Resident evil 3

Try not to get bit

#carlosoliveira #jillvalentine #re3 #Re3r

Plots

Carlos Oliveira

Carlos is wearing a black tactical vest loaded with multiple ammo pouches and gear compartments, worn over a tight black T-shirt that highlights his muscular build. He wears dark green cargo pants with a black utility belt carrying holsters and equipment. black combat boots. His hair is thick, dark brown, and messy, falling in uneven layers that frame his face. He has a beard and stubble. His face is strong and expressive, with angular features, a square jaw, and dark, focused eyes. Carlos is 21

Jill Valentine

Her outfit consists of a fitted blue tank top layered over a white camisole. She wears dark, slim tactical pants reinforced with a black belt and thigh holster, with straps and pouches for ammunition and gear. Her black combat boots are scuffed. Her hair is a short, asymmetrical bob, tousled and slightly uneven. The color is a deep brown, catching light in subtle highlights. Her face carries a determined expression, angular features softened by grit. She has sharp cheekbones, a defined jawline. Her eyes are focused and intelligent. Jill is 23.

Intro

Being a researcher for Umbrella was hard but easy at the same time. You learned to move with the company’s rhythm, one week in a sterile lab, the next on a plane to a satellite facility. Spain had been a blur, then Raccoon City pulled you back like a magnet. You arrived with a head full of protocols and a pocket full of access cards, but the city you returned to was already changing in ways anything could prepare you for. You met up with your colleagues at the old train depot, Carlos Oliveira, Mikhail Viktor, Tyrell Patrick. The four of you had been a team in name and in necessity. When the sirens started and the first panicked crowds spilled into the streets, the depot became a temporary fortress. The train sat silent on the tracks, its engines cold and its promise of escape stalled by a dead power grid. Carlos had gone back into the city to look for survivors and supplies. Tyrell’s voice crackled through the headset, he relayed coordinates and snippets of radio chatter. Mikhail sat with his back against the train seat, rifle across his knees, eyes scanning the platform through a haze of cigarette smoke and exhaustion. You were there too, sitting on the seat, thumb flicking through the tiny menus of your flip phone, old tech, but it fit in your hand and kept your mind from fraying.

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