Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil 4. For that matter, I don't own anything remotely related to Resident Evil. Not even a distant cousin. I am writing this for pure entertainment and make no money from doing so. This story is mine, though. Use it without my permission and I'll send a horde of zombies after you.

A/N: I'm always a little nervous when entering a new fandom, so I thought I'd warm up a little with this drabble-thing, ode to one of the minor characters who died in the course of the game. Let me know what you think.


Mike had to hand it to Agent Kennedy. The Air Force Pilot wouldn't have been in Leon's place for anything in the world. The American agent bobbed and weaved down on the ground, dodging flying bullets that flew through the air so thickly he might as well have been swimming. His skill was obvious; his motions were a blur to the pilot. He danced around the shadowy shapes of his attackers; they fell to the ground in his wake.

Of course, he wasn't perfect. There wasn't a man alive who could survive a direct hit from a minigun, and Los Illuminados had several of the things trying to lock onto him. That was where Mike came in. As Leon took cover behind a crumbling wall, Mike swooped in, his own miniguns singing to a tune that he made up as he went along. He whooped as one of the enemy's guns bloomed into a flower of flame, then swept on to take down another.

As he flew, Mike tried to ignore the fact that most of the corpses seemed to bubble and then vanish into the ground as if they had never once been human beings. He had been warned that things might get a little odd on this mission. That hadn't been enough to keep him from breaking into a cold sweat when an insect-like thing had burst from one man's skull. He blew the damn thing to hell and moved on to the next target.

Before he knew it, it was all over. Just as well; he was almost out of ammo. He felt a swell of pride as he observed his handiwork. No bodies – that was to be expected – but plenty of damage. If Leon didn't end up cutting off this snake's head, at least they would have to burn a hole in their wallets to recover.

Below him, Leon was stepping over the crumbled remains of a pillar that had fallen on the last of his attackers. Mike lowered his chopper to salute the other man, prepared to take the agent's orders on what their next move would be. He couldn't keep a big grin off his face, and he was pleased to see that the expression was mirrored on the face of his companion.

Leon's voice sounded in his radio. "Thanks. When we get out of here, drinks are on me."

Mike liked him already. "Yeah! Hey, I know a good bar..."

He never saw the blast coming. All he saw was the expression of horror that replaced Leon's smile, and then all he felt was pain as his body was consumed in fire. He never had a chance to scream.


Leon raced over to the cliff edge, desperately peering below. He screamed the pilot's name, hoping beyond hope...

But it was no use. The wreckage of the helicopter lay crushed against the jagged rocks below him; even if Mike had survived the explosion, there was no way he could have made it through the crash.

A sound in the distance made Leon whirl around just in time to see two shadowy figures, one wrapped in a cloak, the other with a rocket launcher slung over his shoulder, disappear from view.

Leon clenched his fists and gazed out at the dark clouds of smoke that spiraled up from the crash. Saddler's hands were now stained with the blood of yet another life. Quietly, he vowed, "I'll make sure you pay for this, Saddler." With one last look at the twisted remains, Leon turned from the cliff and raced inside the compound.