RADICALISATION, leon kennedy [1]

⤿ i. refusal to die in despair

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𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒: 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑜𝑛 𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒: 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑠𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟

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Raccoon City — September 27th, 1998

     It's dark, and everything smells funny — like decaying flesh and unkind fire. It's hot and cold all at once, the air frigid with fear and death while the cloying heat from fire, trapped in the city streets by the thick smoke, threatens to burn. The rasping of feral infected is enough to raise the hairs on the back of anyones neck, and the stench of old blood and rotting flesh is more than enough to turn anything less than an iron stomach.

     Tattered and blood smeared hospital gown flapping in the ash laden wind, a lone male figure stumbles their way through the charred rubble of Raccoon City. Clasped desperately in one hand is a bloodied and dented metal pipe that has seen better days, and strapped across their back in a makeshift holster made of fraying rope and torn cloth is a bloodied machete.

     To survive in this world, one must be willing to commit atrocious sins.

     Glass shatters close by, accompanied by the hissing of infected, and he curses, darting inside a nearby store for shelter and almost tripping over clothing racks in his haste in the darkness. Eyes adjusting to the further murkiness, he makes out a rough shape of the clothing store, and something similar to relief burns in his chest at the sight of proper clothes after being stuck in a fucking hospital gown for the past two days. It's about damn time he found something a little more helpful than weapons and food scraps.

     After a cursory glance around the uneasily quiet store, he places his weapons on a shelf,  both within easy reach on the chance that there's any infected around. Shucking off the bloodied and torn hospital gown, he wanders through the racks in search of decently durable pants and a shirt — and hopefully some socks and boots, if he is at all lucky. Thankfully, the store seems to be a kind of knock off hunting clothing store, and he nearly thanks a nonexistent god for his luck as he tugs on a pair of black pants with plenty of pockets.

     "Attention all citizens," the loudspeakers once again say, screaming out over the dilapidated city, unknowing of the death it speaks to. "Due to the citywide outbreak, you are advised to take shelter at the Raccoon City police station. Free food and medical supplies will be provided to everyone in need."