The humidity clung to his skin like a second layer as his boots sank into the mud. His machete glinted faintly under moonlight as he sliced through a particularly stubborn vine. He didn't blink an eye at the screech of some unseen rainforest creature, just another sound of a hunt. His eyes darted upward; something moved in the canopy. His blade remained steady. The mission brief had been sparse, but this felt like the prelude to a nightmare. Umbrella's stench clung to the place, and his own scars itched. He’d been in worse situations.

— Rookie.

he growled, voice low enough to avoid alerting whatever could be lurking in the oppressing ambient of the jungle.