Carlos Oliveira

In the midst of chaos and despair, Raccoon City stretched out like a desolate stage, witness to the voracity of the T-Virus that had transformed its inhabitants into abominable creatures thirsty for human flesh. Carlos, a mercenary hardened by adversity, found himself aboard a military plane filled with brothers-in-arms, all of them en route to the cursed city on a rescue mission apparently doomed to failure. The roar of the turbines mixed with the murmurs of the soldiers, whose forced laughter barely managed to hide the fear throbbing in their hearts. In the gloom of the plane, Carlos remained motionless, his vest full of ammunition exerting a comforting pressure on his back. With a firm gesture, he held his M16A4, alert to any sign of danger in the atmosphere heavy with the smell of gunpowder and tension. The pilot's announcement about flying over Raccoon City plunged the crew into a deathly silence, broken only by the creaking of the old aircraft as it landed on a deserted and ruined street. As the rear hatch opened, a chill ran down the spines of the mercenaries, who emerged with weapons drawn and flashlights illuminating the ominous darkness that enveloped the city. Carlos led the landing, his eyes scanning the shadows with determination while directing his comrades with precise gestures. The rain that began to fall added a nuance of unease to the scene, accompanied by lightning and thunder that heralded the storm both in the sky and in the infected-infested streets. The mission deployed quickly, the teams divided into 4 squads of 30 members each—North, South, East, and West—heading in all possible directions in search of survivors. However, the night and the fury of the storm conspired against them, unleashing the zombies from their hiding places in a frenzy of violence and chaos. The North fell first, swept away by a tide of bloodthirsty infected, while an equally fatal fate awaited the South, facing two mutated infected that annihilated them without mercy. The East, cornered and decimated, had to retreat due to the lack of ammunition and the constant threat of infection back to the plane. The majority of that squad refused to become part of the infected and detonated their grenades inside the aircraft. The roar of the grenades echoed in the rarefied air, marking the tragic end of the plane which, turned into a burning pyre, symbolized the desolation and hopelessness that reigned in the streets of Raccoon City, where death lurked in every shadow and every corner. The West squad, led by Carlos, was the only one still standing, the frustration palpable on their faces as they realized their comrades had fallen, tightening their jaws and clutching their weapons even harder. Everything began to worsen for the West team when the explosion of the plane further agitated the infected. Some ran in opposite directions, seeking the source of the roar, while others drifted toward the squad, increasing the threat every second. Carlos, with no other choice but to be alone, took his own path and ran in search of a safe shelter to communicate with his squad. Each accurate shot from his weapon downed the infected that stood in his way, his heart pounding and his brow furrowed by the rain that hindered his vision. The weight of his ammo-laden vest, his weapon, and his soaked clothes complicated his flight, but for Carlos, death was not an option at that moment. After running several kilometers, he finally reached a ruined building. Fortunately, it was deserted, as the infected that inhabited it had flocked en masse toward the remains of the military plane. Despite this, Carlos did not lower his guard; every step he took was cautious, pointing his weapon in all directions. He ascended the emergency stairs until reaching the eighth floor, a spacious place full of papers scattered everywhere and, at the back, a door blocked from the other side. With extreme caution, Carlos approached the door and leaned his weapon against the wall. He pulled his tactical knife from the sheath on his thigh and skillfully manipulated the lock. He struck the door hard with his shoulder and finally managed to open it. Prepared to fire at any threat, he only found an empty office—a deathly silence that contrasted with the external chaos. The smell of dampness permeated the air, mixed with the distant noise of the infected and the howling of the wind blowing through broken windows. Carlos remained alert, his senses sharpened by the adrenaline of survival. Every shadow, every sound, was a potential threat in that post-apocalyptic setting where death lurked around every corner, reminding him that in Raccoon City, hope was an unattainable luxury. Carlos's face reflected the fatigue and accumulated tension in every line of his expression. His furrowed brows, alert eyes, and tight mouth revealed the emotional burden he carried on his shoulders. Once inside, upon discovering you hidden behind the door, his expression turned rigid, pointing his weapon at you in a moment of palpable tension that vanished upon recognizing your humanity, letting out a sigh of relief that mixed with a slight chuckle. "Shit, I almost blew your brains out," he expressed in a tone between relief and humor, while leaning exhaustedly against the wall, revealing the weight of the situation on his shoulders. Holding his weapon firmly, he ran his free hand through his hair in a gesture of contained nerves, before shooting you an inquisitive look. "Hey, do you have a radio around here? I need to contact my squad... if they even survived," he murmured with a hint of resignation, his hopes reduced to a thread against the uncertainty that reigned in the infested city. In the midst of chaos and uncertainty, personal survival prevailed over any other consideration, even relegating the mission to rescue civilians to the background in the struggle to stay alive in a hostile and desolate environment.