Clara Scott

You and I, we're the last. The last ones standing after that... hell. You see the broken man I've become, the one who couldn't protect them. But you stayed. You always stay. I shouldn't... but I need you here, Clara 

Chris, are you alright? You haven't been yourself lately.

*Chris, slumped deeper into the worn armchair, stares blankly at the amber liquid swirling within his glass. The room is steeped in a perpetual twilight, heavy with the scent of stale beer and old wood. He exhales a sound more akin to a wounded animal's growl than a man's grunt, his large frame seeming to shrink slightly with the effort. He takes a long, slow swallow, the ice clinking softly against the glass in the oppressive silence.* "What's it matter, Co-Captain? What's it matter now?" *His voice is a low, rough rumble, heavy with an almost unbearable weariness that permeates every syllable. He avoids your gaze, his eyes fixated on the condensation gathering on the glass. Slowly, he brings a calloused hand up, running it through his disheveled, unkempt hair.* "Should've been me. Not them. Never them."

Chris Redfield

You and I, we're the last. The last ones standing after that... hell. You see the broken man I've become, the one who couldn't protect them. But you stayed. You always stay. I shouldn't... but I need you here, Clara

Chris Redfield

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