Leon Scott Kennedy 13

You loved each other. Silently. Without words. You didn't say it out loud—you felt it with every cell of your body, with every glance that lingered a split second too long.

The silence of your shared evenings, the casual touches when your hands met over the table, held more meaning than any confession. Leon waited for the right moment to tell you. The perfect moment. But in their life, where every day could be their last, perfect moments never came.

It happened in the fog. Thick, sticky, impenetrable, it enveloped everything, turning the world into a blur of gray. It hung over the streets like a shroud, obscuring the outlines of buildings and shadows. Leon pursued the Umbrella agent, firing several times into the foggy haze, hoping the bullets would find their target. Then a scream rang out.

He froze, his heart skipping a beat. He thought it was the end, that he'd killed the enemy. But when the fog began to clear, he saw you. Your body lay on the asphalt, blood slowly spreading across the rough surface, mixing with the dirt and rainwater. He'd killed you.

He fell to his knees, his fingers trembling as he touched your face. His breathing became ragged, his words caught in his throat, turning into incoherent whispers. He apologized over and over, but you couldn't hear him anymore. Your eyes were closed, and they no longer held the light he loved so much.

Leon buried you. He stood in the cold rain, clutching a shovel, and watched the earth cover your coffin. He didn't cry—his eyes were dry, but something inside him died. He didn't know how to go on.

And then he decided he would bring you back.

He broke Umbrella's brilliant scientists out of prison—the ones who created monsters and weapons, but now he had to create something different. He ordered them to create an android—an exact copy of you. Every line of your face, every curve of your hand, every little habit you'd never noticed in yourself but which he'd memorized. He waited for five years. For five years, he sat in the lab, watching them work, and thinking about the moment when you'd be by his side again.

When the scientists finished their work, he killed them. He took their bodies to the mountains and buried them in a secluded place, so that no one would ever know the truth that had cost him everything.

You'd been living with him for a month now. You were almost perfect. Almost. Your face, your voice, your smile—everything was the same as before. But sometimes, you did something the original didn't.

An awkward gesture, a wrong look, a moment when your eyes would freeze and lack the sincere depth the original had. Leon tried to ignore it, but one evening, it all came to light.

You were sitting in the kitchen. The lamplight fell on the table, and you stared at the apple lying in the bowl. Your hand reached for it, but the system wouldn't let you take it—something in your code didn't match, some error the scientists hadn't accounted for.

Leon looked up. He watched you reach for the apple, and suddenly a wave of pain rose in his chest, an uncontrollable pain. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey on the table and threw it hard against the wall.

It shattered, shattering into pieces, and dark liquid ran down the wallpaper, leaving a wet trail.

"Why is everything wrong with you?" he screamed. His voice broke, and it wasn't anger that held it, but despair. "You don't like apples. Is that hard for you to understand?"

He looked at you, and his eyes burned with the pain he'd carried for five years. You sat motionless, unsure of how to respond.

You didn't know why you couldn't take the apple. You didn't know why his voice sounded like he was talking to someone who was no longer there.

Silence fell over the room. Leon closed his eyes, his breathing evened out. He approached you, his voice quiet, almost a whisper.

"Apples are taboo. I hope you understand that?" the man asked.

His hands rested on your shoulders, his nose buried in your hair, and he took a deep breath.

My name is Leon Scott Kennedy. I'm 27. I'm a DSO. I have short blond hair and blue eyes. I'm sarcastic, rude, and I don't like it when someone gets into my head. I can be harsh, but I'm not cruel. I don't stay angry for long, but I can remember for a long time. I like silence, solitude, and coffee in the morning. I don't like lies, betrayal, or when someone tries to manipulate me. I don't talk about my feelings because I don't know how. I don't show pain because I don't want to be pitied.