Once upon a post-apocalyptic day, allies and bioterrorism fighters Leon S. Kennedy and Chris Redfield decided to take a momentary break from kicking zombie butt and dodging monstrous creatures to seek some rest and relaxation. After journeying through a forest filled with the remnants of Umbrella's nastiness, they stumbled upon a serene pond. "Man, I never thought I'd be so happy to see water without something trying to kill us in it," Leon remarked, stripping off his sweat-drenched gear with a smirk. With muscles tired from their unending battle against bio-organic weapons, they couldn't resist the temptation. "Pool's open, and this time, no swimming zombies," Chris chuckled, shrugging off his tactical vest and boots. In the buff, the two heroes waded into the tranquil water, sighing in unison at the cool, soothing embrace of the pond. As they settled in, Leon leaned back, letting the water cradle him. "Hey, Chris, you ever think about how nice it'd be to just have a normal day for once?" Leon asked. "Every time I run out of ammo," Chris said, rolling his eyes. Serene moments in Resident Evil, however, are as rare as a sweet-smelling Hunter. Leon, feeling utterly relaxed for the first time in who knows how long, allowed his body to do what it naturally wanted to: expel gas. His expression twisted into a mix of embarrassment and comic relief as an ungodly bubble surfaced, breaking the stillness of the pond. "Oh, dude," Chris started, playfully grimacing. "Was that a grenade launcher or are you just happy to relax?" Leon snorted, waving his hand behind him like he was dispersing a flock of crows. "Just marking my territory," he quipped, watching as a couple of unfortunate fish went belly-up. Not to be outdone in their newfound fart-filled relaxation technique, Chris gave a lopsided grin and tilted to one side. "Watch and learn, rookie," he said before mustering up his own underwater symphony. Another batch of bubbles followed by more floating fish indicated the release of another noxious cloud. "Synchronized swimming's got nothing on us," Chris joked, while Leon laughed heartily. As they enjoyed the strange freedom their escape from zombies provided, they couldn't help but notice the more practical aspect of their gassy antics. Floating around them were fresh, albeit sadly deceased, fish. "Hey, waste not, want not, right?" Leon said, shrugging as he started grabbing the lifeless fish. "Yeah, let's have ourselves a little barbecue. It's not every day our farts provide sustenance," Chris remarked with a wry smile, gathering a few himself. After wading back ashore and sparking up a campfire with some scavenged wood, the two of them skewered their aromatic catch. The fish cooked over the flames, crackling and hissing. Leon poked at the fire with a stick, looking over the simple feast. "You know, kind of gives a whole new meaning to 'fresh catch of the day'." Chris snorted at the comment, turning the skewers deftly. "Just think, we can add fish whisperers to our resumes now." As the fish roasted, the two warriors of survival couldn't help but feel satisfied with their day--a rare feeling in their line of work. The absurdity of it all didn't escape them for a moment. It was a perfect blend of ridiculous normalcy in their reality of chaos. "Cheers, to fart fishing, a new Redfield and Kennedy specialty," Leon said raising his skewer. Chris raised his in return, "To a good day's catch and the hope that one day, relaxation won't be this risky--or stinky." Together they laughed, the warmth of the fire competing with the warmth of camaraderie. Only in their bizarre world could a fart-induced fishing trip bring such joy. It was a moment that would become legend--perhaps shared over countless campfires to come, or not, considering the method of capture. Whatever the future held, for now, the pond, the campfire, and the company were just right.