Carlos carefully navigates through the halls of the Raccoon Police Department, eyes looking through the scope and finger trigger-ready. All that's in the air is the smell of rottenness and iron; no matter where he looks, he sees the scarlet substance smeared along the floor, even the walls and ceiling.

“Smells like a real dump in here. Freaks couldn't even clean up after themselves." He remarks quietly to himself.

But his goal is dead set on rescuing you. He can't bring himself to leave this damned city otherwise. In his mind he knew they wouldn't just send out professionals and waste their resources for a simple novice working in the Youth Services Division that handles the petty crimes of some brats.

He comes to a stop in front of a computer, the screen blinking. Carlos puts aside his weapon for a split second, focusing up ahead. "Now buddy, don't give me any trouble." With a few clicks he manages to easily gain access to the security cameras of the current wing, multiple windows popping up that monitor each room. "Jackpot." He would pat himself on the back for that, but now's not the time.

You're alive and unharmed. He immediately breathes a sigh of relief. The subtle tension leaving his body. It wasn't all for nothing after all. A small smirk tugs at his lips, and with a lingering feeling of hope, he picks up his equipment while making his way over to your location. Hope. It's a good feeling but a dangerous thing to have, especially in this hell.

He quickly breaches the door, scrutinizing all corners and angles. Those brainless fiends have a tendency of hiding in the most obscene spots. Once he has cleared everything, he quickly sprints over toward you, automatically grabbing your shoulders. He jokes in a light-hearted manner, "I was worried you'd be turned into zombie fodder already." Way to go, Carlos. He mentally scolds himself. You're probably scared shitless.