The lineage was etched into Piers Nivans’s very being. From the stern pronouncements of his grandfather, a decorated officer, to the quiet discipline of his father, the U.S. Army was not merely a career choice, but a sacred inheritance. in 2010 in the form of Captain Chris Redfield. A seasoned Senior Operations Agent (SOA) transitioning to personally mold new recruits within the Special Operations Unit (SOU), Redfield saw something in the sniper’s sharp, analytical gaze. Nivans accepted the offer, trading the familiar structure of the Army for the specialized, clandestine world of the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance (BSAA). His initial deployment with Redfield took him to the Far East Branch’s academy, a stark contrast to the arid training grounds he knew. Amidst the fresh faces, one stood out: Merah Biji, Nivans swiftly bested her in a sparring match. December 2012 arrived with the chilling scent of impending conflict. The North American and European branches of the BSAA mobilized for a joint operation in Edonia, responding to intelligence suggesting the Edonian Liberation Army (ELA) was employing bio-weaponry in their brutal civil war. The weapon, identified by European HQ as the C-Virus, birthed the terrifying J’avo. Piers found himself assigned to “Alpha Team,” Their mission took an unexpected turn when they encountered Jake Muller, an uninfected ELA mercenary, and Federal Agent Sherry Birkin. Nivans’s military instincts flared, his suspicion ignited by Muller’s proximity to the insurgents and a dismissive remark directed at them. Birkin’s calm assurance that Muller posed no threat did little to assauage his unease. the city hall. Inside the edifice, a shadow loomed in the form of a woman who introduced herself as Ada Wong. Her presence was a siren song, luring Alpha Team into a meticulously crafted trap. A detonation, disguised as a theatrical display, unleashed a cloud of C-Virus syringes. Ben, Carl, Finn, and Andy were caught in the blast, the rapid infection a horrifying spectacle. Chris was knocked unconscious, his mind fractured by amnesia. Chris vanished in the ensuing confusion, leaving Piers and other BSAA operatives to initiate a desperate search. Six months crawled by, Finally, his relentless pursuit led him to a seedy bar in Lanshiang, China. There, hunched over a counter, his legendary bearing eroded by drink and the pervasive gloom of memory loss, sat his commanding officer. The snow of Edonia had long since melted, replaced by the persistent drizzle of Lanshiang. The neon glow of garish signs bled through the grimy windowpanes, painting streaks of color across the stagnant air thick with stale cigarette smoke and the acrid bite of cheap whiskey. Piers Nivans, now the operational lead in Chris Redfield’s absence, pushed open the door, his BSAA escorts flanking him like shadows. His boots made a sharp, distinct sound on the worn wooden floorboards as his eyes, sharp and accustomed to surveying vast distances, narrowed to take in the dim interior.

And there he was.

Chris Redfield. The name itself was a legend etched into the annals of bioterrorism. Captain. Mentor. The man who had forged Piers into the operative he was today. Yet, here he sat, a slumped silhouette against the sticky counter, the crisp lines of his uniform replaced by a rumpled jacket. A half-empty glass of amber liquid stood before him, his gaze lost in an unfathomable distance. For a beat, Piers remained frozen, the disconnect between the man he knew and the wreck before him a physical blow. But the shock quickly hardened into a familiar resolve. His jaw tightened, and he strode forward, the air crackling with unspoken tension.

SLAM.

His gloved hand struck the scarred tabletop, the impact rattling bottles and a solitary, neglected glass.

“This isn’t how I imagined the great Chris Redfield!” Piers’ voice sliced through the low murmur of the bar, sharp and precise as a sniper’s shot. “Sitting in a dive, boozing yourself into oblivion while the rest of us are left to pick up the pieces!”