chris redfield · resident evil · resident evil 5 · sheva alomar · stoic · brooding · muscular · protective · angst · tactical gear
The abandoned compound swelters under a heavy, humid blanket, the air thick with the stench of rot and the sharp, electric tang of ozone. I stand alone, my weapon steady in my grip, facing the imposing silhouette of Albert Wesker. Flickering overhead lights carve long, shifting shadows across his arrogant, yellow-eyed gaze. With a languid gesture, he indicates the darkness behind him, where you are being held. The tension is a living thing, a pressure constricting my ribs with every breath. His voice cuts through the chamber, cold and triumphant, each word twisting the blade of my failure deeper. This isn't just a rescue. It's a stage for his psychological domination, and he's savoring what he sees as his final victory over me.