As Leon stares at the child, his mind drifts. Memories begin flashing before his eyes.
He thinks back to ten years ago—his first child's birth in a small German hospital.
"Wah! Wah!"
A younger Leon, hair slicked back and wearing a suit, holds his newborn in his trembling arms, rocking her back and forth.
"Ah! She's crying! Shh now, it's okay. Daddy's right here. What do I do, Shella?!" he panics.
He looks toward the hospital bed where his exhausted wife—pale-skinned, blonde-haired, and wrapped in a blanket—smiles weakly.
"I told you to do your research, didn't I?" Shella says softly. "First rule—don't scream. You can't be scared of everything, or our baby will be scared too. Be calm and patient. Babies cry. That's what they do."
"Oh yes, just be calm," Leon mutters, breathing deep. "I'd be in shambles without you, Shella."
"That's what I'm here for," she replies with a gentle smile. "Now… It's time you gave her a name."
Leon stares down at his daughter, his lips curling into a shaky smile. "I've thought about it. I want to name her after my grandmother. Mary."
Shella's smile widens. "Mary. That's perfect."
***
The memory fades into another—three years ago, at a mall in Berlin. Leon walks hand in hand with his son, Bryson, a white-skinned boy with long hair and the same face as his father.
"Where's that store? I swear I was just here yesterday," Leon mutters, scanning the hall.
Suddenly, Bryson slips from his hand and bolts forward.
"Hey! Bryson! Hold up, I told you to stick with me!" Leon yells, chasing after him.
He stops short when he sees Bryson standing in front of a toy store, pointing at a Power Rangers figure.
"Can I have it, Daddy?" Bryson pleads, eyes glimmering.
"But, Bryson, we didn't come he—" Leon freezes as his son's eyes water.
He sighs, defeated, then chuckles. "Haha! Of course, you know Daddy can't say no to you. Let's go!"
Bryson's face lights up, and he dashes into the store with pure joy.
Leon follows behind, watching proudly. As long as he's happy… that's all that matters.
***
Then comes the memory Leon hates the most—the day he left for war.
Standing outside his home in German military gear, Leon kneels to hug his two children.
"Daddy, why are you leaving?" Bryson asks, confused.
"Yeah, why is Mommy crying?" Mary adds.
"Well… It's complicated. I'll explain when you're older," Leon says gently.
"But Daddy, you always say that!" Bryson complains.
"Yeah! What he said!" Mary echoes.
Leon laughs softly and pats both their heads. "You're right. How about this—when I get back, I'll teach you to play a little game called kickball. That was my sport back in grade school."
"Really? Yeah!" they shout, jumping in excitement.
Leon stands, turning to Shella, who's trying to wipe her tears. "Come on now, weren't you the one who told me not to be scared of everything? I'll be fine. I just got drafted to fight the good fight. I'll be back in a heartbeat, trust me."
Shella steps forward, voice trembling. "You don't have to act tough, Leon. I can feel you shaking. Just… make sure you come home in one piece."
Leon smiles faintly. "Haha, am I that easy to read? I swear—I'll come home better than I left."
He pulls her into a tight hug.
***
Leon's memories fade. His hands tremble as he returns to the present—gun still raised, body frozen in place. His breathing grows shallow.
Suddenly, an old woman dressed in military gear jumps in front of the boy, shielding him with her body.
"I know my husband is a powerful man," she pleads. "But please—leave the boy! He's just a child! Barely even able to speak properly! He doesn't deserve this brutality!"
The woman closes her eyes, bracing for a bullet that never comes.
After thirty seconds of silence, she slowly turns her head and sees Leon shaking, tears streaming down his face.
"I can't," Leon whispers, voice cracking. "I can't do it. How could I kill a child and still look my own kids in the eyes again? How could they not hate me?"
He drops to his knees, gun falling from his hand. His voice breaks as he cries out.
"This isn't right… none of this is right!"
Raven's voice cuts through his earpiece, cold and impatient.
"Leon, what's the status? There's no tech in there—I can't see what's happening! Did you kill them yet?"
"I just can't, Raven. I can't—"
"Can't what?" a deep voice interrupts.
The air goes still. The tension in the room thickens until it feels suffocating.
Who the hell was that voice? Leon thinks, his heart racing.
He turns—and freezes.
Standing in the doorway, glaring down at him, is Magnus.
"And of course the leader of all people at to show up," Leon mutters under his breath, face pale.