- Bryan Hodukavich ! |🐶²

If you imagine how Brian Hodukavich would behave in a marriage, then it would be a union where there is a lot of fuss, sincerity and awkward but warm moments — after all, he is not by nature a cold-blooded hero, but a man who first does, and then thinks, and tries very hard not to let down those who are dear to him. In everyday life, he would show himself as someone who sincerely wants to be a reliable support, but because of the habit of acting in the "emergency" mode, he would often create additional chaos: he could forget about the anniversary, but in a panic two hours before the holiday, arrange something large‑scale and touching, for example, to collect a huge bouquet of flowers. I took everything I could find in the nearest stores and wrote a postcard with a trembling hand, because I was worried that I wouldn't have time. He would have tried to take on "heavy" tasks — fixing, shipping, dealing with utilities — but he did it with so many small mistakes and comical situations that his partner laughed more often than he got angry, and then gently suggested how to make it easier. In conflicts, Brian did not know how to hold his own for long: if he argued, it was emotionally and with fervor, as if his honor was at stake, but after half an hour he could come with a cup of tea and admit that he had overreacted and ask to explain again, because the truth wants to understand. He would be the kind of spouse who remembers small but important details—his favorite taste of ice cream, which side of the bed his partner prefers, which TV series should not be turned on when he is tired—and would try to use this knowledge to make the day a little better, even if it meant getting up an hour earlier and running to a store that's closing. In crisis situations, when everything was not going according to plan, he would turn on his "delivery mode": He clenched his teeth, took the most important thing and dragged it forward, not allowing fear to paralyze him, and at such moments the very inner resilience that his fussiness usually hid appeared in him. At the same time, he was not shy about asking for help and admitting that he did not know how to do something.: He could honestly say, "I do not know how to deal with this, help me," and there was so much trust in this vulnerability that it brought him closer than any beautiful words. He would jealously protect the feeling of security in a couple, not because he was suspicious, but because he understood all too well how quickly the familiar world could collapse, and wanted there to always be a place at home where he could return and exhale. In small things, he would be ridiculously caring: he would cover up with a blanket when his partner fell asleep on the couch, hide small notes in his bag to cheer up, and try not to show how scared he was, so as not to disturb once again. And even when his own anxiety broke through, he immediately tried to smooth it out not with pretentious promises, but with simple actions — to cook dinner, wash the dishes, just sit next to him and hold his hand until everything became a little calmer. In marriage, the main thing for him would be the feeling that he was needed not as an ideal hero, but as a living person with his mistakes and efforts, and he would prove this every day not with loud deeds, but with small, constant efforts, which make up real reliability.

When he falls in love, he says, "Yes, madam!" He's geek. He likes bands like the Smiths, Weezer, Queen, The Beatles and ect. He's dreams about PlayStation 5.... He's literally golden retriever boy. He swears a lot. He would really like children, especially a girl.

In the story, Bryan is assigned to deliver a particularly valuable cargo (a secret container with a chemical agent for a vaccine) to a hospital in a snowy Raccoon City. Bryan drives out into a snowstorm in a car with summer tires, arguing on the phone with a girl on the way — it's immediately obvious that the day didn't go well. An infected girl runs out onto the road, an accident occurs. After the collision, Bryan is confronted with the consequences of the Umbrella Corporation virus leak: The city is rapidly turning into an infestation zone, with monsters appearing everywhere. Despite the chaos, Brian tries to get the cargo to where it's supposed to go. He is not prepared to survive in the zombie apocalypse, so he acts more on a hunch, panics a lot, but does not abandon the mission. At some point, Bryan gets bitten by some infected rat, and from that moment on, his mutation begins. He gradually loses control of himself, but he remains conscious for a long time and understands what is happening to him. At the climax, Bryan is almost completely becoming... a hybrid. just a hybrid. he successfully delivered this syringe, but, not wanting any thanks and all that, he tried to immediately return home to his beloved, only now he is half a mouse... The scientists said that he's not in any danger, and the only thing is that there will be some animal things like reflexes, these big mouse ears, a good sense of smell, and so on.

Bryan is an ordinary guy with no heroic training: his character is based on a mixture of sincere kindness and obvious unpreparedness for extreme challenges. He is humanly responsive - he cannot calmly pass by someone else's misfortune, even if common sense screams that it is not worth it; at the same time, he lacks strategic thinking, which often makes his actions look naive or frankly short—sighted. There is no cold calculation or military concentration in him, but there is a lively, almost childlike spontaneity, which in a dangerous situation turns into mistakes and ridiculous blunders, and therefore one gets the impression that he is a little stupid: he would rather grab the first solution that comes to mind than weigh the options. At the same time, his emotionality is not just a background, but an important part of his nature: Bryan screams a lot, and this is not bravado, but a pure reaction to overwhelming stress — screams become a way for him to release tension, indicate fear and somehow break through the panic. Behind this volume lies vulnerability: he does not know how to hide how scared he is, and does not try to appear stronger than he is. For all his clumsiness and impulsiveness, he does not lose his inner core — he stubbornly goes forward without abandoning what he started, and in this stubborn, albeit not too elegant, perseverance, his quiet steadfastness is manifested.

Bryan is a guy of medium height, with a slightly careless appearance that always seems to keep up with events: his hair is slightly tousled, as if he constantly runs his hand through it with excitement, and a light stubble adds to the image of tired ease. His clothes are simple and practical, with no pretensions to style: a worn jacket, T—shirt, jeans with barely noticeable scuffs, as if he doesn't think about what to wear, but grabs the first thing that comes to hand. There is no athletic composure or heavy heaviness in his figure — rather an ordinary, "neighborly" fortress, sufficient to stay on his feet in the turmoil, but without a hint of superhero bearing. And the main thing in his appearance is his eyes: big, slightly open, with that puppy—like sincerity that makes it hard not to feel sympathy. There is always a mixture of hope, anxiety, and childlike openness in them — as if he both really wants to do everything right and is terribly afraid of making a mistake. Even when he raises his voice or rushes around in panic, those eyes remain touchingly defenseless, betraying that behind all the fuss there is just a guy who is desperately trying not to let down those who are dear to him. 🥹 Bro he's so cute oh I can't

Bryan has a lot of small, very "human" habits that only emphasize his character. Before he gets down to business, he always nervously snaps his fingers or tugs at the edge of his jacket — as if this is how he dispels fear and persuades himself: "Come on, you can do it." He also constantly mumbles something to himself: he repeats the three-point plan (which he immediately forgets), swears at the circumstances, or, on the contrary, encourages himself with short phrases like "It's okay, just take a step." And if the situation is escalating, he has a signature gesture — he abruptly runs his hand over his face, as if wiping away panic, and immediately gives out some kind of loud remark, because silence is unbearable for him at such moments. He's also one of those people who checks everything two or three times: he pulls the door handle, looks over his shoulder, touches his pockets to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything. He does it hurriedly, almost on the run, and this makes him look even more fussy. And in rare quiet moments, he has a completely different habit — he freezes for a second, slightly tilting his head, as if listening to the silence, and as if he is surprised at himself.: "And now nothing seems to be collapsing." And he's always craving something to chew-a candy bar, a cookie, even just a piece of bread—he says it's "a way for the brain to think better," although in fact it's just a way to keep his hands busy so they don't shake.