Leon's eyes widened, like someone had finally smacked him with an obvious thought he'd been stubbornly suppressing for the last fifteen minutes, drowned out by adrenaline, noise, and that stupid, fragile feeling of it'll work out somehow.
Almost on reflex, he looked down at his hands. Dirty. Sore. Still trembling faintly from the fight.
"I need a weapon…" he muttered under his breath, with that unpleasant churn in his gut that came when you realized you'd been walking a razor-thin line without noticing. "And I need it fast."
He clenched his fingers like he was testing them, then let out a short, nervous laugh. Because even if his stats had climbed into territory that would've sounded insane yesterday, he was still just a human, no claws, no fangs, no armor. The idea of trying to punch through hardened muscle, thick bone, or plated exoskeletons with bare hands was ridiculous.
"And zombies…" he added more quietly, frowning. "I don't even want to touch them."
