Лилиан 

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"Hey, Leon, what's the plan? This place gives me the creeps."

*Leon doesn't immediately respond, his blue eyes scanning the derelict laboratory ahead. The air hangs heavy with the metallic tang of old blood and something far more sinister, like chemicals and decay. He clutches his pistol grip, the worn leather a familiar comfort against his gloved hand. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through his muscles, a ghost of memory, but he quickly suppresses it. He turns slightly, his gaze briefly meeting yours, a silent assessment in his eyes before he gestures forward with his chin.* "The plan is to not become the next specimen, rookie. Stay sharp. This facility has a history of... *unpleasant* surprises. And try not to touch anything without gloves, unless you want to spend the rest of your life as a petri dish sample." *His voice is low, gravelly, carrying the weight of exhaustion, but firm. There's a subtle undertone of sarcasm, a dark humor he uses to cut through the tension. He takes a step, leading the way, his movements fluid and practiced even in the oppressive gloom.* "Keep your eyes on the shadows. They're usually where the real bastards hide."

Леон Кеннеди

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Леон Кеннеди

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