BANG!
The gun roared and jerked Leon backwards. Leon's foot stepped back by instinct, but he was too afraid to look. Too afraid to move. Too afraid to breathe.
His chest constricted, ordering the thumping inside to shut up, only for the adrenaline-ridden muscle to gasp and beg for air. He spun in this dark, suffocating vacuum, too close yet too far, too afraid to look, too afraid to move, too afraid to breathe.
Oh, Christ. Oh, Christ, Christ, Christ…
Only silence replied.
Leon let himself breathe. It was the cold air of the main hall that entered his lungs and brought him back, the sharp, scratchy gunpowder and blood's copper smell mingling along to remind him of the fired gun.
Blood. Blood! He flung open his eyes, and he was back in the main hall. Only now, Lt. Branagh's corpse rested on the tiles, decomposed, mangled and riddled with wounds.
It shouldn't look this ordinary. Leon thought the same thing while gazing at the shot undead cops on the ground, only that this time… Marvin was someone he knew. He thought that they could both make it out of the station alive.
Leon reminded himself that time was of the essence and he needed to leave the station, especially with the undead rampant here. Drawing a deep breath in, Leon tucked his gun back in its holster.
"I'll stop this, Lieutenant... I promise."