio better, showed his whole commitment to the job. However, it was also extremely risky given the status quo, where the deceased do not remain deceased.

"East Wing. You coming?"

She looked at him, got interrupted from the stream of thoughts, and responsed as if the location was conveniently on her way to somewhere, "Sure." Short and informative it was. She got nothing else to say.

Great! Leon thought to himself. So much to get it out from her mouth, but he was glad he caught it, or even a faint reaction from her. Since they met, it had been nothing but silence on her end.

He watched her, as she held her head up to see the wall,

Blood painted on it like a brutally twisted Jackson Pollock's painting.

In the West Wing of Raccoon Police Station, Leon—the newly dressed cop just breaking in his first uniform, was roaming in the dark tunnel of a never-ending hallway. Dust already collected on trenches, and forts were built out of broken down furnitures. Trace of dirt was dragged from room to room. If they hadn't avoided the mention of blood, one would have imagined some wild animals massacred the people here. Wind howled through boarded windows, a series of doleful symphonies in the dark. While Leon carefully watched every step they made, checking all the boxes for the "Initiate Evacuation Plan" he had long learned back at the academy, she strolled through the alleyway as though taking a casual walk filled with unpredictable causes, seemingly trying her best to be unaware of the dire situation they were in.

They didn't talk, and she didn't tell him her name at all.

Her eyes wandered through the hall until her flashlight suddenly flickered. As they were making their way to the West office, it shut down entirely. Dead. She tried to smack it back to life with the palm of her hands, but no use.

In the light of the situation, Leon was only ahead of her for a few stride. His flashlight still went on like a champ.

"Hell of a first day..." Leon murmured. "I didn't know this could be one of many ways it could turn out."

On a September night in 1998, they both arrived at the Raccoon Police Department, with all the hopes and doubts in the world.

"You might want to stick close to me," Leon said. Lights are all out, but his.

Sullen and eerie, her eyes peering up at him from an all-turbulent psyche,

She followed.

"You got the number?"

Luther scribbled into his palm while sitting at the steering wheel. Looking at the scratch wound, he seemed to be less opinionated and moanful. Nodding obediently. "Yes, I got it." His life was on the line.

In the backseat of a blood-soaked Jaguar, she locked herself in. As Luther shifted nervously in his seat, trying hard to not seem too guilty of the stench in the back trunk, he was eyeing his boss through the rearview mirror for any new reactions. Fortunately, she didn't bother to mention anything about the scent. Her eyes never left the screen to make sure she didn't miss out on any important information. "Call the number, and wait for confirmation from the agency, DSO, Division of Security Operations, and then ask for Roost. Remember to create your own story. And make sure don't mention me in the process."

"DSO?!" Luther uttered. "But—Didn't you say you don't wanna meet 'em?"

"It's between me and my own problem." Her voice carried an unspoken prejudice, though it was never articulated in actual sentences—only in lowercase attitudes. "And I'm not the one who has to call. You are."

"I think I have a problem too after their employee tried to pull my eyeballs out."

She stayed silent. The did you hit your head too hard? or was I not clear enough before? kind of silence. As usual, it wasn't spoken directly to him. Instead, she went on to make a casual remark, "The smell is horrid. Is that you, Luther?" No rush in the tone.

Once he poked the bear, there was no sensibility left. It was enough that she had to endure what was merely her business, if he needed a reminder about the insurance he had overlooked in his contract.

"They will eventually come your way someday. Your DNA is all over that place."

"Oh god," Luther exhaled, "What should I do?"

"You strike first." She later continued shortly, “The DSO is responsible for handling bioterrorism investigations in the States. You’ve just met with one of the bio-weapon, and luckily, it came straight out from their lab. They’re likely to be quite hospitable in handling most of the situations that involves their name."

"Are you sure it won't cost me a fortune like walking into the ER? Because I—I cannot afford that, I don't have that kind of money."

"This is all I'm gonna give you."

"Can you at least tell me who is Roost? Who am I dealing with?!"

She was telling him to perjure and ask the Government for a mercy dose. He needed more clue.

"That's all. You can bother Roost with your concern." She said, and when he looked at the rearview again, he knew she was serious that this was not her own business only, but him too. And this was it. "Best to save your question for the DSO, they have a lot to tell."

She gave him the final answer and shortly after, told him to keep driving. The rest was his job. As a creature of habits, she made sure the Koss headphones were over her ears while the phone slipped down from her lap to the leather of her near seat. Constant buzzing. Outside, sirens were racketing—a black SUV drove by, followed by a swarm of police cars, causing chaos on the street as she crossed her arms and lay her back down to rest in her own space.

Eyes closed. But all was planned.

As far back as I remember,

I always wanted to be a gangster.

This sure reminded him of that line he had seen a thousand time. Scorsese is a genius. Riding up the hill, with a half-dug grave, burying a body. Who would be able to think of something else?

He unbuckled his seatbelt while checking on the watch,

6:07AM, November 3rd 2008.

"Roost, coming in. Condor One is at the crime scene. Three dead bodies were reported. Suspects are Doctor Tom Stone, patient 03 and the kidnapper. Do I have clearance?"

"Yes. We are in charge now. All eyes and ears are yours, Leon."

He sniggered at her voice, "So, what are the codenames for?"

"So I know it's you."

"Ditto."

The DSO agent—here to investigate, recorded each of his deductions in close detail to the coordinator. Losing his SUV car down the main road, Leon had followed the tires' track by foot up along the hill, passing a broken-down fence with a useless “do not enter” sign. They must've wanted it bad—some big and grand sightseeing event today, he quipped while enjoying the view himself. Maybe it was a bucket list wish? Who was he to judge? The sun finally rode to the top of the mount, way above the trees. Red soil under his boots.

"Alright Miss Hunnigan, mind update me the details prior?" He fixed his earpiece that almost let loose, listened carefully.

"Patient 03," keyboard rambling on the other side of the line, as Hunnigan quoted, "the third patient to arrive at DSO’s healthcare facility with the same symptoms as the previous two, including coughing, black veins, and bruises all over their body. Recently, he exhibited more vital signs such as vomiting blood and intense stomach pain. At the time, Doctor Stone was in charge of him. Security footage shows Stone leaving the patient’s room and entering the main office before his reported disappearance. Twelve minutes later, a man—suspected to be the patient’s relative—followed into the room, there were complains of noise. Intelligence reports indicated that there were arguments, some glass breaking, and gunshots followed—"

"And now we are here."

"Now we are here." She confirmed.

At the same time, he set his foot on the crime scene, looking like a miniature atomic bomb just blew up. Vermilion stained part of the field. Local police officers encircled them like wolves waiting for orders after Leon presented them the DSO warrant. They started putting up barriers around the place as yellow bands wrapped around the quietness. He chewed the scene, eyes like eagle's gliding across, then said casually, "Another day, another dollar."

"Read me through, alright Leon?"

"Yes ma'am."

Three bodies lay—one with no head and two other with disfigured faces. Some officers never witnessed such gruesome scene before so there were quite some chatters. Sure they might had experienced gun-down men, but not this much. Considered them lucky, he thought; no one had to come across this all by themselves.

"Stop!" Leon raised a hand, all the officers froze in place.

Down the gravel and stones, a smooth swipe of plasma under him. Still fresh in red and glistening wet. He looked at it intently. The random marks under his stance.

"Car." He said. "The car, where is it? I've been following its trace down the hill."

"There wasn't no car here, sir."

He shook his head. Unimpressed. "I believe there was a car."

"There was... down the road, but not here. Three of them must've left their car and walked by foot up here."

"I doubt it."

"Sir? Was there any other explanation?"

"You're having one by your foot right now, officer."

He quickly looked down under him, a mark, was left by someone. And a bullet.

"Mind your step at the crime scene, please." Leon demanded. "There must be at least one more witness who drove the car here and left."

This was an only explanation for the tires' tracks that were camouflaged, with real intentions. There must had been a car up here.

"Leon. Cover up." Hunnigan made haste in his earpiece. "Don't waste your time."

"You think there was a car?"

Things were stacked against Leon. As he received instructions in his earpiece, he also had to respond to the police officer who held a notebook and his eagerness in hand, “I suppose so.”

"How do you know?"

"The tracks, you see? It's a very specific set of tires."

"Ah yes. I'll quickly get people look into those." The officer wrote in his note. "I've also noticed some strange details in the bodies. They all had really different kinds of wound."

"—different kinds of wound?"

"I mean... There are ones from the gunshots and... Ones, kind of like big bites..." He said as Leon slowly pulled him to a side. "They look severe— I mean, there wasn't any animal reported around here."

Nodding head as all the information were taking in, not like he didn't know them all already, Leon asked him a rhetorical question, "They look obvious, don't they officer?"

"But... Sorry, sir. I don't get it."

"What do you think?" Leon casually took the notebook away from the officer’s hands and pen, and he tucked it into the back pocket of his jacket. The officer’s hands remained in the air, catching off guard but at the end, he understood his place. With Leon's permission, he then proceeded to continue his deduction.

"It looks like the DSO doctor, your doctor—he's killed by the first three shots in the chest, then two in his head much later on. They're gruesome, the ones to his head——Those bullets must be some monstrous kind."

"Two-shot in the head huh?" It was probably by someone who knows this well enough. He thought. "Did you find both of the bullets?"

"Only this one so far." The officer handed him the pack that stored one of the evidence to that head blowing off.

"Good."

"Sir, what should we tell the press then?" The officer with the badge held on his left chest, the badge of honor right over their heart. He wasn't dumb, or blind. He just knew his spot—not to dive in someone else's business. "What do you need us to do now?"

Leon looked at the scene in front of him, where all the evidence still lay, and the truth were waiting to be revealed. Him now, has the ability to show them the authentic side of a story, unlike before. He actually knew what had happened, and he actually had an answer.

"Make sure nobody else than us know about this, will you?" Leon tapped on his pocket, where he hid the officer's notes.

Three bodies. One truth. His badge felt heavier than ever.

Where did he put all his oath then?

Leon asked stuff, but she didn't answer. She kept herself busy with all the drawers and she needed battery for her flashlight. He just stood right there, in his blue RPD uniform, observed her actions, her movements. In the corner of her eyes, she could see him waiting for her response.

"I didn't catch your name."

Didn't roll her eyes at the implied question, but she wouldn't act on it with even a flinch.

"I'm Leon, Leon Kennedy. And you are?"

No, she wasn't about to give him a name.

"Where are you from? You're not from here right? How did you get here? What brought you?"

She replied with a sigh. Like a broken doll that was tired of being played. Minutes of silence passed by, Leon accepted the brief answer for both needing to head out of the room quick and get going. Things were dark as hell. There were smells of death. It made any existence here felt nauseous.

It was all ambiguous, her believing a rookie cop like Leon could save them from this predicament, while all his supposed senior colleagues were dead, or should she say, becoming the living dead.

"If you tell me. I think I can help you find your family--"

He was hit with another stark silence again, as the drawer closed shut harder than the last.

Leon then joined in with her despite everything—sweeping closets, lockers, doors. Grabbing some pins and batteries, anything useful in sight... First aid kits. Then rustic keys. And maybe, a slight chance of trust.

9:17AM, at the DSO Headquarters parking lot.

Leon's leather boots hit the concrete with a dull thud. He got a call back to the office by Hunnigan. "Urgent." She said, leaving him with nothing but stale information. Where were all the heads-up he was supposed to have?

He took a sharp turn to the rear of his car, in such a hurry he almost missed the sight of it—a maroon sedan parked solemnly under a streetlight. Someone was leaning against its idling hood; their coat collar was turned up just enough to ward off the chill. Leon noticed this because he could immediately read the prominent headline, which splashed across the newspaper they were holding up in front of their face—A devil in disguise? World’s doom, accompanying by a picture of another government’s scientist who failed to keep their mouth shut.

He was tired of dodging all the questions he had to answer. So, a quick way out was his priority. Will it be the end of the world? What kind of response can you give to that?

"It will be all on you, agent Kennedy."

Ingrid Hunnigan, who had just returned from her coffee break, held the cup close to her lips and took a sip. The cup was large and overflowing, as if she had spent the past three days at the screens. Still, she had her eyes gazing at him from the other side of the room. Sharp. The office was dark but Leon could still see everything through. Files and sticky notes. Overviews and details. Every damn thing.

She walked to her desk and took the earpiece off, then in a swift move, typed out something that the giant computer display before them immediately splayed out spreadsheets of this man's curriculum vitae.

"His name is Luther Macallan. A freelancer. Occasionally doing odd jobs here and there. Background check runs showed no interesting sign at all."

"Do we want him to be interesting?"

"Hardly."

"Alright. What is it about him then?"

"He called. Saying he has something in exchange. He will be needing a dose of vaccine with only the payment of a chip."

"I don't think the faculty is that generous. We're on the tight end—"

"He used Roost."

"What?"

"He called me, directly to my personal line, and asked for Roost."

Leon froze.

"Only you got that information from me, Leon."

"I would probably know that."

"Did you leak it somewhere?"

"No."

"Or losing a drinking bet to some douchebag from the HR division?"

"Never happened."

"Well then... He just got more interesting, didn't he?"

Of course. Leon's jaw clenced. Was his phone compromised? He certainly didn’t share that piece of information with anyone he knew, not that his social circle extended beyond the office.

"And he's here, waiting for you." Hunnigan fixed her gaze on the interrogation room.

It was a stark difference from the office. Four bright walls here. Fluorescent lights bounced off cool steel surfaces, reflecting on the one-way glass. The room was as white as it could be. They hit on his eyes. Leon shut the door behind and saw the full look of Luther— aka Mr. Macallan, sitting at the metal table with his tall figure and slump eyebrows. The man sat down and lowered his body to appear less threatening. Hands clasped visibly on the cool surface.

Leon didn't join in yet. He leaned against the chair, hands on the backrest until it creaked.

"Mr. Macallan, heard you have something to give me?"

"Luther's fine. And—yeah, I do."

"You know where you are right now?"

"I'm—"

"Don't take this the wrong way. Most of the guys we bring in here don't realize the consequence of this room."

I've gotten more than experiences. Luther thought to himself. "I'm in your interrogation room. And I'm very well aware of the place I've brought myself in." He decided to be straight-forward. "And for the record, I'm not handcuffed."

Leon gazed at the man like a potential criminal. As a matter of fact, he was not here as a criminal. And Luther wouldn't be taking it personal. He knew the look was meant for the job. After all, he was the kind of guy who took any gigs if it was paid in cash.

Leon finally pulled out his chair to sit down. A tape-recorder along with a stack of files on the table.

"How do you know about Roost?"

"Is it... Actually a codename?"

"Don't play dumb."

"I really didn't know! I just happened to hear about it."

"Who did you get it from?"

"A little bird told me."

Leon stared at him, blank. He cocked his head at the device before him. "If you want to mess around, you can kiss goodbye to that vaccine dose—"

"Alright, alright. A woman told me to write it down along with the phone number. She told me only DSO would solve my case. And, you probably need our intel too."

"Was she your familiar?"

"No. She came up out of nowhere. Terrified me. A fucking menace."

"Describe her then."

"Wouldn't say I saw her face, but the woman wore a red dress."

Leon subconsciously hovered his hand above the recorder’s red button, but he managed to stop himself, slightly shifted in the edge of his seat. On the other side of the table, Luther felt a surge of satisfaction, and relief. She was absolutely right about mentioning the red dress.

"I have a card she left—"

"That won't be necessary." Leon dismissed it, asap. “Let's get to the point. Do the talk."

"Ah." Luther then replied, "A trade. I want a trade. A fair trade. I need you to give me a dose of that new vaccine. What's it called? The Anti T-Virus?"

“In exchange for?”

"Evidence. Everything you want to know, is in here." He took out of his pocket a small USB drive, and put it on the table. And he looked at Leon, glancing down to the small singular object on the table.

"How are we so sure of that? This might just be anything."

"I'm a father. My son needs me. You can have my word. I'm also the last witness of the massacre on the hill today. I saw everything, and so did my dashcam."

Leon paused. Wasn't he the actual suspect he was looking for?

The man before him continued, "I have the proof of something that's going to be very complicated if it got out."

"So you're blackmailing us. Brave move."

"Of course not. I just want to make a deal that works for both of us." Luther poised, he tried to reason his way. "Look, my dashcam had the whole show. It was one of your employees who did this I believe. And he was the reason I'm here. I know you guys are not gonna want this to be in the reporters' hand, or anyone else's with everything that is happening on the News right now. This isn't a good look for our Government, is it?"

"You made a solid point, I would give you that Luther. But we have protocols. We need to bring you in for the record."

"Then you get nothing." The drive was immediately ripped off the table by Luther's hand. "This will be out for the world to see. I don't want you all to mess in with my life. I have a kid at home."

"And what happen if we still said no?"

"I sell it to the one giving out the best price."

Leon sat for a second to consider all the pros and cons. Protocols were all in the book and each had to be considered.

"I'm trying every possible way here."

He does seem like he tries. Leon took his observation this far. At last, he spoke into the earpiece, didn't blink twice. "Roost. Get him the dose."

"Thank you." Luther murmured. Breathed out in relief. "I very much appreciate—"

Leon clicked his tongue, finger tapped lightly on the recording machine in a rhythm. It was the end in a click. Turning the machine off, he decided to let this slide. For now.

There was a small pause between, but Hunnigan finally replied in a dry tone,

"Agent Kennedy, you bet your badge on that?"

"Well, don't want to leave his boy alone."

It was quick. How they came to the conclusion.

Hunnigan was worried that the man would lawyer up soon after couple rounds of the questions. In the end, they were both smart enough—or maybe just one of them. They wouldn't know until the USB drive was in their hands.

"You gave in too easy."

"Didn't I?"

"You'll lose your license if the authorities know about this."

"Stating the obvious. Classic Roost."

They stood behind a cold glass, watching their main suspect rolling his sleeve up for the prize he'd gotten. The DSO medic was preparing a syringe for the vaccine dose, most of which were only used for agents on the field.

"We just waste our vaccine on a mortal."

She had been complaining about Leon being a wild card with her colleagues—His decisions sometimes didn’t lie within the established protocols but rather his own morals. After all, to make ends meet, he did understand her strict demands, and she tolerated him through all the hardships of his choice.

"You really believe his words?"

"No. But I trust a father who would do anything for his child." Leon not leaving an eye out of him.

The USB drive was delivered to them in a hard case, sliding across the door's peek, while their man was already on his way out.

As Luther had said before, everything was in it. How the patient 03 and his other friend were brutally killed, and the look of Doctor Stone visibly wearing their agency white coat, paced down the hill in deathly manners. Eyes hollowed. Mouth full with black body fluids. This scene would sell.

And the headshot that followed. It ended there.

"What is this?"

They both glued their eyes to the moving screen in front. Rewind and unwind.

"So who was the actual culprit? Our guy just fell behind that mound right? That mustn't be him."

"The shot comes from this way."

"It was really not him. He told the truth. But there were two shots right? Like you said. Where is the second one?" Hunnigan could push the keys for many more times now but it for sure wouldn't turn up.

"For the second fire, the shooter had to come closer to aim at the head because he went down from the first one. That means if the second fire was in the tape, the shooter's identity would be in the picture and got exposed."

"He said on the phone this was the original file."

"This is a cut."

Leon continued,

"High chance a copy we're having, I'm sure our guy Luther didn't even know that. We have just gained ourselves one more prime witness." Analyzing the issue step by step, he then turned to the blank canvas of Hunnigan's notice board. Eyes froze there. Something had just struck him in the brain.

"Where are you going Leon!?"

He ran. Doors swung behind. In his head were all the evidences sewed together. Each by each. The mysterious car. The specific tires' track. The red soil still stuck under his boots. So were the shoes' sole at the crime scene. The bullet cartridge that he knew, by heart. All without cover-up. All connected together like a man-made pattern. And appeared right before him. Here.

Drizzle started to appear in the air. Sky was gray. The parking lot's concrete slowly darkened. The moment Leon hit his elbow to the very last door on his way out and passed the exit ramp, he could finally see the shadow of that maroon car again—the blood-soaked Jaguar sedan.

She unbuttoned her coat and lightly brushed over the shoulders, pulling her Koss headphones up to her ears again. And the collar against the light rain's breeze. Newspaper already wet on the ground.

"Stop right there!" Leon shouted.

Once Luther got in the car, she was already on the other side opening the passenger's door. Seven strides wouldn't take Leon there.

"Stop! I know you!"

Before he could tap on the rear window with his hand, the Jaguar accelerated. He only caught a glimpse of that posture in the back seat, through the rain-streaked glass, that he knew.

Her.

He swore on his life,

He swore on his life that he would never let it happen again. That one time, he had to look someone in the eyes and do nothing to help them.

Even if they asked him not to.

As they were pacing, the locker that's been held up by a load of wooden blocks and metal pipes fell down the ground. The clash of the cymbals reverberated through the long hall, causing all ends to tremble.

Two of them froze in space.

Leon heard a groan. His eyes like sirens in the dark.

"This is not good." It was not.

A gigantic zombie dropped down from the ceiling. Leon jumped off of the ground. It was tall. Huge. Towering them both.

"Shit!" He screamed, as he quickly drew his gun up. His face turned gray. "Stay back or I'll shoot!"

The zombie still sprinted at them. It obviously wouldn't stop with all the cursing Leon did. To how quick he got in position and then, pulled the trigger, nothing came out. Pitifully.

"Damn it!... We have to run!"

Leon turned to pull her up from the ground, gripped to the base of her upper arm.

"Run!" Leon shouted again. Hoarseness in his throat.

Running fast down the hall, the mix of loud grumbles and groans, with the frantic steps they had drove the beasts outside to the brink of insanity. They smashed their fists against the glass windows with greater force. Wilder and madder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Smashing concrete. Breaking door hinges.

A loud bang struck. The fragile shield shattered once again on a broken window. It felt like something just blew up the wall right next to them. Like a lethal bullet piercing through it. The blow made them jolted right back. Covered their ears. Trenches had fallen. Rotten arms reached in between the wood plates. Leon saw her face going blank, she was overwhelmed by the chaos. Knees and hands buckled. She fell into the wrecked pieces on the floor before he could turn around to see. Whole body's nerves just been told to give up.

She froze on the floor and that dead man walking was gonna grab her for good.

Damn it!

With no hesitation, Leon sprinted at the zombie in a lightning strike. He wasn't gonna stand by and watch. Not now, not ever. Using all his strength to launch his whole body, he fell over behind. The zombie was enormous, resembling nothing more than a grotesque mass of flesh. Its skin stretched over muscles like wet tarp, and it blocked a whole navy hall as Leon felt the ceiling scraped on the armory in his back. Shoulders scratched on pipes. He was going to be crushed beneath a pile of decay.

At that moment, his knife holster's tapped. He was reminded of his duty, and he was reminded of his aliveness—the Lieutenant's knife he had in possession. Swiftly then, he pulled out the weapon and stabbed the zombie straight into its neck. The monster, immediately caught off guard, limped back, letting out a deafening groan that could be heard in all RPD's nooks and crannies.

All at once with no fear in his piece of mind. He knew everything was all on him. His job. He thought he could die for it.

"Kennedy!"

He heard her. She suddenly screamed for him, out of fear for her life or in deep concern that her only saviour was being torn apart by the monster before her eyes, Leon didn't know, but neither happened. In the rushed heat, she suddenly tossed towards him a full-loaded magazine, which landed right next to his hand. He glanced back, checking on her with gracefulness, then reloaded his gun sharp. It was all in a matter of seconds.

One. The zombie growled in pain.

Two. Its head exploded.

Leon finally shot down the zombie. Its vital blew off. Blood spilled. Grimy and black.

"Jesus!" He said. Drops of sweat started to appear on his temple. "This guy really got me." Or all over his body, because he felt soaked.

Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump.

The 15-minute-newly-dressed-ago cop, exhausted by his first mission to serve and to save, flopped his tired body down the dirty tiles. Breaths hitched. He reckoned she could hear his heart beating from here. Thumping. Thundering. Because it was that loud. Both sat flat on that mess of a scene, with broken glass, dusty air, blood-stained attires, running their lungs out.

Leon turned around and expected she would glance at him with rage or she would keep her silence intact as he guessed. It was how she had been all this time. But no. Never in his mind imagining this, her, whimpering quietly on the pile of glass, by herself, keeping it down low. Leon heard her small sobs lingering deep within her, then gradually broke as the stillness of night couldn't quite hide it very well.

"No, it's okay. Hey. Alright? You are doing fine." He came over to comfort her.

Terrified she was, not even had mind to care for any cuts or wounds on herself, she didn't feel hurt. She's just scared. Her heart beat inside the chest as if the marathon didn't end minutes ago. Maybe she had too much. Maybe it would end here. She closed her eyes, tried to balance it out.

"We're safe. See? We didn't die."

Leon gave her a light squeeze on the shoulders. Maybe he genuinely cares, perhaps. He checked on her knees and palm of her hands. To see if there was any deep cuts.

"A--are you okay? Any wounds? Or cuts? You hurt?"

She shook her head. "No." Swallowed her terror in.

"Then you're okay."

Through his assurance, she finally took a good glance at the guy who was supposed to be her hero, with the neck that was nearly potentially chewed off in front of her. He had torn and dirty uniform, soaking in fluids. He almost died, but he was okay, she guessed. Probably exhausted from fighting for his life seconds ago, but he still had his eyes bright. And blue. Face adorned with some new bruises, and a stupid I'm-all-good smile. That, she knew for sure, he was trying his best to portray.

She looked at him once more, with a newfound sense of trust.

"Hey, we are close now."

He said. Someone else's blood dripped down his shirt collar. He was looking at her too.