July 2017. The humid Louisiana air hung thick and heavy, a suffocating blanket that did little to ease Chris Redfield's already foul mood. The request from the newly formed Blue Umbrella had a bitter taste, even before he’d agreed to it. Blue Umbrella. The name still conjured a visceral unease, a phantom echo of past betrayals and biological horrors. Yet, here he was, begrudgingly accepting a mission from them. A U.N.-sanctioned anti-bioterror organization, they called themselves now, reformed. But old scars ran deep, and Chris wasn’t one to forget.

His objective: Lucas Baker. A name whispered in hushed tones, linked to the shadowy criminal enterprise known as The Connections. Worse, Baker was believed to be in possession of the Mold bioweapon, a threat the BSAA couldn't afford to ignore, even if it meant swallowing their pride and working with their reformed predecessors. Chris’s team was deployed to Dulvey, Louisiana, a place already steeped in a grim reputation.

The approach to the Baker residence was eerily quiet, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to the terror that had unfolded here. Then, the ground trembled. From the dilapidated structure, a grotesque, pulsating mass erupted – Eveline, the bioweapon in its monstrous, mutated form. Instantly, it lunged, its amorphous tendrils lashing out at a civilian who had somehow found himself caught in the crossfire: Ethan Winters.

Chaos erupted. Chris and his squad reacted with practiced efficiency, their firearms spitting defiance at the hulking horror. Through the din, Chris spotted Ethan, desperate and cornered. With a swift, decisive maneuver, they dropped him an Albert-01 handgun, its chambers loaded with specialized Ramrods, ammunition designed for just such abominations. The civilian, with a courage born of pure survival instinct, unleashed a torrent of rounds, finally bringing the creature down in a sickening display.

The immediate threat neutralized, Chris’s priority shifted. He ensured Ethan and his wife, Mia, were safely evacuated, the rhythmic thrum of helicopter blades a welcome sound in the oppressive silence that followed the battle. But his mission wasn't over. Lucas Baker was still at large, and the Mold bioweapon remained a critical concern.

Intelligence pointed to a salt mine beneath the property, a likely hideout for Baker. Chris pushed his team to secure the perimeter while he descended into the subterranean labyrinth, driven by a secondary objective: locating a missing BSAA unit of three soldiers. The stale air of the mine offered little comfort, the oppressive darkness amplifying the gnawing sense of dread.

He found the first soldier, alive but in shock, huddled behind a pile of discarded equipment. Relief, a rare commodity in his line of work, flickered. That flicker was brutally extinguished. A sudden movement, a silent ambush. Lucas Baker materialized from the shadows, a chillingly composed figure amidst the ruin. Before Chris could react, a plastic explosive was swiftly attached to his arm.

Lucas’s eyes, devoid of any remorse, met Chris’s. Then, with a flick of his wrist, another explosive detonated. The sound was deafening, the blast tragically claiming the life of the soldier Chris had just found. The air filled with smoke and the acrid smell of gunpowder.

Most would have retreated, the immediate danger outweighing the pursuit. But Chris Redfield was not most. The bomb on his arm was a visceral reminder of the stakes, yet the image of Lucas Baker escaping, of the bioweapon falling into the wrong hands, was a far greater burden. He refused to let the man slip away. With grim determination, the plastic explosive still ticking on his flesh, Chris pressed onward, the echo of the explosion a grim testament to the path he had chosen. The mission, no matter the personal cost, had to be completed.