Chapter 7

Leon Scott Kennedy stood in the doorway of the S.T.A.R.S. office, his blood-soaked t-shirt sticking to the aching muscles beneath. The veins on his arms bulged and pumped beneath his skin, and his brilliant emerald eyes made attempts to topple over backwards into his head. He shook uncontrollably. His fingers like quivering branches clasping the smoking shotgun that hung emptied in his grasp.

"Leon!" Joseph exclaimed.

Leon looked at him, irresolute. His composure in shambles, he looked decrepit as though his morale took a severe beating and displayed it via his lacerated body. His hair wet and tangled with blood as it hung before his face. His mouth open and salivating with sticky, crimson saliva. He made no reaction to Joseph's cry, only turning his empty glance to the pretty girl clutching the child at her leg. The room swiveled, and Leon plunged into blackness as he felt his body topple into Joseph's arms.

For once, the smell of cigarette residue on his friend gave him comfort.

"What are you doing?"

Joseph's nagging voice etched with concern.

"I'm just cleaning his wounds."

That voice. Soothing but…alive.

"Quit fucking with that, you're gonna make him bleed more-"

"Shh. You'll wake Sherry."

"Are you kidding? That kid sleeps like a rock, look at her. She looks dead-"

"Joseph!"

"What? She does! See? You squealed and she didn't even wake up."

"…I did not squeal."

"Oh, Joseph! Oh! Don't wake the child!"

Joseph's scraggly, shrill attempt at a woman's voice was silenced by the dull sound of a fist to his arm. Only for a moment, however, as Joseph was persistent.

"Claire you are the hottest Dudette I have ever seen."

"Excuse me?"

"You are hot, and you are a woman who acts like a dude. A dudette."

"I don't act like a dude. I'm just better at everything than men are. You mistake it for masculinity because you've only seen your barbaric comrades perform the feats I excel at. A woman being your successor is too much for your mind to take, and thus you fall victim to the assumption that I'm a dyke or a tomboy or…a dudette."

"…Or a bitch—…ow! Quit hitting me!"

"Quit swearing."

"Not a possibility. I'm just that awesome."

"No, you just can't express yourself verbally, so you rely on the unorthodox blending of transient slang."

"Oh yea, psh. And I suppose that all those unnecessary words that make up, like, three-fourths of whatever comes out of your mouth is unique? You sound like any little college kid who's got something to prove."

The battle of book-smarts vs. street-smarts was relaxing, depicted through the idly phasing words of the two hovering over Leon's weary body. It flowed easily like a river, like the blood in Leon's veins that he felt gradually return to a steady stream. He let himself submerge into whatever dreams waited. It's not a dream.

000

His converse sneakers sloshed in the puddles that had formed along the uneven concrete of the alleyways. The rain had dissipated, slightly, the droplets echoing like chimes as they fell amongst the city's shoulders. It was dark, Leon could barely see as he advanced, clutching the shotgun in his hands. He had barely escaped Kendo's Gun Shop without being bitten, and he was thankful he got away with a new toy—although a little upset that he had lost his desert eagle.

His wet clothes stuck to his shivering form, his long hair tangled in moist groupings before his green eyes. He could see his breath as it broke out amidst the foul air. The wind whispered as it weaved through the alleyway, carrying on it the moans of the undead and caws of scavenging crows. He passed a chain link fence that caged a small basketball court in the middle of this labyrinth of alleyways. He was in between the buildings that made up the busier district of Raccoon City. The main drag was on his left, and another busy street was to his right. The buildings on either side of him were mostly mom and pop shops, and in between was a series of apartment buildings and storage facilities. It was built so no cars could go through, and thus it was merely a twisted labyrinth of alleyways with barred windows, graffiti, brick walls, and trash.

As Leon went on, he thought more about what had happened at the Gun Shop. That man had died, he was turned right in front of Leon, and Leon knew that he did not prevent it. He didn't save the innocent bystander who was simply swallowed in the catastrophe that Leon had helped to ignite.What was he becoming? Was the virus inside effecting more than just his body? Was his mind also succumbing to it's evil? Was it really evil?

Of course it was. What a stupid, fucking question. How could he question the terrible things it had done? How could he allow himself to become so callous?

Leon stopped and leaned against a wall, brushing his hair from his eyes. He sighed heavily, and checked the shotgun. He'd also managed to snag a box of shotgun shells, and with the shells still in the gun he had a total of twenty-two. That wouldn't him too long. Survival comes with a high price.

That sounded like something Wesker might say. Leon had paid a terrible price for his survival, and all along his journey through the abandoned city of dead, he ached with guilt at the thought that he was to blame.

Something popped and cracked in the distance. It was short, like the sound of distant thunder. Thunder…

Leon had only a second to react, and he collapsed against the pavement as the hot whistling of a bullet shot just above him. The wall he had been leaning on cracked and flakes of brick broke off and fell upon his shoulders. He knew what it was.

Long Ranged Weapon. It came from the east.

Leon heard another crack and he hurled his body into a pile of trashbags as the pavement where he once lay was broken in pieces by bullets.

Move.

He got up and sprinted down the alleyway, hopping the fence and into the basketball court. The thought of someone watching his back framed and marked with crosshairs made him shiver as he bounded across the court. They were going to shoot, they were going to shoot, fuck.

Move faster.

He heard the crack. Louder now.

He was driven to his knees, his legs suddenly buckling, distracted by this new agony. He'd been shot.

"No," he murmured in gasps, dropping the shotgun and clutching his side.

The rain poured into the smoking wound as Leon screamed, blood slipping from between his fingers as he grabbed at it. The rain made it feel cold and ache terribly.

Behind him, the gate to the court opened.

Fuck the pain. Leon grabbed the shotgun, tearing through whatever physical dismay pushed him down, and took aim.

His opponent was too fast, and Leon was sent spinning to the ground as another bullet tore into his arm that wielded the boomstick. It clattered as Leon hit the floor, and he watched it slide away on the pavement. Out of reach.

He lay in a puddle of his blood now, watching the rain dilute it and take it away to a nearby drain, watching his blood go the sewers. Leon, on his stomach, tried to push himself up but a heavy boot forced him back down. The boot was fierce, it was solid like stone. Like something he couldn't bend or break.

Nonetheless, Leon forced himself to turn over, punching this force in the knee and forcing it to roll away. Leon stood and faced his new opponent. In the shadows all he could see was the circular, red eyes of a black gas mask. The figure held a smoking rifle, his breath visible as it vacated the mask in steaming fumes. They were in darkness, facing off at one another, sensing each others primal animosity.

"Who are you?" Leon asked.

The man in black did not speak. However he looked at Leon not as his equal, but as his prey. Even through the lifeless red eyes Leon could see the callous hunger, the cold, automaton drive that put fear in him.

Lightning flashed as the rain poured. In the white, Leon saw a hundred faces at the chain fence. Zombies. all of them were crowded at the fences of the court in the alleyways, their hands and fingers reaching out in hunger. Their eyes and bone glowed in the darkness, the gore and lack of flesh on their moon-pale skulls could barely be seen in the shadow.

Leon kept his gaze entirely on the man before him. The man in black.

"I don't know who you are, and I don't know why you want to hurt me," he spoke through gritted teeth as he tried to bear the gun shot wounds, "But you're making a mistake. I'm not human."

As the words came, Leon's eyes began to glow. He could feel his veins as they expanded and began to pump the virus throughout his body, feeling it rush to his skull. Whether it was the rain, the attempt at his life, or the roaring chants of the dead all around them, Leon didn't know. But for some reason, he quit trying to hold back. He let the virus flow throughout his veins.

at last the man in black spoke as he began to walk forward "You and I have something in common…"

Leon's fists quivered.

As the man approached, lightning flashed, revealing his special forces uniform to wield something horrifying on the shoulder. The Umbrella insignia.

"I'm not human either."

The man in black lunged. Leon roared and lashed out.

Pain burned through him.

000

Leon opened his emerald eyes, their brilliant color free of any glistening traces of the T-virus that swam in his blood. What had happened? Where was he? He lay there, cautiously attempting to decipher the puzzle left by his fragmented memories.

His apartment. Abandonment. Cold. The virus. The man in black. The dead. Joseph. Claire.

Claire. Slowly he attempted to sit up, the rattling of agony in his stomach pleading him to lay there. Gasping, Leon finally managed to pick his back up off it's resting place, and he took a look around. He was in a very abandoned, very ransacked S.T.A.R.S office that was etched in shadow. This vision broke the flood gates for thoughts of his torn wallet that once held his police badge, Joseph's bad jokes and the terrible coffee, Chris' and Jill's subtle flirtation. Even Wesker came to mind, and Leon secretly wondered how Wesker, who had acted very much like the father of the group, could have betrayed them.

Everything had gone so wrong. Leon realized he was laying upon a desk cluttered with papers that were blotched with his own blood. He realized it used to be his desk. Now it was used by some green officer who was either dead, the walking dead, or dying. What a bitter ending to the S.T.A.R.S. legacy. Leon felt like a hero unknown. He felt like the vindictive shadow that worked tirelessly to save the unappreciative. He felt like killing something.

Leon breathed deeply, he couldn't lose control. Not again. Whoever that man in black was, he gave Leon one hell of a beating. Leon noticed the multiple lacerations along his back, chest, and stomach. He felt the gunshots to his arm and leg, and the many bruises and cuts that came with the package.

Suddenly Leon's thoughts were ushered into the back of his mind by a sound in the room. He looked up quickly, reaching for the nearest weapon. Unfortunately, all he had was a pencil. Nonetheless, he attempted to make himself look vicious as he eyed the shadows of the room, looking for whatever sinister demon Umbrella and fate had thrown his way-

"You're awake," came the soft voice of a child.

Leon was startled as he spotted the curled up ball of a little girl tucked into a swivel chair, her figure blanketed by the soft light of a nearby lamp.

"Claire was worried about you. The loud man too," she continued, "They'll be happy."

Leon put down the threatening…pencil…and adjusted himself on the desk, "Who are you?"

"I'm Sherry Birkin."

Leon froze. That name. He'd heard it before.

"Who are you?" her little voice was beautiful. It was the first sweet, comforting sound he'd heard in so long.

"My name's Leon Scott Kennedy."

"Oh," she said as if to finally understand, "That's why she was so worried about you. You're her date."

Leon cocked an eyebrow as he ran his fingers through his long hair, "date?"

The girl softly slipped out of the chair and walked to him, "You know. Dinner and a movie."

She walked right up until she was standing directly before him, looking up at his tall, broken form and his green eyes.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked pointing with a little finger at his wounds.

"Uh, yea," he said, "Thanks. I'm fine."

She paused for a moment, slowly cocking her head sideways as she studied him. Leon, surprised at how unafraid she was of a stranger, stared back. She was an adorable little child. Cute little golden locks of hair around pretty blue eyes and a soft little face that had far too mature an expression upon it. Instantly, Leon felt his protective nature coming on as he looked at her looking at him. He felt as though he needed to protect her. As though he had no other choice. It was strange. Leon always felt as though he had to protect people, but this was different. He felt bound to do so, as a sort of guardian. As he looked in her eyes, her very strange yet pretty eyes, he saw that she knew he felt it.

"It's inside you…isn't it?"

Her words surprised him a little. He played coy, "uh, is what inside me, kiddo?"

"The evil."

He lost his coyness.

"…yes."

"Are you sick from it?"

"Sometimes."

"Everyone does. Everyone has the evil. The evil makes them into monsters. Do you think that's what it's doing to you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm still here. No evil's going to beat me."

"…I think you're right," she smiled sweetly.

"How do you know about the evil, kiddo?"

She was silent at first, but his gaze forced her to speak.

"My daddy made the evil for the bad men."

"The bad men?"

"Mhm. You met Mr. Death, didn't you?"

"Who?"

"The man in black with red circle eyes. Mr. Death. He's a bad man. You're one of the good men my daddy made it for."

At this point, Leon froze again. Her father. William Birkin. The scientist for Umbrella, the creator of the T-virus.

"Your dad made the…evil…for me?"

"I guess. You have it, don't you? You're supposed to fight the bad men, aren't you?"

Leon was fucking confused. Maybe it was because his head hurt like hell, and he had over twenty wounds of various sizes on his body. He had been shot four times, and stabbed and beaten. This Mr. Death was human, as far as Leon could tell. But, either way, he was like Leon. What did Sherry mean when she said that her father made it for Leon? Did she mean specifically for him? Or was it just that he was a supposed 'good guy'?

He was going to ask her more about it but the door to the office opened and Claire stepped in with Joseph behind her. Not wanting to let on that he was infected, Leon ceased the conversation as he looked at Sherry. Sherry had put a little finger up to her lips before she turned to Claire. What a strange kid.

"Leon! Dude, you're awake!" Joseph, literally hopping over Sherry, was at his friend's side in seconds.

Leon winced as his friend wrapped his wiry arms about him and squeezed.

"I'm so fucking glad you're okay, man," he said, with his voice muffled into Leon's shoulder, "I'm so fucking glad."

Leon coughed a little, thanking God for the warmth of his friend, "I'm glad you're all right, man. I was really worried."

"Me fucking too. Jesus shits, I'm just glad you're here and now we can get out."

Joseph stepped back and Leon was able to look at the last person to greet. Claire.

Sherry had silently wandered over and reclaimed her spot, wrapping her arms around Claire's leg and looking at Leon. Claire also looked, her beautiful, icy blue eyes gazing at him in confusion. She obviously didn't know what to think. The last she'd heard of Leon was that he had ditched her for their date. In reality, Leon knew that it was because his infection had gotten so severe he'd passed out, but he couldn't really drop that bomb as an excuse.

Joseph cleared his throat in realization of the semi-awkward situation. Claire shot him a glance that he deserved and said, "Joseph, can you take Sherry to the vending machines to get a snack. I've got check Leon's wounds anyways."

"Way ahead of you. C'mon, squirt. Let's get some butterfingers."

Sherry looked nervously up at Claire, who responded, "Go on, sweetheart. Follow Loud-man. Leon's going to get undressed and I don't think you should see that."

"No one should," Joseph smirked as he playfully socked Leon in the arm, "Oh, and p.s. Loud-man is not sticking."

"Oh it so is," said Claire, "That's what she calls you. That's what you've earned."

Sherry followed Joseph out the door, "Loud-man what's a butterfinger?"

"Squirt, that entire sentence makes me upset. You don't know what a butterfinger is-?!"

The door was shut and Joseph's sarcastic rant was silenced. Claire turned back to Leon, her arms folded. Despite how mad she was, Leon still thought she looked beautiful. Her pretty auburn, brown hair fell in choppy strands around her ears and eyes with the rest of it back in a ponytail. Her deep, blue eyes gazing at him above her firmly set jaw and soft lips.

Leon attempted his best smile, but the cut on his face was a hindrance and he ended up wincing.

"I'm only bandaging you up because you deserve that much. Surviving out there and coming to find your friend is pretty admirable. But, I'm still pissed about what you did to me. Sit up straight," she spoke as she approached him and meticulously began to check his every wound.

"Claire, I didn't mean to hurt you-ow! That hurt!"

She looked up from tending to the gunshot wound in his arm. Suddenly Leon became very aware of how shirtless he was.

"Leon, you got shot in the arm. There's not a lot about this that won't hurt. Now shut up," she went back to her work.

He clenched his teeth in pain as she cleaned and bandaged the recently stitched wounds.

"Claire, listen. I know full well that you're pissed at me. But you've got to understand that I wasn't just looking for Joseph out there."

"What looking for your balls, too? Good luck trying to find those…"

"Claire, I-…"

"What? Come on, that was a really low thing to do! I confided in you about-about my brother! About my life! I had no one else to talk to, and I just wanted that! And you just ditched me? Especially with how dangerous it was getting?! You are an asshole, Leon Kennedy!"

"All right that is enough!" He shook her from him and attempted to stand up, but was too weak and ended up stumbling and tripping until he could support himself on a desk, "I am not an asshole, Claire!"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really! I didn't meet you or call you because…because of the attacks that were happening in the city, okay? I had gotten attacked that day and I was trying to figure out what the hell was going on!"

Her gaze softened a little bit as she looked at him, but she was still suspicious, "Joseph said you were passed out in your apartment room. Why?"

"I…uh…" he thought for a moment, then, "I just drank too much. Up there in the Arklay mountains…I dunno it…it brought back every nightmare of that night. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat as it was. And going back up there to try and find what it was that was threatening Raccoon City…I almost lost it. I'm sorry, I know I'm a bad guy for doing what I did. I-…I'm sorry."

Her furrowed brow was gone, and she looked at him softly, almost sympathetically now. So what, he'd sort of lied. The real excuse was just as good, and he wasn't about to tell her that.

"…Leon, I'm sorry. I didn't think you were a bad guy, but…I've been wrong before and-…"

"It's okay. I'm sorry, too."

They were quiet for a moment. In the silence, Claire took Leon's hand and guided him back to the table he had been resting on. She helped him up and let her hand linger on his for a moment before taking it away to finish dressing his wounds and making sure they were fit for mobility.

At length, he spoke, "Claire, I'm glad you're okay. And Sherry, I'm glad you've taken care of her as well."

Claire smiled, and Leon thought to himself why he was still so concerned with that girl's welfare? Leon was all about protecting children but…his protective instincts felt as though they burned to ensure Sherry's safety.

"If you don't mind," Leon said, thinking of the girls' safety, "I'd feel much better if you stuck with me and Joseph from now on."

"Okay, Leon. If you need my protection I'll stay with you."

"…I mean for your safety."

"Whatever, dork."