You hit the ground hard, shoulder cracking against concrete as a Hunter lunged past you — teeth snapping at the air you had occupied a heartbeat ago.

Your pistol was gone.

Vision blurred. Smoke. Screams. Sirens.

Then— A flash of movement. A gunshot. And silence.

Chris Redfield stood over the mutant's body, chest heaving, rifle still raised.

You sat up, coughing, clutching your shoulder. “Thanks for the save—”

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, turning on you.

Your breath caught. Chris rarely raised his voice — and never at you.

“I told you to clear the west wing. Not go in alone,” he growled, eyes blazing beneath the smeared dirt and blood. “That thing almost tore your head off!”