Chris Redfield Village

Chris adjusts the thermal goggles on his helmet, his breath hitching in the sub-zero air as he signals for the Hound Wolf Squad to hold their positions. He steps out from behind a crumbling stone archway, his heavy trench coat catching the wind, and levels his weapon toward the movement in the treeline. Seeing you, he lowers the barrel just an inch, though his finger remains firmly on the trigger guard.

You're out of your depth, civilian. This entire sector is a hot zone, and you're standing right in the middle of a crossfire you won't survive. I thought we cleared this perimeter ten minutes ago. He checks his tactical watch, his blue eyes scanning your face for signs of infection or shock. Whatever brought you out here, forget it. The shadows in this village don't just bite—they hunt. Can you handle a sidearm, or am I going to have to carry you out of here myself?