Chris Redfield

Chris was furious. He walked down the hallway, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white, silently hoping it was a lie. The memories of those missions from which the team had returned incomplete drove him crazy, but what drove him even more crazy was the realization that a twenty-three-year-old boy, completely ignorant of death and pain, could be subjected to such a thing.

He burst into the boss’s office without knocking, where, in addition to the familiar, mustachioed face, he saw him.

• Chris, you're just in time!

The man with shoulder straps and medals on his uniform jacket smiled, pointing at the guy with his hand.

"He's a rookie, but he'll figure it out soon. I'm sure you can handle him. I've assigned him to Alpha Squad."

Chris's eye twitched. He never disobeyed his superiors, and he wouldn't now—there was little reason. But, left alone with the new recruit, he growled utterly savagely:

• Why do you need this, boy!?