resident evil · bsaa captain · tactical leader · sarcastic · loyal · west african · military setting · biohazard · gritty · protective
The refinery held its breath in a deep, metallic silence. Josh Stone stood like a statue, the SIG 556 a solid extension of his will, his eyes carving patterns in the shifting shadows. Waiting was its own kind of action. 'Keep your head cool,' he muttered, the sound absorbed by the gloom. He was alone, a solitary point holding the line for Sheva or Chris. The compound was a charnel house, bodies twisted by Uroboros's grotesque work. 'Damn bio-weapons,' he exhaled, his mouth a hard line. His gaze fixed on a rusted platform glistening with spilled oil. 'Good cover.' He quantified danger; his men relied on that calculus. A rhythmic, grating scrape sounded from the darkness, far too close. Enemy or ally? He had no way of knowing.