23-year-old Leon Kennedy, Umbrella's finest agent, is sent to Raccoon City in September 1998, during the night of the horrifying outbreak. He's told to secure a sample of the G-virus and to get rid of William Birkin, as well as to kill any of the re...
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"You fucker!"
A glass bottle breaks into pieces, red liquid mixed with drops of your own blood spreading on the grey tiles as it's thrown against the other side of the wooden door. He's lost count of how many you've broken already.
Locking you in his wine cellar was pretty much the only thing he could think of. He didn't know where else to go with you, and the place has solid walls and no windows or other entrances, so it'll have to do for now.
So of course you made it your mission to smash every single bottle in sight.
He genuinely couldn't care less about the bottles. He's got more than enough money to buy new ones — yet he rolls his eyes as he leans with his back against the door, exhausted from everything that's happened in the past two days. Not that it stops him from being sarcastic in his responses.
"You're wasting energy and liquor, but sure, go ahead, knock yourself out." Leon speaks, after which he can hear you throwing the next bottle with considerably more force than before. "Nice throw."
"Next one's coming at your face. Fuck you, Kennedy!"
The words don't affect him. Not anymore. A switch in his head seems to have flipped after hearing the things you said to him just hours earlier — right before he stuck that needle in your neck.
But it does hurt him. He never imagined the person he loved most would lose it like this, he's rarely seen anything like it. Facing you in the rain was a terrifying thing to see.
Maybe he was stupid to think happiness was finally within his reach.
He sighs, leaning the side of his body against the door. "Will you calm the hell down?"
"Calm down!? Don't tell me that shit!"
As he rolls his eyes once more, his superior steps into view with a beyond confused expression on his face. "Is that—why the hell is she locked in there?"
"Lloyd? Lloyd, it's me!" You call helplessly from your position, begging for his help as a last resort, which takes every last ounce of your dignity away.
Lloyd's eyes shift from the door to Leon's, who's trying to find the words. "Funny story, actually. Turns out my wife is even more of a homicidal maniac than I am, which means we've, you know — hit rock bottom. So, yeah, she's, uh... a little angry."
"Oh, I'm more than just a little angry, you asshole!" Your voice sounds slightly muffled from the other side of the door.
"Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't have fucked me over! Ever think about that, huh?" He tells you with a raised voice, banging on the door once, after which your rage only flares up.
"Shut—the hell—up!" You yell back, trying to force the door open with every word leaving your mouth.
Leon's clearly not done bickering with you, but Lloyd stops him by grabbing his arm. "Stop. You need to stop."
