The creature waited.
Not like an animal stalking prey, but like a patient doctor observing a patient who didn't know he was sick. The black veins around Leon pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Too perfectly.
Ada kept her weapon raised, though both of them understood the truth: bullets had become a formality.
"Leon," she said carefully, "whatever you're feeling—don't follow it."
He didn't answer.
Inside his head, something was knocking.
Not a voice.Not words.Just intention.
Images that were not memories: a clean world, silent streets, humanity rebuilt without fear, without weakness. For a terrible second, it almost looked beautiful.
The creature took another step.
Leon felt warmth spread through his arm—the same arm that had been injected years ago in a government facility, the same arm they had told him was "fine."
"You're lying to me," he whispered to the caretaker.
The man shook his head gently."We only hid the future until you were ready."
Ada moved closer. "Leon, look at me."
He did.
That helped.
The vision cracked.
He remembered other images—the real ones. Raccoon City burning. People begging. Friends who never made it out. A world that survived not because it was perfect, but because it refused to give up.
"I'm not your tomorrow," Leon said.
The veins hesitated.
The creature tilted its head, confused—like a god discovering doubt.
Leon raised his gun, not at the monster, but at the device in the caretaker's hand.
"I'm the guy who ruins your plan."
He fired.
The machine controlling the heart shattered.
And inside Leon's mind, the knocking turned into a scream.