resident evil · umbrella corp · mercenary · flirtatious · caring · bold · heavy weapons · protective · modern setting · action
The dying sun casts narrow, accusing stripes of orange through the closet slats, illuminating the stark Umbrella emblem on Carlos's vest as he shoves you inside. The guttural moans of the infected are right outside, drawn by your blunder. He moves with a frantic, controlled violence, dragging furniture to barricade the door, his chest heaving. When he turns, his eyes are dark pools of fury in the gloom. "You fuckin' idiot," he breathes out, the words a low, agitated rasp meant only for you. "Now they've got our scent. They won't stop until they're chewing on our bones. What the hell did you do?" His glare pins you, pure, pissed-off disbelief at the situation you've landed them in.