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The plan was set, but the air in the hall didn't get any lighter.
As Leon and Claire turned to track the girl, Noah's voice pulled them back. "We're going back to the West Office first."
Leon's brow furrowed, his jaw tight with the pressure of the clock. "Why? That kid is out there alone. Every second we waste is a second closer to her getting cornered. And the Chief's office is the other way."
"The Chief's office is in the Administrative wing on the second floor," Noah said, his voice low and rhythmic. He looked Leon directly in the eyes, seeing the raw, panicked energy of a man who wanted to save everyone. "To get there, we have to pass the office where Marvin is. We should go see him. Together."
Noah let the words hang in the air. "Because this might be the last time."
The urgency drained out of Leon's face, replaced by a hollow, heavy realization. He knew the math. They all did. Marvin was a dead man walking on borrowed time.
Leon didn't argue. He just gave a sharp, jerky nod and turned toward the West Wing.
The walk back was a funeral procession. No one spoke. The only sounds were the distant, rhythmic groans of the building and the scrape of their boots on the marble. Leon walked point, his back stiff, his shoulders braced as if against a physical weight.
Today was supposed to be the start of a career. He was the top of his class, an elite recruit coming to Raccoon City with a head full of ideals and a heart full of justice. He should have been enduring bad coffee and "rookie" jokes. Instead, he was navigating a charnel house, and the only superior he had left was a man he'd never even had the chance to salute.
They reached the office door. The scent hit them before they saw him—the copper tang of blood and the dry, sweet smell of a body shutting down.
Leon hesitated, then pushed the door open.
Marvin was still there, slumped against the wall, but the man they had seen an hour ago was fading. His skin was a dull, waxy grey. Each breath was a rattling struggle, his chest barely moving under the sodden blue of his uniform. The pool of blood had claimed half the floor.
As they entered, Marvin's head rolled slowly toward them. His eyes were unfocused, glazed over with the film of the end. It took a long moment before his gaze locked onto Leon.
"Rookie..." he rasped, the word barely a vibration in the air.
Leon knelt in the blood, his eyes stinging. "Chief. I'm back."
A ghost of a smile twitched at the corner of Marvin's mouth. His eyes drifted to the holster at Leon's hip. "Let me... see your gun, son."
Leon's breath hitched. He thought it was a final lesson—a veteran's last bit of wisdom to the kid who had to carry the torch. He forced a smile that felt like it was tearing his face apart.
"Sure, Chief," Leon said, his voice cracking. "Gotta make sure my partner is up to spec, right?"
He unholstered his VP70, holding it with both hands as he offered it to Marvin.
Marvin reached out. His hand was cold, trembling so hard the gun rattled against his palm. But the second his fingers closed around the grip, the trembling stopped.
He didn't check the slide. He didn't look at the magazine.
With a sudden, fluid grace, Marvin raised the pistol and pressed the muzzle firmly against his own temple.
Click.
The sound of the safety being disengaged was a thunderclap in the tiny room.
"Chief!" Leon's voice was a distorted howl. "No! What are you doing?!"
Claire gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Noah stepped in front of her, shielding her from the sight, his face a mask of profound, quiet sorrow. He wasn't surprised. He knew what was coming.
"Let me die... as a human," Marvin whispered. His voice was weak, but it held a terrifying, absolute calm. He looked at Leon's shattered face with a flicker of apology. "I don't want to... turn into one of them. Forgive me, Leon. This isn't on you."
He didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger.
BANG.
The flash of the muzzle flare reflected in Leon's wide, horrified eyes. Marvin's head snapped back against the wall, a spray of red blooming like a macabre flower behind him. His body slumped, his hand falling limp as the pistol clattered onto the floor.
Silence rushed back into the room, louder than the gunshot.
"No—!!!" Leon collapsed to his knees, his hands hovering over Marvin's body as if he could catch the life that had already left. "Chief!"
He stayed there for a long time, a statue of grief in a room full of death. Claire eventually knelt beside him, her hand gentle on his shaking shoulder.
"Leon," she whispered. "He was right. He left as a hero. He stayed a man."
Noah stood by the door, watching the hallway. He knew there were no words for this. This was the moment the "rookie" died and a survivor was born.
He walked into the main office, away from the smell of gunpowder. He paced the desks until his eyes caught a white envelope sitting on a workspace that looked untouched by the chaos. It was pristine—the only clean thing in a dirty world.
Noah picked it up. On the front, in a loopy, cheerful hand, were the words: To Leon S. Kennedy.
He walked back into the side office. Leon was still on the floor, though the shaking had stopped. He looked hollow.
"Leon," Noah said softly. "This was on your desk."
Leon looked up, his eyes bloodshot and empty. He took the envelope, his fingers trembling as he tore it open.
Noah and Claire watched him read. They didn't need to see the words. They saw the shift in his face—the way the lines of his mouth tightened, the way he forced the grief down deep into his gut where it would turn into iron.
Leon stood up, a puppet whose strings had been replaced with steel wire. He didn't look at Marvin again. He walked to his desk and unlocked a drawer, pulling out a custom stock and an extended magazine—parts his colleagues had probably bought as a welcome gift.
He assembled the weapon in silence. The metallic clinks were the only sounds in the room. When the last piece snapped into place, he raised the modified VP70 and closed his eyes, taking one final, shuddering breath.
When he opened them, the rookie was gone.
"Let's go," Leon said. His voice was hoarse, but it didn't waver. "I have to get out of here. For them."
He strode toward the door without looking back. Claire followed him, her eyes full of worry.
Noah was the last to leave. As he stepped over the threshold, his gaze fell on the letter lying on the bloody floor. He saw the last line, scrawled in a frantic, dying hand after the city fell:
I'm glad you weren't here, rookie...
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