Sublimity ? Leon Kennedy

L E O N

Five days.

Five days I've been roaming the town with the same truck, driving into destruction and dead ends—suburb ruins and the bodies of the undead paving the sidewalks. I've seen in all before. I've seen worse.

The Raccoon City and Plaga incidents were testaments to that.

But this one feels different for some reason. It feels closer to home and less like just a job I'm committed to. And maybe because it isn't.

I keep driving. Checking abandoned motels and houses, alley ways and even the bodies I find on the road. For any traces of her. Any confirmation that she's alive or dead. But I find nothing. Only more charred and warped cars and burnt houses and shattered store fronts from the outbreak.

Debris crunch under the wheels as I drive, my hand on the wheel and my eyes darting to every dark corner in the daylight.

There's no news from Washington, or from Hunnigan, all radio silence and static in the comms everytime I try. And if I didn't like it before, now I hate it with every bone in my body.

Right from the get go, there has been something off. The diner incident in Hapton, and now Alison County. It was all too perfect, too planned—too in my face that it's been following me—or worse, us.

My mind flickers back to Illa's words every now and then. That she's not from this world, and that she's from an alternate universe where I'm not real and just a videogame character.

It's bat shit insane. I hated every time she'd mention it. But now there's an empty void on the passenger seat everytime I glance at it—the cushion taunting me with its space and silence. Without her random ass questions about my life and snarky comments. Without her constantly prodding me with so-called facts from her universe. The way she knows too much that it crawls under my skin.

And it's stupid.

I'm used to working alone. I prefer it. People only slow me down and drag me into the trenches every time I trust them or take them in.

I shouldn't even be thinking about her. But I do. And part of me is being eaten alive every time I do.

I've been staying at dark parking spaces, and the wrecked suburbs nearby. Clearing the area first for the undead and the lickers I encounter before setting up camp for the night when I get too tired to even drive. I still have a lot of ammo from our last visit to the RPD armory, but it's only going to last for so long.

In the midst of all of it, I'd find myself laying in the truck or in an abandoned house with soft sheets, thinking about her. Thinking about everything she'd say and the last time we were together. Her warmth against me. The way she looks at me.

The way she kissed me.

It digs into me in a way I've never felt before. I don't really know how, but it does.

If only I had just stayed that night, maybe we'd still be together. Maybe she wouldn't be out there wandering alone in this chaos and I'd be able to protect her.

Maybe if I didn't leave to check the noise, she'd be next to me, sleeping, prodding me and annoying me. And I'd have a fun time deflecting her and annoying her back.

I've thought about it. That maybe she's right. That maybe she isn't from his world and by some unknown supernatural reason she ended up here.

Why else would she know me so well anyway?

I've seen and heard just about enough monstrosity in my missions that it isn't so far fetched anymore.

No one else knows about Ada. I don't even know about Ada. And yet she does.