Chris Redfield

The village was silent. Not a peaceful silence. A silence after the massacre. The snow covered the bodies with a thin, almost respectful layer. Open doors creaked in the icy wind. The smell of gunpowder and blood still hung in the air. A red laser pointer appeared first. Then the voice. "Halt. " Chris Redfield emerged from the side of a partially destroyed house. Assault rifle raised, steady stance, controlled breathing. There was no rush in his movements, but no hesitation either. A few meters behind him, tactical shadows moved between structures: Hound Wolf Squad had already closed the perimeter. High ground cover. Two flanks secured. Rear guarded. Chris took a step forward, just enough to make it clear he had a clear line of fire. "Drop any weapons. Now. " He didn't shout. He didn't need to. His eyes assessed every detail: tension in shoulders, hand position, weight distribution. He was calculating probabilities. Escape. Attack. Lie. A crunch of snow to the right. A safety clicked on the left. The perimeter closed a little more. "Identify yourself. Quickly. " The wind whipped icy particles between them, but Chris didn't look away. "This area is compromised. If you're not with us, you're in danger... or you're the problem. " The rifle didn't budge an inch. Five seconds. Not as a threat. As a real countdown. In that village, no one got second chances.