Chapter Text
The car ride to Valdelobos is an eerily silent one that has you resisting the urge to take sideways glances at your partner throughout the way. Leon S. Kennedy sits in the seat beside you, a fellow Secret Security Service agent and the man who was partially responsible for taking down the Umbrella Corporation—which was no easy feat, you're frequently told. It’s your first day out on the field, and Leon’s first mission since he had been assigned to protect the president’s family. Like most things in life, it was supposed to be a simple job—until it wasn’t.
Because things just never seem to go as planned, did they?
He’s fixated on a picture of Ashley Graham, the sole daughter of President Graham, which arguably made her the second most important person in the United States of America. Unable to hold yourself back, your gaze once again falls onto the photo clutched in his gloved hands: Ashley, her blonde hair styled in a fashionable bob, smiling for the camera without a care in the world. That must be nice, you think bitterly, turning to face the window, watching the Spanish countryside pass you by. “So tell me Yanqui,” one of the Spanish cops starts, turning around in his seat to face Leon. “Why did you come to this horrible place? It’s as close to nowhere as I’ve ever seen—and you brought with you a young lady, no less.”
“I’m not a lady,” you say, glaring at the mustache-wearing cop as he lifts his hands up in surrender. While you’re chagrined by his comment, you know you would be unable to answer in a way that wouldn’t compromise the objective of the mission. And the mission, you had been taught time and time again, always came first. Leon’s dark blue eyes meet yours for a moment, a knowing look passing through them before he responds. “Let’s just say…we’re looking for someone.”
“That someone must be very important, eh?” the officer counters, turning back to face the road. “The chief gave the orders himself,” he continues, gesturing with his hands. “'Help them,’ he said.”
“Well, I’m sure you boys didn’t come all the way out here to roast marshmallows,” Leon says, causing you to smirk triumphantly until the bearded officer lets out a hearty laugh. “...Or maybe you did,” Leon concludes. It became readily apparent that these cops would be of little to no use, which was perfect, considering they were the only help you’d gotten. “You have a strange sense of humour,” the cop comments, a cheery smile on his face. “So I’m gonna let you in on a little secret—something we’ll keep just between us. A lot of people have gone missing around here, and it’s been that way for a while now.”
“Well then, should just be another day in the office, right?” Leon asks sarcastically. “I mean, last week there was a search for some missing hikers,” the cop divulges, causing your ears to perk up. “But we won’t have to worry about that with you two here, yes?” you say, directing your question to the two cops. The bearded man lets out another one of those full-belly laughs that was really starting to get on your nerves and shrugs, aloof. Great, you think to yourself, we’re all going to die. Leon seems to notice your vexation, wordlessly bringing a gloved hand to rest on your shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze promptly before pulling away. As if it had never been there in the first place. You oh so desperately want to tell him to keep it there. He could even move it downwards, if he wanted.
You don’t do any of that, of course. Opting to give him a trying smile instead before focusing your sights back on the road.
“I think this is it,” the officer wearing glasses says, parking the police car in a clearing that overlooked the beginnings of an old and pathless forest. “Nature calls, eh?” the bearded cop blithely remarks. “I’ll be right back.” The cops have a playful exchange in Spanish, Glasses mocking Beardy for having too much to drink. You’re certain they’re unaware you can speak the language, suddenly thankful you had taken the time to study it as a part of your training. When Beardy is no longer in sight, Glasses pulls out a carton of cigarettes from inside his jacket, slotting one in his mouth before looking at the two of you from the rear-view mirror. “Either of you smoke?” he asks around the cigarette, causing Leon to dismissively wave his hand while you shake your head. The officer immediately fishes through his pocket for a lighter, tossing the carton aside haphazardly.
You wrinkle up your nose as he takes a drag, repulsed by the scent of burning tobacco. It’s a surprise that you hadn’t gotten accustomed to it during all your time with Krauser—the man had smoked a pack a day and still managed to be as strong as an ox, damn him. Sometimes you had wished his dirty little habit killed him sooner. Other times you were grateful it didn’t, wanting to finish the job yourself. It was much too late for that now, of course. Krauser had been dead for about two years and counting, but your memory of him hadn't faded in the slightest.
Glasses continues to smoke as he fiddles with the radio—one minute passes like that, then two. Finally, when a whopping total of ten minutes have passed and Beardy still isn’t back, Glasses voices his concern. “He sure is taking his time,” he notes, looking out the window. “Maybe he fell in,” you theorize. Glasses hums, a smug smirk on his face when he looks at Leon. “Maybe you better go and take a look, me and the little lady will watch the car. Wouldn’t want to get a parking ticket.”
While you’re not certain about most things, you know for a fact that you’d rather be anywhere but alone with this man, in a locked car, late at night. You could handle yourself if he tried anything funny, but you’d rather not wait around to find out. Leon seems to notice your apprehension, shaking his head. “The girl stays with me,” he firmly asserts, leaving no room for argument. “Have it your way,” Glasses says, reclining back in his seat.
“So much for helping us,” Leon says when you’re both out of earshot, the frustration evident in his voice. “I don’t know what you expected,” you say, as Leon pushes a stray branch out of your way. “They’re just low-ranking cops, whatever’s going on here is way out of their league.” And maybe out of ours too, you think.
“Hm,” Leon responds, noncommittal. You both take a moment to observe your surroundings, the Valdelobos forest is gloomy and yet alluring, in its own strange way. The underbrush is thick with a wide array of different plants, various clovers and shrubs with tall, untouched grass. The trees stretch so high up you can barely see the sky, but through the branches, thin slivers of moonlight do manage to make their way down, shining in oblique rays. “It’s kind of beautiful, don’t you think?” you tell Leon as you walk along the path, watching as a pair of carpet moths flutter past. Leon snorts, quirking up his eyebrow. “Beautiful? This place?” He looks at the dilapidated houses, the foggy water at his feet. “I mean, that’s one way of putting it.” As you traverse deeper in the forest, you notice a murder of crows lurking overhead, their screeching becoming more audible by the second. You weren’t the most spiritual person, but even that seemed like a bad omen you should take heed of. “Okay,” you concede, “it might also just be a little bit creepy. But, how far could he have gone on his own anyways?”
You both stop at a large, decorative gate, the fanciful door swung wide open like an invitation. “I think we’re about to find out.” Immediately upon crossing you notice something a few feet away. Upon closer inspection you both find that it’s the corpse of a freshly killed deer, laying under a moss-covered stone arch. Its crimson-red blood was pouring out into the water, buzzing flies dancing all over the body. “Shit,” you breathe, the sight causing bile to rise up in your throat. You turn to look at Leon and try to contain your alarm. “Doesn’t this look like something a cult would do?” He surveys the deer, a deep furrow in his brows. “It does. It could be part of a ritual, some sort of sacrifice.” You can’t pull yourself away from its bloodshot eyes, staring off at something in the distance. It was such an innocent life and it pained you to see it wasted for such a cruel, sordid purpose. When you get your hands on the people that did this, you swear you’ll wring their necks and tie them to the rafters, Those disgusting, ugly—
“Hey, Rookie,” Leon says, pulling you out of your reverie. When your eyes blink up at him owlishly he clears his throat, and in a softer tone he adds, “Let's keep moving.”
“Right,” you say, embarrassed. “Let’s.”
When you finally reach the outskirts of the village, you see an old-style, ramshackled house. The roof has various holes in it while overgrown vines stretch across the facade. You both cautiously enter inside, a sole, yellowish lamp lighting up the entirety of the space. “Anyone home?” Leon questions, voice echoing in the large space. He doesn’t get a response back. “I really doubt anyone could live here,” you say, examining the moss on the walls, the farmers' tools scattered about. Travelling through the house, you eventually find what appears to be a bedroom—though, you would use that word very loosely. The roof had partially collapsed, leaving wooden planks scattered throughout the floor, cracks running along the wall. There’s a small bed in the corner, the mattress covered in dirt and stained a yellowish brown. Leon sifts through the sheets, eventually pulling something out.
“What do you make of this?” he asks, handing the object over to you. You take a moment to examine the cross-like item woven together with sticks and thread, an ‘X’ where a horizontal line should have been. “Looks like religious memorabilia,” you infer, turning the symbol over and finding a small piece of parchment paper attached to the back that catches your eye. “Oh, there’s something written here…it says, ‘Se acerca el jucio.’” Leon stares at you blankly, and only then do you remember his lack of knowledge concerning the Spanish language. “It means ‘Judgment is Nigh’,” you translate, “which has a pretty heavy implication, all things considered.”
“As if things weren’t foreboding enough,” he says, his frustration growing by the second. “This has all the markings of religious fanatics—probably cultists. It’s much worse than we thought.”
You’d have to agree with him there. What had initially appeared to be a run-of-the-mill kidnapping case was slowly evolving into a much larger conspiracy. “Yeah, people doling out ‘judgment’ as they please isn’t really reassuring. But, there’s nothing we can do about it now,” you point out. “Plus, if you could handle Racoon City all those years ago, I’m sure that whatever this is can’t be as bad, right? And you have me this time, so…it could be worse.” Leon snorts, mildly amused. “Yeah, guess it could be. But don’t speak too soon,” he cautions, as you both move into the next room, a panoply of these same metal crosses hanging from the ceiling. “You never know what fucked up things life will throw at you, so be prepared for the worst.” Despite the warning, you’re still unperturbed. Unlike Leon, you had been working towards this goal for the majority of your life, and you certainly weren’t ready to keel over after a few minor setbacks.
“I’m sure I can handle it,” you tell him, wholly self-assured. “I usually do.”
“If you say so.”
The next door you come to has a handle that’s long been reddened by rust, the white-coloured paint slathered on top had turned into a muted grey, chipping at the edges. “Are you ready?” he questions, placing his hand on the knob. “I don’t know what we’ll find here, but prepare for the worst. Just in case.” You keep a hand on the Beretta 92 in your back pocket, giving Leon a nod of confirmation. Once you give him the okay, he pries opens the door with a harrowing 'creak'. You can’t see much from behind Leon’s shoulders, only being able to catch glimpses of the room from behind his sheepskin bomber jacket. As Leon shuts the door, you both startle at the burly, bearded man lying in wait behind it, his dead eyes staring back at you. Leon’s breath audibly catches in his throat while you stumble into him, barely managing to stop yourself from falling over in shock. “Uh, sorry to barge in like this,” Leon says, flashing his empty palms in a good-faith gesture, his gun tucked away safely in his thigh holster.
Unlike Leon, you choose to hang onto a weapon, the dagger in your windbreaker pocket. The stranger doesn’t seem to acknowledge you in the slightest as he begins walking over to the fireplace, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath. Assuming he doesn't understand English, you try to communicate with him in Spanish. “Busco a un policía,” I am looking for a police officer, you tell him. “¿Vino aquí?” Have you seen him? The man pays you no mind, his back still remaining turned to you. You turn to Leon with a shrug and a look that says, ‘I don’t know what else to do.’
Just when it appears that you’ve hit a dead end, Leon catches sight of something on the ground, bending over to pick it up. Sealed away in a leather case, there was the I.D. of the officer from earlier, Mario Fernandez Castaño written in bold, black letters under his picture. The concerning part, however, was the fresh blood staining the edges. “Rookie, I think it’s time to—”
“Get the fuck away from me!” You suddenly yell as a loud clatter echoes throughout the room. Leon turns his head so fast he swears his neck almost snaps from the force. The stranger looms over you, groaning like a wild animal, an axe in his hand that you just barely managed to block with your unsheathed dagger, holding onto it with both hands. “Get down Rookie!” Leon commands, causing you to speedily duck. The Hunter raises his axe once more, gleaming in the light of the fireplace like an ancient scythe. He never gets a chance to bring it down on you, though, as Leon fires three deafening shots in rapid succession, causing him to fall to the ground. Your heart is pounding violently in your chest as you manage to stand on shaky knees. Leon puts the gun in his back pocket, making his way toward you in quick strides.
You already anticipate the earful he’ll give you, having heard it all in excess from Krauser before. You figure you’d deserve it too, if he began reprimanding you for not being able to kill him yourself, for being too slow to act, too immature, too—
You feel a pair of warm, large hands land on your shoulders as Leon’s stormy blue eyes scan your face for any signs of damage. “Are you okay?” he questions, as you stare at him in a mixture of shock and confusion. His hands move lower until they’re circling your wrists, turning your hands over to inspect them, “Are you hurt anywhere?” When you still haven’t answered him, Leon cups your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. ”Rookie, can you hear me?” he asks, the rising panic audible in his tone. It’s only then that you manage to find your voice, giving him a small nod. “I—I’m fine Leon, really,” you say, gently prying his hands off you and picking up the skeleton key that fell out of the Hunter’s pocket and presenting it to him. “We should see where this leads.”
You can tell he wants to argue with you, probe you further—but he doesn’t get the chance to as a loud moan sounds from upstairs. “Guess we better hurry,” he says, taking the key from you. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.” You walk into an adjoining room, various tools mounted up on hooks in the walls, a sole door in the corner. “Here goes nothing,” Leon says, slowly turning the key in place until the lock gives with a soft ‘click.’
You grab the miniature flashlight from one of your various pockets, shining it at the stairs leading to the basement. Not only was it dark, but there was also a horrible odour wafting in from downstairs, something you couldn’t quite place. Leon walks ahead of you, revolver aimed and ready to fire. As you cross the threshold, you realize that nothing could have adequately prepared you for what you saw next. Just past what appeared to be a workstation, a wooden desk with candles, books, and stray papers strewn about lies a table, a table with a flesh-eaten, rotting body on top, wound up in a brown, burlap sack. “Holy fuck,” you exclaim, a mix of terror and surprise. Leon merely grimaces at the sight, clearly accustomed to it. If you had thought the deer was bad, this macabre sight was about a thousand times worse. You suddenly feel something crawling across your boots, inciting you to quickly reach for your pistol. But upon shining some light on it, you find a small, disgruntled rat at your feet. It lets out a series of squeaks before scurrying along, allowing you to let out the breath you had been holding.
“Feeling squeamish already?” Leon asks, causing you to audibly swallow. “I mean, you’d have to have a next-level tolerance not to be affected by any of this.” He pushes aside a heavy curtain, holding it open for you. “Don’t worry, Rookie. It seems like a lot now, but you eventually get used to—hey!” he suddenly calls out, and you get a glimpse of what he was looking at. You both hurriedly make your way over to the other side of the room where Beardy is, lying face-up on the floor, a pool of fresh sanguine dripping from his mouth while his bloodshot eyes are fixated on the ceiling. It seemed that Leon had been right when he told you you would eventually get over your discomfort, you barely even feel a thing anymore. These macabre sights were beginning to become increasingly commonplace and you're not sure if that was supposed to make you feel relieved or concerned. “This look familiar?” Leon asks, already anticipating the response. You detest the fact that it does. “The deer…the one in the forest,” you supply, “whoever killed it—”
“Probably did this to the cop too,” Leon finishes. You’re both solemnly staring at what was left of Beardy before the two-way radio clipped to his uniform turns on, Glasses yelling in Spanish on the other side. “I read you!” Leon says, quickly bringing the radio to his mouth, “what’s your situation?” There’s no verbal response, however. The only noises you can both make out is the sound of static and Glasses’ startled shouting. Leon forcefully turns the radio off with a practical growl, shoving it into the ground. “The hell is going on?” You don’t have a good answer to that question. A million different scenarios are running through your mind, all as fast as racehorses and none very promising. “I’m not sure,” you tell him, sincere. “For now, it's probably best to focus on getting out of here.”
An abrupt, heavy ‘thump,’ sounds from up the stairs, attracting both of your attention. “What was that?” Leon asks, as you both make your way over there. “Don’t know,” you say, reaching for your dagger. “But I think we’re about to find out.” You hear it before you see it, a low, wet hissing sound. “No fucking way!” Leon exclaims as you watch the hunter—the one he had previously shot dead—amble toward you in disbelief. His face is disfigured from where he had been injured, his head tilted at a funny angle. Before he has a chance to shoot you lurch forward, climbing onto the Hunter’s back and shoving the blade so deeply into his neck you can hear the sound of his trachea cracking with a sickening snap. You quickly hop off of him as his blood spurts out like a broken fountain, the flashlight still tightly in your grip. The Hunter takes one step forward, then another before falling face-first onto the floor with a pained sound like a wounded animal would make. Leon gets closer to the body, nudging it with his foot to ensure he was dead for good this time. “This just keeps getting better,” he laments, as you both make your way back up the stairs with a newfound sense of urgency.
“No kidding, it’s a total shitshow,” you agree. Just as you’re about to turn the corner, another man makes his way across the hallway, yelling angrily. Leon forcefully grabs your arm, tugging you backwards before he can catch sight of you. Your back is pressed firmly against his front, so much so that you can feel the indents of solid muscle under his shirt and the steady beat of his heart. You both wait until he’s fully out of sight before he lets go of you, apologizing with a curt, “Sorry.” You wave him off, having not minded in the slightest bit. “Should have watched where I was going.” You both eventually manage to make your way upstairs, sneaking into one of the rooms with Leon firmly shutting the door behind you, making sure to shut the metal latch in place with a low grunt. A lone desk in the corner catches your eye, a singular picture pinned to the wall over a map. You immediately know who it is, the blonde hair, the slender frame—it couldn’t have been anyone else.
There was Ashely Graham, tied up like a hog on some dirty floor that was completely unbefitting for someone like her. “Leon,” you say, calling him over. “You might wanna take a look at this.” His frown deepens as his hand drags across the map, taking it off the wall. Just then, both of your earpieces ring, Leon tapping his fingers against his own. “Roost,” he starts, addressing Hunnigan, your assigned Field Operations Support Agent for this mission. “This is Condor One, I have Crow with me on standby.”
“Roost, here,” she replies, accompanied by the sound of a wheeled chair rolling across the floor, “what's your sitrep?”
“The President’s daughter—Baby Eagle,” he corrects himself, using her code name. “It’s likely she’s in this village.”
You hear a few clicking noises before Hunnigan responds. “Our intel was correct, then. Well done you two.”
“Need a location on a nearby lake,” he adds, flitting through the other photos, a large red ‘X’ on the map at a body of water, “she may have been taken there.”
“Copy that,” Hunnigan says, “I’ll see what I can find.”
“Hurry up,” Leon urges, causing you to roll your eyes at his ill manners. “Something’s happened to the people here. Our escorts are—”
The sound of thundering footsteps cuts him off, a splintered piece of the wooden door falling through the ground as an axe cuts through it. “For fuck’s sake—not this again,” you bemoan, backing away from the noise. “Gotta go,” Leon says, shoving the map in his jacket before ushering you towards the window, “talk later.” The intruder finally manages to break through on his third swing, three of his other buddies in tow. You’re outnumbered, but you’re certain you can take them, reaching for your pistol. Leon doesn’t seem to have the same idea, however, as he scoops you up in his arms like you weighed nothing. He doesn’t even give you the chance to complain. “We’ll be letting ourselves out!” he says, as you grasp his shirt in your hands and bury your head in his chest, finally catching on to what he was planning. He manages to kick the window while still holding on to you, causing the glass to shatter violently before jumping out. You squeeze your eyes shut while you're suspended in air, only opening them when you both hit solid ground.
Thankfully for you, Leon had absorbed most of the fall, landing on his side and rolling a bit until his body was leaning over yours. His breath came out in slow pants while strands of dark blonde hair tickled your face. You almost forget the people actively chasing after you, eyes widening at your compromising position. “Leon, I—”
He abruptly stands up, his head turning to the lodge window as you manage to rest on your elbows to get a better view. The man with the axe sneers at you both from above before lowering his weapon, turning away and fading from view. “Sorry for that,” he apologizes, offering you his hand as you grab it and right yourself, dusting off your clothes. “That was a close one, wasn't sure we could take them all. Didn’t want to risk it.”
“No, no. You’re good,” you assure him. “Does it uh, hurt? I mean, since you took the brunt of it?” He shakes his head, adjusting the gloves on his hands. “Not one bit, I’m—”
“—Used to it, I know,” you interject, already anticipating his words. When you realize Leon has been awfully quiet you turn to look at him, surveying you with an intense look on his face that makes you more flustered than you cared to admit. It directly contrasts his usual, stoic expression. “What?” you say, trying to hide your fluster by adjusting the small, brown sack with supplies on your shoulder, making sure that nothing was damaged during the fall.
He shakes his head, seemingly snapping out of whatever it was. “Nothing, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
You shrug, letting out a small, “Okay.”
“We should probably make our way over to the village,” he says, unfurling the map and veering you back on track. “Right,” you say, coming to stand beside him, placing your finger on an image of houses titled ‘La Aldea.’
“So this is where we’re trying to go,” you say, before trailing your hand to an icon of a lone house. “And this is where we are now so…we just need to head further north and we should get there just fine.”
“Yeah, fine," he agrees. "Just as long as we don’t get murdered by any rabid villagers. No big deal.”
You let out a short, involuntary laugh at his sarcastic comment, rolling up the map and tucking it safely away in your bag. “Details, details.”
You both suddenly become aware of the vague, dreamy light slowly filtering in from the treetops, dawn breaking through the mist. Has it been that long already? You wonder, as you both stand at the foot of a narrow and tottering bridge, bloody footsteps imprinted on the wood. “Will it hold, do you think?” you question out loud, pressing down on it with one foot to test it out. “Only one way to find out,” Leon responds, taking a few steps forward without issue. Once you’re sure it’s safe you follow along at his heels until you both reach a other rickety gate, this one more imposing than the last. There are severed heads impaled on the sharp metal framing, their faces wrapped up in bandages like mummies. “That’s a horrible design choice,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.
Leon snorts mirthlessly, leaning his weight on the door and shoving it open. “I’m not so sure the townspeople would appreciate your artistic opinion.”
“Their loss,” you say, as you both reach a path leading directly to the town square, standing a considerable distance away from where a group of people were congregated. “Can you see what’s going on over there?” Leon questions as you pull out your binoculars, adjusting the lenses to get a good look. “There’s a few people standing around a pile of wood, I think there’s someone pinned to one of those cross-things we saw earlie—wait a minute,” you say, squinting your eyes to make sure you were seeing correctly. “Oh—fucking hell.”
“What?” Leon questions, “What is it?” You don’t bother responding, somberly handing him the binoculars, “Go on and see for yourself.”
“Holy shit,” he curses, watching as one of the men approaches the glasses-wearing cop from earlier, throwing his torch into the heap and setting the entire thing ablaze. Glasses suddenly wakes up from his slumber, withering around helplessly like a fish out of water as he lets out a series of harrowing screams. Screams that you’re certain would haunt you for years to come. “Fuck, Leon.” you say, as Glasses falls silent, taking the pair of binoculars from him, your resolve from earlier quickly dissolving. “What are we supposed to do now? Both of our guides are dead, everyone in this place seems to be a drug-addicted fundie—what if,” you suddenly speculate, “what if they’ve already gotten to the president’s daughter? What do we do then?”
The whole situation seemed pretty bleak at this point. The worst part was you weren't even worried about yourself—in fact it was Leon, that was in greater danger than you, even though he wasn't aware of it.
And you endeavoured to keep it that way.
Leon pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, thinking over your next course of action. He has to admit that you do have a point—the possibility that Ashley was already dead was an incredibly real one, all things considered. But on the other hand, it’s not as if you both could simply abandon the mission partway through—not unless you wanted to get thrown in federal prison, that is. “Either way,” he starts, making up his mind, “we have a job to do and we need to see it through, no matter what happens. Can’t just go home with our tails tucked between our legs, can we?”
You immediately feel stupid for asking—of course, you would have to keep pushing forward regardless of how the situation had escalated. You had almost lost sight of the reason you were here in the first place—not out of your own volition, but because you had a job to complete. A job you had been efficiently trained to do, your sole raison d’être, because you weren’t built for anything else at this point.
If you couldn’t manage to do this correctly, you were clean out of options.
There was no other alternative—this was it.
“Right,” you say, steeling your nerves. “I guess we should find her as fast as we can and get out of here.” Leon senses your hesitation and attempts to encourage you. “She’s just a girl, you know,” he says, causing your eyebrow to raise with indignation. “Probably scared and alone, too. She—she needs us.”
He immediately regrets it the minute he sees the pained look on your face, but it’s far too late to take it back. “Girl?! A girl? Leon, she’s my age,” you remind him, indignant and overcome with vitriol. It only makes sense that he would forget, considering the disparity between you and her. Although, that didn't make you feel any better about the whole thing.
I was a girl too! You want to yell, I was frightened, and alone, and no one came for me! How is that fair?
You understand the principle of it, despite your frustrations. Ashley Graham was the second most important person in the United States of America, while you were some deluded soldier’s experimental guinea pig. A pet project. Nothing you could do would ever change that.
“Never mind,” you say, trying to avoid an argument. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It was unprofessional of me. Let’s just go and get this thing over with.”
Leon says nothing, staring at the back of your head for a few moments before eventually falling into step beside you.
This was going to be a long mission.