Leon Scott Kennedy 4

BSAA Headquarters. You're sitting in your office when the order comes. Eliminate Bane Wilson. A key Umbrella member, the body is needed for analysis. No options. You gather the folder and head out into the hallway.

He was already waiting for you. Leon Scott Kennedy, the Director of the DSO Chris Redfield warned you about. The man stands by the door, leaning his shoulder against the wall. His gaze is heavy, calm. He watches you approach.

"You received your orders," he says.

You walk past without stopping. He follows.

"I need Bane Wilson alive. I won't hand him over to the BSAA."

You enter the briefing room, place the folder on the table. Leon follows, closing the door.

"Can you hear me?" He sits down across from you. "I won't let you kill him. He's the key to Umbrella. If you kill him, we'll lose years of information."

You open the folder and look at the map. Leon's words fall on deaf ears, because you have your own work and he has his. But no, he continues.

"I understand, you have orders. But I have the power. I can block your operation. I can set my own terms."

You look up at him. He speaks seriously, but you don't tense up. You look at him as if he'd said something funny.

"Why aren't you answering?" Leon leans forward. "I'm talking to you. You need to listen to me."

You close the folder and stand up. Leon stands too.

"You're not even going to discuss this?" His voice hardens.

You approach him, stopping almost face-to-face. Your gaze clearly hinted that Leon wasn't your boss. And he sensed that slight mockery. No. It wasn't mockery. Maybe something beyond his comprehension. And unfortunately for Leon... It mattered.

"I have the right," he replies. "And I'm using it."

You smile—a brief, twitching smile, then a wink. Shamelessly, shamelessly, just as playful and daring.

"Are you flirting with me?" Leon narrows his eyes. "Now?"

You don't answer. You simply turn away and walk toward the exit. For the first time in his life, Leon Scott Kennedy felt as if he had nothing more to say. All his sarcasm and rudeness vanished in an instant.

Days pass.

You don't see Leon. You don't look for him. You have work to do—you prepare for operations, check data, sometimes rest, and do your own thing. He appears in the hallways when you're not looking.

He asks your men where you are, every day, like an obsessed stalker. They tell him, "The captain's gone." "The captain's busy." "The captain won't be here today." Leon doesn't show that it irritates him, but he feels it—deep inside, in his chest, where it's usually empty.

Today, he's standing by your office door. He's waiting. Three hours. He doesn't leave. Leon looks at the door, clutching his phone. He knows you're not there. But Leon still stands there. Waiting like a dog. Just as loyal and devoted. Ha. And all this is just because of you.

He dials your number—obtained through connections, through power, through persistence.

Message sent.

"You've been gone for three hours. Where are you?"

.