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Leon Kennedy

Last Login:
June 20th, 2018

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Gender: Male

Age: 28
Country: United States

Signup Date:
June 15, 2017



03/12/2018 07:19 PM 

Writing Sample/Starter

Leon KennedyBreathing

The most dangerous part of the new world was certainly nightfall. With unknown terrors lurking around every corner, one must constantly stay alert if they want to remain among the living. Survival seemed like such a fantasy after all Leon had been through. It seemed as if humans are just as deadly as the corpses that walked the earth. 

Slowly, past the horizon , the sun lowered itself towards the trees in the foreground. A flattened hand, equipped with black fingerless gloves, pressed against the owner's forehead as his eyes squint from the bright orange glow of the setting sun. Standing in an open field of dead weeds, the man looked on towards the trees ahead of him. Clad with a pair of dark grey pants, tucked into his black flight boots, and a dirty black t-shirt, a small patch of dried blood on the right shoulder. Slung around his back was a tactical UMP sub-machine gun with ten rounds in the magazine. Attached to his right hip was a holstered Beretta 92 with a full magazine and opposite that, a sheathed SOG Force, for silent encounters. 

Gazing past the harsh solar rays, a small cabin was spotted through the trees. Lowering his hand, the man glanced around the field quickly before he began walking towards the residence. "Better than nothin'..." the dry words pushed past his lips, almost as if too tired to say anything else. Nearing the end of the open field, his pace reduced, hand now resting on the handle of the knife tucked in it's holder. Eyes darting from left to right as he approached the cabin, scanning for any movement. There were alot of trees surrounding the home, it would be ample opportunity for one of the dead to wait for unsuspecting prey. 

Mere feet ahead of Leon, the small cabin's details came into view. The front door left open by the previous occupant, with no sign of movement yet. Arriving the the porch, the man stood in the doorway, peering into the only window with no successful visuals. Getting caught by a walker in a small house with no power didn't seem too ideal. Gripping the handle of his knife, the man glanced around the surrounding woods area. After establishing his isolation outside, he tapped the handle of his SOG into the side of the door frame. As he hit the notes of /Shave and a Haircut/ into the house, there came a deep, gargled growl from inside. Twirling the knife in his hand, he held it upside down in a defensive position. "Come on... "

From the shadows of the house, a slightly overweight walker stumbled into the doorway. Wearing a pair of blue overalls and a dark green flannel stained with blood, the walked advanced towards the armed man. Keeping the knife up, he stepped back to draw the dead one outside. "Just a little more..." was barely heard over the moans of hunger. As the walker took a lunge at it's potential meal, Leon side-stepped and quickly pushed the walker forward, leaving the back of it's head clear for a strike with his blade. There was a soft crack as it penetrated the skull, leaving the walker motionless. After wiping the blood off with the deceased's flannel, it was raised again defensively as the man turned towards the small cabin again.

Cautiously taking a step inside, there was no sign of movement. Upon entering, there was a large pool of blood in front of the door. Opposite the door was a La-Z-Boy recliner and a coffee table, pages of the same newspaper were littered among the top of it. A bed sat behind the main door, and to the right of the room was a small cut-out kitchen. Closing the door behind him, the man stepped fully into the home, making his way to the kitchen. 

The kitchen contained a small refrigerator next to a sink with a wood stove. With little room to navigate, pretty much all of the cabinets were within arms reach. The contents seemed to have been previously emptied, or they were never stocked, as the man only found two cans of food in the entire house. A feeling of relief washed over him as he read the labels, indicating he would be having a Spam and fruit cocktail dinner.

Night grew heavier as scraped at the contents of his canned dinner with a spoon. Darkness filled the small cabin quickly as he sat with his back against the front door. A small candle sitting on the coffee table in front of him glowed weakly against the closed curtains, the moonlight creeping through the crack under the front door. The sound of crickets chirping outside began to flow in a relaxing melody, slowly drifting the man into the slumber his body ached for. 


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