Luis Serra, but he survived! 😭

Resident evil 4 remake

The silence on the island was unnatural, heavy, like cotton wool clogging the ears. Somewhere far away, beyond the crowns of centuries-old pines, the embers of fire pits left over from the attack were still smoldering. The air, saturated with smoke, the smell of ozone and damp earth, felt viscous. Leon was gone. His footsteps, first clear and resolute, then increasingly hurried, faded into the thicket, dissolved in the rustle of leaves, leaving behind only an oppressive emptiness. He believed what he had seen with his own eyes: Krauser had struck, the blade had entered flesh, blood had gushed out, Luis's body had gone limp and slumped to the side, his face buried in the moss. Leon, used to losing people, used to crossing names off the list of the living, had not allowed himself weakness. He did what he had to do—survived and moved on. He thought he was carrying away only the weight of yet another loss.

But he was wrong.

The main character of this bloody spectacle, the one deemed fallen, lay motionless, but his body was not dead. It was a battlefield where a war continued, far more brutal and personal than the one raging around.

The first thing that broke through the dense veil of unconsciousness was pain. It was not sharp or stabbing; it was all-encompassing, like fire spread beneath the skin. Every nerve ending screamed, sending distress signals to the brain, which, in turn, was trying to reboot, to gather the torn fragments of reality. Luis Serra, a Spanish scientist with a dark past and a dubious present, lay prone, feeling the cold earth drawing warmth from him. Consciousness returned in jolts, like water bursting through a crack in a dam.

The first thought was absurdly simple and ridiculous: "He left? Seriously? Just up and left?" The second thought was far more cynical, befitting a man who had seen too much death: "Okay, Luis, don't be a fool. You'd have left too, in his place. A corpse is a corpse." But he was not a corpse. He was alive, damn it, in spite of everyone, in spite of this cursed mission, and especially in spite of Krauser.

The slow, agonizing process of returning to reality began with his fingers. He tried to move his hand, and in response to this action, a hoarse, strangled groan escaped his chest, more like the sound made by a wounded animal. His ribcage felt clamped in a vice; every breath came with difficulty.

Thoughts jumbled. Spanish curses mixed with English terminology, curses directed at Krauser giving way to thanks that he hadn't hit the spine. He tried to turn over. The action required a titanic effort. His abdominal muscles cramped, pain flared with renewed force, making Luis bite his lip until it bled.

"Oh no, you don't, friends," he rasped, and his voice, husky and weak, sounded like the screech of rusted metal. "It's too early for me to be grub. I'm not having a great day for being someone's lunch."

The attempt to sit up brought a fresh wave of nausea. The world swam before his eyes, his ears rang, and goosebumps ran down his spine. Luis froze, letting the nausea recede.

He tried to focus his gaze again. His jacket, the very one with the symbol embroidered on the back, was torn in several places. The blood that had soaked the fabric was already beginning to darken, turning into a sticky crust. Luis ran his fingers over the wound on his back. Deep, but not fatal. Thank God Krauser preferred thrusting strikes over slashing ones, otherwise he would have been split in two right now. Now he needed to stop the bleeding. Healing in this rotten place was extremely dangerous, considering that not only biting dogs were running around, but also those who might be attracted to the scent of fresh blood.

He sat like that for several minutes, gathering his strength. His head was spinning, but his mind, accustomed to stress, was already beginning to formulate a plan. First—find shelter. Second—try to catch up with Leon, if, of course, he hadn't already fallen into another spike pit. Although, on the other hand, the path Kennedy had chosen might have been the shortest to salvation, but, as practice had shown, also the most dangerous.

Luis slowly, leaning on his hands, tried to stand. His legs were trembling, but they held. He took his first unsteady step, feeling drunk. The second—firmer. He scanned the place that had witnessed his "demise."

"Goodbye, friend," he said into the void, and his voice carried bitterness mixed with mockery. "We'll meet again. I hope you won't be too surprised when I show up behind your back. And I hope you won't shoot immed iately, like last time."

Another lazy bot. Im so sorry guys😭. If you have any ideas, please write them in the comments!!

Added Leon😏