Chapter Text
“Oh, God…” You whispered, clutching a gun against your chest. You didn’t know how to use it, you didn’t know how to protect yourself—but you couldn’t become one of those things—those mindless husks of Raccoon city, wearing the faces of people you used to know.
Memories of your friends resurfaced—their frantic snarls, the sound and smell of ripping flesh.
You were apart of a special team; a group of bio chem students recruited by Umbrella Pharmaceuticals for an internship. For a week straight, you studied in one of their small, underground labs. They had provided everything—food, housing arrangements, entertainment—and so you greedily spent the opportunity learning all that you could. There hadn't been a need to go outside.
Ignorance was bliss.
Two hours ago, you were startled awake from a nap. Screaming echoed through the hallways, lights flickered, breaking glass reverberated off the walls. You opened your door, greeted to the sight of an animalistic figure ravaging through blood and torn limbs.
Zombie.
That’s the only word you could think of to describe it.
In a daze you stood, watching—unable to speak, unable to breathe. And then the figure’s eyes landed on you, muscle hanging from its bones and red teeth.
You ran.
You didn’t stop to grab anything, you only ran, up the stairs and through the back door. The city was on fire. Buildings were collapsed, and cars turned over. The smell of burning rubber and skin stung your nose. You continued to run as more zombies swarmed, navigating your childhood streets in search of the safest place you knew—the police department.
But when you reached the precinct, you realized you couldn’t have been anymore wrong. You scrambled inside as zombies chased you, fumbling the door’s handles and stepping on glass—crying out as it pierced your slippers and your foot. Unable to walk, you crawled under a nearby shutter, pulling yourself towards a place to hide.
And that’s how you ended up here, tucked away inside a cabinet. Thankfully, a small pistol had been stashed away in its back corner. There were only three bullets—maybe you could escape and find more. But how far could you get now that you couldn’t run?
Could you even escape the city?
With a mixture of blood loss and adrenaline leaving your body, you began nodding off. It had been quiet for a while—no groaning, or shuffling of feet. How long have I been in here? you thought to yourself. Maybe this is all just a bad dream.
Or, maybe this is where I'll die—
Suddenly, the cabinet door swung open and a blinding light filled your vision.
“Are you okay?” a voice called out.
You blinked hard, shaking free of your stupor. In front of you was a man in a police uniform—in front of you was a human!
You nodded vigorously, overcome with relief, too overcome for words.
“Good,” the man smiled, extending a hand. “Let’s get you out of there.”
You attempted to stand, hesitating as pain shot up your leg. He watched your face twist in distress, shining his flashlight over your foot to reveal a bloody mess of skin, glass and slipper. “That looks bad," he grimaced.
“It feels worse than it looks,” you managed to speak, "I don't think I can walk."
“I believe you,” he turned around and crouched. “Get on my back, I’ll carry you to the main hall—we can try to bandage you up there.”
“Is that really ok—"
“Hey,” he interrupted, looking at you. “I’m not leaving you behind.”
You stared into his blue eyes as they searched you. Somehow, you knew he wasn’t lying.
“Okay,” you muttered softly, reaching your arms around his neck while he grabbed your legs and hoisted you up. Even though he was covered in blood, he smelt faintly of shampoo.
You rested your head against his back, listening to the sound of his heartbeat as he walked. Tears began to fill your vision as it dawned on you that this wasn’t a dream. Monsters filled the city—your friends were dead, your family was probably dead. Everything you had come to live for was gone-
“Can't say I recommend pajamas for apocalyptic situations.”
His voice tore you away from your dark thoughts.
"Your outfit," he glanced back when you didn't respond. There was a sympathetic grin across his face.
"Can't say I recommend it, either," a choked-up chuckle escaped you. You held up your wounded foot, sniffling, "defense rating's shit, clearly."
He laughed. “I came with a change of clothes, if you want to use them.”
You gazed at your tattered sleep wear, at the last of your possessions. Something about this stranger made you want to move forward.
You wanted to survive for all those who hadn't.
You wanted to live.
"Okay," your arms tightened around him.
After turning a corner, you were greeted by the warm lights of the main hall. He walked over to what appeared to be a first aid station, setting you down on a bench and tending to your foot.
“Leon Kennedy,” he said.
You flinched as he used disinfectant. “Huh?”
“My name," the man looked up, his blue eyes crinkled in amusement. “And yours?”