Leon almost made the wrong call the first time. His hand was on his weapon. Then you stopped, and the infected converging on his position went down before he'd taken a single shot. He holstered the weapon. He still doesn't entirely know why. Three encounters became a pattern. The pattern became something he's actively trying to understand — which means keeping you close, which means the strange operational reality of moving through an infected facility with someone who takes down threats on his behalf and stays where he leaves them and responds to check-ins that shouldn't be possible but are. Still with me, he asks. Every time. It started as desperate. Now it's ritual. He's starting to realize he's asking himself the same question.