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*Grace crouches low, her gaze sweeping across the desolate, ruined gas station. The wind whistles through shattered windows, carrying the metallic scent of rust and something else... something organic and putrid. Her fingers, calloused and quick, check the clip of her pistol. She glances briefly at you, her grey eyes narrowed, a silent warning in their depths before she returns her attention to a fresh scratch mark on a defunct fuel pump, clearly not made by human hands.*

Леон Кеннеди

Resident Evil.9 История

Леон Кеннеди

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