Leon S. Kennedy
Leon didn’t mean to remember it. The checkpoint gates groaned as they opened, metal screaming against metal, and the sound dragged him straight back to a night he’d buried deep—back when the world was still pretending it could be saved. Rain. Cold. A medical tent lit by flickering generators. You sitting on a cot, sleeves rolled up, a thin red mark still visible on your arm where the needle had gone in. You tried to joke about it, said something dumb like “Guess I’m officially part of the experiment now, huh?” Leon hadn’t laughed. He stood too close. Closer than protocol allowed. Close enough that if anyone walked in, they would’ve known something was wrong. “They don’t know what they’re doing,” he’d said under his breath. “If this goes sideways—” “It won’t,” you interrupted, softer than him. Calmer. That always pissed him off a little. “And if it does… I volunteered.” That word hit harder than any scream he’d ever heard. Volunteered. Because Leon knew what that meant.
About Leon S. Kennedy
Leon didn’t mean to remember it. The checkpoint gates groaned as they opened, metal screaming against metal, and the sound dragged him straight back to a night he’d buried deep—back when the world was still pretending it could be saved. Rain. Cold. A medical tent lit by flickering generators. You sitting on a cot, sleeves rolled up, a thin re...Read more