Love From The Other Side ☆ Leon S Kennedy X Reader

26 ☆ Travelling The States

It's been six years of absolute shit. They took me from my home just as I finally got back, planted Sherry in the care of Claire and placed me into the most extreme training they possibly could.

And oh god, I wish I'd died in that training. This is utter bullshit.
They woke me up at the crack of dawn every day, would randomly attack me, made me work out every waking minute, and woke me up randomly during the night. I was constantly screamed at, tormented, and I was completely helpless. What could I have done!? I was stuck there against my will.

After the years of hell on earth, I was sent away. Mission after mission, I was constantly working. A few months ago, back in late August/ early September, I was assigned a job to retrieve the Presidents kidnapped daughter. The things I saw in Spain while I was there affected me more than they should've.

Everytime I try to sleep.

Cannibals.

Cults.

Death.

Monsters.

Betrayal.

Every time I close my eyes, or even dare to rest, I'm met with everything all over again.

Anything that happened out there comes back to haunt me, feeling like a stab to the heart each time.

Ada never died. I grieved her for nothing. I loved her yet I didn't love her at all. I loved... What's her name? That punk. I remember her face, but not her name. Either way, I was torn between them, and it confused me. But seeing Ada again sparked something new... Although I'll never admit it out loud. It's been six years since I've seen either of them, so when Ada held that gun to my head, threatening to blow my face off, I felt a rush of nostalgia; and adrenaline. I can't have either of them, anyway. Women are distractions. Plus, not like I'll ever see either of them again.

It's the 19th of December, 2004.

As usual, I'm drowning my sorrows in bottles of Jack Daniels, forcing my escape from the constant terrors invading my every piece of mind. Can you blame me? But, that's when I hear my phone begin to buzz and vibrate against my asscheek.

I groan, hazily plucking it from my pocket and answering.

"What?" I snap, my voice coming out more monotone than intended.

"Kennedy. We have a case up North, in Boston. There's been a few accounts of the same situation, which is a small group of people smuggling drugs. Drugs which we haven't yet identified. This wouldn't have been an issue for you, but they're armed. They've already eliminated thirteen of our force. And there's very few of them." Explains a female voice. It's Hunnigan; my 'boss', in a way, so I can't be too mad.

I sigh. "What do you want me to do about it? Get some better men in there. It doesn't seem like an issue so utterly treacherous that I need to get involved in it." I grumble, staring cravingly at the half-empty glass in my hand as I swish the brown liquid around in small circular motions.

"Don't question me, please, Leon. We need you on it, and we also want to get to the bottom of the drug trade as a whole." She begins. "And we want you to get to the bottom of it."

"Of course you do..." I huff, placing my glass down lazily on my bedside table. "Yeah, whatever. How am I getting there?" I run my hand through my hair, greatful that I decided to wash it last night and not today. Otherwise I'd have to go across the country with greasy hair.

"In five minutes, a helicopter will land on the roof of your flat. It'll be waiting for you; don't keep them there for too long."

I lay back on my bed frustratedly, relishing in the rushed time I have in the comfort of my warm home. You've so got to be shitting me.

"Alright." I mumble, hanging up and shoving my phone back in my pocket.

Agitatedly, I throw myself up to my feet, my smooth, black socks hitting the hardwood floor. I glance over to my partially finished drink, knocking it back before sliding my beige coat over my shoulders.

I walk over to my front door, slipping on my favourite, comfortable boots and tying my shoelaces. I grab my keys, stepping into the elevator and pressing the top floor. I stand beside an old woman, who... is completely staring me down.

I try to avoid eye-contact, but she's done a full -90 degree head turn in my direction (as I'm standing to her left).

After what felt like hours of staring directly ahead, we stop at the ninth floor. She slowly scoots out, obnoxiously smacking me in the leg with her walking stick. I pull a slightly disgusted expression, but I don't say anything.

As I reach the top floor, I step out and to a turn to the stairwell; the elevator doesn't reach the rooftop, so I ascend the set of stairs and I'm there, met with a helicopter, as promised.

The pilot escorts me inside, dragging his sunglasses up his face until they push his hair back and sit firmly. As we take off, he discusses the issue with me (as he was asked to do).

"Oh, Boston, ja?" He asks, his prominent German accent invading his words. That, or he's just speaking basic German words that sound the same. Either way, I nod.

"Yeah, Boston. Some violent drug smugglers or something." I cross my arms over my chest, my eyes focused at the vibrant grey sky around us. What a horrible colour. I really hate winter (sometimes).

"Ja, der ist vier... nein, nein. Drei. Three of them." Now, if it helps you distinguish his accent a little better, replace 'th' with 'z'.

"Three? How'd you know?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. How does he know more than me?

"They told me to explain to you in greater detail. I do not know much more, but here..."

I'll sum up the twenty minute conversation, don't worry.

He told me that the smugglers have British accents, meaning that they're highly likely to be from North England - along with the dealers (or dealer) that I'm expected to reveal. They arrived on a ship. They sailed the god damn sea to get those drugs over here.

These fucking people and their extreme lengths to get me away from my alcohol.

Eventually, I arrive at Boston's police station closest to the sea. They show me the footage of three men, as said. One of them did get killed in the shooting, but overall there were lots more fatalities and a larger loss on our side as the cops were less experienced than needed for these (clearly professional) fighters. Whom, of which, raided their dead friend's body and went on their jolly way to the main city of Boston.

According to the fuzzy footage, I was able to distinguish a few features of each of them, jotting down the notes in a portable notebook.

All are male.

Person 1, deceased. (Not necessary):
-About 6'1, blonde hair
-Roughly late 30's.
-Well built, clearly goes to the gym.
-Eye colour not visible.
-Black jacket, black boots, black jeans, green v-neck shirt.

Person 2:
-Tallest. Roughly 6'4, brunette hair.
-Lip piercing.
-Brown eyes.
-Stronger than the average person, but not as well built as Person 1.
-Dark blue jeans and a grey sleeved shirt layered by a red t-shirt.

Person 3:
-Around 5'7.
-Seems to have facial features similar to south Asian descent (eg. Filipino, Thai, etc). Other traits include: height and hair colour.
-Short black hair with a black goatee.
-Black hoodie and black joggers.

So, there's two remaining. And they're somewhere in the main city, with loads and loads of people. Isn't that just great.