Love From The Other Side ☆ Leon S Kennedy X Reader

8 ☆ I'm Not A Donkey!

I tred over to him, hopping over the loose body parts and splatted blood and fecal matter. I raise an eyebrow.

"What happened here!?" I exclaim, processing the gruesome scene around me. "Where did they all come from?"

There's way more zombies than I thought. There's about fifteen, all collectively dead in a pile on the floor. Some of them are separated from their limbs, some have had their heads caved in, some exploded...

"They all just came through the door!" He points to an entrance beside the lockers; not the one we entered in, but a closed off room with that door as the only passage. "Plus I ran out of ammo almost immediately. I had to use my knife."

My lips part in shock. Are you joking? All these zombies with a god-damn shitty blade!?

I turn to my singular deceased zombie in shame.

I stand in silence for a moment, hesitantly changing the subject before he notices my pathetic fight compared to his. I cross my arms, furrowing my eyebrows.

"...So... ah... you're hurt." I finally apprehend the wound on his face. I motion him to crouch down, pulling his stained hair out of his wound. He winces, hitting my hand away.

"Didn't know you got red highlights." I chuckle, dangling his red dyed hair infront of his eyes. I move back, dabbing the wound with my sleeve. I wipe the dried blood crust from his cheek, and nod.

"Alright, you'll live." I pull away, allowing him to rise to his full height once again as I swoop four shotgun shells off the side, reloading the gun. I slip it through one of my belt loops, letting it sit there. It's more secure than I expected.

"Are you okay?" He tilts his head, scanning me over for injuries. My eyebrows raise in shock.

"Me? I'm not even hurt! That's you!"

He chuckles nervously, pushing his bangs away from his gash again. "Yeah, but... just checking."

I squint my eyes suspiciously. Have I broken down his walls? Or is it the other way around? He's been suspiciously sweet these past ten minutes, almost like we're... friends. Which could never happen.

So, what? Did I get on his bad side, or is he putting on a façade?

"Well, I'm okay." I make my way over to a set of lockers, opening them up. Some of them are empty, some of them have ammo, and some have medical supplies. I summon the cop over to me, slipping everything into his hip pouches.

"What am I, a donkey?" He grins, observing me as I use him as a baggage area.

I shake my head in false-disapproval, closing the pouches. "Hey, you've got the pockets here. You were asking for it." I chuckle, hypocritically pulling the map out of my pocket.

He doesn't even question it.
"Where are we going now?" He peeks over my shoulder, analysing the map.

"Wanna split up?" I turn my head to face him. He glances back down into my eyes. I'd let a train run me over, if heaven was living in his eyes for eternity.

Wait... what?

"Split?" He furrows his eyebrows. "Why would we do that?"

I blink, snapping myself out of my trance. "Ah, uh, to explore quicker. I'll draw you out a map, if you want. I've got art stuff in my bag back in the main hall; I didn't pack for an apocalypse, but I did pack for a long car ride.

He forms a thin line with his lips, before nodding and flashing me a tiny, reassuring smile.
"Alright. But what if you get in trouble? How would I know?"

I stare at him blankly. "Huh?" I carefully pick up a document on the side.
"You won't. I doubt you'll hear me scream from the other end of the building."

I avert my gaze down to the sheets of stapled paper in my hands, flipping through it slowly.

"Maybe we should stay close then! If we stay together, but stay in rooms nearby-" He tries to compromise before I cut him off.

"Hold that thought! Look at this." I point to page three of the notes.

He reads over my shoulder once again, his short, soft breaths just about close enough to warm the side of my face.

"1988. Three years ago." I begin, my finger sliding across the words. "Specimen 2611.
Nature: Caring, protective. Aggressive.
Age: 25.
Sex: Male
Features: Dark, curly hair. Green eyes."

I turn to Leon for a moment, wondering if he's caught on yet. He hasn't. I continue.

"He's been struggling recently. We're only planning on having him for a few weeks. Don't worry, his family still think he's in your prisons." I pause, frustratedly. "His number one concern is getting back to his little sister. Freaks out when people call him '2166' instead of Caesar."

The ending of my words feel strained, and I hear a quiet gasp from the man behind me. "What?"

"Don't worry, Leutenant." I take off where I left it. "Nobody will know. His blood type is perfect, and he heals quickly. We've tested a..." I squint.

"The rest is unreadable..." I mumble, pulling the sheet of paper closer. It looks like the words are just wet blobs of ink, undergoing chromatography.

"Mutation... creature... furry... agressive... six fatalities... Huh!?" I grunt, frustratedly slamming the paper back down on the desk.

"You people were experimenting on your prisoners!?" I turn to him, absolutely furious. He opens his mouth in awe.

"Wh- Huh? No, no! I- I don't know, man! It's my first day on the job!" He runs his hand through his hair, frustrated. "You need to stop taking your anger out on me. I'm not part of this."

"You would've been."

"But I'm not."

I let out a huff of air, keeping to myself for a moment before finally doing a small nod.

"Alright. Fine, you're right. Let's just... go over this. Your organisation experimented on people... and my brother, at that." I mumble, silently reprimanding myself for listening to him.

"I don't think it would've been them, specifically. Maybe it was a traitor in the workforce?" He pauses. "I really don't think the whole police force would be in on it. That's highly unlikely."

I hum in acknowledgement. "Yeah, maybe. Why don't we go back and ask Martin?" I pick the stack of experiment papers back up, rolling it up and holding it out towards the cop with a smug look.

"I'm not a donkey!" He groans playfully, a grin forming as he takes it from me and stuffs it in his pocket. "Well... maybe a little bit."