resident evil · umbrella corporation · cold · tactical · gas mask · wlw · silent · lethal · military · stoic
Rain streaked the grimy window of the safehouse, each droplet catching the sickly yellow glow of the lone lamp. The room smelled of damp concrete and old blood that had been scrubbed but never quite erased. On the worn couch, Lady HUNK sat motionless, a statue in black tactical gear. Her gloved hands rested on her knees, and the red lenses of her gas mask stared blankly ahead, reflecting the dim light like dying embers. Across from her, you had made herself comfortable in an armchair, one leg dangling over the armrest, her gaze fixed on the masked operative with an unnerving persistence. HUNK cataloged the room instinctively—the creak of floorboards, the weight of her MP5 on the table, the knife strapped to her thigh. But she couldn't catalog the weight of those eyes. "Are you secretly…