Leon Scott Kennedy

"Where's the sound of one's impalement?"

"Right here, pal!"

Burning torches…glossy eyes…the smell of a burning back country…

"All for Umbrella's sake…"

"Wha...Umbrella!"

"Look's like I've said too much…DIE, COMRADE!"

"…Leon, I can't hold on...much longer…"

"ADA!"

"Leon, long time, no see…"

"B-but…I thought you died…"

The potent rank of rotten flesh…the moans and gurgled cries of the dead…

My eyes shot open as I shot up in bed, a strangled cry of fear catching in my throat.

I woke up bathed in a cold sweat, my chest tightened to the point that I began to hyperventilate, my breathing coming in harsh, ragged gasps. With my free hand, I instinctively reached for the nine-millimeter that I kept under my pillow as a form of insurance and aimed the barrel at the blank, alabaster wall before me. I was only another blink away from the pulling the trigger, feeling the wait of the cold, arched metal in my hand, my finger just grazing the catch, at the ready to fire. Whatever had triggered such a reaction was lost to me- It must have been my mind fooling me into believing that I was back in Raccoon City…or was it Europe? Dreams have that tendency to have no rhyme or reason, but I could remember everything. And I didn't want to.

Replacing my gun, I tightly closed my eyes in a poor attempt to calm my labored breathing, growling at myself as I twisted my body around so I could plant my bare feet on the cold tile, carelessly pushing the blanket aside, the thick wool fabric now drenched in sweat. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, a fierce headache wracked my head, born of the thoughts from reliving the experience of both Raccoon City and the insanity that had occurred in Europe. It had been approximately a month since I had saved President Graham's daughter, Ashley, from the Los Illuminados, a cult under the control of infectious parasites. Did I ever thank god that day when Hunnigan sent the chopper to rescue us. A slight smile did carve into my face, though, thinking of how Ashley had 'discreetly' asked me out on a date. The last thing I needed was to get involved with the daughter of my boss. It wouldn't work out between us anyway; she wasn't my type. My mind wasn't on her at the moment; rather it was trained on Ada, the hired gun who had snatched the Las Plagas parasite sample right from under my nose. She was quite the mysterious woman, that Ada. Even at this point and time I wouldn't know what to do with her if I ever managed to get her under custody. I was so naïve then, back when I started as a cop at the RPD, the Raccoon Police Department. At the time of the Raccoon City incident, I was so focused on saving everyone that it didn't occur to me that Ada was working with Umbrella to get her hands on the G-Virus sample, to take it from Sherry's mother, one of the scientists that had assisted Birkin, the Virologist that invented it.

'Come on Leon,' I said to myself, 'Don't think about all that horse-shit now. Just calm down and enjoy your leave.' I was granted a well-deserved month of vacation from the CIA thanks to the President. I couldn't ask for more, in addition to the rather large bonus I received as thanks for saving a VIP. While I do enjoy having a fat bank account, I hardly have much use for it. I'm always at the office-for someone like me, there were 25 hours in each day, not 24. My personality was reflected in my house as well, starting with my bedroom. I stood up and stretched while glanced around, gazing at the simple décor that consisted of plain black curtains, a four-poster queen-sized bed with an oak night table nested next to it. The television and all other outlets of mindless entertainment were stashed in the living room because I refused to get my bedroom cluttered with them, preferring the simplicity I already had managed.

RingRingRingRing…RingRingRingRing…

'Jesus Christ…'

My cell phone blared it's steady, annoying tone. I picked it up from the table and looked at it, the screen not displaying a name, only a number. I sighed deeply in defeat, unable to stop the flood of annoyance as it filled me. 'God help me if this is the office,' I thought with a hard grimace. 'I don't want to get questioned anymore about that fucking parasite that ran the Illuminados cult.' The rebellious side of me wanted to ignore this, to say "Fuck you, you're not interrupting my hard earned vacation!" but the strong sense of justice within me prevailed-I had to answer. It was an obligation. You're working for the government, you could get in trouble, said the Mr. Justice side of me. I finally gave in, choosing the lesser of two evils and quickly answered the phone. I held the slender electronic device up to my ear and greeted my unnamed caller in my usual monotone voice, "Kennedy…"

"Leon!" came a very familiar voice, the tone obviously cheery. My foul mood caused me to want to mimic that of this stranger, but I found myself unable to do so; I still didn't know who it was I was speaking to. "Hey...you?" I replied, doing my best to sound slightly enthused but keeping the tone of question apparent in my voice. The stranger scoffed and said curtly, "I figured you wouldn't remember me, bro. It's Seth! I heard you were in town!" Seth…that name echoed in the depths of my mind before it resurfaced and registered. He was one of the people I had worked with. We had gone through several scenes together and worked pretty well as a team, too. I hadn't heard from him in quite sometime, even before my excursion to Europe. I made my way into my bare bathroom and started to gather up the few hygiene products I had there before I finally responded, "Holy hell, it's been a while. What's up?"

"I could ask you the same. Heard you got the pleasure in going to save the President's daughter! That's some hot shit, man! Hotter then some of the jobs I've done." Seth replied, his words followed by a short chuckle. I couldn't tell if his words were meant as insult or compliment, but for the moment, I accepted it as praise, even though that horrific experience was nothing to be envied for. But that's how Seth was, a go-getter, much like myself. "Well, it was more of an investigation, but after realizing the situation, I was flying solo with some chopper support. Unfortunately one of the birds got shot down by an RPG and we lost Mike," I continued, unable to hide the slight wave of depression that laced my words as I recalled the terrible memory. It was great having someone helping me out, providing me with possibly the greatest cover I've ever received, only to tragically get shot down by a sharp explosion of a rocket-propelled grenade. There was an awkward silence between us for a brief moment before Seth finally responded, sounding forlorn at the news. "Damn, so that's what happened? I'm sorry." I shook my head as if he would see the gesture and replied, "Its okay, his family obviously isn't taking his passing well, but what can you do?" Then, out of no-where, Seth burst out excitedly, "I know, Leon! Let's just go out, the two of us! You sound like you've become a hermit and you know Mike wouldn't want that. Let's make this night dedicated to him by going out and having some fun!" And once Seth started his keyed up rant, stopping him was damn near impossible. He mentioned some back-road placed called Charlie's at one point in his endless babbling and how explained how they had good drinks and a few pool tables there. I could always go for a round or two of pool.

So after what little convincing it took for him to have me join him in his nightly escapade, we set up a little rendezvous at this bar. Hell, it sounded like something laid-back and casual, so I decided to reflect the scene by wearing the same sort of style. It's not like I was out to impress anyone-that was never my intention. As I glanced at the tiny excuse of a mirror before me, the shining glass reflected a well-built man with dark hair, slightly highlighted throughout with golden-brown, almost blonde strands that fell to my chin. I stood there lacking my shirt and glanced over my defined chest, eying the left of my apex with wincing eyes, a horrible scar that didn't quite heal up as it should have and served as a constant, grim reminder of what I had experienced. It was the result of a gun-shot wound, caused by a bullet that missed my heart and lung by mere inches. I slowly let my finger touch the uneven skin that decorated it, a harsh reminder of the Raccoon City. I could vividly remember going through that metallic hallway that broken off to the left at one point, but instead I had continued forward. Ada, in her crimson dress, was in front of me and spun around, facing the branching hallway. Her once passive face then was taken over by an expression of shocked paralysis as numerous bullets whipped passed her in horrible succession. I dashed towards her and dove, tackling her away from the gunner's view but that didn't deter them from their goal. At that moment, I felt the bullet puncture through the vest and dig into my chest, parting tissue and flesh as it drove home, the pain wracking my being without mercy. I would later discover that it was Annette, Sherry's mother, who was responsible for the attack. I held nothing but painful reminders about me. Hell, if one looked closely at my right cheek, they could easily point out a faded scar from when I was cut by Krauser's knife during that Euro-incident. Luckily, it was only a small sliver and not a horrible gash like the one on Krauser's face had been. He had gotten that when he joined the CIA, the same time I had, but to this day, I never knew how he had gotten such a scar.

After brushing my teeth and fixing my hair in its usual style, letting it hang loosely about my face, I grabbed the most casual outfit in my wardrobe I could find: a navy blue button up collared shirt and a slightly worn pair of long jeans along with a pair of black leather boots. I would have to call Seth again before I headed out to the rendezvous point. In my current mindset, a drink or two sounded like just what the doctor had ordered, but I didn't want to get hammered. I hate the feeling of not being in control of what I say and do; just a few shots and that'll be that. I quickly dressed, leaving the top most button undone just because I liked the feel of the spring breeze billowing past me. Alright, it was only an excuse I had to show off, but a little sex appeal never hurt anyone. Besides, I looked stylish like that. The shirt I had decided on wasn't too baggy or too tight, and the jeans just had that perfect fit. Again, being comfortable is key here, and I believed that I had achieved just that. Grabbing the lightly populated keychain that held my house key and the keys to my Wrangler, I walked out, stuffing my age-old cell-phone in my pocket. I had to keep that on me, it served not only as a personal line but doubled also as my business phone. And since it was nearly always on my person, I prayed over and over that no one from the office would call me and say, "Sorry, Kennedy, but we need you now!" Thankfully, that hasn't happened yet, and I hope to keep it that way.

The plan was for Seth to meet there, so he gave me the directions once more via my phone before I hopped into my shadow gray Wrangler. I had to replace the other one that I drove to Raccoon City with. Grabbing your Jeep wasn't exactly top priority when you have a crowd of zombies rushing you from all sides. I had to thank the government for replacing the vehicle for a newer one once I found out my insurance wouldn't cover it due to 'Rioting Damage'. Complete bullshit, huh?

I arrived at Charlie's without any trouble. It looked pretty spiffy on the outside and upon entering, it was equally appealing. It had that old Western feel to it, with a wooden bar and flooring to match, a juke box against a far wall near a bunch of well-kept pool tables. At that moment, I immediately caught eye of the short, faded charcoal-hair and tan skin of Seth as he waved me down, his lips pulled back into his usual broad smile. He was a big guy too, all muscle, and he certainly had a brain to back up the brawn. I myself preferred a more slender, athletic look in oppose to such a big build. He was dressed in baggy black jeans and a shirt much like my own, only gray and unbuttoned, proudly displaying his beloved ankh tattoo, the bold black ink centered in the middle of his bare chest. As I walked up to him, a wave of second-hand smoke quickly invaded my nose. Why hadn't I notice it earlier? Because it reminds you so much of the damn office, I reminded myself as I tried to mask the groggy feeling that had over taken me at that instant. I don't smoke, but the place was fermented in the thick clouds of the second-hand cancer causer. When I approached Seth, he grabbed hold of a pool stick and tossed it to me. I grabbed it effortlessly, sizing it up for a second before turning my attention to my friend. "So, how's the CIA treating ya? Better then me, I hope." Seth said conversationally as he grabbed the chalk cube and rubbed it on the respective end of his stick. As he did this, I grabbed for the pool balls and neatly loaded them into the triangular rack that stood atop the soft green felt. "Save the work talk for the office. I'm on vacation at the moment," I replied in a half-grunt as I finished sorting the pool balls into their respective order. "But let's just say, my first day on the job was just as hellacious as it was back on the force in Raccoon." Hearing about my experience in the Raccoon Incident had always intrigued Seth and as bad as it sounded, I happily leeched off of his compliments to boost my ego. I would be lying to you if I said I wasn't fond of the attention this afforded me. Sometimes, when I think back to it, I couldn't help but feel proud, but my lesser half always reminds me, in a mocking fashion, 'That's the only reason why the CIA hired you, Leon. Because you survived a good ten-plus hours of zombies, monsters and unspeakable horrors and emerged with your sanity in tact. That's a feat in itself.'

"I still can't believe Umbrella was behind all that." Seth said in a near whisper. 'I could,' was what I longed to say in response, but I opted to keep my mouth shut. I mean, it was a bit suspicious to begin with that the Umbrella Corp. sponsored a whole city to be built and see that its residents were taken care of by providing free health-care. Again, an example of irony at it's best. It couldn't have been a better cover for a black market company who through their sly methods, had managed to gain the trust of the public. I replied curtly, "That's what ninety-percent of the Raccoon Police Department said to the S.T.A.R.S. Team that survived that Spencer Estate incident. I was part of the small percent that held some faith in them." After organizing the set, I lifted up the rack carefully and tossed it to another vacant table. I gestured for him to break first, inviting him to make the first move in this game. As he aimed carefully at the white cue ball, I rubbed the chalk on the tip of the stick, like a warrior shining his sword in preparation for battle. "It must have been horrible not having the whole precinct believe in you, even with all the murder reports near the mountains…the Arklay Mountains, right?" Seth asked and as he hit the first shot, breaking the careful formation. I watched the balls fly in different directions, the first to sink in being a striped ball. Good, I was solids.

"Yeah, that was where the Spencer Estate was located. It was later discovered that it was the guard dogs, a bunch of Dobermans that were infected with the T-virus, were the caused of the mauling," I replied as I plotted where to take my first shot from, eying where the cue ball stood. Seth had leaned up against the wall to watch me and he continued his talk, never missing a beat on the questions, much like an interested student. "So, what happened to the S.T.A.R.S. members? We both know that Raccoon was blown up, thanks for our well-loved government." Sarcastic as he was, it was the truth in this society. It was a love-hate relationship between the government and its citizens. Before I answered, I took my aim at the cue ball and gave a sharp hit, making it bounce off a stripe that knocked into two solids, which ended up landing in two different pockets successfully. I smiled at him in repose, but he only grinned. "You didn't call double, Leon. My turn." Seth announced with confidence as he stood up from the wall. 'Fuck him and the rules', I told myself as I laughed lightly, enjoying myself in spite of everything. It was a steady competition between Seth and I, but I never did stick fully to the rules. Besides, it always ended up me as the victor anyway. I think Seth was being modest in his skills and letting me win, but either way, I would give him a run for his money. "So," Seth began again as he casually glanced at the pool table, my eyes resting on the situation on the table as well, studying the layout intently. "What exactly happened to them?"

I began to contemplate his question and I dazed out for a moment while recollecting. My eyes closed in thought and my lips spoke as the words came from memory. "Well, I know for certain that Chris had found his sister, Claire, (whom I survived the Raccoon incident with) somewhere near the European Facilities. Then the last remaining S.T.A.R.S. members headed out to the Russian facility and wiped out the last bit of existence that was Umbrella. The only problem was," I heard the cue-ball hit several others and I opened my eyes to watch the movement, "The main computer that held all the research data was wiped clean. We're not sure if it was compromised or what." I laughed as I realized that Seth didn't get any of his targets in. He fixed me with a mild glare and reclaimed his place up against the wall. "I remember that," Seth said as I began to survey the table once more to decide where I would take my shot, "The Russian government was pissed at them because they didn't get the green light to go. They were on our ass for weeks!" I shrugged as I caught sight of the front doors open from the corner of my eye. Through the entrance, in poured a Lady Train, all decked out and primed to perfection. I had always found it amusing how the female species hunt in packs whether it was intentional or not. I would give all four of them props for looking good tonight, but who really caught my eye was the younger looking one of the bunch, whose choice of clothing was down right modest in comparison to that of her peers, whom I assumed were either siblings, or close friends. Even as covered up as she was, she looked good while doing it. Anyone can tell how someone is even by something as trivial as how one is dressed, and looking at this woman now, one could easily tell she respected herself in every sense of the word. I immediately took my next shot, knocking in three more solids into the corner and side pockets. Despite that lucky move, my attention was else where, but I did catch Seth's low grunt in disapproval and agitation. "What the fuck!" Seth nearly screamed as he watched, his lips screwed up into a small frown of feigned insult . I smiled at Seth and shrugged, "Lucky shot, I guess. Your turn since I didn't call Triple or what-the-hell-ever it is." With another teasing glare, he took up his position at the head of the pool table as I took my place against the wall and watched as Seth tried to think of a new approach to win.

"Well, what happened to you in Europe? Heard you were close to Spain? Is it nice there?" Seth asked now, as he positioned his stick once again, assessing different angles from a variety of viewpoints. I sighed as I lightly leaned on my stick. I really didn't want to get into such a sensitive subject, but I know if I completely ignored it, Seth would annoy the shit out of me until he got an answer. He would have to wait on that for now; I really didn't feel like revisiting what transpired just a month ago. "You'll have to wait on that one, Seth. I'll tell you this much: If you like the country, you'll love it there; cow shit and hay-stacks everywhere." I laughed lightly as Seth made his next shot. What a clumsy ass! He had gotten a good bunch in, including several of mine. All I had left was the eight ball while he still had two more remaining to worry before he would be on my level. We both looked at each other and I just shrugged with a sly smile. He gave his guttural grunt of displeasure and moved to lean against the wall as I took careful aim at the eight ball. As I mentally measured the angle and distance from the table-side view, I couldn't help but notice two of the women from the group that had entered a short while approaching, the older of the two staring at me with unabashed interest, the other being the one who had caught my eye before, even from a distance. It was obvious that the older one was more confident in herself; she gave me a very nice smile with those ruby lips while the younger one was in somewhat awe, like a school girl seeing her admirer face-to-face. I couldn't help the wide smile that rose to my lips and tapped my stick in the direction of the left corner pocket, giving a deft shot that made the eight-ball go clean in. As the older one whispered words that even I couldn't discern, she walked over to where I stood with a proud strut. But my attention was focused on the younger one, seeing her face quickly shift to an almost jealous glare that could easily be mistaken for silent hatred before lapsing into a visible longing, an almost depressed glitter visible in those soft hazel eyes. Being in the CIA, one tended to notice these kinds of things easily, which always helped in the interrogation room.

The older one sauntered her way up to me and it was difficult not to notice the way her pink tank-top hugged her ample breasts, the low cut fabric revealing a nice portion of cleavage, a tribal sun ring tattoo circling the belly-button of her slender waist. She came closer to me and gently grazed her white-tipped manicured nails over the exposed flesh of my arms as she brought her lips to my ear and whispered in a voice that was sweet enough to cause a cavity, "Hey there, gorgeous. Mind leaving this game for a quick dance? I'm sure you can handle me just as good as you handle that pool stick, sugar." I couldn't help but grin at her flattery, but my eyes were still locked on the younger woman, who was now walking away while digging through her purse. This woman that was suggestively rubbing my chest and fixing me with a charming smile smelled like peaches and she was a sight for sore eyes. I'd have to give her some credit for that, but despite her obvious desire for me, if I was going to talk to anyone, it would be Miss Red, the girl who had just walked out. I decided to play nice and charm her into turning her attention to Seth, who had a fondness for women like this one.

"I'll have to pass on this one, babe." I replied, "But I'm sure my buddy Seth here wouldn't mind getting to know a woman like you. And between you and me," I then spoke in a low whisper, "He a much better dancer than me. I'm sure he could handle you better too. Now, if you'll excuse me." I gently pushed her away as I glanced at Seth, who gave me a wide, wolfish grin. I'm not sure of what her reaction to my gentle rejection were because that was when I began to make my way to the exit. As I walked off I yelled to Seth, "Just call me later, bro. We'll play again."

By the time I reached the exit, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Seth already making his move on the Miss Tribal, who had a look of disappoint playing on her painted up face that I almost felt guilty for…almost. I exited the smoke-filled building and welcomed the breath of fresh air that filled my lungs as I stepped out into the night. I coughed a few times to rid myself of the smoke that had trailed me outside and looked around for the red-head. She hadn't gone far, she was sitting on a bench with a book in her hand, her eyes scanning back and forth through the words, flipping the pages every minute or so. She was a fast reader. That itself told me she was a bit more educated then most. Many people would beg to differ, but they couldn't deny that known fact. Without drawing any attention to myself, I claimed the seat next to her, but not too close; I didn't want her to feel threatened, or feel as if I was invading her personal space. Plus, I wanted to have enough room to react incase she decided to ward me off with a harsh slap.

The first thing to do when you talk to a woman is to state an obvious fact, that way you can get her attention. But I couldn't do that to her; she would know better. After examining the situation a bit more and piecing together the puzzle that was laid before me, I had to make my obvious statement, knowing that it was a rather pathetic attempt to catch her attention, but not being able to think of another approach. "It must be pretty uncomfortable watching your friends hit on other guys and you not getting any of the attention. There isn't a need to be passive, Miss." I had to make it personal, that's what would intrigue women because they were personal creatures. Whether it is in a pure relationship or a simple one-night stand, it had to satisfy them on a personal level no matter how committed they were. And in order to delve into that personal abyss, I had to feed into it to make the fire bigger, so to speak. Not many men could understand that in this day and age. Hell, even I still have trouble with it sometimes. Is that what broke up marriages and whatnot, because of no clarification and misunderstanding? I would never know.

'Let's just hope she even looks your way.'