Massive trigger warning for sexual assault/rape. Read at your own discretion.
The dark safe room office, dank with the musk of mildew and blood penetrating the air. The crooked blue light above him sways ever so slightly on a broken chain as Leon disarms himself of his rifle, pressing it into the safe box under him. It's quiet in this room, closed off from the rest of the police station, save the distant noises of groaning undead that sink through the cracks of the door. Rifling through this collection of items he'd found here, he knows there are items he needs to collect around the station. The club key, the locker room buttons, a few other things he can't remember off the top of his head but he knows he needs room for it. He just hopes that whatever creatures are crawling through his place won't be too much of a hassle for him. He's bringing his pistol, some ammo, and first aid spray. That's it. He doesn't have room for much else.
The clanging of items removed from his pockets into the secure box ring out through the room, producing too much noise for Leon's comfort. He just hopes he's safe enough in here to not be bothered while he organizes. Pressing the last item of green herb into the chest, he reloads his pistol and shuts the lid, standing up straight to prepare himself for the rest of the facility once again. He's tired, weariness rests on his eyes like a blanket, calling for him to give in, but no matter where he goes he knows there's no true safety for him to sleep or even nap.
Leon presses his gun into its holster. If he's lucky, he won't have to evade the tyrant roaming these halls. He prays to whatever higher power that he'll be safe. Though, considering the events of Racoon City over the past several weeks, he doesn't know anymore if it's even worth it.
He approaches the door, taking a long, deep inhale before he opens the cool metal handle like ice on his skin, stepping outside. He hears the distance echoing of large feet stomping on the wooden floorboards. He tries his best to gauge the direction and distance but it's difficult considering the maze that this building is. One last look at his map, he quickly heads off to his left, turning the corner, flashlight in hand.
Walking down these halls feels claustrophobic, feels like extended exposure therapy. He's sure anyone with a fear of the undead would be either cured within an hour of being here or have gotten exponentially worse in that same time. He's surprised at his own wits, considering he's had less than adequate training for this specific situation. The environment around him only breaks down those wits down even more. Blood on the walls, a clutter of desks, boxes, and chairs covered in mysterious grime. Then, as he turns another corner, an infected down the hall, groaning. Leon quickly unholsters his gun, aiming directly for the head of the zombie who seems completely oblivious to Leon. He aims, unloads the safety, and shoots.
The gunshot rings loudly in Leon's ears as the seemingly unaffected humanoid turns, vacant eyes staring down Leon from down the hall. Another two bullets as the monster's face turn bloody with each bullet, becoming more and more malformed. Leon hears large clamoring footsteps above him, slowly growing closer, but he knows he can't go anywhere until this damn thing is dead. Then he can get to this next room and collect anything he hasn't yet found.
The zombie has begun to move toward him, somehow still alive despite the fact he's already unloaded half his clip into it. One more straight shot at its head before it wobbles on its feet and collapses back, its head bursting with blood. No time to waste, that Tyrant is nearby. He can sense it in the hairs that rise on the back of his neck in fear. He sprints down the hall, working his way past the zombie on the floor as he approaches the next room. He tries the door, but his gut drops when it doesn't open. He turns, cautious of the footsteps that are roaring closer. Dead end to his right, the office is his only solace.
He bursts through the door, fear driving his thumping heart. The footsteps are aching closer, they almost seem louder in this room as he quickly shuts the door behind him. He snags a few items off the table in a panicked rush, ignoring the blood in the room, ignoring the survival instincts that tell him to hide. There is no hiding from this creature. He realizes that quickly as just moments after searching the room, the door swings open and the tyrant is lowering his head to enter.
Run. He has to run.
Leon looks for an exit, any kind of exit, but as he quickly realizes, there is none. He's trapped himself in with this monster. As the creatures comes by his right, circling the table, Leon quickly dodges to his left, hoping to make it through the door if he can juke the tyrant well enough.
The tyrant right on his ass, Leon's heart pounding in fear and blood rushing to his ears, he makes his run for it, a B-line straight for the door. He can't breathe through his panic, terrified that one wrong move could mean his death. Looking behind him for a split second, he realizes the tyrant is much too close for comfort, coming back around the left and just in arm's reach. Leon only has one chance, he could absolutely blow it right now. He hears a strong arm move swiftly behind him as he opens the door. Only a quarter of a second too late.
Before Leon can bolt back down the hall, he feels a tug at the back of his vest as he's flung backward, directly into the wall. His back shoots needles in pain, the blunt force knocking his lungs empty. He can't breathe, but he knows if he lets this keep him down for more than a second, he won't ever breathe again. That's the cycle now. There's never a moment to rest. Never a moment to let the pain evaporate into an ache, just keep going. Gotta keep going.
Wincing in pain as he pushes himself off the wall, his back burning and aching with such force he swears he'll cry, Leon swerves to his left once again, the tyrant directly in front of him. He manages to land on his feet, but once again, he feels the tug on the back of his vest. He chokes. He feels like prey being hunted. He feels like he'll never make it out of this room alive and it's all he can do to brace himself for the second impact as he's tugged backward toward the tyrant, uncomfortably close.
A hand on his head, another on his lower back, pinning him chest first into the wall. Leon feels the rough concrete scrape against his face, disfiguring his nose and cheek. He groans in pain, tears threatening to coat his eyes. His chest is so tight, his lungs refuse to expand under the pressure. One smash of his head into the wall and he's done for. No finding Claire. No solving this mess. Nothing. He's done. He should have figured sooner or later death would catch up to him like this. With all the other men who worked here dead or turned, it's no surprise that he fit perfectly into that statistic.
He's just about to shut his eyes and say goodbye as the hand on the back of his head disappears, but he's still pinned to the wall. He takes a sharp breath, dirt, blood, and grime stuck to his face. He's surprised, shocked, even, but he doesn't let relief even pierce his brain. He's not out in the clear yet. Adrenaline pumps through his blood like the best kind of drug, but no amount of it will get him out of this situation.
Leon reaches in his holster, realizing he's still armed. His hands freed and the immediate fear of death vanishing as he aims the pistol behind him. He should have brought more than this. He should have known this thing would catch up to him eventually. Why didn't he? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
This thing's reflexes are sharp. Before he can even get his finger on the trigger, his hand is being grabbed violently, his wrist twisting in an unnatural position. He hears a harsh snaps, and feels it just a second later as the gun falls from his limp hand. He screams, unable to contain the sudden agony. It's all he can do. The pain is immeasurable, it's much more than just a pulled muscle, he's confident in thinking his wrist must be broken or at least dislocated. His hand falls limp with a sharp pain, his pained cries filling the room. Who knew a fucked wrist could hurt so badly? The tyrant fits two massive fingers between the strap of his hip pouches and his pants before with one sharp tug, all of his belongings hit the floor and are then thrown to the of them with severe carelessness.
Leon is panting, the pain of his wrist taking up all pain receptors, the fear of being disarmed, exposed, and defenseless taking up all anxiety receptors. He is terrified. He's never been so scared in his life. Never. He's true prey now. Nothing can save him from this situation. Nothing can get him out of it. Not his wits. Not his strength. He's done for.
But despite that, the tyrant doesn't move. He's still being pinned to the wall by his lower back, like a crab unable to move. But there is no blunt force to his head. There is no ripping of limbs. He expects a harsh kick to the head. Anything. But, there is nothing. Just the small, pathetic whines of Leon in pain, his wrist still limp at his hip.
He doesn't dare speak, afraid he might anger the monster behind him. He just stays perfectly still, waiting. Fear has a strong grasp on his heart, forcing blood throughout his body. Ready to accept his death at any moment, something's gonna happen. He can feel it. Why would this thing just pin him against the wall and leave him there? Still, as the seconds pass, nothing happens. The tyrant just holds him there. Leon turns his head, trying to get a look at the creature to see it release its hold on him, relieving the pressure on his back. His chance to escape. Leon doesn't waste time, he knows he can't, as he bolts for it, a desperate attempt to escape. He can get away, grab the gun, or simply run. He knows he can, but to his dismay he barely gets two feet on the ground before he's being tugged by the bad wrist, pinned against the wall once more. He screams in pain, he feels the bones sharp inside him, hot tears boil over his eyes as his other hand is brought up to meet the first, both of his hands pinned, his body against the wall. Leon kicks at the giant but it does nothing, he's panicking, he's terrified. Why does he want to tease him like this, to play with him like a mouse? It's humiliating.
He feels a second hand brush his leg aside, paying no mind to his pathetic attempts to fight back before with one large rip, his vest has been broken from his chest and it falls to the floor.
Leon's eyes widen, uncertainty possessing his mind. Why would this thing want his vest off? So it's easier to kill him? That's the only logical answer Leon has in mind. It seems like such a strange action for this monster to do. One pop of the head and he's out. What's the point? He can only watch in horror as the second layer of clothing is ripped brutally from his chest. His heart drops when a seeping realization crawls from the back of his mind.
"Wait-" Leon can barely get the words out when his last layer is stripped and exposed, his chest touching the cool air in the office. He doesn't know for complete sure what the creature wants, why he's being stripped down to bare skin, but he doesn't like it. He would much rather die than have what he's afraid is going to happen next. Leon kicks harder, this time with both legs, holding onto the giant's hand with one of his own for support.
"Stop, stop, stop-" Leon panicks, unable to catch his breath, tears still boiling over from pain, fear, and now dread. He can't catch his breath, dizzy, unable to comprehend what's happening. That hand comes back, cold and unrelenting, brushing his tiny chest in comparison before it reaches for Leon's belt. Leon chokes, his whispering suspicions turning to screams in his mind. This isn't happening. This isn't happening. He's not losing his dignity like this. He can't. Not like this.
"Let me go, let me go, please, I don't-" Leon is hysterical, crying and panting, unable to catch a breath. He's completely panicking, he can't think, he can't breathe. He's going to be raped. There's no more question as to what this monster wants from him. His mind is in a panic, his heart in a flurry. Tears stream down his wildfire cheeks, his hair wetting from the saltiness. He continues to kick, screaming in defiance, "Stop, stop, STOP-"
Leon refuses to give in, refuses to just let it happen, but all of his attempts are in vain as his belt is pulled from the buckle and yanked off his body, his pants sagging, revealing the trail of hair on his lower stomach. Leon feels trapped. Terrified. He is prey, but he'd rather be a mouse than this kind of toy. He'd rather die than this. He's defenseless, there is no control, there is no escape. He isn't grateful this monster is granting him "mercy" in not killing him right away. He'd rather be dead than this. Anything but this.
Leon screams, breathing doesn't calm his nerves, it doesn't calm anything. As he looks into the tyrant's eyes through his own blurred vision, he sees desire. An instinctual urge. Predatory. Raw. Hurt, hurt, hurt. Violate. Control. Nothing could have prepared him for this. Nothing.
"Just kill me already, please, not- I can't, I can't- Please-" Leon can't form a single sentence to save his life, he's panicked. He's terrified. He can't think as his pants are tugged down lightly to his ankle, his thighs exposed to the air, he can't think as a finger slips between his skin and his boxers. All he can do is struggle, and kick, and scream. He lands a good hit to the tyrant's eye and immediately falls to the floor, the giant's grip escaping him. It cries out in pain, angry, but he's free. Leon can make it. He can make it out of here alive. He doesn't waste a single second in slipping to the monster's right, pulling his pants up his legs, his chest still exposed. He can deal. He'll find clothes. He can't let this happen. Never.
Leon darts past the tyrant, trying to regain his breath. No part of him wants this. No part of him was ready for the new mountain of horrors the creature wanted to release on him. He just runs, tears clouding his vision. He swings open the door with his good hand, wonders for a moment if he should go back for his pistol, but quickly disregards it. Not now. He can't risk it. There's something about this entire encounter that terrifies him to his bone, makes his skin chill in fear. This is his worst nightmare. Genuinely. He'll never trust in himself again if he doesn't get away.
The creature is right behind him, the thunderous steps echoing as Leon bolts through the door. He runs as fast as he can, a rabbit being chased by a wolf. A cat and mouse. He takes a right, then straight, then another right, risking a glance behind him to see the tyrant right on him, angry. Extremely angry. Leon barely makes it another step before he realizes he's on stairs and he trips, his heart stopping for just a moment, paralyzed in fear. He struggles to get back up, only able to use one hand to do so. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Get on your feet, Leon. Get on your fucking feet and RUN.
Leon manages, sprinting up the stairs, trying to regain his lost breath. He feels the wind of an attempted lunge, forcing his heart to pump even more adrenaline through his veins. He can't risk it. Can't risk it. He keeps running. No thoughts, no words, just sprints up the stairs. He takes a sharp left. A door at the end of the hall. He can get through. He can slow the giant down. He can make it. He can make it.
Leon sprints right into the door, expecting it to burst open, but when it doesn't, he tries the knob.
Locked.
Leon's heart sinks.
A sharp grip tears his head back, forcing him on his back to the floor. He tries to kick himself away, tears once again threatening to spill over his eyes. He hates this. He hates this. His head hurts, he feels so used. He feels exposed. And now, he knows there's no running. He can't get through the door. He can't get past this creature. He's trapped. Completely. Unrelentingly.
This time, there is no time wasted. The creature is mad. Pissed. Leon isn't going to get out of this with anything. Not his life. Not his dignity. And not without a lifetime of trauma. His pants are ripped from his legs, a hand still in his hair keeping him there painfully, his boxers ripped from his skin to reveal his flaccid cock. He wants no part of this, he wants to be home. He shouldn't have come in today. He should have just left when he had the chance. He wants to die. He'd rather die than give up his autonomy like this. It's brutal. It's raw. It's absolutely terrifying. He doesn't even feel like a man.
He tries to kick himself away once again as the tyrant's hand move to its own trench coat, slowly, excruciatingly untying it. Leon doesn't know what primal urge would force a mutated creature like that to do something as revolting as this. He doesn't know what genes must have formed to enjoy a sight like this. It makes him sick. He feels so nauseous. At any moment, he knows he could vomit. And there's nothing he can do.
He continues to kick away, but he's only dragged back by his foot as the other hand unbuckles the belt from around its hips. Leon sees a massive bulge threatening to break through the denim. He can't help but scream through his sobs, hot water pouring down his cheeks. He hides his face, he doesn't want to look. He doesn't want to witness the horror that's happening in front of him. He hears a zipper, the grip still tight on his ankle as the shuffling of falling fabric patters off the walls.
"Stop, stop, stop, please. I can't… I…" Leon's whispering, whimpering in hysterics, he is terrified. Frozen in shock. And when he peeks through his fingers, the appendage he sees in front of him is sure to rip him in two. He can't help but to scream out that same chant of words over again, louder, echoing off the walls of the police station. The monster, though it's eyes empty, looks pleased with itself. Looks like it's enjoying every second of Leon's struggle. It sickens him to his core, he doesn't know if he can take the suspense any longer. He knows what is coming next. He wants it to be over already. He wants this violation to end. He doesn't know what's worse, the cruel foreplay this monster is giving or the action itself.
Leon feels his hips being pulled toward the monster, he tries to kick, he feels so sick and panicked but despite it, he won't go like this without a fight. He won't let it. He won't let this happen willingly. Maybe he fights more for himself than for actual use, but either way, it's no use.
He knows it deep down, he knows it as his heart catches in his throat and he feels the monster's cock at his hole. His hips still held to the cold, harsh floor. Leon's hyperventilating. He can't get air, his chest is knotted, his head pangs, his wrist sharply lays at his side, everything is going wrong. Everything is going so, so terribly wrong. He can't keep his psyche together, can't do anything. He's so brutally scared of what's to come. He wants to be home. He doesn't want to be here.
The tyrant exhales a harsh grunt as it positions itself on Leon, lining up quickly. It wastes no time. Leon feels the dry heaving reach his throat, bile threatening to pass his throat.
"Please-" Leon begs, his voice cracking, breaking under the pressure. He knows it's no use. He knows there is no more running. It's over. There's no way he'll be able to get away. He only wishes he'd been smarter. He only wishes he'll still be clean after this. Not in terms of diseases but mentally. Physically. He wants to shower. Wants to wash this monster away from him.
Leon stares up at the ceiling, distracting himself as best he can. He's had sex before, plenty of women, and the occasional man he'd meet at the bars. He'd always been sober, always aware of his senses. Always, despite the relationship between him and his other, made sure they both enjoyed what they had. This is nothing like that. This is so, so much more terrible. What had he done to deserve this?
It felt like God was punishing him. If he made it out of here alive, he wouldn't dare tell a soul. This isn't something that leaves the apocalypse. This isn't something that leaves this room. As the creature's massive cock begins to press into Leon, he feels the hot tears again. He's trembling, terrified of the pain to come, not only physical, but emotional. He's never been in a situation like this before, and he's not taking it well. He feels as the appendage slides in slightly more, burning so painfully it feels like hell. Maybe worse than any pain he'd ever felt before.
"Please, just kill me instead," Leon demands with strength he didn't know he had, his words cracking in desperation, "That's what you want, right? All evidence gone? So kill me. Just…" he collapses his head back in defeat, his energy gone by the end. He knows this monster will not listen. He doubts it even knows what he's saying. The tyrant has shown no remorse thus far, why would he now?
Leon knows his thoughts are supported when the cock rams so deeply inside of him he screams. It's bone chilling, it's desperation, hatred, and pain. So much pain. It's the feeling of nothing and everything. Of violation. There is no preparation, not an ouch of spit separating his insides from the massive cock inside him. It's pure pain, muscles tearing, blood soaking between soon after, he can feel it. The pain is enough to make him faint for just a moment, for the light behind his eyelids to go completely dark and his brain to shut off.
Leon feels like he's being ripped in two. His guts are being torn apart, he feels the appendage deep in his stomach, it's far past any prostate it could even potentially pleasure, but that's at the very back of Leon's subconscious, he doesn't even think of it. He doesn't want to. He's forced back to the present barely a second later when the monster pulls back, unsheathing nearly completely. It only irritates what is left of his insides.
Out, and back in with the same intensity. Leon is shaking, seizing up at the pain, trying to force it out. He wants it out. He can't breathe, he can't think, not of anything besides the pain that hits him deep in his gut. He feels out of it, but still excruciatingly aware of every movement this creature makes inside of him. There is no love. Not a bit of empathy or sympathy for his position, only raw primal instinct. It breaks him.
Leon's voice catches in his throat, there are no more words he could push out that could make the situation better, only the screams and cries of extreme pain. Pain he's never felt before, searing hot, like a brand inside of him, cauterizing every bit of flesh it touches. It feels like hell has entered his body, and no matter what he does, it won't leave. All he can do is bite on his arm, covering it in snot and tears as he feels his insides cry and churn. He's being impaled in the worst way possible.
The monster above him grunts as it begins to rape him at an otherworldly pace. Leon doesn't focus on it, at least he tries not to. He feels as though he's watching himself go through this, he internally screams at himself for not fighting, for not doing anything. For letting this happen. With each thrust in, Leon's resentment toward himself worsens with the pain. He tries to distract, distract, distract. Maybe he'll make it out of this alive. One, two, three, four. Maybe he'll manage to have a normal life after this. Five, six, seven, eight. Maybe he'll actually manage to kill this creature and it never hurt anybody like this again. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. His arm is turning red with his bite marks, all he can do is stare at the ceiling, tears rushing down the sides of his face. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. He'll never have sex again. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. He'll never let anyone touch him like this again. Never. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four.
Leon is completely broken. No emotion. No thoughts. Just zoning out. Dissociating. The creature's thrusts grow sporadic, losing all rhythm for a moment. Leon feels the monster leave him for a moment, his hope rises, turning his blurred eyes from the ceiling to the abomination in front of him. He didn't feel it come. Maybe it had taken pity. Maybe it actually didn't want to see him hurt. Maybe it would finally just kill him.
But no. He's yanked up by his hair, another yelp of agony escape his lips as he's shoved against a wall, face first and positioned just right where he can feel his sore hole being teased yet again. He sobs, clawing at the wall with his one good hand before he's being penetrated once again. It never stops. It just won't stop.
Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine. Just make it stop. Make it stop.
"Just… kill me…" Leon whimpers. Begging. Pleading for mercy. Mercy would be death at this point. Mercy would be pushing a gun to his temple and pulling the damn trigger. Mercy would be anything but this. This scenario has gone on much longer than Leon had hoped it would. It feels like every thrust is hell entering his body. Leon is afraid that no amount of rebirth nor redemption will ever fix it.
The monster grunts, it's teeth dig sharply into Leon's shoulder, coaxing a scream of agony from him as he feels warmth, genuine warmth, fill his system. The tears that he'd shed were in vain. He feels bloated beyond what's physically possible. He feels so, so disgusting. The monster gives nothing to him. Only grips him painfully hard as its cock empties inside of him. He's sat on the cock for at least another solid minute as it groans, biting impossibly harder into Leon's shoulder. He's afraid his flesh will be detached. The most pitiful, pained moan that Leon's ever heard departs his throat, he hopes it'll be over. He begs that nothing else will hurt him.
As soon as the monster is done, it throws him to the ground on his side, landing him directly on his wrist before he rolls to his back causing him to his in pain. He hears a zipping of its jeans and the leather of its coat followed by the stomping of its feet, leaving. Leon can't move. He feels… everything and nothing. He can't pinpoint every single emotion in his brain. He feels so exhausted, his body is in so much pain he doesn't know if he could get up if he wanted to. He feels violated. He feels used, dirty, sad, in anguish, furious. He wants to die. He made it through, but it doesn't stop the part of him that feels so disgusting he doesn't deserve to live. He feels. Numb.
He's never been in this much pain before. Emotionally or physically. He's never felt so awful. All he can do is stare at the ceiling while the rest of his tears fall down his lashes, drying on his face. Bile rises so quickly up his throat, he barely has time to move to his side so it comes pouring out to the ground instead of back down. Abused, raped, and used, he braces himself up on one arm, vomiting his emotions into the concrete. Blood comes up with it, he's afraid he's bleeding internally as he coughs up what he can.
Leon's always been the type to help. Been the type to stick around and wrap a broken arm around his shoulder when others are down bad. He's always tried to live up to be the best he could. Why did he deserve this? Why was it for nothing?
His blonde hair sticks with sweat, snot, blood, and tears to his forehead. He's tired. So, so tired.
He doesn't know how long he sits there, staring at the pile of vomit on the floor, listening to the footsteps fade into nothingness.
Just like every other time he's been on the ground, he tells himself it'll get better. There's a reason to get back up. There's always a reason to get back up. For Claire. To save this city. To leave. He wants so badly to stay, to die of his wounds, to forget anything had ever happened to him when it all fades to black. He can't let that happen. He knows he can't.
Leon slowly rises to his knees, much earlier than he would like, cradling his broken wrist tightly at his side. His shoulder aches and burns, his eyes are dry, his insides feel like mush, but he can't focus on that. He won't let himself.
Pushing himself from the floor, Leon rises to his feet and limps away. Back to the nearest safe room. Back to wherever he won't be hurt. He'll lock himself in. He won't let anything join him. He can't.
He prays that no zombies find him in such a weakened state, and apparently, though God has it out for him, He still gave him this mercy. Pulling the door of the room shut, Leon stumbles and collapses in the nearest chair. This is hell. This city is beyond redemption. He rests his head in his arms, staring at the floor.
He notices a gun, his brain lights up, his eyes widen and he has an idea that he knows he shouldn't go through with. He debates harshly in his head. He wants to, so badly. He doesn't want to live with this thought, this trauma so deeply in his head. If the mutant didn't do it, why can't he just put himself out of his misery? He was so close. He begged. He cried for it. But nothing was given. He doesn't want to live with this weight on his chest. He doesn't want to live with this feeling in his gut. No hot shower or warm meal could fix this feeling, this desperation to end it all.
Leon reaches down, wincing at the stretch of muscle in his shoulder and picks up the gun. He slowly unloads the clip, noticing at least two bullets before he pushes it back together. He's shaking, he notices, his hands tremble so badly that he doesn't know if he could even make the shot.
He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't. There's so much more to live for. Life after this ends. To take down Umbrella. To repair the city he's grown up in. He could do it. He just has to keep fighting. But he doesn't want to.
His thumb pulls the safety off and his index finger rests on the trigger. What good is gun safety when you don't want to be safe?
Sitting up in his seat, he stares down the barrel, contemplates. He's seriously thinking about it. At this point he doesn't know if he can change his own mind.
"Fuck it…" Leon mutters to himself, pulling the end of the gun to his temple. His breathing is shaky, his hands trembling just as badly. The thoughts of the way that creature had used him, the pain encompassing his entire body. It's too much. He can't even begin comprehend the trauma his body went though. His finger rests on the trigger, he's telling himself not to do it. His brain tells him to chicken, but his heart tells him to do it. To pull the damn trigger. He deserves it.
It's a long moment of tension, the sound of the gun parts jiggling against each other. Do it. Don't, what about Claire? Do it. You'll get through this. Do it. Don't let this get to you. Do it.
Leon feels tears rising to his eyes yet again, his brain in a war with itself, screaming at himself to make a decision. He wants to, so badly. But his guts say to stop. He can't go through with it. He'd rather die than let what this beast did to him control him.
Leon throws the gun against the wall, collapsing his head into his hands, sobbing. He can't. He can't. There's too much to live for. He just has to make it through this. Then he'll reconsider.