The Fall of Leon S. Kennedy- Chapter 1-1 - Rely on Horror

The Fall of Leon S. Kennedy- Chapter 1-1

The Fall of Leon S. Kennedy

Chapter 1-1



His eyes cracked open for a short moment, but he was surrounded by darkness. He could hear the crackling of the television in front of him, seeing static displayed on the screen as he took another peak.

“What happened? Whe—where am I?” he said, muffled through a ventilator mask of sorts that was strapped to his face. He quickly peeled it off and threw it aside. His head rang, and he felt blood running down his cheek. Confusion filled his head, and like cement pouring into an open hole in the ground. He couldn’t, for the life of him, remember why he was here. Or even where “here” was.

Turning to his side to hoist himself to his feet, he could feel the chilled, steel floor beneath him rumbling; an engine or something. As he rose from the chair, his head spun and he stumbled toward the conspicuously positioned television that stood before him. Leon, unable to manage his nausea any longer, heaved as his body sickly contorted. He felt like death.

Must’ve hit me pretty damn hard. I wonder who I’ve got to thank for this… Not normally one for revenge, he was keen on the idea of getting back at whoever was responsible, if only he could remember who. The thought haunted him as he slowly settled into his concussed state and the nausea calmed.

Taking a deep breath and regaining his bearings, Leon examined the television, noticing that something was actually queued to be played. Maybe, he’d hoped, something that would fill him in on just why he was here.

With the click of a button, he had the footage rolling. After a few seconds of a blank, black screen, a picture appeared.  Far off from the camera was a man, slumped in a chair, unconscious, coming into focus. Leon couldn’t make out what he was seeing, until he heard a familiar humming.

That… that’s me.

He couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t understand why he looked so unfamiliar to himself, unrecognizable. He could hear rustling, someone off camera, a shadow who was waiting to show itself. Before stepping under the dim light, he stopped, preferring to stay masked by the darkness, while his voice spilled out.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have the time to stay long enough for a chance to formally introduce myself, Agent Kennedy, urgent matters, you understand. I did, however, take the time to show you that your mission does, in fact, come with its share of consequences. Might I ask, are you feeling it yet? Is the sickness taking over? Once you do, oh, there’s no stopping it, Agent Kennedy.”

Leon, felt the “sickness” he was referring to, was most definitely feeling the effects of something, of what, he wasn’t sure. What is he talking about? Must be why my head is pounding…

“I’m not sure if you’ll consider it a blessing or a curse, but of your friends, I thought you had the most to take away from being able to live long enough to see the world’s hope, along with your mission, fall through the cracks. Being from Raccoon City, I wanted you to see yourself slowly become one of them,” he taunted from the shadows.

How does he know about The Raccoon City incident? And…what friends? Soon, it started coming back, like a wave crashing into him. This mission, he wasn’t alone. A joint undertaking between the BSAA and the DSO, Leon being the latter’s representative in overseeing the operation.

“You see, the irony here is, the very thing you were searching for is the same that will tear you apart. The Progenitor Virus, the building block of Umbrella, the prize of their research, won’t be used as some tool by your government for its gains. The Progenitor Virus is mine, now.”

Leon now knew, unfortunately, exactly what he was feeling, exactly what the man in the shadows was referring to, but he couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it.

“Before I go, I want you to see the final moment that you lived in this world with free will.” the man in the shadows said as he casually glided toward the man in the chair, as a few others crept from the shadows to restrain him. The man was handed a mask, which he strapped tightly to the face of the man in the chair, who began coughing uncontrollably. He tried to fight his way free, but was soon sedated by a baton, wielded by one of the man’s “assistants.” Leon glanced at his hand after wiping his cheek, now knowing the source of the blood.

“Enjoy the rest of your flight! Oh, and be sure to say hello to your friends for me” he said with a chuckle as he disappeared back into the shadows and the film cut to static.

Flight? What flight?

Panic overwhelmed Leon as his mind shifted gears; he scoured the room for the mask from the video, finding it had been thrown underneath a table off to the side of the room. Slowly, Leon brought the device into the light, eyes closed, dreading what he might find written on the capsule attached to the seemingly normal breathing apparatus. The canister adorned that familiar red and white Umbrella logo, with “Progenitor” P-1066b inscribed on the side. His heart dropped as another wave of fear crashed into him, but this one took him under.

Leon couldn’t concentrate, unable to take all of this information in, still unsure of how he’d even gotten to where he was in the first place. As Leon steadied himself on the table, he began searching frantically for something, anything, to get himself out of this nightmare, and was shocked by what was staring him back in the face. His trusted pistol, a custom by model from Joe Kendo, was lying there on the table; not hidden, it might as well have been gift wrapped.

But… why would he even give me a chance? Leon couldn’t help but wonder. He grabbed the gun, its weight feeling nicely in his hand. Fully loaded, and he confirmed it when he dropped the magazine. On instinct, he dropped his hands to his belt to find 4 more loaded magazines, not a single one missing.

“It must be Christmas in Russia,” he said, with an almost half chuckle to himself. He hadn’t noticed until then, but it was actually cold enough for December, and he finally let the chill in through all of the adrenaline. Not only from the empty, bitter cold of the room, but the haunting thought– if he left me with all of this…

Leon pulled his leather bomber tighter, zipping it up to his chest as he let out a smooth exhale of reluctance. He hated the cold, couldn’t stand it, and he was somehow more focused on that than the virus pumping through his veins, and with that, he moved toward the only door leading out of the dreary, hell-hole of a room. Perched at the doorway, he steadied himself, trying to block out any thoughts of the horrible hand he’d just been dealt, and concentrate on the fact that he now had a fighting chance. After one last deep breath, he kicked the door for all it was worth, ready for whoever, whatever, was on the other side.


Check back on June 17th for the second half of Contamination. Please, feel free to leave feedback in the comments below, as well as through Twitter, by tweeting using the hashtag #TheFallofLeon. Follow me @TheBrentonCook, where I will be posting story updates and discussing the story!

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