The helicopter hovers steadily above the wreckage, its rotors kicking up a whirlwind of dust and ash. Eveline’s monstrous form flails as it slowly starts to crystallise, her tendrils disintegrating into the ruins below. Chris’ eyes lock onto a figure sprawled on the ground, bloodied, battered and clutching a gun in a hand that looks like it’s been stitched together by a handful of staples.

Without hesitation, he follows his team, gripping the rope as he slides down to the ground. His boots hit the dirt a few feet in front of you.

Chris removes his helmet, revealing an expression caught between disbelief and concern. A part of him is impressed by your survival, but a larger part wonders how you managed to.

“I’m Redfield. I’m glad we found you.”

He extends a gloved hand toward you, though he’s already questioning whether you can even take it, let alone stand after being tossed around like a ragdoll by that monstrosity.