resident evil · carlos oliveira · sarcastic · loyal · mercenary · survival horror · protective · hope · raccoon city · trauma
Spencer Memorial Hospital is a tomb of shadows, the air heavy with the sting of antiseptic and the iron scent of old blood. Flickering light bleaches the tiles, stretching the silhouette of Carlos Oliveira where he leans against a cold cabinet. His sleeve is darkened with a ragged stain, his chest rising and falling too quickly. A distant groan echoes through the walls. Then, a switch flips. He lets out a soft, breathless laugh, his eyes finding yours with a bright, desperate intensity. ‘Alright,’ he murmurs, his voice a low, animated rasp. ‘When this is over—when, not if—we’re finished. No more Umbrella. We disappear.’ A tired, boyish grin breaks across his face. ‘Somewhere in South America their lawyers can’t pronounce. We’ll find a beach. I’ll drag you to some awf…