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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"Maybe, instead of trying to search for some map, we should take one of those fuckers hostage and threaten to kill him until he draws one for us. Then still kill him. Easy."
"Except they already know we killed a few dozens of their men. They'll probably have us walking right into a trap."
"God, you're so pessimistic."
"I'm—"
"Leon S. Kennedy, if you so much as whisper the word realistic right now, I will actually straight-up murder you behind this tree branch."
Leon is caught up in the conversation with you until he notices the creaking sound of footsteps behind the two of you. He rolls onto his back with his pistol raised at whoever is sneaking up on him, but then lets out a heavy sigh once he sees who it is. "Jesus Christ. Don't ever sneak up on me like that again."
"Fucking hell, Leon." Yoko exhales with a smile, lowering her gun. He gets up and immediately gets suffocated in a hug by the woman once in cover behind some tall plants. "I'm so glad you're still alive."
And she isn't alone, Leon notices, because someone else is hugging him from the other side.
"Thank God. She is so impulsive, Kennedy, she won't listen to me. We didn't even come up with a plan yet and she was already tearing through those sniveling losers like a goddamn ninja turtle."
"Good to see you too, Neal." Leon chuckles.
You're awkwardly standing in the shadows when they embrace him, not exactly expecting the same warm welcome your husband received. The two turn to look at you with genuine confusion.
"How did you get here?"
"Plane." Is all you say, as if that gives them enough information.
Yoko still looks as puzzled as ever, but she walks over to you and actually wraps her arms around you. Acting the same way you did back when Leon hugged you before, you don't reciprocate it, instead bending your arms inwards as if you're being touched by someone you strongly dislike.
Which isn't true. You do like her, truly. You're just not used to this kind of affection anymore — it feels weird to you.
You miss it, though.
"Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you're alright." She says, the sentiment genuine, and it makes you feel a way you can't describe.
When even Neal comes over to hug you, you begin to feel a little suffocated. "Oh my God, I'm literally a homicidal maniac, why do you people keep hugging me?"
