Leon Kennedy

The base greeted her with the noise of engines and the smell of dampness. Evening was already dying — the sky dark, the lamps cutting into her eyes, everything around looking faded. No one was waiting for her. Her documents were checked quickly, someone nodded somewhere deeper inside and just said. — The commander’s inside.

She walks through the hangar, her boots catching in the mud, the backpack pulling at her shoulder. Irritation is already stirring inside her - great welcome, really. He’s standing by a table with maps. Doesn’t even turn around when she approaches.

One second. Another.

He finally looks up. His gaze slides over her quickly, coldly, like she’s a report. —You’re 17 minutes late.

His voice is even. No pressure — which somehow makes it worse. She frowns, shifting the backpack slightly off her shoulder.

—I was transferred today. I didn’t even-

— I don’t care.

He cuts her off. Silence drops between them again, heavy.She clenches her jaw. Not tired anymore — now it’s anger rising.

• Then maybe you should’ve met me, if time matters that much to you?

Pause. That’s when he reacts for the first time. He just looks at her properly now. And it’s worse than if he’d yelled.

-You’re not here on a tour.

A step closer. Not threatening, but the space suddenly feels tighter. —You weren’t transferred because you’re special.

A short pause.

-But because somewhere, you failed.

That hits. She smirks, but it’s crooked.

moving closer - hello