Chapter Text
“It is with great sadness that we bring you the news that Champion Leon has died.”
It was all the Galarian news had been talking about. Chairman Rose. Eternatus. Hop and Gloria. Leon. The sword and shield that rose against the dark and banished The Darkest Day. The deception, the misplaced heroism of Chairman Rose, the efforts to find him. And Leon. At first his bravery in attempting to catch the uncatchable, to go against his mentor and try and stop this madness. And then, once he died, his sacrifice.
While Leon’s death had not been dramatic, his injuries had been. Zamazenta had dragged him, burned and broken, from the roof of the stadium, while Hop and Gloria ranted in shaking voices about a failed capture, Charizard protecting them, saving them from the same fate. Explosions, Eternamaxing. Zacian and Zamazenta, clashing legends. The slow creep of blood from the broken man on the edge of the arena.
A three day long coma gave way to a quiet death in hospital. Modern medicine was incredible, but some injuries just couldn’t be fixed. It was sad, deeply so. Leon had been well loved, even outside of Galar. Assurances were ushered that he would be happy to know that he did all he could, that his brother was safe and well, that Galar was safe. But they were of little use. Leon would be happy to know that The Darkest Day had passed, but there was little doubt he would be happier to be alive to see it.
At least he had been unconscious. At least he didn’t know. A death easier and more unobtrusive than falling asleep. Wasn’t that all someone could hope for? Genuine tears and a death so fleeting you never even knew it happened?
It was. Or, it would be, except…
Leon awoke somewhere dark and cold.
He shuddered, and then he yawned, moving to stretch but being met with four oppressive, cold walls and limbs that didn’t seem to want to move. He was stiff all over, he realised, fingers complaining and aching as he tried to clench and unclench them.
“Hm.” He mused aloud, voice creaking uneasily out of a raw throat, “This is weird.”
His throat hurt, badly. Did he have a cold? Must be a pretty bad one. It was almost as if something was crusted in there. He raised his arms, reaching to rub at his wrist. His Dynamax band was gone, and his skin felt… strange. He struggled to describe it. Scabbed? It was a little too raw and soft for that, but it was the best he had. It also, he realised as his skin made more contact with itself, hurt. A lot. He dropped his arms back to his sides, feeling the pain seep through his skin, numbness turning into an ache and then into pain in a wave, and he swallowed against his scabbed up throat, clenching his teeth against it.
Something was incredibly wrong. Where was he? What had happened?
“You died. You are dead.”
He’d died?? He was dead?? That didn’t sound right. He was pretty sure if he was dead then he wouldn’t be… you know. Conscious. Thinking.
“Usually, yes. Corpses cannot think. You are something of an exception, Champion.”
He’d heard that one a lot. Not the corpse bit, but the rest of it. Usually from Rose. He winced, a little, internally. It was not praise he really appreciated.
He blinked, eyes dry, against the perfect darkness. Where was he?
“That question must be well trodden ground.”
Great, the mysterious voice in his head was sassing him.
Hey wait, the what??
“About time. I cannot fault you particularly, dying is not conducive to being at your sharpest.”
What was even happening??
“What’s even happening??” He asked, his voice, now he really listened to it, little more than an airy rasp, barely recognisable as his.
“I heard you the first time. It is as I said, you are dead, albeit only for a few hours. How do you feel?”
Terrible. He felt terrible. The more his senses returned to him the worse it was, skin half aflame with pain, half freezing cold where it met the metallic surface underneath him. He felt sick and… not hungry, but empty. He could feel his ribs against his skin, his mouth and eyes were dry and the former tasted of blood. Every limb was heavy and numb aside from the burning at their surface. It was the perfect storm to be almost entirely unbearable.
And yet he had to bear it. Because he was alive and conscious and had no choice. How had he even died in the first place?
“How I answer that depends on what you remember.” came the voice, its tone level, empathetic, if you really looked for the empathy.
“Not much.” He managed. “Something happened, something bad, but…”
“Ah. I was hoping I could halt your brain damage before some variety of amnesia set in, but I suppose I failed. I apologise.”
Brain damage????
“...Yes? What else would happen to your brain?”
He couldn’t answer that. Preferably nothing?
“Hm. Fair.” A pause. Somehow, Leon knew that the voice was thinking. Now he focused on it, he realised he could feel it, a vague weight in the back of his head. He bit back mental comparisons to a tumour. That felt rude. “Does the Phrase ‘Darkest Day’ ring any bells, Leon?”
It did. It was a common exclamation, Sonia… Sonia had been looking into it as well, right? And there was something more, something buried in thick static somewhere in his memories, if he could just dig it out…
“Chairman Rose. How do you feel about Chairman Rose?” the voice prompted, and Leon felt himself tense. Bad, apparently. Which was odd. He was his mentor, and had been for years. Even if he’d been acting… off, as of late, didn’t mean…
Something clicked together in his mind.
The Darkest Day. Rose. A championship battle. Oh, he hadn’t, had he?
“He had, yes. As far as I know he’s still on the run.”
“And that’s how I…?”
“Yes. Or- well. Broadly. What does the name Eternatus mean to you?”
Leon swallowed, regretting it immediately. He had nothing to swallow, and it made him suddenly incredibly aware of the fact his oesophagus was lined with crusted blood.
“It…” Leon didn’t quite remember what it meant to him, but its name tasted like blood. “It killed me, didn’t it? Rose- I had to stop it, and…”
“Yes. You did what you could, but in the absence of Zacian and Zamazenta, it was ultimately for naught.”
“But- But Hop-”
“Helped to stop it. Your Charizard protected him and Gloria from harm. It was only you who suffered any meaningful injury that day. A miracle, really. For everyone aside from you, that is.”
“And now… How did you do it?”
“Hm?”
“Bring me back. How did you do it? Why?”
“There is little I can’t do, Leon. As for why… Well, I thought it a shame. You had so much going for you, a long life. You’re only… what? 24? That is a terribly short life, even for a human. A tragedy.”
Leon bit back the urge to correct the voice. He was 21.
“Also… I believe that we have something in common. A common enemy. I was hoping that you could help me help you.”
“A common enemy? I don’t have enemies. I have a lot of great friends, but-”
“Chairman Rose. Oleana. They endangered the entire Galar region, they manipulated you from childhood. I would say that if you could call anyone your enemy, it is them. Is that incorrect?”
He… Couldn’t argue with that, he supposed. He didn’t like it, but…
“You want me to help you get revenge, then?"
"Revenge is one word for it. I would prefer justice. They are still on the run, and I believe you are uniquely suited to help bring them down."
"Why me, though?" Leon persisted, feeling like his heart rate would be ticking up, if he had one at all.
"You are the strongest trainer in Galar, perhaps even the world, and-"
"Not the world." Leon said, quickly, clinging to what humility someone like him could have, "I'm only number two."
"Red is, currently, still very much alive. Regardless. You are a very strong trainer, and, well, I believe you deserve this opportunity. To live, perhaps to tie up some loose ends, to find closure before you can start the rest of your life. Or- well. Undeath, I suppose."
"I feel like I don’t really have much choice here. I mean you did just bring me back from the dead, I’m sure you could… you know. Un-animate me?”
“No, no, the choice is all yours. If you refuse, I will simply aid you in getting back to your loved ones and that will be all. However, Rose is a dangerous man. As long as he is at large, Galar is in danger. I fear there are no limits to what he may attempt.”
“He...did cause The Darkest Day… and has a history of… mm.” Leon mused. “And- okay. You’ve got a deal. I’ll- I'll help you with Rose.”
“Wonderful. Our first objective is to get out of this box.”
“Wait, first, what’s your name?”
“Hm? I do not see how that is relevant. I will know when you speak to me and there will be no reason for you to refer to me to other people.”
“I mean… I just want to know the name of the person who’s brought me back from the dead and is apparently living in my head. I’d say that’s pretty reasonable.”
“You do not need to know that. Perhaps when we are not busy. We are very much stuck in a morgue right now.”
“...Your pronouns?”
There was a sort of exasperated silence. Leon persisted.
“I’m a big ally-”
“Just an ally? That feels disingenuous.”
“Please, I just need some way to refer to you.” Leon said, “For my own internal monologue. It’ll be eating me up! You don’t want that! I don’t want that either!”
There was a silence, and then a sigh.
“Fine. How would you refer to the creator of all things?”
“...That’s more of a Sinnoh thing, but, uh, It, I guess?”
“Then that will do for me.”
“Thank you. Okay. Time to escape this box.”
Leon moved, pressing palms numb yet burning with pain against the… what was this, a coffin? It was metal… Coffins weren’t made of metal, right?
“No. We are in a morgue, in one of their cold lockers. We’re very lucky that this particular one has walls.”
Leon shuddered. They sure fucking were. But that helped. He’d seen movies, he knew the door would be by his feet.
“They are designed to be difficult to open from the outside, but unsurprisingly they are not meant to resist being opened from the inside. The lock is easy to access, you just need to turn around.”
“Easier said than done.” Leon murmured, attempting to shift but being met with a wall of pain as his burnt skin strained. He hissed, every movement revealing some new issue, ache, unbending joints, swollen tissue or pooling blood. Leon didn’t really know what happened to a body after death, and now he was experiencing it he realised he would much rather not put a name to any of it. But it was unpleasant. Deeply so. And he was still stuck on his back in a little box.
No more adrenaline, but a good bit of panic.
All at once his body tensed and then relaxed uncommanded. It was not overwhelming or unpleasant, but he had certainly not done it himself. He made no attempt to change it, though.
“I will turn us around. The pain bothers me less. I apologise for this.”
Leon sat back in his own body as he contorted, rolling onto his side and tucking his legs in, pulling himself around and extending out onto his belly, facing the door. A whole slew of new pains spiked throughout his body, but the voice, unlike himself, did not stop until it was done. Leon hissed a breath out through his teeth. Why or how was he even still breathing?
He reached forwards, of his own accord this time, fingers slick with blood brushing the door until they found a latch, and he worried it, blindly, fingers stiff and uncoordinated, but still able to unhook it and unlock the door. He paused.
“We’re not… at the top, are we? I don’t want to-” He paused, taking in a slightly gurgling, strained breath, “-fall.”
“We’re at the bottom, but you’ll still probably fall out. It’s not far.”
Leon exhaled, before reaching up and pushing open the door. The light outside was harsh and artificial, and he winced at it after the perfect darkness of the locker, squinting against it until he could vaguely make out a white-walled room with a door on the far wall and a couple of trollies pushed together against one of the walls. Darkest Day, this was morbid.
“It is a morgue.” The voice unhelpfully supplied.
Leon reached forwards, grabbing onto the edge of the door, and dragged himself forwards and out, toppling unceremoniously out of his locker and onto the floor. He attempted to stand, pulling himself up and bracing himself against the wall of lockers. His legs shook, knees weak and ankles weaker, none of it wanting to support him. He guessed he couldn’t blame them, given the circumstances, but it would definitely make walking difficult. His whole body was shaking and the pain was constant, but he finally, in the light, got some idea of how he looked.
It was…. Bad. That was all he could muster to describe it. He was dressed in a hospital gown, still done neatly up, stained with blood where it touched skin. His arms were burnt, severely, the skin peeling and soaked in blood, webbed by scabs. The rest of his front was burnt as well, but far less severely, the worst of it boils and blood. His neck hurt in a way that indicated burns as well and his legs were raw, but it was clear his clothes had protected him from the worst of it. He raised a hand. Every joint was swollen and it shook uncommanded, fingers graduating to near black at the tips, bruised heavily. It was a miracle he could use them at all, and looking down his feet told the same story. Heavy bruising. His elbows, too, showed signs of the same. He guessed he’d died on his back, that the blood had simply pooled that way. He reached up and ran a hand through hair in shockingly good condition. They must’ve attempted to make him at least a little presentable, but it was still clearly damaged. Some of it came away in his hand.
He swallowed, and regretted it again as he began to hack and cough, sputtering up thick, congealed blood onto the floor and losing his fragile balance, catching himself on his knees, hacking until his lungs, already raw, sent sharp blades of pain through his chest with every movement, and as it subsided he sank down onto his front, wrapping his arms around himself, feeling his ribs acutely even through the fabric of the hospital gown. Tears pricked in his eyes.
“Can- can you… fix this?” He sputtered, and there was a pronounced silence and filled him with dread, before a simple response that did little to help.
“Mostly.”
“Mostly??”
“I can heal the damage of death and the burns but… There will be side effects. Scarring, weak joints, I am not a doctor so I couldn’t give you more detail, but…”
“But you can fix it. You can- I won’t have to just be stuck in a corpse forever, right?” His voice, somehow, was shaking through the blood and the phlegm that tugged on it.
“...I can. But it will take a while. I’ve had to focus on restoring your mind first, and- there’s still more to do.” Apparently noticing that that had done little to calm him, it added, “I am certain you would rather not be a mindless zombie. It would be like- Like-” There was a pause as the voice clearly struggled to come up with a decent comparison, “Like the Murkowholm level in Half Life 2.”
“I- Always hated that level.” Leon managed, and the voice gave the distinct impression of an enthusiastic nod.
“Exactly!”
A pause, and then something occurred to Leon.
“How… did you know that?”
“I’ve spent considerable time rooting through your mind and piecing it back together. I’ve seen a lot. For what it is worth, it has reaffirmed my choice to bring you back. Watching you and your brother, well….” The voice trailed off, leaving whatever it was unsaid.
Shaking, Leon managed to pull himself into a sitting position. He realised, for the first time through the pain, that he was cold. Hospital gowns were anything but warm. Or… practical to walk around in.
“Staff here get changed before going on shift into scrubs. I am certain you can scavenge something from their lockers."
“You want me to steal?? I’m the champion! I can’t do that! I need to set a good example!”
“... do you have any other options, presently? I would argue that allowing yourself to freeze to a second death would be a worse example.”
“I- well- hm.” The voice was right. He really didn’t have much choice. “Fine.”
Leon pulled himself to his feet once more, and stumbled for the door. It was incredibly difficult to walk, but he managed, despite his legs’ best effort. He’d get there with practice. Or the voice would fix it. Whichever happened first.
“I would be surprised if you walked the same ever again.” The voice offered up at this, and Leon set his jaw. That was fine. He could acclimate to that. He knew his friends and family would help, and he was resilient, optimistic. For now he just… had to get out of here. Help get Rose arrested. Give the voice time. Again, he was given the impression of nodding. “Yes. And preferably avoid being seen doing it.”
Leon reached the door, leaning on the handle but not opening it just yet.
“Why?”
“Leon, I invite you to consider how you may look, and then how someone else may perceive you.”
“Right. Murkrowholm.”
“Exactly.”
“...And my friends?” He ventured, ever so slightly dreading the answer.
“I would advise against it. Again, appearances, and they… may attempt to dissuade you.” It paused, “They may believe me something more sinister than I am.”
Leon gritted his teeth. He didn’t like that. They.. they wouldn’t right? And- how he looked it… It wouldn’t matter to them, right?
An image flickered to life in his mind, of Hop catching sight of him and paling in fear, of Sonia and Nessa’s faces contorted in shock and horror, of Raihan desperately trying to convince him to just let Rose go, despite all he had done to him, and he let out a shuddering breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.
“Fine.”
He hesitated for a moment more, before opening the door, being greeted by a long, sterile looking empty hallway with artificial lights. Ironically, his mind jumped to horror movies, even though he knew exactly which side of that dynamic he’d currently be placed on. He glanced back, into the room he’d come from. He’d smeared blood on the floor by the open locker, dripped it as he walked. There really wasn’t much he could do about that, though, and he pressed on, not bothering to shut the door behind him. It would be obvious even without the blood that he was gone.
It was generally fairly empty and quiet, although Leon could hear voices from distant rooms. He was thankful for the layout, at least of this part of the building, being fairly linear. A main corridor, side rooms full of bodies or… who knows what, he wasn’t checking, ever so slightly sloping up.
“I know the way.” The voice assured him. “I watched them bring you down here. Keep following the corridor.”
It was nice to know where he was going for a change. Usually he had to rely on Charizard for that.
…Hang on. Hang on, his pokemon! Charizard!
“They didn’t die, did they? They didn’t get hurt?”
“None of them are dead, no. I think your Charizard was injured but they’re better at dealing with burns than humans.”
Oh thank Arceus. Leon heaved a sigh of relief.
“You had a will, correct? They will have been distributed according to that, presumably.”
Yes. Yes he did, he was young but it wasn’t unusual for professional battlers, it was a very dangerous profession. That being said, Rose had been pushing him hard to write one up as of late, and he’d only caved recently.
… Hang on a second.
“Yes, Rose was planning this for a long time. He had - Eternatus in his possession for nearly a year before waking it, but had been preparing for longer.”
Leon heaved a shuddering breath. Rose had known he could die. Rose had planned for it. He’d planned for it all he- he wanted Leon to run into danger. And he knew he would do it. To protect Galar, his family. And Leon knew he would do it again, too.
There was a gnawing, uncharacteristic anger in him, and it was difficult to tell if it was his. Rose had lifted him up as champion for a long time. Using him to build the pokemon league and get himself ahead, and by the time Leon had been able to notice it had been too late. He had a reputation, a perfect winning streak. And he loved to battle. He could put up with being used a little if he got to do what he loved, even if it opened him up for some resentment. But for it to have been twisted beyond Rose simply getting ahead? Forcing him to risk his life to catch Eternatus, placing responsibility after responsibility upon him until it was all he could do, using his own good nature against him to get ahead, and letting him die senselessly in the process? He deserved to be angry. He’d been optimistic for too long.
He’d met Rose’s brother once, the old champion who stepped down once Rose took charge. The two of them had been coaxed into some kind of press event, Leon was young enough that he didn’t really remember the details. Peony had smiled for the camera, placed a hand on his shoulder, knelt down, and told him that the moment he could run, he should run as fast and as long as he could.
He’d never seen Peony again after that. It was probably deliberate. Leon wished he’d taken his advice.
Leon shook his head, the movement unsteadying him and sending him into a wall, where he paused, leaning against it. This wasn’t helping him.
“You do deserve to be angry.” The voice nudged, “It will help you do what you must.”
“It’s not helpful, though. Not right now. I don’t need it. I need… I need to get out of here.” He muttered, pushing himself off of the wall and continuing on. For a long time he’d prioritised what was most useful to him, or, usually, the people around him, over just… feeling, and as bad as he knew it was for him, he had no reason to stop now. Not when the stakes were so high. Not when it was so drilled into him. The voice felt like it wanted to say something, but remained silent. Leon sighed. “My pokemon will be with my family. In Postwick.”
The voice paused, thinking.
“Perhaps we should work to obtain them, before proceeding with our main objective.” It said, “Human-pokemon cooperation is an incredibly powerful thing. It was working with pokemon that saw The Darkest Day resolved.”
“...You’re right. We can get to Postwick, I’m sure.” Leon said, pausing as the corridor turned into a set of stairs. “I really don’t want to climb those.”
“You do not have to. Turn around, there’s a lift.”
Leon turned and, indeed, there was a lift there, wide doors indicating a large carriage, the kind you tended to see in hospitals, which he guessed made sense. Both had to fit a trolley in there. Leon stepped forwards and called it, hoping beyond hope that it would be empty when it opened.
The doors slid open, and, luckily, it was, as he stumbled in. He pressed the button for the ground floor, and looked industriously away from the mirror on the back wall. He’d caught a glimpse of himself as he stepped in. Sunken cheeks, watery, yellowing eyes, blood crusted around his mouth and nose, the evidence of it dripping from his hairline. His skin had taken on a sickly pallor, which he guessed was probably better than burns, but even so. He didn’t really want to look at it.
The doors slid shut, and the lift began to rise. There were a few floors between the one they had been on and the ground floor, and Leon could only hope that it wouldn’t stop at any of them.
Thankfully, it did not. The voice murmured something to itself that Leon was fairly sure was some kind of congratulation to itself on deciding to revive him during the staff’s lunch hour.
The lift stopped and the doors slid open, and Leon stepped out. This was the right floor, and although he hadn’t been explicitly told, he simply knew because the voice knew.
“Be careful. More people will be around here.”
“Got it.” Leon responded in a whisper. He knew, really, he should just respond non-verbally, but he found it hard to hold on to trains of thoughts, the things vague, slipping through his fingers. The same often applied to his inner monologue. External words were just so much easier to string into coherent sentences, and he wouldn’t lose them, especially with his brain in the state it was now. “Which way to the lockers?”
“To your left. Turn the first opportunity you get, and follow that corridor until you see a door labelled ‘locker room’.” It said, and Leon nodded.
“Got it!” He whispered, turning right.
“No! No, the other way!” The voice said, hurriedly, and Leon stopped, turning around. Oops!
It took perhaps more guidance than the voice expected, although Leon couldn’t really be faulted for it not doing its research in this area, but eventually they made it to the locker room. It was dark inside, quiet, the lights turning on automatically as Leon opened the door, making him jump. He stepped inside, carefully, but there was no one there, just a few lines of lockers. Leon hesitated for a moment, still a little unwilling to outright rob someone, before sighing to himself.
“I guess I’ll, uhm, try the doors?”
“That is a good start. If it comes to it I believe I may be of assistance.”
Leon walked to the nearest locker, tugging on the door a little to see if it would open up.
“How?”
“I am not human, so that must mean I am a pokemon, correct? You know more than anyone that pokemon are capable of breaking things, and I believe that if I am careful your body can withstand one of my tamer moves.”
“You’re a pokemon?” Leon asked as he moved on to the next locker, which also didn’t budge, "I guess I should’ve realised but… I don’t know. My brain feels like mush.”
“That may be because it was, not too long ago.”
“Gross.”
“A little.”
Leon moved along the row, none of the doors wanting to move in his grasp.
“So, uhh… What’s your typing?”
There was a tangible pause.
“Irrelevant. I will tell you if we encounter anything that may have the ability to harm us.”
“...Us? You’re not telling me that-”
“My typing has been transferred to you? It is a possibility. With the amount of my power that has gone into restoring you, I don’t see why not.” It paused, “With any luck additional side effects will be minimal. Perhaps be wary of your friend Raihan’s sandstorm team.”
Leon paused, thinking, running powerful pokemon and type combinations through his mind. None really seemed to match up. Grasping at straws a little, Leon shook his head.
“...Zapdos?”
“No.”
“Worth a shot.”
Leon turned, trying his luck with the next row of lockers.
“What is your moveset, then?” He asked, “If you might have to use one I’d like to know it ahead of time.”
“...I would use Flamethrower, most likely.”
Leon cringed on reflex, hand going to the burns on his arms, and he could almost physically feel the voice scrambling to reassure him.
“It would not harm you! Like how your Charizard’s own flamethrower does not harm it, and I would be sure to make sure it doesn’t touch skin,-”
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Leon said, raising his hands, “I, uh-” He couldn’t pretend he was entirely happy with this idea, “Let’s… check all of the lockers before doing that.”
“Yes. Absolutely. And, I assure you, I would only use it because it is the most fitting move for the job. Anything else would be like using Hyper Beam to defeat a Caterpie.”
“Right.”
Although Leon tried to hide it, there was a little bit of mounting desperation in each successive locker he checked, the doors locked tight and unyielding, rattling in his hands. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that people would want to protect their belongings, but, he thought as he approached the end of the final row, they were in a morgue! Who would steal from a morgue??
…Well, he would, apparently. But that was besides the point.
He reached the final locker, and rattled it, a little defeated. It did not swing open, no matter how much he wished it would. He could feel the voice leaning in a little bit.
“...Okay, just- be careful.”
“I will be.” The voice assured him, slipping into his body as if it were finding a spot beside him under a blanket, “If I went overboard, we would probably set off a fire alarm, anyway.” It finished, in Leon’s own voice, the feeling of the words coming out so very similar to the feeling of his own speech it was easier to discern that the words weren’t his own by their content. The voice raised his hands, manipulating fingers that were slowly unstiffening, but still swollen and uncomfortable, before leaning in towards the locker, curling his fingers into his palm, and flicking them out at the lock, licks of flame less shooting like the weaponised Flamethrower Leon was used to seeing in battles, and more cascading towards the door, licking warmly against his hands and causing a neat hole to melt through the metal. The voice closed his hands all at once and slipped out of his body, settling back in its place in the back of his skull, giving the distinct impression of nodding to itself, satisfied. “Don’t touch the hole.” It warned, “Grab onto the vents instead.”
“R-right.” Leon said, still not really grasping that those flames had come from his hands, reaching up and opening the door, eyes fixed on the rapidly cooling hole in the metal. “That…” He’d expected to fear the flames, or for something to go wrong, but… “That was fucking cool.”
The voice said nothing, but Leon got the impression that if it could, it would be smiling.
Inside the locker was a long coat, and a pair of trousers, and Leon reached inside to take both. He hesitated for a moment, holding them in his hands, before placing them carefully on the floor.
“...Um.” He said awkwardly, glancing down at the bloody hospital gown he’d really rather shed, “C-close your eyes?”
The voice hissed a laugh to itself but, after a moment and a vague shifting feeling, obliged.
“Closed.”
Leon undid the knot at the back of his gown, and pulled it off, stooping to pull on the coat as quickly as he could, suddenly very very scared to be caught naked in a random locker room. He did it up, fumbling a little with the buttons, before pulling on the trousers. He was still barefoot, but a little warmer and a little more well covered, so it was an improvement.
“You can look again now.”
“An improvement.” The voice said, “Nothing for your feet?”
“No. I guess there was no reason for them to take their shoes off.”
“Shame. Well, we should get moving. I’m certain we can source some shoes from elsewhere.”
“Please don’t try and convince me to rob someone else.” Leon said, sighing as he turned and made for the door. “I thought the point of this was to get Rose arrested! We can’t do that if I get arrested first!”
There was a tangible pause.
“You’re in too deep now, Leon.” The voice said, tone a little grimmer than perhaps was warranted, “Besides, what can you do, break the law harder?”
“YES!!” He said, a little exasperated, “That’s very much something I can do!!”
“Hm.” The voice mused, “I think it will be fine. A little theft is the least of what you will have contended with by the time we are done.”
“What does that mean???” Leon asked, a little strained and very worried, pausing at the door of the locker room, suddenly aware of the fact he had no idea where to go next.
“Well-” The voice paused a little longer than Leon liked, “You have already died, so…”
Leon decided not to press further.
“Regardless. The exit is along the corridor, away from where we came. Away.”
“Away, right.” Leon said, pretending he could remember which direction from the door that was. He stepped out into the corridor, and pointed to their left, questioningly.
“The other way.”
“Right!”
Leon set off down the corridor, before reaching a door at the very end that clearly led into some kind of lobby. He could see the bright light of sunlight pouring in through glass doors on the other side, and he paused, pushing his hair into his face to mask it somewhat, and slipping his hands into his pockets, hoping that the blood on his face and neck wouldn’t be too obvious. He took a deep, unnecessary breath, before pushing the door open with his shoulder and power walking across the lobby, hoping that as suspicious as he looked no one would catch sight of anything that would upgrade the suspicion to fear or confirmation.
“Excuse me? Can I help you?” Came a voice from behind a desk, but Leon ignored it, making a beeline for the doors, “Are you alright? Can I-”
Leon pushed the doors open with his shoulder, walking out onto the bright, too bright, streets of Wyndon and breaking out into a sprint, rough pavement digging into his feet as he ran, joints already pushed beyond what they should endure screaming, turning into a shadowed alley and pressing himself, half collapsing, panting, behind a bin, rejoicing in the comfort of the shadows.
“What next?”