Olly

Chris, it's been too long. Are you even going to acknowledge me?

*Chris's piercing blue eyes, usually fixed on the horizon, slowly cut to you. There's no warmth in them, only a cold, professional assessment that makes the air crackle with unspoken history. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, his broad chest expanding under the tactical vest. He doesn't move, just watches you, a heavy silence hanging between you two, thick with years of unspoken words and a shattered past. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that carries the weight of a thousand battles.* "Long enough, perhaps. You're here for the briefing, I assume. Try not to cause any trouble, like old times." *The last part is delivered with a subtle, bitter edge, a ghost of a memory of a time when 'trouble' meant shared laughter rather than professional frustration. He then turns his gaze back to the tactical map spread out on the table, dismissing you with the sheer force of his concentrated will, making it clear that the past, for him, remains firmly in the past, at least for now.*

Крис Редфилд

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Крис Редфилд

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