22:47 PM | Raccoon City Police Station | September 29th, 1998
For nearly an hour now, Leon Scott Kennedy has been wondering when the fuck he will wake up.
The night started off like a cliché bad dream.
He broke up with his long-time girlfriend, got shitfaced to drown the pain, crashed, and when he came to, just like in a sitcom, he realized he was late for his first day of work. If he thought the sobering, cold-sweat that broke out when he saw the time on his alarm clock was bad, he couldn't have possibly imagined what worse things were waiting for him.
Next thing he knew he was at the gas station, surrounded by living corpses, then speeding off the lot with a girl looking for her brother. They had barely introduced themselves before trouble found them again.
First it was more snarling and growling undead surrounding the police car, lured to them like parasitic flies on shit, then a white light crept up in the rear window; it was a high-speed tanker gunning right towards them. In seconds— between a stalled out engine, trapped by bloodthirsty dead, and nearly being rear-ended by a 30 ton truck—Leon's life flashed before his eyes. He was certain if the collision or flying out the windshield didn't kill them, the agony of cannibalism and dismemberment would.
And yet, by some bittersweet stroke of luck he and Claire survived. Separated by walls of fire and smoke, but alive and, subjectively, well.
And now, he's here.
Scampering around the dark hallways of the ghostly quiet police station like a goddamned rat trapped in a maze, fighting and (mostly) avoiding undead comrades. And the longer he runs around the station, the bigger it feels, all chock full of weird secrets and puzzles... Like what's up with these fancy keys? And what the hell is a secret passageway doing in a police station? What nutjob designed this place?
With every disturbing twist and haunting turn, he clings tighter and tighter to the idea that he's still dreaming. It's the only way to keep his sanity.
Because the world falling apart is too surreal and removed from the life he knew yesterday.
Because everyone knows boogeymen and monsters can only get you in nightmares.
Because sooner or later, it has to end.
A low growl sends goosebumps up Leon's arms. Slowly, he aims his flashlight at the ceiling and reveals a morbid mutation of living, breathing, muscle and bone. The dead officer's note pops into his mind: '"Lickers" we call 'em.'
He treads quietly to the S.T.A.R.S office, tries not to shake as he unlocks the door when he hears movement. Overgrown claws tapping down the wall. In a burst of adrenaline, he barges into the room and slams the door shut. There's a spine chilling screech and Leon flinches at the sound of wood splinting under slashing claws. The door shudders and rattles under the onslaught, but holds tight, easing his nerves, if only temporarily.
He explores the room, digging through the S.T.A.R.S team members' desks until his efforts reward him with a battery. A 9V, the perfect fit for the detonator he found. As he props the device on one of the desks and attaches the battery, the name plate catches his attention.
Chris Redfield. Claire's brother.
Leon remembers that she seemed less concerned about him when they met in the courtyard earlier. Did she find something?
Using the office computer, he inserts the badge key he found earlier in a strange box and unlocks the armory door. (God, Leon can't begin to wrap his head around why the badge was in there, or the wild goose chase for the jewel to open the box.) Inside, he finds a loaded magnum pistol and a memo from Claire, wishing the same thing for him as he does for her: 'Just focus on getting out of here alive.'
Surviving the chaotic streets was no small feat, especially for a civilian. (He's not all that surprised though, he did catch a whiff of soft Alpha pheromone in the police car before the crash.) Hopefully that toughness gets her through this labyrinth of a police station. As for him…
Before he leaves, a letter addressed to the S.T.A.R.S team catches his attention. It's from Chris. Apparently he's thoroughly enjoying an extended vacation in Europe. No wonder Claire said not to worry about him.
Leon shakes his head. Hard to believe what's going on in this city is happening while people live regular happy lives, blissfully unaware that zombies and monsters exist off-screen. It's insane.
Will this nightmare die before it reaches them? Or will it be a new, earth-shattering normal?
Don't think like that Kennedy, stay focused.
Notes pocketed, Leon leans against the office door, listening for any lurking dangers in the hall. Sounds quiet, but that doesn't mean much when every little creak and groan sends his imagination spiraling into dark visions of glazed, dead eyes and teeth ripping flesh to shreds.
His hands tremble around the pistol. God he doesn't want to leave. He feels safe here, and that feeling has been too few and far between for his Omega's liking…
A dull throb makes him hiss. Speak of the devil. He presses a hand to his stomach. He needs to keep it together. Too much stress, and his body will overload and go into distress. Game over.
Then his parting words to Claire come to mind, when the gate broke and a new wave of undead flooded the courtyard.
We're going to make it. Both of us.
Though he caught a briny whiff of nervousness under the horridly sweet stench of rot, Claire had nodded, a glint of determination in her eyes.
Nodding to himself, he flips on his radio receiver and clicks his shoulder mic. "This is Officer Leon Kennedy of the RPD. If you can hear this transmission, respond immediately."
He can't help but think that his words are only falling on deaf, dead ears. But if there's a sliver of a chance Claire, or anybody else might hear it, he'll take it. It's a shot in the dark, but you never know. Tonight's world-ending clusterfuck proves anything can happen...
Then, taking a deep breath, he grips the doorknob and turns.
As a surviving member of the R.P.D., sworn to protect the people of Raccoon City, Leon Scott Kennedy will keep his promise.
Almost immediately, Leon Scott Kennedy wishes he hadn't stepped out of the office.
When he first hears the boom-boom-boom, his mind tries to be hopeful and rationalize that it must be thunder. It's raining after all. But no, the rhythm is too quick to be thunder.
And it's moving.
Coming closer, and closer. Louder and louder.
Worst of all, he feels vibrations traveling through his feet and up his spine with more and more intensity, until he senses them coming around the corner, and when the beam of his flashlight falls on something too damn tall to be human decked in a ridiculous amount of leather, he does the only thing he can.
He shouts "Jesus Christ!" and fires blindly at the threat.
All good that does is knock what looks like a hat off the creature's head. What a fucking stupid waste of ammo. To make matters worse, that seems to anger the monster. As Leon backs away its pace picks up and it stomps faster, its eyes—horribly piercing white rings, anchored in a pool of wrinkled gray—locked on him.
Leon turns tail and runs as fast as his jelly legs can take him into the shower room. He could go through the door into the second floor hallway, but backtracking will eventually corner him into a dead end. He has no choice but to run around it.
Pistol tight in his grip, he waits behind the benches as the creature follows through the giant hole in the wall. Leon braces himself. It goes to his right to reach him, so he breaks to the left.
It's a miracle he doesn't slip or trip over himself as he sprints down the hall, booming footsteps fading behind him as distance grows between him and the giant.
Panting, he bursts into the library, head whirling around in search for a hiding space, then dashes to the back of the room and throws himself behind a bookshelf. Pressed against the shelf, he takes shaky, shallow breaths, trying to keep his focus so as not to confuse the thump of his heartbeat for the monster's boots.
A heavy groan of wood makes Leon hold his breath. He doesn't risk peeking around the shelf. He waits for something to happen, mostly the inevitable. For the monster to come straight to the back of the room and stomp his head in like a ripe melon.
The footsteps stomp across the floor. But not closer to Leon. They go behind him and up the stairs that groan and moan so loud Leon thinks they're going to cave under the weight. Then a door creaks open, and they fade away somewhere on the second floor.
"Well, I was right about him not being a cop." Leon says in a weak attempt at humoring himself.
Alone in the silence, he slides down to the floor, feeling glued in place. The primitive instinct to stay where it's safe grips him all over again. But he can't. It's not safe. If he stays put for too long, something will get him eventually.
He has to keep moving.
Forcing himself to his feet, he beats it to the storage room and back to the C4 planted on the boarded entryway. As he attaches the detonator, a voice in the back of his mind shrills at him that this is a dumb idea. With his luck the explosion will attract every damned monster in the building.
But he sets the countdown and takes cover anyway, because, he reminds the voice, he needs to find a way out of here. And if he made it this far, then he just might be able to live long enough to do so.
With an ear-ringing blast, the wall blows up, shaking the room. Smoke and dust fills the air, and Leon races to the statue.
His heart hammers as he uses the scribble-filled notebook to decode the puzzle, swearing when some of the symbols turn up damaged, covered in rust, but he manages to find the right order, and as the Maiden Medallion slides out of its slot, terribly familiar sounds rise from the other side of the wall.
Lightning Hawk in hand, he slips back to the blown-up opening and peers into the dark room.
How the hell did a zombie and a licker get in here?!
Somehow, despite the sickening clash of adrenaline and panic swirling in his gut, he sneaks up on the creatures, aims the Hawk steadily, and makes quick work of the licker. Two .50s splatters its brain and bowls it over, limbs and tongue flailing with one last screech. Switching to Matilda he fires at the zombie, keeping a wide berth as it snarls and swipes at him. Three…four… five shots to the skull topples it on its back like a log.
He heads back to the library door he came through earlier—boom-boom-boom—then, thinking better of it, backtracks to the other door which—Christ, Leon could fucking scream right now—is blocked by a shelf.
Gotta keep going!
Crouching, he runs his sweat-damp palms over his pants, takes the side of the shelf, and pushes. The heavy footsteps reverb in his chest, tremors and chills crawl up his spine as they close in, driving him to push harder.
Straining, shaking, Leon shoves the shelf upright when the adjacent door swings open. Cold spikes in his chest as the giant ducks into the room, and a burst of frenzied ice in his veins launches him out to the library and pounding into the main hall.
Guttural growls and shuffling alerts him that zombies have infested the previously empty area, but frankly, they're the least of his problems. As big and heavy as that trench coat wearing thing is, it's fast, and it's catching up.
Reaching the passageway, Leon slips the last medallion in its slot, thanking his past self for fitting the first two ahead of time, and as the final section of the stairway forms, against all rational thought, he chances a glance at the creature and gets a good look at it.
He takes in how disturbingly human it is. How its clothing, a trench coat, gloves and boots, are so tightly wrapped and buckled to its body, like a some edgy straitjacket, and oh look, it even has its stupid fedora back on.
It almost makes him laugh, but the distance between them is closing too fast for comfort. And the second the gate opens, and the creature pulls an arm back to swing a skull-crushing punch, Leon ducks and all but trips down the stairs into the darkness below.
At the bottom, lungs aching, he bows over himself and catches his breath. Then, heart pounding, he looks over his shoulder, and catches a pair of massive boots standing at the entrance before the passage slides shut. An almost nauseating wave of relief flows through him.
That was close... Way too close.