RADICALISATION, resident evil [1] ✓

⤿ xix. wisecracks in the storm's eye

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𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒: 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑜𝑚

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛: 𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒
𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑚'𝑠 𝑒𝑦𝑒

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Umbrella Laboratory (NEST), Raccoon City — September 30th, 1998

     "'There are three levels of access: visitor, general staff, and senior staff,'" Mason murmurs, reading the identification wristband file to himself as Leon peeks over his shoulder. "'Authentication is granted based on an electronic chip... Access level can be changed by inserting a different chip...' Okay, cool. We're gonna need senior staff access, aren't we? Great..."

     "Guess we can't say that their security is shit," Leon retorts, a silly little grin upon his face. "Zombies and ID wristbands. What a match."

     His jokes and wisecracks are silly, and a little cute, even though some are not at all funny, and Mason wants to keep Leon's stupid dad joke sense of humour intact. It's rather refreshing. And, really, it has been the one constant thing during this whole mess, and Mason is grateful that he has — they have — something familiar tagging behind him — them — throughout this entire mess. He would be genuinely concerned if Leon had lost his weird sense of humour, and, hell, Mason thinks that he would be lost without the younger man's ridiculous jokes.

     Mason kind of wants to keep listening to them for the rest of his life.

     He imagines them, old and grey-haired— Okay, maybe not that old. But still... He can imagine them, maybe a decade or two older than they are now, middle-aged men, reminiscing over their adventure through the police station and these filthy sewers, making smart remarks and jokes despite the horrors in front of them. He can imagine them, sitting in a lonely corner of a bar — or maybe in one of their houses? — sharing a drink and both silently fighting the demons this experience has given them.

     He can see Leon steadily rising through the ranks of a prestigious police department in a good city, all the way until he's the captain of the precinct and maybe working his way to becoming a commissioner. He can see the blond's hair greying around the edges and laughter lines wrinkling around his eyes, like crow's feet, and he can see the cheekiness remaining within sparkling blue eyes.