Pike watched her boot up the game and curiously peered at the box. Huh, there were apparently five of those now. He remembered the first one. It came out the same year he'd met Buffy. He'd wanted the game, but there was no way in hell he could afford it on top of his living expenses. It wasn't easy being an emancipated teenager in a big city, even if you did have a friend willing to work with you on room and board. And once his own life had become a survival horror story, his desire to play survival horror video games dropped significantly.
He popped the cap on his bottle, poured himself a healthy glass, and set it down next to him. He just nodded when she explained about her friend. He wasn't a huge fan of cops, but then again, he'd grown up a troubled, punk kid on the streets of LA. And the LAPD of the nineties wasn't exactly known for their tender loving care. He knew there were good cops out there, but years of the indifferent and downright bad ones had soured him on the whole deal.
His eyebrows lifted at her when he noticed her reaction to the enemies this Leon guy was facing. He didn't really see a problem with them, and it took him a second to work out why she might have had a problem with them. It was the fact that they were alive. Would've tripped him up too, a few years ago. These days, if you were trying to kill him, Pike didn't much care if you were dead, undead, alive, or a cute little girl with curls in her hair and a Shirley Temple dress. There was a reason cops and soldiers aren't trained to shoot to wound, and that was because there was no fucking point in it. You shoot to kill or you don't shoot at all. He just lifted his drink, saluted with it as if to agree, and downed it. "Never underestimate human idiocy or depravity," he added, after pouring himself another drink. "Humans can be worse than demons, sometimes."