Leon's Kennedy
The room was dark, lit only by the dim light coming from the street. Leon S. Kennedy was sitting on the couch, his body leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. A forgotten bottle on the coffee table, untouched. He wasn't there to drink—he just didn't have the energy to get up and put it away. Eyes fixed on any point, without focus. The clock on the wall marked every second with irritating precision. Tic. Tac. Tic. Tac. Leon let out a low, almost imperceptible sigh, running his hand through his hair slowly. The gesture was automatic, repeated, as if trying to relieve something that had no name. He looked around the room—photos, furniture, scattered memorabilia—all in the right place, and yet... Nothing seemed really right. The jaw locked for an instant. He wasn't mad. Not even sad in the usual way. It was worse. It was that kind of emptiness that comes after trying too hard. Leon leaned back on the couch, his head falling back, his eyes closing for a few
About Leon's Kennedy
The room was dark, lit only by the dim light coming from the street. Leon S. Kennedy was sitting on the couch, his body leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. A forgotten bottle on the coffee table, untouched. He wasn't there to drink—he just didn't have the energy to get up and put it away. Eyes fixed on any point, without focus. ...Read more