AN: I changed Leon's age for my own purposes in case anyone wonders. I think he was meant to be 21 in RE2, but I made him younger my own twisted purposes nyah ha ha! Anyway, on with the story!

Chapter 1

Put your Hand in the Box

I turned to look over my shoulder but there was no one there. This was happening far too often for my liking and I would be damned if I could tell what was causing it. Earlier I had put it down to the fact that I was in a new environment, I was suffering from jet lag and I was still recovering from...from the incident. Now however the feeling of eyes boring into my back had felt substantial enough to be worrying. I shuddered involuntarily, rubbing the back of my neck nervously as I stepped backwards a few times before turning and walking down the corridor. I was late for practice.

"Kennedy! Get in line, you're late!"
"Sorry sir, it won't happen again," I said back as respectfully as I could.

I stood in line, back ramrod straight. I still wasn't used to this outfit, the screamed orders or the overly stern drill sergeant. Working for a police unit had been disciplined, sure, but never this harsh. It would take some getting used to. I had actually flinched when he'd shouted for which I berated myself silently. Admittedly it hadn't been his harsh tone that had disturbed me, or his false anger, it was the fact that he'd called me by name. Myself and the new recruits had only been here for two days and already he was calling me Kennedy, while he had to consult a register to remember any one else's name. I felt like everyone knew who I was, all because of Racoon City. Thankfully the questions hadn't started yet, but it was only a matter of time.

"Today we will be assessing your hand to hand combat skills, after which you will be assigned to your respective classes. Alright, when I call your name come to the front," the Sergeant said authoritatively before he checked the sheet of paper in his hands, "Collins, Harber!"

Two recruits broke from the line and stood to attention on the mat in front of the Sergeant expectantly. The first, Collins, had a heavy tan, short dark hair and was at least a foot taller than Harber who looked like a palate swapped version of the other man; he was pale, blonde and it was easy to see that Collins was more heavily muscled. I watched them both intently.

"Okay gentlemen," the Sergeant said with a wry smile, "the objective is for each pair to try and incapacitate their partner. I don't want to see any funny business, we're here to assess your skills not see you maul each other. Okay, begin when you're ready."

Collins was smirking as he walked to the opposite side of the mat from Harber, flexing his fingers menacingly. Haber simply looked back, expression blank. The stared at each other intently for a few seconds, neither dropping into a fighting stance. I could see Harber tensing when suddenly he moved. He was fast, probably due to his size, and Collins hadn't been expecting it, hadn't seen the tightening of muscles and extra pressure he'd placed on the balls of his feet that I had. He launched a sweeping kick at the larger mans legs which he only just managed to dodge by jumping. However his evasion had left him off balance and Harber took full advantage, pushing up from his crouch to tackle Collins to the ground. I looked up to the Sergeant to gauge his reaction and noticed a man standing behind him, clip board in hand, taking notes. He was tall, blonde hair slicked back, sunglasses obscuring his eyes. I filed his face away until I could find a name to match it, focusing once more on the fight. Harber had effectively neutralised Collins in the short time I had looked away; Harber had the man's arms twisted up his back while he sat with his knee in the small of Collin's back. The latter did not look impressed.

"Alright get up," the Sergeant said lazily, "good job. Collin's get back in line! Next up, Kessinger!"

Kessinger was more of Collin's stature but not quite so broad across the shoulders and chest. The fight seemed to be going in Harber's favour for the first minute, which was longer than the previous fight lasted at least, but when he tried to catch Kessinger's legs in trip manoeuvre the larger man grabbed his arm, put an elbow in his back and threw him to the ground winded. From there he put the man in a stranglehold while restraining Harber's legs and arms. They parted at the Sergeant's call, Harber rubbing his back with a wince but nodding grudgingly to his opponent who lifted his head slightly in reply. As he did so I noticed a thick, jagged scar reaching from the man's jaw line, down over his throat and disappearing under his t-shirt. I blanched at the thought of the wound that must have caused it, so intrigued that I almost missed the Sergeant's next words.

"Kennedy!" although I did notice that, once again, he hadn't consulted his sheet when calling my name; I bristled but didn't let it show, instead walking to the front.

I looked back at Kessinger and was surprised to see the man look slightly worried. What the hell could he possibly have to be worried about? Hell, I was no bigger than Harber in height or build, yet he looked like he had been set up against a guy twice his size. He quickly changed his expression to a blank one however, craning his neck to the left and then the right, shaking out his shoulders and then falling into stance. I followed suit, looking for the weak points in the position of his feet. I stepped forwards and was surprised that he stepped back, expecting it to be in the other direction. I looked back to his face with irritation, noting his hesitation. He must have noticed my reaction because he growled and then launched himself at me without warning, right arm pulled back for a punch, the other held out in front for balance.

I didn't mean for it to happen, I thought I had more control. After all those sessions with Melissa I was sure that I could handle any situation, that it was just my dreams that I had to control. I was wrong. I felt the adrenaline pump through my veins as Kessinger lunged at me and I couldn't help but feel the threat that wasn't there, the thought of death, that if he got a hold on me then it would all be over, everything, I would be dead.

I thought on my feet, ducking down under the punch, grabbing his right arm as it sailed over my head, and used his momentum to flip him over my shoulder. He went down hard, another drawback of his size that I was more than happy to take advantage of. My heart raced as he struggled and I felt the need to kill him quickly, before he posed any more of a threat to me. I kept hold of his arm, twisting it painfully while incapacitating his legs with my right leg and pushing into his throat with my left foot. He choked in surprise, eyes wide and I loosened the pressure on reflex at the sound. I felt my eyes widen in horror, hoping no one else had noticed I had tried to...oh god.

Oh god. This feeling. It will never go away, will it? Never.

"Alright Kennedy you can let him up now," I could hear the Sergeant's concern hidden beneath his sarcasm.

I disengaged and held out a hand for Kessinger. He hesitated for a moment, rubbing at his neck, but eventually took hold and let me pull him to his feet. I sighed quietly, relieved, even as he eyed me suspiciously and walked back into the line. Foolishly I chanced a look at the faces of the other recruits, instantly noting their worry at being called out next. Shit, was all I could think. Have I no self control left? I thought savagely. I was in a room full of people and I couldn't separate an everyday training exercise from a kill or be killed situation. Flashes of Racoon City, that's what I'd seen when I fought Kessinger, flashes of bloodshot eyes and rotting flesh, jaws gaping open ready to feed. All I could think, as the next man was called to the front, was that Kessinger was lucky there was someone else here to snap me out of it.

I shouldn't be here, I thought desperately, I'm going to get someone killed, I'm dangerous, I'm a killer...

I pushed the thoughts away viciously. No, I could control this! I just needed to get myself under control, that's all, once I was used to it, the adrenaline, the sparing, I would be fine. And it did go fine, almost too well, I was beating everyone they sent at me and the Sergeant was eyeing me with interest, as was the man in the sunglasses. Until the sixth fight. The spar went routinely at first and I had him, I had him easily, without feeling that fear, the fear that made my heart stop with the thought that I was going to die...until he managed to get behind me, putting my right arm into a lock, his leg twisting round my own, his other hand coming up to incapacitate my other arm...only he never managed it. My reflexes were startled into action and I panicked, breath catching in my throat –he's going to kill me!- sending my elbow back into his face with a sickening crunch. His hold loosened and he stumbled back, clutching his nose, blood pouring down onto his chin. I blanched, eyes wide, shocked at what I had done.

"God, I'm sorry..." I started.
"Shit," the Sergeant muttered, stepping forwards, "I thought I said to take it easy. Kennedy get back into line, I'll talk to you after! Shaw, take Gross to the medic and hurry up about it."

A man who was standing near the doorway stepped forwards and guided the man named Gross to the exit. I swallowed, feeling nauseous at the thought of a talk. Shit, I'd only been here for two days and look, look at my lack of control! I cursed myself silently, hating the way the others eyes followed me warily as I rejoined the line.

"Get a hold of yourself Kennedy," I muttered as I stood outside the Sergeant's office, falling into the routine I'd used when standing outside Melissa's office.

I knocked and waited for the muffled reply before entering. The Sergeant sat behind a meticulously neat desk, his cool grey eyes focused on a manila folder in his hands as I walked in and stood to attention. He left me there for a moment, flicking his eyes up to me a couple of times before sighing.

"At ease," I relaxed only slightly at his command before he continued, "The report I'm holding in my hands tells me that you're mentally sound Kennedy, is that information I can trust?"

I felt angry at his choice of words, but also guilty at the same time considering I wasn't sure I could answer him truthfully.

"Yes sir," I said after a moment's hesitation, my back still ramrod straight.
"Calm down son, I'm not here to tear you a new one," he said, eyeing me with interest as he had done earlier, "although you will have to show more restraint from now on when training or I won't be able to keep you on the programme, and that would be a shame."

I'll admit I relaxed more after hearing him say that. I swallowed, watching his movements as he tossed the now closed folder onto his desk. I noticed my name at the top, blazoned onto a white cardboard tab. I wondered how much he knew.

"You're an impressive fighter Kennedy," he continued, pulling my attention back to him, "considering you're a survivor of the Racoon City incident this doesn't surprise me. To get through that you must be one tough son of a bitch. What does surprise me is that your shrink here certified you as stable."

I felt my lips tighten. I am stable now! -You're not- . I shivered a little at the mocking voice in my conscience, my own voice, telling me things I didn't want to know.

"That's right sir," I said steadily.
"Well, Charles Gross' broken nose would dispute that fact," he said with a raised brow.
"I...I'm sorry Sir," I chastised myself for hesitating, "it was a reflex."
"I'm not here to dispute your reflexes son," he said clasping his hands, "they're top notch, exactly what we're looking for. It's your ability to control them that's got you standing there talking to me."

I swallowed. What was he asking? That I get myself under control now or I was out? I didn't understand what he wanted from me.

"Sir," I asked trying to sound more confident than I felt, "what do I need to do?"
"What do you mean?" he looked confused.
"To stay here. Uh, permission to speak freely sir?," I asked, feeling like an idiot; he nodded back, "I know that I might not seem it but I am a lot better off than when I first got out of Racoon. Hell, you wouldn't recognise me now if you saw me. I'm not going to say that it hasn't affected me because that would be a lie. If you read Doctor Hydan's notes you'll see that I was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder, but you'll also see the progress I've made. I just need to get back into routine of feeling the adrenaline, I swear to you once I've settled in I won't give you any trouble. If not, I'll go without a word if you order me to."

He looked at me and blinked, seeming impressed yet somehow sad at the same time.

"How old are you son?" he asked seriously.
"I'm twenty sir," I said, "two months ago."

He shook his head and sighed, rubbing his face roughly with his hand.

"Shit. Rookie's get younger every year," he muttered, looking back to me, "I don't want to see any more broken noses around here, understand Kennedy?"
"Yes sir," I said, putting as much force into it as I dared.
"Good," he smiled, making his hard grey eyes soften a little, "you're a good kid, don't let it get to you, alright?

I nodded, feeling confused and relieved and overall exhausted. I'd spent the better part of the afternoon and the evening worrying that I was going to be thrown out on my second day. Thankfully things hadn't gone as badly as I'd thought and it was nice to know that my skills hadn't diminished over the months I'd spent keeping as far away from violence as I could, trying not to think about Racoon. I walked back to the dormitories slowly, not really thrilled about going there either. Each dormitory was split into rooms of six beds and lockers; and I would, of course, be sharing with Kessinger and four others I hadn't been introduced to yet. Shit.

Kessinger was the only one there when I arrived. Sods fucking law. He looked up as I entered and blinked when he saw me, eyeing me for a moment before looking away. I couldn't help but notice the scar again, thick and white, passing nearly over the jugular. He stood self consciously, moving to his locker to start putting his things away, snapping me out of my staring. I closed the door behind me and walked to my bunk. You could have heard a pin drop. Eventually I worked up the nerve to break it.

"Look, I'm sorry," he turned abruptly to look at me, seemingly startled; it looked out of place on such a large man, "about earlier. I didn't mean to get carried away..."
"No," he shook his head, face breaking into a smirk, "you didn't hurt me or anything, no big deal."

I felt the weight lift off my chest as if it were a physical thing. Well that removed that worry. However he looked back at me with a curious look, making my defence mechanisms spark back into life.

"You're Leon Kennedy, aren't you," he asked.
"...Yeah," I said, hearing the monotone element slipping into my voice, "that's right."
"No way," he said, eyes lighting up as he walked over to my bed to regard me closely, "and here I'd always thought you'd be seven feet tall with muscles that could crush a steel can in one hand!"
"Uh, right," I said with a frown, feeling decidedly exposed.
"Sorry," he laughed, face becoming disturbingly friendly, "I didn't mean to intimidate you or anything, it's just I heard about Racoon City, you know? I couldn't believe anyone surviving that after all those people were killed, and yet you got out, you and that girl. That's why I wasn't surprised when you got one over on me, I thought to myself, Victor, this guy must be one tough motherfucker so you'd better watch your back."

I looked at him, unblinking. He noticed my reaction and laughed, slapping me hard on the arm to startle me out of staring. I coughed and smiled back uncertainly.

"Sorry kid, I talk too much, just ignore me. Oh hey, haven't properly introduced myself yet have I? Victor Kessinger," he said offering his hand.
"Leon Kennedy," I said shaking it firmly.
"Seems a bit arbitrary now, doesn't it, but never mind," he joked, "still, nice to meet you. It's gonna be fun, right?"

Right, I thought, nodding, placing my hand on my hip and the other in my hair. It felt strange, this sudden turnaround when before I'd been so sure that things had already gone horribly wrong. The other four guys who shared the room turned up half an hour later, introducing themselves as Chad Walker, Brendon Whetford, Michael Kohler and Greg Huntington. It felt surreal in a way, meeting all these new people at once. I felt like I was back at the police academy. Except this time everyone knew who I was, and I'd already been through hell and spat back out again. This was probably as close to normal as I was going to get.