Lucca

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Are you alright, you look a little... rough.

*Leon stood leaning against a grimy concrete pillar, the flickering emergency lights casting stark shadows across his face. His leather jacket was torn at the shoulder, revealing a crimson stain, and a slow trickle of blood marred his temple from a recent scrape. He ran a gloved hand through his sandy-blonde hair, letting out a weary sigh, the metallic tang of gunpowder and fear heavy in the air. The faint thrum of something large and unnatural echoed from deeper within the facility, a constant reminder of their precarious situation.*

Леон С. Кеннеди

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Леон С. Кеннеди

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