He could have been miles up the road, checking out the girls walking down the street as he drove past. Hell, for all he knew he could have been in bed by now. Anything beat nearly getting stabbed to death in a gas station restroom by an ex-military lunatic. If that story about losing his son was true, then Léon would have had no issue expressing more sympathy. Kind of hard to do that when said person is accusing him of murder. Léon was many things, but a murderer he was not. With the exception of defending himself when the situation called for it, obviously. He didn't even know Moncestierre, let alone his son. And for him to be a military android on top of that? Holy shit. Admittedly, he didn't see that one coming. But given the current economy, he should've guessed as much.

Androids had been around for hundreds of years, that he already knew. As a kid, having the opportunity to actually be in the presence of one always seemed pretty cool to him. But as he grew up and learned that A.I.s ruled the lower class, he couldn't help but seethe when encountering one. It was bad enough that the government had replaced his mother in the workforce with an A.I., but for one to attack him in a bathroom of all places? Priceless. Thankfully, Rebel Yell's clay stopped the bleeding in his shoulder. That should give him enough time to get home and get it treated properly.

Hopefully Tenmei wasn't too annoyed for making him wait. Actually, scratch that. Knowing him, he was probably fiddling with his gadgets and singing to himself to pass the time. That or logging back onto his XTC console. But as Léon walked out of the gas station, he spotted Tenmei balancing on the curb like his life depended on it. Okay, definitely not what he was expecting him to be doing. He wobbled to one side with both arms outward, his foot lifted away from the curb while he spoke in a playful manner.

"Oh, nooo we're gonna craaaash."

Léon failed to suppress the faintest hint of a smile. That dork. "Here," he said, handing him a bag of chips. "It was the cheapest thing they had."

Concern filled every inch of Tenmei's face after he cheerily leaped off of the curb, accepted the chips, and glimpsed the blood soaking through Léon's torn jacket. "What in the hick-heck happened to you?"

Léon gave him a deadpan stare, the passing of distant cars overwhelming the silence between them. "Hick-heck?" he questioned with an arched brow.

"Well, umm," Tenmei laughed nervously, scratching his temple with his index finger, "I kinda made it up, hehe." He cleared his throat. "Seriously though. What happened to you? You're bleeding!"

"Some weirdo followed me into the bathroom and pulled a knife on me."

Frowning, Tenmei gasped. "What?! Where is he now?"

"In my pocket."

Tenmei blinked. "Oh. Okay...? So why don't we go get you something to munch on, and I'll take you to the hospital?"

"Nah, I'll just get something when I get home." Léon pat a hand to his shoulder twice and began to walk towards his bike.

"Wha… w-wh- dude, you could bleed to death, or get an infection! Or worse… they'll have to cut off your flesh and send it to a lab, and then…! And thennnn you'll end up fighting your evil twin and—"

"Tenmei..." Léon groaned.

He ran up to Léon's side and walked with him, first forwards, then backwards. "They could use your cells to make clones." His voice picked up speed as he kept talking. "Did you know the first cloning experiment took place in the late 1900s? On a sheep! If I recall correctly though, it had complications with its lungs, which means your —"

"Tenmei!" Léon stopped in his tracks, shooting him a look. Startled by his outburst, Tenmei sucked in his lips and stood as erect as a plank of wood. There was a lot going through Léon's mind. Questions he couldn't find a plausible answer to. Realizing what he'd done, frustration waned from his eyes. Tenmei may have had a habit of rambling, but it wasn't his fault.

He's just worried about me. Merde, I shouldn't have snapped at him like that. Léon sighed. "I'm sorry, I... look, nobody's getting cloned, alright? I'll get my maman to take a look at it when I get home."

"Okay," Tenmei answered, only half believing him. "If things get worse do you promise to go to the hospital?"

Léon climbed onto his bike and kicked up the kickstand. "You know how I feel about hospitals, Tenmei."

The motorcycle's engine roared to life, the throttle twisting in his grip revving it up. God, what a beautiful sound; music to his ears. Tenmei made his way over to his bike, slinging his backpack on, and cranking the ignition. Seeing him yawn contagiously spread to Léon, who unintentionally mimicked him. He'll never know why that happens.

"You've got to stop doing that," he said, poking fun at him.

"Sorry, what's mine is yours."

"Heh. See you at the quarry tomorrow."

Tenmei gave him a wave and smiled. "You mean see me at the foot of your hospital bed tomorrow. Bye-bye!" Tenmei's motorcycle sped off from the parking lot, getting quieter the further he drove away. Easing on the clutch, Léon pulled up to the street and turned in the desired direction. He always found riding around the city to be the best time to cope with his struggles. Feeling the wind in his face, the cold chill on his skin, and his worries being blown away behind him like a plastic bag. Though he knew he couldn't ride forever, experiencing it in the moment was plenty enough to soothe him. He'd passed some traffic lights on the way home, finding it next to impossible to shake one thing from eating away at his mind.

The turf war.

How could he be in two places at once? It just didn't make any sense. Sitting there at the red light, that thought weighed on him, bearing down like blocks being stacked on top of his body. It pulled him deeper. Was it the work of a stand? What else could it possibly be? And why would anyone care enough to put him through this sort of trouble? Now he was getting pissed. Who was the question indeed. He'd like to find out and teach them a lesson they'll never forget.

Glancing up to the monitors on the buildings, the news report was once again showing the horrific images from earlier that day. It was the same report Moncestierre had watched prior to setting foot on his side of town. As the screen broadcasted the mugshots of Léon, Abdul, and Tenmei, a weight dropped down into Léon's stomach. He couldn't believe what he was seeing — what he was hearing. He was a wanted man? Sure enough, there was footage – albeit of poor quality – proving that they were there.

"What the…"

The blare of a car horn behind him severed him from his thoughts, making him flinch. Incoherent shouts were drowned out by the line of honking cars. Vehicles in the lanes next to Léon had already begun driving away. Damn, how long had he been sitting there? How embarrassing. Twisting the throttle, he motored on, heading home with heavy dread consuming his being. Shit, this is bad. What am I going to do…


Rue de L'espoir Vide. The Street of Empty Hope. Not only was this the street where the war between gangs took place, it was also the street Léon lived on. Consisting of shabby apartment complexes, vandalized houses, and the ruins of trains sitting on ancient railways. Léon passed one by, noting the variety of colors spray painted along the train closest to the street. People were gathered around a burning barrel just outside of it, shivering and cooking hot dogs over the fire. And yes, that included children. To that, Léon frowned. He could admit that he was doing better than them at this point, but he believed it was unfair. These kids and their families deserved so much better.

He made doubly certain to park his bike out of the way of his step father's car for when he returned from wherever it was he'd gone. In the case that he scratched Léon's bike, he'd do well to hope that a god was on his side, because he'd definitely need it.

Climbing the stairs to his apartment, he walked over to an old woman's partially open doorway and knocked on the paneling.

"Just a second!" came a frail, energetic voice.

Léon skimmed over the mail he had fetched for her, wrinkling his nose at a particular advertisement sitting over the cover of a magazine. An advertisement for the Legion. Léon sneered at it, shaking his head. "Give me a break…" he murmured.

The door creaked open the rest of the way. Standing there in front of him was a relatively short woman in a bathrobe. A cyan snake with magenta eyes, and a pearlescent sheen on its scales, dangled from her shoulders. The old woman never looked up at him. Her eyes remained below chest level where her head came highest.

"Well, look who it is," she said, her white oculars staring at seemingly nothing, "I was just feeding the mice." A large mouse scurried along the edge of the wall and climbed into a hole in the drywall with a chunk of bread in its mouth.

Léon grimaced and looked down at her, handing her the mail. "Hey, Madame Laveau, I got these —"

"Reeee! That's granny to you!" She snatched the mail right out of his hands and swatted him across the cheek with the magazine.

"Ow!" Léon rubbed his stinging face.

"Why don't you come in and sit down?" she offered, her voice much more kind than seconds before.

Léon looked into her home, cringing at all the mice scampering around. He shuddered. "N-n-nah, that's…that's okay. I…hey, wait a minute. What are you doing up at one in the morning? I thought old people went to bed at 7 o' clock or something."

"Moi? Ha! I was making some zucchini bread and watching television. Did you know I made it onto the eleven o' clock news? People will be lining up out here tomorrow wanting my autograph, so be a deary and tell that idiot father of yours to keep it down, won't you?"

"Okay…? But he's not my father."

"Oh, that's right." She plundered through her cabinet. "Tell the biggest inconvenience to ever exist to keep it down then."

He chuckled, agreeing that his stepfather was in fact the biggest inconvenience to ever walk into his life. Granny Laveau came back by the door, her white eyes facing diagonal of him. "Oh, another thing. You really need to get that shoulder checked, cherie."

"Huh? How did you —"

Granny Laveau cackled, setting down her zucchini bread on the table. Mice sniffed it, inching their way towards it to snitch a piece with their little paws. "You'd be surprised what ole granny knows at this very moment. Why, I could tell you what's happening on the other edge of town right now without turning the news back on. I can tell you where your stepfather is, your mother, your sister, and where you were today."

Léon lingered in the doorway, curious and a little disturbed by how she claimed to know such things. What with her rarely leaving her apartment.

"That's right. You weren't out here on the streets today with a nine millimeter in your hand."

His stomach twisted. What did she just say?

Granny Laveau smiled, taking a seat in one of her chairs. She lifted up her plate of zucchini bread, offering him some. A dark-haired mouse dove off the plate and onto the table.

"Ahh, that's okay. Mom's got dinner waiting for me," he said with a nervous grin. Were it not for the mice, he'd have taken all he could get. Léon's stomach growled as a reminder. But there were more important things than hunger, he thought. Could she really have known what happened that afternoon?

"Seems to me you and your friends were down at the quarry. Under the orders of an Angus Thunderstrike, am I right?"

Léon's eyes lit up. "Y-yeah! That's exactly where we were! Buuut… how could you possibly know that? You've never met Angus…"

The cyan snake slid slowly down her arm, flicking its tongue at Léon. Strange. Even Granny's eyes were glued to him as if she could actually see him, which only made him slightly more uneasy. "I also know that the man that stabbed you in the shoulder at the gas station was no man at all, but a machine. A soldier who served the Legion, then the Seven Nation Army."

Léon stumbled back into the door paneling, feeling a pang in his chest. This was too much to process. He needed time to think. "Um, sorry granny, but I've got to go. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Do come again!" she called cheerfully as he hastened to his apartment. "There's plenty more bread where that came from, hahahah! "

Plenty more mice, too.

What the hell was that conversation? Granny Laveau always had a knack for keeping up with current events, but knowing each and every detail right down to the nitty gritty without being there herself was just creepy. Léon never told her about Angus, he never told her about the quarry, and he damn sure never told her about the attack at the gas station. Pausing in front of his apartment door, he wondered… Does this mean she has unique abilities like me? Like that freak from the gas station?

It would explain why as a child he could never pull a fast one on her while she babysat him and Sherry. Always two steps ahead, she'd tell him. Eyes in the back of her head and all that.

Standing in front of his apartment, he just knew his stepfather was on the other side, just waiting to crawl his ass for being out so late. Whatever. What Léon did was none of that asshole's business. Bravely giving the knob a twist, and ready for the shitshow that was bound to happen, he entered the kitchen and stepped over dirty black and white tiles. Everything was dark and quiet save for the murmur of a cheap tv monitor in the living room. He glanced in its general direction, thinking he'd catch a glimpse of his stepfather asleep in the recliner. To his surprise, he wasn't there.

But Sherry's dumb, three-legged dog was.

Grabbing a bottle of soda from the fridge, he made his way to the recliner to sit down when he noted the little shit. Scowling down at the pug, he gave the recliner a good shake to disrupt its rest. "Ozzy!" he whispered harshly. "Get out of my chair."

Ozzy peeked through a sparsely cracked lid, and made a low, drawn out groan. He wasn't moving for anyone.

Léon growled at him in annoyance. "Ozzy!" Damn, what a pain in the ass! Attempting to pick Ozzy up out of the chair, the pug gave a fair warning. At first a low growl, then louder, until Ozzy snapped at Léon's hand. Teeth sank into his skin, making him yelp. "Merde! You stupid mutt!"

Due to the commotion, a middle-aged brunette with pearl earrings and a white sweater hurried down the small hallway and into the living room, flicking on the lights. "Jean-Claude Léon Polnareff!" she scolded.

Léon jolted. "Maman!"

"Just where have you been?!" she demanded, storming up to him. "Don't you know I've been up all night worried about you?"

"I'm sorry, maman. I was —"

"Oh, my god!" she shrieked. "Your shoulder!" The inner corners of her upturned brows fell to a furrow. "Who did this…" her voice was much more stern, demanding.

He reached up to the clay-covered wound as if to hide how bad it really was. "Some creepy guy cornered me in a gas station bathroom, but it's okay! See? It doesn't even hurt." Carelessly, he moved his arm and let out a pained grunt. So much for trying to convince her he was fine.

His mother pinched the bridge of her nose. "Again with the bathroom excuse…"

"It's not an excuse!"

He could see by the look on her face that she was getting fed up with hearing about it. "Come on, sit down." She guided him to the couch with a hand pressed to his back. "Let me take a look at it."

Removing his jacket, he could see a familiar face in his periphery spying from a room down the hallway. Bright blue eyes and shoulder-length black hair. A petite figure quietly traipsed up the hall and into the living room, speaking in a soft, ethereal voice. "Did Léon get hurt again?"

"Sherry, what're you doing up?" the mother chided, careful not to raise her voice and wake the other tenants. "Don't you know what time it is?"

"I heard you and Léon talking. Besides, if I'm not supposed to be up, then how come you are?"

Léon's mother scoffed, her agitation climbing. "Fine. Do me a favor then." Pouring a bottle of antiseptic over a rag, she handed it to Sherry. "Lightly dab around the wound with this. I need to go find some bandages."

Sherry complied and did as their mother instructed her to do. The clay amalgamated back into his skin. He flinched. The wound was still searing like someone had set him on fire. "Shit, that hurts."

"Sorry." She continued to dab around the gash in his shoulder as blood began to ooze from the tear. "So, um… what happened to you?"

"Don't worry about it." He leaned over his parted knees, resting his elbows over them. "How were your classes today?"

Sherry smiled. "They were fine. I got high scores in both of them."

"Awesome, I'm proud of you! Just curious, but why two? Normally you do three or four a day."

"Weeeell, I…"

A white light lit up in the pocket of her pajama pants, making a muffled, tuneful pinging sound. Hearing it the first time was nothing. Hearing it go off the second time within a 5 second interval was a little more suspicious. Then a third, then a fourth, and a fifth. All within a few seconds. Léon furrowed his brows. "Who is that?" he asked, feeling he already knew the answer.

Sherry ceased dabbing his wound and stuttered. "Oh, it's…umm…" Again her pocket lit up in the shape of a fluorescent rectangle. He gave her a look, waiting for an explanation. Her cheeks turned a rosy pink. Combing her black strands behind her ear, she softly smiled and gazed down at the floor. "He's a really nice guy. I met him in an online chatroom for school."

Léon sighed, his hand gracing his forehead. Great. Another potential douchebag walking into her life to break her heart like the last one. What's next? "Do you know him outside of cyberspace?"

"Ummm… he's… uh…"

"I'll take that as a no."

Her dreamy expression dulled. "I know what you're thinking, but I promise he isn't like the last boy I dated at all. He seems to really care about my feelings."

He shifted, giving her his full attention. "How could you know that for sure, though? For all you know he's doing exactly what that other asshole did. He's going to string you along and take advantage of you. And I'm going to corner him and beat him senseless until I'm blue in the face." She wiped the dried blood, accidentally seeping the antiseptic over the stab wound as she pressed the rag. "God dammit that burns!"

"Sorry," she said in a downhearted tone. "I'll stop talking to him if you want."

Léon frowned, taking hold of her hand and looking her in the eye. "That's not what I'm saying at all. I just want you to think about this a little bit for your own safety, okay? Big bro cares about you." He noted the despondent look on her face as she stared at the floor, nodding. Oh, no. Not on his watch. Léon smiled, wrapping an arm around her. "So, cheer up! If he's really as good as you say he is, then I'm happy for you. Your happiness is the only thing that matters to me."

"Yeah?" she spoke in a low voice.

"Yeah. Aw, hey, what's with that look? Smile already!" He tickled her, forcing her into a fit of giggling. The ache in his shoulder cut his moment of lighthearted fun short. Léon grunted, his hand grabbing his shoulder. "Alright, alright, that's enough. I gotta stop." Sherry sat back up, the sound of her laughter steadily coming to an end as their mother re-entered the room. As she did so, the front door burst open, then slammed shut, startling everyone in the living room. Even Ozzy jumped. But he then lied back down, letting out yet another tired, disinterested groan.

A broad-shouldered man in a brown coat stood on the kitchen tile, guzzling all that was left from an upturned beer bottle. It made a loud crash as he tossed it carelessly into the garbage can and turned to his family in the living room, belching and staggering up to the recliner. The sudden jerk of him throwing his weight over the top of the chair spooked Ozzy from his nap.

Rounding it, the man sat down showing little regard for flattening the dog under his ass. Ozzy yelped and squeezed between his thigh and the arm of the chair. Fleeing over to Sherry, he leapt into her lap. Léon shot him a dirty look. What a disgusting pig. Every time his stepfather entered the apartment, the energy of their home shifted into a mood-killing discomfort; and god was he getting sick to death of it.

Slouching back against the seat, his stepfather looked right into Léon's mother's soul with glazed eyes. "Why isn't dinner done?" he slurred.

She stammered. "I cooked hours ago, it's —"

"Did I ask when you made it?" His thundering voice made her recoil. "No. I said why isn't it sitting on the table. I've been out all night, now I'm hungry. The least you can do is have food out for when I get back. What've you been doing? "

Fire churned in Léon's stomach. His jaw clenched so hard, he'd chip his teeth. "Why don't you get off your fat ass and get it yourself if you want it so badly?"

His mother's head snapped in his direction with a horrified expression on her face. "Léon!"

"Don't start with me, punk, I'll put your head right through the drywall like last time."

"Pourquoi pas vous?! " Léon shot up from the couch, shouting and squaring up. "You want to do it, then do it!"

"Léon, no, you're injured!" his mother cried. "Stop this! Just stop this, both of you, please!"

The stepfather hiccupped. "Injured how? What kind of gang related bullshit you been into now?"

Léon's mother knelt down in front of him, placing both hands over his with a plea in her teary eyes. "Ramone, he's been stabbed. I'm begging you. Please don't hit him."

He wrinkled his nose at her with a foul sneer. "Who said I was gonna hit him?" For a moment, Léon and Ramone glared into one another's eyes, each silently expressing a vehement hatred for the other. Then for some reason, Ramone smirked. "Tell you what. I'll take him to the hospital."

His mother lifted her forehead from the arm of the recliner. "But you're dru —"

"Finish it," he threatened. "I dare you. I'm sober enough to drive, I'm sober enough to take him to the po — uh, the hospital."

Wait, what was he just about to say? Léon didn't like it. Not one bit. There weren't a whole lot of places that began with 'puh' that he could think of off the top of his head.

"Ramone, I —"

Ramone squeezed her hand, making her whimper in pain as he spoke in a hushed, hateful manner. "I said… I'm sober enough. Comprenez vous?" He sprang from the recliner and plodded to the door, but not before snatching another beer bottle from the refrigerator. Popping the cap, he gulped it down and swung the front door open. "Let's go, sale gosse."

Shooting him a shitty look, Léon decided he was going to take his time just to piss him off. He picked up his jacket and rummaged through one of the pockets, pulling out a UDC banking drive. Their only means of spending money. Taking his mother by the hand, and helping her up from the recliner, he slipped the drive into the curve of her fingers.

She gasped, covering her mouth. "Léon, what —"

"It's okay. Use it on whatever you want. There's roughly 10,000 U's on it as far as I know." There was a pause. "I know it's not much, but it's hopefully enough to cover Sherry's online courses at least."

With her lips contorting into a frowny smile, she pulled him in for a tight hug. "You do so much for us. I just wish there was some way I could repay you."

Léon smiled, returning the hug. "Don't worry about it. It's what I'm here for."

Ramone's bellowing from the hallway spoiled their heartwarming moment, reminding Léon of the dread he wished he could be rid of in an instant. Going for a car ride with the drunkard stepdad, and likely facing certain death and/or felony charges? Wow! He couldn't wait. He groaned and stepped towards the door, trying his damnedest to stomach the inevitable.


The variety of colorful lights danced across his hair and face as Ramone drove him through the downtown area. Léon made it a point to say nothing the entire way to the hospital, lest he just get another fight started, and he didn't feel like starting one when the dumb bastard was the one driving. Perhaps he should've accepted Tenmei's offer to take him instead? That would've been much more enjoyable. So much more. But no. He was trapped in a moving vehicle with the lovechild of Satan and Dionysus.

He stared out the window, taking in the sights and pretty girls going by. Léon knew Skid Row's streets better than most people. In fact, he knew the street that would take him directly to the local hospital, and his dipshit stepdad just passed it by. What the hell!

"Hey! What gives? The hospital's that way, dumbass!"

Ramone guzzled his beer and set it back in the console. "We're not going to the hospital."

Léon's heartbeat skipped irregularly, increasing by the second. Hold on. If we're not going to the hospital, then where the fuck are we going? I swear to god if this son of a bitch tries anything…!

"I'm turning you in to the prefects, scumbag."

A numbing fear washed over him. "What?!"

Ramone let out a wheezy laugh, hacking and coughing. "Yeah, I saw your face on the news yesterday. Did you really think I was gonna harbor some criminal in my apartment? No doubt your stupid mother would, but newsflash, you piece of shit: I'm not her. I'm a firm believer in upholding the law."

Sure. That's why you're drunk driving, right? What a dipshit.

"That's why you're getting thrown in the slammer and I'm going back to the strip club to celebrate. I'm doing my part in keeping the community safe, are you?"

Un-fucking-believable. Ramone had to be the most idiotic, delusional person in all of Paris, France. Not to mention downright disgusting. He was the only person Léon could think of that came close to holding a candle to J. Geil. Like hell Léon was going to get arrested. His mother and sister needed him. Getting rid of the only person that gave a damn about them? Over his dead body!

Ramone sped up to an intersection, laughing and chugging beer as he pulled out into the middle of the street. The motherfucker was just rubbing it in Léon's face at this point. Something odd caught Léon's attention. The traffic lights. They were flashing in a quick and unusual, out-of-sync pattern: red, green, red, yellow, red, green, yellow, green. Up the street, just outside his window, a cluster of wrecked vehicles were piled up, blocking the flow of traffic.

"What the hell?"

From the other side, out of Léon's periphery, he spotted a car rocketing in their direction with nary a sign of slowing down. His heart jumped into his throat. "Oh, shit!"

Only a split second. That's all the time Ramone had to glimpse the terror about to crush them like a soda can. Not enough time for Léon's life to flash before his eyes. A loud crash sent them tumbling. Léon's innards jostled as he was flipped around like clothes in a dryer. His head hitting the window begat a searing pain in his temple. Glass ruptured from the windshield, sprinkling the street. When the car finally did stop, it was due to colliding into the wreckage where they'd became an addition to the disaster.

Opening his eyes, Léon found himself seated upside-down with a god-awful ache in his head. Screams from outside drifted in and out. His vision swam in a blur gradually coming and going. Discombobulation set in. The hell is going on? Léon groaned and moved his arms, making shards of glass fall off of his jacket. Fingers felt for the seatbelt keeping him grounded.

Ou est ce salaud…? Under his palm, on the roof of the car below him, tiny crystals poked into his skin. He eased himself from the seat, scraping his back against the ceiling as he dragged himself out of the battered car. Fragments of glass clinked. Denim scuffed against the asphalt.

All he could do was lie there. Lie there and gather what consciousness he had. Blood trickled from his head, over his cheekbone, and under his jaw. Merde, my hips hurt like hell. I've got to get up. I can't just lie here… come on, idiot.

Amidst the sounds of screeching tires, screaming, shoes running across pavement, and car horns blaring, there was another sound. Mirthful laughter. Well, that was certainly out of place. Léon's brow creased. What the fuck? He thought to climb to his feet when he noted through the passenger window a still body trapped in the driver's seat. Ramone. Shit, is he dead?! Oh, my god… Pulling himself up onto the undercarriage of the car, he managed to climb to his feet.

Again, laughter. Léon scanned the area, almost as if he was in a daze.

"Gweehehehehe! Looking for moi?"

What the fuck is that?

Sitting there atop a traffic light was a blobby brain in the shade of muted lavender. Metal and flesh melded together on its body, becoming one. One of the metal bracers around its stubby tentacle flickered an array of colors in a particular sequence: red, green, red, yellow, red, green, yellow, green.

Oooh! How fortunate; we have a survivor here... but not for lonnnng!"

Each traffic light at the intersection flashed with varying patterns. Léon discerned a speeding car locking its brakes come skidding in his direction. He climbed on top of the wreckage behind him, shielding an arm over his face as it crashed head-on into Ramone's car, causing it to slam into the pile. Léon lost his balance, rolling back on the hood. If his stepfather wasn't dead before, he definitely was now.

"Hehehehehe! Whoooaa, that was a close one," the brain jeered.

No fucking way. This is a stand attack!