Chapter Text
The city always looked sick after midnight. Rain slid down the windows of the Raccoon City Police Department in thin, silver veins, turning the lights outside into blurred smears of lightning and mud. The streets below glistened beneath flickering, dying neon signs, reflecting a city that seemed determined to hide its rot. To most people, Raccoon City was quiet and safe. That illusion was carefully maintained.
At the center of it all stood Captain Albert Wesker.
The officers who worked under him saw a decorated S.T.A.R.S. commander. A brilliant tactician. A calm leader who always seemed three steps ahead of everyone else. His missions and reports were equally immaculate. His record spotless. His confidence inspired trust. That trust was a weapon.
Wesker moved through the department like a ghost in a tailored uniform, his polished black boots tapping softly against the floor as conversations died in his wake. Behind dark sunglasses, his eyes missed nothing. Every weakness. Every ambition. Every secret. Human beings were predictable garbage to use. Most people never realized they were being manipulated until long after the damage had been done. By the time they understood, Wesker had already gotten what he wanted.
Far beyond the police station’s walls, hidden in forests and mountains, the true machinery of Raccoon City continued to turn. Laboratories buzzing with sterile white light. Rows of glass containers held experimental horrors suspended in chemical fluid. Scientists recorded data with trembling hands while armed security guards watched from behind reinforced doors.
Umbrella Corporation preferred shadows… So did Albert Wesker.
Officially, he served the law, the local police department, unofficially, he served something far greater. Humanity, in Wesker’s eyes, was a failed experiment. Weak bodies. Fragile minds. Lives spent scrambling for survival before inevitably collapsing into death. Billions of people stumbling through existence, convinced their limitations were …natural. Wesker disagreed. Evolution had become stagnant. Civilization protected weakness. Medicine prolonged failure. Society rewarded mediocrity.
He intended to correct that.
Viruses were merely tools. Where others saw biological weapons, Wesker saw opportunity. Countless experiments hidden beneath layers of corporate secrecy. Each disaster, each mutation, each death brought researchers closer to unlocking something extraordinary.
A superior species. A world where only the strong survived the transformation. A world remade through force. The idea would have sounded insane coming from anyone else, though, Albert Wesker never considered himself part of humanity. Not anymore.
The rain continued to fall against the station windows as he stood alone in his office, looking out across the sleeping city. His reflection stared back from the glass; a man dressed in black, expression unreadable, hands folded behind his back.
Below him, people laughed in bars, couples walked home beneath shared umbrellas, children slept safely in their beds. They had no idea what waited inside their city. No idea what was growing in laboratory tanks. No idea that one of the men entrusted with protecting them was already planning the future that would destroy everything they knew.
A flash of lightning illuminated the skyline, for a moment, the city looked like a corpse laid out beneath the storm.
Wesker smiled faintly.
To everyone else, the darkness gathering over Raccoon City was a nightmare. To him, it was the dawn of a new age.
The storm had settled into a steady drizzle by the time Albert Wesker walked out of his office. Most of the building had gone quiet, the day shift was long gone. Detectives buried themselves in paperwork. Dispatch radios crackled intermittently from somewhere deeper in the station. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting muddled reflections across grimey floors. Inside the station, Captain Wesker walked its corridors like a man inspecting his rather unfortunate kingdom.
A few days earlier, Umbrella had delivered a request… not an order; Umbrella rarely needed to give orders to Albert Wesker.
The message had been brief: they required a human subject. A living test case. Someone connected to law enforcement, healthy, strong, and young, hopefully.
The specifics of the experiment had remained classified even from several of Umbrella’s senior researchers. Whatever they were developing beneath the Arklay Mountains, the project was clearly important enough to demand fresh field data, and Umbrella trusted Wesker to provide it. The corporation trusted him with many things… After all, few people occupied a position as useful as his.
To the public, Umbrella Corporation was a pillar of modern success. Their logo appeared on hospital equipment, nutritional supplements, health food, cosmetics, pharmaceuticals, and countless household products. Television commercials portrayed smiling families and compassionate doctors. Their slogan: “Preserving the health of the people” was recognized throughout the world. It was, truthfully, a masterpiece of deception.
Every bottle of vitamins sold in a grocery store helped finance laboratories. Every box of medical supplies helped conceal research that should never have existed.
While consumers purchased skin creams and cold medicine, Umbrella’s scientists cultivated nightmares in sterile underground chambers: viruses that rewrote DNA, creatures engineered for combat. Experiments that blurred the line between science and madness… and now they wanted another human subject.
Wesker had not selected one yet, he was, of course, in no hurry. Choosing correctly was something that actually mattered, and a poor candidate would provide poor data, and a careless selection could expose operations. No. The ideal subject would reveal themselves naturally, people always did. Everyone possessed weaknesses. Everyone carried vulnerabilities they believed were hidden… Wesker merely needed patience.
As he passed through the bullpen, he allowed his gaze to drift across the officers working late: One man yawned over a stack of reports, another complained about overtime, a pair of patrol officers exchanged stories from their shift.
Ordinary people…. predictable, boring, disposable people.
None caught his interest, not yet.
He continued walking, noticing how the station seemed different after midnight. The masks people wore during the day began to slip, exhaustion loosened tongues, frustration surfaced and fear became visible. Wesker often learned more during these quiet hours than he did during formal meetings. He observed everything: the officer struggling through a recent divorce, the detective drowning in gambling debt. Potential subjects existed everywhere, but Umbrella deserved the best candidate available.
The experiment required someone exceptional. Someone resilient… Someone whose reaction to the treatment would generate meaningful results, and a weak specimen would be wasted effort.
The right specimen, however… that was another matter entirely. A new drug could reveal remarkable truths when introduced to a strong host. The thought lingered in his mind as he descended a staircase toward the lower floors.
Outside, thunder rolled somewhere beyond the city, a low, distant growl. The sound seemed to vibrate through the concrete itself. Wesker paused briefly near a window overlooking the rain-soaked parking lot where headlights swept through the darkness as an officer arrived for the overnight shift.
The vehicle parked, engine shut off, a lone figure stepped out and hurried toward the building through the rain. For a moment, Wesker watched them approach, then he continued on his way. Sooner or later, the right candidate would appear, and perhaps they already worked within these walls. Perhaps they even greeted him every morning, or maybe they sat beside him in meetings and they trusted him completely.
The irony would have amused him if he were the type of man capable of finding humour in such things, but instead, he felt only anticipation.
Umbrella’s laboratories waited, researchers waited. Somewhere in the mountains, preparations were already being made. A name simply needed to be attached to the paperwork.
A face, but more importantly, a body, and when that moment came, when Wesker finally identified the perfect subject, he knew exactly how the process would unfold.
There would be no struggle, certainly no dramatic confrontation or desperate escape. The chosen officer would walk willingly into the trap, trusting him, following him. Believing that Captain Wesker was there to help. The thought brought the faintest hint of satisfaction to his otherwise unreadable expression.
Outside, lightning flashed again over Raccoon City, for an instant, the station windows shone white. Then darkness reclaimed them.
The next afternoon arrived wrapped in gray clouds and stale cigarette smoke. The rainwater still clung to the streets outside the Raccoon City Police Department, pooling in cracks in the pavement and collecting beneath dirty, rusted gutters. The city looked tired in the daylight with storefronts that stood half-empty, aging buildings leaned against one another like exhausted drunks. Umbrella’s logo appeared everywhere; from billboards to bus benches, as though the corporation itself had grown roots beneath the town and spread through every street.
Inside the police station, however, there was an unusual energy in the air: Someone had brought cake.
That alone was enough to confuse half the department. Officers gathered around the break room, balancing paper plates and plastic forks while attempting to look busy whenever a superior walked past. Laughter drifted down the hallway. Even the detectives seemed slightly less miserable than usual.
The reason sat at the center of the celebration, with a welcome banner hanging from the ceiling: Leon S. Kennedy, who looked like he had survived a small natural disaster.
His blonde hair was disheveled, uniform freshly pressed, but only because he’d spent fifteen frantic minutes trying to make himself presentable after oversleeping, and his head felt like someone had replaced his brain with a solid cement mixer.
The previous night’s poor decisions had caught up with him in spectacular fashion… One drink had become several… several had become far too many. The next thing he knew was the sunlight that had been pouring through his motel window and his alarm clock had been displaying a time that should have induced immediate panic… which it definitely had.
Now he stood awkwardly beside a table covered in cheap decorations and store-bought cake while trying not to look as miserable as he felt… Unfortunately, the effort wasn’t entirely successful.
“You look terrible.”
Leon turned, the woman speaking wore a blue beret and carried herself with effortless confidence. Her expression suggested she found his suffering mildly entertaining, “Gee… Thanks.”
She grinned, “Rough night?”
“I think I might actually be dying.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“If you’re still alive tomorrow, you’ll survive working here.”
Leon stared at her.
The woman extended a hand, “Jill Valentine.”
He shook it, “Leon Kennedy.”
“I know.”
“Already?”
“Everyone knows.”
That wasn’t entirely comforting… Leon had spent most of his life living in the shadow of his father’s reputation, and his father was the sort of officer younger cops and veterans alike talked about with admiration... decorated, extremely respected, very connected. Powerful enough to make phone calls when necessary, powerful enough to save his son’s career… The memory made Leon wince, the academy incident wasn’t something he enjoyed thinking about.
One mistake… One careless moment on the training range and a weapon discharge that never have happened; his partner injured… Investigations and disciplinary hearings. The very real possibility of expulsion, and had his last name been anything else, his law enforcement career might have ended before it began. Instead, favours had been called in, some strings had been pulled, and somehow he’d found himself reassigned to Raccoon City rather than thrown out entirely… A second chance. Leon intended to prove he deserved it…. just as soon as his headache stopped trying to split his skull apart.
Jill handed him another piece of cake, “Eat.”
“I’ve already had two,” he flushed, it was really good cake, after all, so he definitely didn’t mind three.
For the first time since arriving, he found himself relaxing, people here, or her, she seemed… normal, friendly when he really needed it.
Several officers stopped to introduce themselves, they seemed nice, too. Someone made a joke about rookies. Someone else offered coffee. Within an hour, Leon had learned the names of half a dozen coworkers and acquired enough sugar and caffeine to temporarily suppress his hangover.
It wasn’t a bad first day.
Across the room, Albert Wesker watched quietly from near the doorway, few people noticed him and fewer still realized he was observing.
The captain stood perfectly still, arms folded across his chest, hidden behind dark sunglasses despite the fluorescent lighting overhead. Conversations continued around him, laughter, introductions.
The harmless chaos of workplace camaraderie, but Wesker’s attention remained fixed on one person: Leon Kennedy.
Interesting.
The personnel file had crossed his desk several days earlier, no photo. Strong academy scores, physically fit, seemingly intelligent, but very questionable judgment… A tendency toward recklessness. Connections through his father. The disciplinary incident had been particularly revealing, one mistake capable of altering the course of an entire life, Wesker understood the significance of moments like that, they exposed character, revealed flaws, created vulnerabilities. Leon laughed at something Jill said. For a brief moment, he looked younger than his file suggested, optimistic, and even hopeful; a rarity around here, but also entirely unaware of the dangers hidden beneath the surface of the city he’d just arrived in, just standing in the middle of a welcome party, balancing a paper plate of cake, Leon Kennedy remained blissfully ignorant of all of it.
Wesker studied him for another moment, Leon Kennedy was difficult to overlook, anyone claiming otherwise would be lying.
The blonde hair alone attracted attention, falling untidily over blue eyes that seemed incapable of concealing what he was thinking. His academy file listed him as physically fit, but paperwork failed to capture reality. The rookie moved with the natural confidence of someone young and ready for anything, lean, athletic, strong without appearing intimidating… The sort of appearance recruitment departments loved. The sort of appearance newspapers printed beside headlines celebrating heroic officers, and had it not been for one careless mistake at the academy, Leon Kennedy would have been the ideal public face of a police department: young, handsome, approachable. A reassuring symbol for nervous citizens.
Wesker understood the value of appearances better than most, appearances were often more useful than reality, and Wesker already knew Irons’ opinion of the new arrival, appearances be damned.
The man had complained to Wesker almost immediately, not because Leon lacked qualifications, although lacking friendly-fire would be nice, and not because he doubted his competence. Simply because Leon’s presence represented inconvenience. Politics, favours, obligations, everything Irons despised.
Several days ago, Irons had spent nearly twenty minutes venting in his office: “I don’t want him here.”
“Kid only got this position because of his father.”
“Now I’ve got to babysit him.”
“If his old man asks, everyone’s happy and he’s doing a great job, and he’s safe. That’s what matters.”
Wesker remembered every word, and while the chief would never openly mistreat Leon, not while maintaining good relations with Kennedy’s father remained advantageous, there was still resentment lingering beneath the surface.
Irons smiled when necessary. Wesker manipulated when necessary, so neither man was particularly honest. The difference was that Wesker had perfected the art.
His attention returned to Leon.
The rookie was listening intently as Jill explained something, nodding along with complete sincerity, most people hid themselves behind layers of caution, Leon wore his emotions plainly: amusement, embarrassment, uncertainty. They surfaced and vanished across his face like sunlight moving through clouds, so… predictable, readable… Human. Disgustingly human.
The realization should have made him less interesting. Instead, it had the opposite effect, Wesker found himself continuing to watch, a pointless exercise, an unnecessary distraction, yet his gaze lingered. The rookie smiled at something Jill said, a moment later, he pushed his hair out of his eyes and laughed again.
The sound carried faintly through the bullpen… For reasons Wesker preferred not to examine too closely, he found the sound unexpectedly appealing.
Attraction was rarely useful, it complicated judgment, introduced variables. Most people allowed it to cloud their thinking. Wesker had always considered himself above such weaknesses… yet he continued watching, even if the very obvious contradiction irritated him. Perhaps because it reminded him he was not entirely immune to human impulses after all…. or maybe because Leon Kennedy represented something increasingly uncommon in Wesker’s world: potential. Not merely as an Umbrella asset, not merely as a possible research subject. Potential as something else… something infinitely more ….personal. The thought surfaced unexpectedly, and once it appeared, it refused to disappear.
Leon finally stood and gathered the remains of his welcome-party plate, looked around uncertainly for a trash can, Jill pointed, Leon thanked her and nearly tripped over it.
A simple interaction… meaningless, ordinary, and so, so stupid… yet Wesker found himself watching until it ended.
Somewhere, researchers waited for him to identify a suitable candidate.
A future test subject.
Still, as evening shadows slowly crept across the station windows, one thought continued to return with quiet persistence: Chief Irons wanted the new recruit kept happy, Leon Kennedy’s father expected the same, and Wesker supposed there was no reason he couldn’t contribute to that effort himself.
For a little while, Leon Kennedy managed to forget he was the newest face in the building. Jill Valentine had eventually excused herself, heading upstairs toward the S.T.A.R.S. office with a casual wave and a promise to show him around properly later.
Leon found himself alone among strangers once again, not that he seemed particularly bothered by it.
The rookie busied himself with paperwork, trying to learn names and procedures while quietly fighting the lingering effects of his hangover. He was concentrating on a departmental handbook when a shadow fell across his desk…
Officer Kevin Dooley.
Leon looked up, “Hey?”
Dooley smiled, unfortunately, it wasn’t a friendly smile at all. It was the sort of smile people wore when they believed they were about to become the funniest person in the room at someone else’s expense, “So you’re Kennedy.”
Leon nodded.
A few nearby officers glanced over, something in Dooley’s tone had already attracted attention, “The academy kid.”
Leon immediately knew where the conversation was heading, his stomach sank and his smile dropped.
Dooley leaned casually against the desk, “‘Heard about you,” and of course he had. Departments talked.
Police gossip traveled faster than official paperwork. Someone always knew someone, someone always talked.
Leon forced a polite smile, “Yeah?”
“Yea’” Dooley’s grin widened, “Heard you shot another recruit.”
A few uncomfortable looks appeared around the room, nobody interrupted, nobody spoke. The station suddenly felt quieter.
“It was an accident,” Leon said nervously, hands resting in his lap and fidgeting.
Dooley laughed, “Sure,” the response came quickly enough that it was obvious he hadn’t intended to listen, “‘Heard they were gonna kick you out.”
Leon felt heat creeping into his face, “That was investigated.”
“Uh-huh….” Dooley folded his arms, “Then daddy made some phone calls.”
A few people looked away, others pretended to focus on paperwork. Nobody seemed particularly interested in becoming involved.
Leon stared at the desk, his blue eyes fixed there, because he lacked a response, because he’d heard versions of this conversation before.
The facts never changed, the rumours never changed… neither did the judgment. One mistake became the defining moment of an entire career that hadn’t even begun yet.
“Must be nice,” Dooley continued,“Knowing no matter how badly you screw up, somebody important fixes it for you.”
Leon opened his mouth, he wasn’t even sure what to say, there was no point. People who wanted to hear nervous explanations rarely listened to them.
Across the bullpen, Albert Wesker had already risen from his chair. The conversation had reached him long before it reached anyone else.
At first, he simply listened, observed and evaluated, and as the exchange continued, he felt something cold and unpleasant begin to settle beneath his calm exterior, not anger, but maybe, irritation for certain. He could settle with that while trying to fight the rationale of anger later.
The officer wasn’t uncovering corruption, he was humiliating a rookie in front of his coworkers to elevate himself. Petty, small-minded actions… Pathetic.
The realization of anger left a bitter taste in Wesker’s mouth.
By the time Dooley opened his mouth again, Wesker was already walking across the room, boots hitting the ground in hard thumps.
The conversation stopped instantly.
People noticed. They always noticed when Albert Wesker moved with purpose.
Dooley noticed too, and his confidence vanished so quickly it was almost amusing, “Captain Wesker.”
Wesker stopped beside the desk, glanced once at Leon, and silence spread through the bullpen.
Nobody spoke. Nobody did so much as breathed.
Leon looked genuinely confused, scared like this man was about to pile on, too.
Dooley looked like he wanted to disappear.
Wesker regarded him for several seconds and the pause stretched, silence long enough to become uncomfortable…. Then painful…. Then unbearable.
Finally, Wesker spoke, “Officer Dooley,” his voice remained calm, controlled, professional but dripping with clear disgust, “I was unaware personnel evaluations had become part of your responsibilities.”
Dooley swallowed, “No, sir, they haven’t…”
“I see,” the silence returned. Wesker folded his hands behind his back and looked him up and down, “Then perhaps you can explain why you’re standing here discussing academy disciplinary records instead of completing the work that I know has been assigned to you.”
“I was just—”
“Just what?”
Dooley froze….
Wesker’s expression never changed, yet the officer visibly wilted beneath his gaze.
“I was joking.”
“Joking…?”
“Yes, sir.”
Wesker glanced briefly toward Leon, then back at Dooley, “And Officer Kennedy appeared amused?”
The answer failed to arrive… because everyone in the room knew the answer.
“I asked you a question.”
“No, sir.”
“No,” Wesker nodded slightly, “Then perhaps your assessment of the situation was flawed. If you cannot read a simple situation, maybe you should not be an officer of the law.”
Several nearby officers suddenly found their paperwork again just to busy their eyes. One detective looked seconds away from choking while suppressing laughter, Dooley was an asshole, Wesker was the worst person to get tripped up under.
Dooley’s face had turned bright red as the humiliation was becoming increasingly public.
‘Good…’ Wesker took another step closer, enough to appear more threatening than he already was, “You’re aware that the academy investigated Officer Kennedy’s incident,” not a question.
“Yes, sir.”
“They reached a conclusion.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The department accepted that conclusion….”
“Yes, sir.”
Wesker tilted his head slightly, looking at Leon for a moment, “Then explain to me why you believe your opinion carries greater authority.”
Dooley looked trapped, because he was. Every possible answer led somewhere unpleasant, “I don’t, sir,” he settled on after a long silence.
“No,” Wesker’s voice remained perfectly even, “You do not.”
The room had become completely silent now, even the phones seemed quieter.
Wesker allowed the silence to linger one final time, then he spoke, “If you possess enough free time to harass your fellow officers, I can certainly solve that problem.”
Dooley straightened immediately, he already had a full list of things to do, “No, sir.”
“I thought not” another pause, “and you’re still standing here, why is that? Return to work.”
The officer practically fled.
The moment he disappeared around the corner, several people watching remembered urgent tasks elsewhere in the building, so that they did not fall under his scrutiny for just standing around.
Conversations resumed, the clacking of keyboards resumed as the bullpen slowly came back to life.
Only Leon remained sitting at the desk… innocent and stunned.
Wesker glanced down at him, for a moment, neither man spoke.
Then Leon cleared his throat, “Thank you, Sir,” the gratitude sounded genuine, because it was.
Wesker found that strangely satisfying, “It was unnecessary.”
Leon blinked, “What was?”
“Your apology.”
Leon frowned, “I didn’t apologize.”
“No,” a faint shadow of disapproval crossed Wesker’s features, then a little smirk of amusement, “You were preparing to.”
The rookie looked embarrassed because it was true. Wesker had recognized the signs immediately: lowered shoulders, defensive posture, an instinctive urge to smooth things over. Far too willing to absorb blame that belonged elsewhere.
“You’ve done nothing requiring an apology, Officer Kennedy.”
Leon seemed surprised by that, as though nobody had said it before. Which told Wesker far more than the rookie probably intended.
For a moment, their eyes met: blue and unreadable black glass.
Then Wesker stepped away, “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”
Leon watched him go, confused, grateful, entirely unaware that Albert Wesker’s reaction had been far stronger than the situation warranted.
Across the room, whispers quietly took place: Kevin Dooley had attempted to embarrass the new recruit, instead, he’d managed to embarrass himself, and for reasons Wesker chose not to examine too closely, that outcome pleased him far more than it should have.
The remainder of the afternoon passed beneath a blanket of routine.
After the incident with Kevin Dooley, the station seemed to settle into a quieter …fear. No one wanted to come under Wesker’s notice, or mess with Leon any further. Officers returned to their reports, detectives disappeared into offices thick with cigarette smoke and unsolved cases. Dispatchers worked their radios while rain began to patter softly against the windows overlooking the city.
Leon Kennedy spent most of the day learning procedures…. Forms, a lot of them, phone extensions; he accidentally dialed the chief four times in a row. Report filing systems seemed easier. These were the countless small details that academy instructors rarely bothered teaching.
It was tedious work, but Leon approached it with the same determination he seemed to apply to everything else, he listened carefully, or tried to. Took notes, too many of them. Asked questions about everything. Whatever confidence he possessed occasionally vanished beneath awkward uncertainty, and that he called the chief a fifth time, but it always returned a few moments later.
Outside, daylight slowly surrendered to gathering clouds. Inside, shift schedules were adjusted after another officer called out unexpectedly. A supervisor disappeared into an office carrying paperwork and emerged a short time later with reassigned duties and Leon found himself volunteered for the overnight shift.
The announcement drew varying reactions from nearby officers, some offered sympathy for his first day, others looked relieved it wasn’t them, Leon merely accepted the assignment with the weary resignation of someone too new to argue. The graveyard shift wasn’t glamorous, everyone knew that, long hours, little sleep, paperwork. Drunks encompassed most calls, occasional emergencies, the sort of work usually handed to rookies. Still, it was police work, and Leon seemed genuinely grateful simply to be doing the job.
As the evening progressed, another event briefly disrupted the station’s routine, a call had gone out ordering personnel into one of the briefing rooms. The instruction carried through the building in the booming voice of Chief Irons, whose patience appeared perpetually strained by the existence of everyone around him and five stupid fucking phone calls.
The chief had demanded that everyone report immediately, and Leon, eager not to make another mistake on his first day, obeyed. He followed the flow of officers moving toward the meeting room without giving the matter much thought, and the room itself was already filling when he arrived. Members of S.T.A.R.S. occupied most of the seats, he recognized Jill instantly.
Maps covered the walls, and some photographs had been pinned to bulletin boards. The atmosphere felt different from the rest of the station, a lot more serious, so Leon lingered quietly near the back, nervous and anxious. For several minutes, nobody appeared to notice him, the briefing continued regardless of Hu being confused, reports were exchanged, questions were asked by others as he remained quiet. The discussion centered around ongoing investigations, Leon listening with growing interest… Then Chief Irons finally looked up, the moment his eyes landed on the rookie, the atmosphere changed. Annoyance flashed across the chief’s face with startling clarity, enough to make everyone turn. His face was the sort of reaction usually reserved for finding a dead fish in one’s coffee maker. The interruption halted the briefing almost immediately, several members of S.T.A.R.S. exchanged glances. The chief’s irritation transformed into open ridicule with embarrassing speed as the rookie’s presence became the subject of attention.
Leon stood frozen beneath the scrutiny, his confusion was obvious, he had obeyed an order for ‘everyone’ to come here, hadn’t he? Nothing more. Unfortunately, Irons was not interested in explanations, the chief had never wanted Leon Kennedy in his department, everyone with sufficient rank already knew that. The transfer represented a political obligation rather than a personal choice. A favour owed, a connection maintained, an inconvenience tolerated, and now that inconvenience stood in the middle of a god damn S.T.A.R.S. briefing.
Irons seized the opportunity, the mockery came easily. The implication was clear enough for everyone present to understand. The rookie did not belong among elite officers, did not belong in briefings, did not belong discussing investigations, and he certainly did not belong in S.T.A.R.S.
Instead, the chief informed him where he would be most useful.
The front desk…. Reception and answering phones, greeting civilians, directing visitors and elementary student groups through the building. The assignment landed with all the dignity of a public humiliation, a few people looked embarrassed on Leon’s behalf, others merely remained silent. Silence was safer where Brian Irons was concerned.
Leon accepted the reassignment without protest… What else could he do? Arguing with the chief on his first day would have been career suicide, so he nodded and apologized for the misunderstanding, then left the room.
The briefing resumed shortly afterward, but even among seasoned officers, there was something unpleasant about watching enthusiasm crushed so casually. Wesker took note.
Downstairs, Leon made his way toward the front desk, the station seemed darker now, maybe it was, night had fully arrived beyond the windows. The city stretched away into darkness and mist.
He settled behind the reception counter and began familiarizing himself with the phone system with determination to not make call number six… It certainly wasn’t what he’d imagined when he graduated the academy.
It wasn’t patrol work, wasn’t investigations, wasn’t the career he’d envisioned when he first pinned on a badge, but it was still a start, he convinced himself, and despite everything, despite the mockery and embarrassment, despite the reassignment and the whispers that followed him through the station, Leon Kennedy stubbornly refused to look defeated. He simply adjusted the stack of paperwork on the desk and got back to work.
For Wesker, the chief’s behaviour had not surprised him… Very little about Brian Irons still possessed the ability to surprise. He was predictable and weak.!Yet something about the scene lingered unpleasantly in his thoughts; perhaps because Leon had done exactly what was asked of him, because Irons’ contempt had been so transparent, maybe because the sight of the rookie sitting alone beneath the fluorescent lights, trying so hard to remain professional after being publicly humiliated, stirred an irritation Wesker had become increasingly familiar with throughout the day.
Outside, thunder rolled somewhere beyond the mountains. The city continued its slow descent toward midnight while behind the front desk of the Raccoon City Police Department, Leon Kennedy unknowingly began the assignment that would make him the first face countless people saw when they walked through the station doors. Poster boy? Not quite… but for most officers, it would have been the end of ambition.
The S.T.A.R.S. briefing finally broke apart sometime later, officers filtering out into the hallways in small groups. The atmosphere remained tense around Chief Irons’ office, but the irritation gradually faded into the normal sounds of the station settling into the shift it’s self.
Downstairs, Leon sat behind the reception desk surrounded by phone directories, departmental forms, and enough paperwork to bury a small animal. He was studying the switchboard instructions with the concentration of someone trying very hard not to think about being publicly embarrassed for the third time.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention… Jill Valentine appeared first, behind her came several members of S.T.A.R.S.
Leon immediately felt his stomach tighten, he had spent enough time around police officers to know when people were approaching because they wanted something, but luckily she was different.
“Hey, receptionist!” Jill’s grin took some of the sting out of the title.
Leon groaned, “Please don’t...”
“I haven’t even started yet.”
“You called me receptionist.”
“I call Chris worse things,” she says with a laugh, behind her, Chris Redfield rolled his eyes.
Leon looked up properly for the first time… Chris was taller than he’d expected. Broad shoulders, huge arms, a build that would shame most athletes. The kind of man who looked like he could run through a brick wall if given sufficient motivation. For a moment Chris simply stared, Leon stared back.
Then Chris abruptly remembered how conversations worked, “So you’re Kennedy.”
“That’s me.”
Chris looked mildly confused.
Jill noticed immediately, “What?”
Chris shook his head, “Nothing,” the expression on his face suggested it was very much something.
Leon looked between them, “What?”
Chris looked embarrassed now, “Honestly?”
“Sure?..”
“I thought you were supposed to be some disaster rookie everybody keeps talking about.”
Leon winced, “That’s.. Gee, thanks.”
“No, that’s not what I mean!” Chris rubbed the back of his neck, “I mean…” his gaze drifted over Leon for a second before he seemed to realize he was doing it, “…you don’t look like somebody who should be sitting behind a reception desk.”
Jill snorted, “That’s one way to put it.”
Leon looked suspicious, “What does that mean?”
Chris exchanged a glance with Jill. He’d told her he seemed cute back in the meeting, and hadn’t expected an interaction so soon when he hadn’t prepared it in the mirror for a few days.
Neither appeared interested in answering Leon immediately, which only made him more suspicious.
Jill leaned casually against the counter, “It means you look like you should be posing for recruitment posters.”
Leon stared.
Chris immediately laughed, nervous and too loud.
Leon buried his face in his hands, “This is my first day.”
Jill’s laughter was soft and sweet,
and for the first time all evening, Leon found himself laughing too, the tension he’d been carrying since the briefing eased slightly.
A few feet away, Albert Wesker remained silent, most of the conversation washed past him. He stood with his hands folded behind his back, observing…. evaluating.
The rookie interacted naturally with people, that much was becoming increasingly obvious. Even after the chief’s treatment, even after Dooley, Leon still smiled, still made the effort. Most people became defensive after a day like this, Leon seemed determined not to. Interesting.
“So,” Jill said, “how are you surviving?”
Leon sighed dramatically, “I got assigned reception forever.”
“Probably not forever.”
“That’s not what Irons said.”
“Then definitely not forever.”
That earned another laugh from him, but the smile faded slightly afterward. Leon glanced toward the bullpen off to the side, “Honestly, the Dooley thing bothered me...”
Jill’s expression cooled, “What happened after I left?”
Leon shifted awkwardly, “Nothing major.”
The hesitation immediately told her otherwise, after a little encouragement, he explained. Not every detail, but the comments, the academy rumours, the assumptions. The fact that his father had simply purchased his badge for him… and thank god for Wesker.
By the time he finished, several expressions around the group had darkened.
Chris looked particularly unimpressed, “Dooley’s an idiot.”
“He is,” Jill couldn’t really argue.
Chris folded his arms, “Everybody screws up.”
“Not everybody shoots somebody during training,” Leon immediately regretted saying it.
Chris shook his head, “Accident.”
“Still happened.”
“Yeah, so?” Chris shrugged, “So did every other stupid thing people do at the academy.”
Leon looked unconvinced.
Chris continued, “You graduated.”
“Technically.”
“You graduated,” the emphasis made it clear he wasn’t accepting further arguments.
Jill nodded, “There are plenty of decent people in this station.”
“Some evidence would be nice.”
“You’ve already met some,” she pointed toward herself, then Chris.
Leon laughed, “I appreciate the effort.”
“It’s not effort,” Jill smiled, “It’s the truth.”
For a moment, Leon looked genuinely relieved, the expression was brief, gone almost as soon as it appeared, but Wesker noticed it. He noticed everything. The rookie was trying desperately to prove himself.
That was obvious now, every interaction, every apology, every awkward smile. Leon carried the constant fear of confirming everyone’s worst assumptions, the fear that one mistake would define him forever, the fear that he didn’t truly belong.
Wesker found himself studying the young officer again, pretty blonde, hair, those bright blue eyes, the earnestness and determination. There was something almost absurd about seeing someone like Leon Kennedy sitting behind a reception counter in a dying company town.
Even Chris seemed unable to stop staring occasionally, eventually Jill noticed, “Chris.”
“What?”
Leon looked between them, “What is happening?”
Chris groaned.
Jill’s grin became merciless, “I’m just saying.”
“Don’t.”
Chris looked ready to throw himself through the nearest window. Leon, meanwhile, had turned bright red, which only made Jill laugh harder.
Albert Wesker continued observing the rookie nobody seemed capable of ignoring. The others saw an attractive young officer trying to find his place, Wesker saw that too, but he also saw potential. Potential hidden beneath uncertainty, potential waiting to be shaped. Whether that future would make Leon Kennedy stronger or destroy him remained to be seen. For now, however, he simply watched as the rookie laughed with his new friends, and found himself strangely pleased that the happy expression had returned to Leon’s face.
Years of working alongside Chris Redfield had made Jill unusually skilled at recognizing the exact moment his brain stopped functioning around an attractive person.
The signs were subtle, to everyone except her. Chris standing slightly straighter than normal, Chris attempting to sound casual, Chris repeatedly glancing toward Leon and immediately looking away again whenever he realized he was doing it. To Jill, the symptoms were obvious, he even admitted it a little bit back at the meeting… but to Leon, they were completely invisible.
The rookie was busy trying to untangle a phone cord.
Jill gently nudged Chris again, harder this time, with the point of her elbow. Chris shot her a warning look. Jill’s expression became innocent…
Chris sighed, then looked toward Leon, “So…” at the risk of being nudged again.
The rookie looked up immediately, “Yeah?”
“You working tomorrow?”
Leon nodded, “Yep… Afternoon shift, I think.”
Chris tried very hard to sound casual… the effort was almost admirable, “Maybe after work we could get something to eat at Emmy’s.”
The silence that followed lasted exactly long enough for Jill to become hopeful, then Leon smiled, a big, bright, genuine smile. The sort that made people instinctively smile back, “That sounds great.”
Chris visibly brightened.
Unfortunately, Leon wasn’t finished, “It’ll be nice getting to know everyone.”
The word ‘everyone’ landed like a hand grenade…
Chris froze, his soul appeared to leave his body, “A group thing?…”
“Yeah, great idea!” Leon nodded enthusiastically, “Everybody’s been really nice.”
Jill bit the inside of her cheek, hard.
Chris looked as though he were contemplating several life choices simultaneously and one was walking into traffic.
The worst part was that Leon genuinely meant it. There wasn’t an ounce of rejection in his voice. No discomfort, awkwardness or anything else. The rookie had simply failed to recognize what was happening.
Jill had heard stories about oblivious people before, seeing one in person was somehow more impressive. She assumed Leon was one of those people who would let GPS guide them into a lake.
Leon smiled again, “Awesome.”
A few feet away, Albert Wesker observed the exchange. At first, a sharp stab of irritation had surfaced the moment Chris made the invitation, he felt it down to his core like a knife twisting. A cold flare of possessiveness that immediately annoyed him for existing had fired up inside him. Chris Redfield was free to spend his personal time however he pleased. The matter of who he wanted to ask on a date should have been irrelevant… And yet, Wesker had recognized exactly what the younger man was attempting, a solo invitation, carefully casual tone, a transparent effort to appear unaffected when asking someone on a date.
For several unpleasant seconds, he found himself watching with growing displeasure. Then Leon opened his mouth and accidentally dismantled the entire situation and idea of a date. The irritation vanished almost immediately. Replaced by something close to amusement, but Wesker held it back.
Chris looked devastated. Maybe Wesker wasn’t holding back amusement that well.
Leon looked thrilled, neither man appeared aware of the disconnect.
Remarkable… Absolutely remarkable. The rookie possessed the situational awareness of a golden retriever.
Wesker decided to intervene, not because intervention was necessary but merely because the opportunity presented itself.
He stepped toward the group, noting how the conversation shifted immediately.
Leon looked up from the desk. The transformation was instantaneous: his face brightened, “Captain Wesker!” the greeting carried enough enthusiasm to draw a glance from Jill; no one was ever that excited to see him.
Wesker stopped beside the reception desk, his gaze briefly passed over Chris before settling on Leon, “Did I overhear a team outing?”
Wesker’s attention remained fixed on the rookie, their outings usually consisted of diner food and coffee, but who knew what Chris had in mind besides that? “Officer Kennedy isn’t exactly S.T.A.R.S.”
Leon looked mildly embarrassed, wilted a little, too, before he could respond, Wesker continued.
“But I’m sure he’ll brighten everyone’s day.”
The compliment landed unexpectedly, Leon blinked up at him, then smiled, a faint flush appeared across his face, brushing back a strand of blonde from his eyes, “Thank you, sir.”
Wesker enjoyed this, Leon wasn’t reacting to flattery, wasn’t trying to gain favour. He simply looked genuinely pleased that someone believed he belonged.
Chris noticed it too, the realization seemed to make him feel worse. Jill, meanwhile, was now openly enjoying herself. This situation had become far more entertaining than she ever could have predicted.
Leon looked between them, completely oblivious, “It’s nice that everybody can come.”
Chris looked pained.
Wesker looked unreadable, “That would certainly be memorable,” he said, “something more substantial than cake.”
Leon nodded enthusiastically, “but I do love cake,” the rookie’s smile returned once more, bright, toothpaste commercial bright. Entirely unaware that he had accidentally transformed a date into a departmental social gathering and somehow managed to involve Chris’ captain in the process, and the only person who seemed unaware of the chaos he’d created was Leon Kennedy himself.
Wesker found the realization strangely fascinating; most attractive people learned very early what effect they had on others. Leon appeared completely ignorant of it, moving through conversations without noticing lingering glances. He accepted compliments without understanding their implications, smiled at people without realizing the damage he was doing. It was either genuine innocence or extraordinary stupidity… Possibly both.
Albert Wesker found himself looking forward to tomorrow far more than he should have.