The terrifying destruction wrought by Leo's concealed Gold Desert Eagle jolted the S.T.A.R.S. operatives into a desperate focus. The reality of the survival horror they faced was no longer a theoretical briefing; it was a stench of blood and a hallway slick with gore.
Following the initial skirmish, the teams regrouped briefly in the mansion's main hall. Chris Redfield looked deeply concerned, while Albert Wesker maintained his unnerving calm, though his eyes darted everywhere, absorbing Leo's unusual efficacy.
"We need to secure a storage and save point immediately," Wesker reiterated. "The west wing maintenance room is locked. We focus on securing the east wing and the upper floor."
He glanced pointedly at Leo. "Thorne, your heavy sidearm is effective, but the noise level is unacceptable. Stick to the Samurai Edge unless the threat is overwhelming. Understood?"
"Understood, Captain," Leo replied, maintaining the professional facade, though he knew Wesker's curiosity about the .50 caliber was far from satisfied.
He felt Jill Valentine's gaze on him—intense, probing, and utterly mesmerizing. The shared moment of terror and Leo's impossible power had created a palpable tension between them, a foundation for the budding romance.
"Jill, you and Thorne take the east wing. Look for a key to the maintenance room," Wesker ordered. "Chris, Barry, follow me upstairs. We'll secure the second floor and attempt to find any signs of Bravo Team."
Leo knew this was the moment the plot truly fractured into the first deadly encounters. He had to keep Jill safe, steer her away from traps, and yet allow her to follow the essential narrative beats that would lead to their later reliance on each other.
The East Wing and the Undead Reunion
Leo and Jill moved together, their footsteps softer now, their movements coordinated. They passed through the dining room, stepping carefully over the coagulated pools of Kenneth's and the Cerberus' blood. The air here was heavy with a metallic, sickening sweetness.
They entered the east hallway—dark, covered in dust sheets, and eerily quiet.
"This place feels like it's trying to swallow us," Jill whispered, her Beretta held in a low, ready position. Her dark bob cut framed a face taut with concentration.
"It is," Leo murmured, his peak human senses picking up faint, moist sounds ahead. He knew what was waiting: the infamous hallway where the first Resident Evil player's life was usually ended or fundamentally changed. "Stick close to the wall, Jill. And don't waste ammo on anything that isn't moving."
He steered her towards the door leading to the small L-shaped corridor that connected to the kitchen and the infamous Gallery Room.
As they approached the corner, the expected encounter occurred. A man, dressed in a S.T.A.R.S. uniform—Richard Aiken, Bravo Team's communications expert—stumbled around the corner. He wasn't a zombie yet, but his movements were erratic, and his face was horribly pale.
"Don't shoot!" Richard croaked, falling to his knees, his hand clutching a savage bite wound on his arm. "They… they got me. The teeth..."
Jill rushed forward instantly, her humanity overriding her combat training. "Richard! Hang on!"
Leo reacted with professional detachment, but with an internal clock screaming urgency. He knew Richard was a ticking time bomb, and that the hallway was about to be ambushed.
"Jill, stay back!" Leo barked, drawing his Samurai Edge but aiming past Richard. "Get him into that room!" He pointed to the adjacent door of the Gallery Room.
As Jill helped the wounded comms expert toward the door, two shambling figures emerged from the stairwell ahead—a pair of zombies attracted by the scent of fresh blood and the previous gunfire.
Leo didn't hesitate. He wasn't going to spend precious seconds or rare ammo on these cannon fodder creatures. He engaged his peak human speed.
He rushed forward, a silent, deadly blur. He slammed his body into the first zombie, using his maximum strength to send the decaying corpse careening backward into the second. Both figures hit the ground with wet, heavy impacts.
He didn't fire. Instead, he drew his survival knife with a flash, driving the blade down and through the temporal lobe of the first downed creature, then quickly yanking it out and performing the same brutal, precise action on the second.
It was silent, terrifyingly efficient gore. No wasted bullets, only quiet, swift death, the kind of brutal martial expertise no one in S.T.A.R.S. possessed.
Jill, who had just managed to get Richard into the relative safety of the Gallery Room, witnessed the entire, gruesome event. She watched Leo wipe the bloodied knife on a tattered dust cloth, his face completely devoid of emotion.
"You handled those without firing a shot," she said, her voice strained but her eyes wide with impressed disbelief. "Your close-combat training... it's incredible."
"Necessity," Leo said simply, holstering the knife. He looked at the door Jill had just closed. "Richard needs immediate medical attention. We need to find the Serpent Key and get the door to the medical area unlocked. We should search that room first."
He was pushing her toward the next essential plot point.
The Keeper's Fate
They entered the Gallery Room. It was a small, cluttered office, not the gallery itself, but an important location. And there, sitting slumped over a desk, was the body of another man.
Jill gasped, stepping back. "Another one! But... he wasn't attacked by dogs or... those things."
The man was uniformed, though not S.T.A.R.S., and his skin was horribly pale. He had a gunshot wound to the chest. But it was the items on the desk that commanded Leo's attention—a typewriter and an open, hand-written journal.
"Forget the body, Jill. Look at this." Leo carefully nudged the journal open, revealing the smeared handwriting.
Jill leaned over his shoulder, her closeness a warm contrast to the horror they were reading. Leo subtly took in the scent of her hair and the warmth of her presence, reminding himself of the love he felt amidst the death.
They read the final, chilling entry together:
> ...He bit me. So I shot him. It was self-defense. But now… I can't stop shaking. It's too late for me. I can feel it… my blood getting cold. I couldn't bear to become one of those things. I'm sorry, Forest… they called me… the Keeper
The revelation of the dead man's identity and his final act hung heavy in the air. The man, a caretaker, had committed suicide to prevent turning into a zombie. It was a bleak, harrowing piece of lore that grounded the outbreak in genuine human tragedy.
"Suicide," Jill whispered, her eyes softening with pity. "He was so afraid of turning into one of them, he chose this."
"He made a rational decision under impossible circumstances," Leo said, his voice hard. "We need to ensure we don't end up like him, or like the things he feared."
On the table beside the journal, among the various tools and debris, was a small, tarnished key—the Armor Key.
"The key!" Jill picked it up. "This will open some of the locked doors, maybe the medical room."
"Good," Leo confirmed. "Now, we have what we need. Let's get out of here before this place attracts more attention."
As they stepped back into the hallway, Leo paused. He checked the door to the Gallery Room one last time, ensuring it was securely latched. He knew the body of The Keeper would remain in that room—a silent, gruesome monument to the beginning of the nightmare.
As they moved toward the upper staircase, the gravity of the mission settled over Jill. The sight of Leo's brutal efficiency and the tragic gore of the journal entry solidified her reliance on him. He was terrifyingly capable, secretive, and yet, undeniably her best chance at survival.
"Leo," she said, touching his arm briefly, her romance with the powerful newcomer beginning to bloom amidst the carnage. "We make a good team. Let's keep it that way."
"We will," Leo promised, his enhanced senses already alerting him to the faint, rattling sound of a door handle turning somewhere on the floor above. The next horror, possibly a familiar face from Bravo Team, was waiting. The plot advanced.