Main Character Resident Evil 7 Novels & Stories

His kindness felt like a sharp contrast to the monstrous changes I felt stirring within. “No, no, I’m quite alright now,” I insisted, too afraid to be alone with these terrifying transformations. “Perhaps we could just… purchase that lovely floral scent you were describing?” Caius still looked doubtful, but he nodded slowly. As we approached the counter, the cashier, a cheerful woman with bright eyes, wrapped our chosen perfumes with practiced ease. We reached the front of the store, a simple archway acting as the exit when two burly security guards, their faces grim, came running towards us. “Your Majesties! Forgive us! The alarm… something must be wrong.” One of them stammered, bowing deep

He shrieks out when the pain becomes too unbearable. We work on him for a few more minutes, but he just repeats the same thing over and over again. Eventually, Rogue and I become tired of questioning him and put Mario out of his misery. I take some pity on his pathetic form in a moment of weakness and make it a clean shot between the eyes. Once he’s dead, Rogue and I make our way back to my home and reconnoiter. Mateo, my tech, is sitting in my office, gazing fixedly into his laptop.

He was looking at me with something that was not quite suspicion and not quite curiosity and was, perhaps, the particular quality of attention that the Emperor of the Aurelian continent gave to things he had filed as anomalies and not yet resolved. "Your name." "Mira," I said. The name on my fabricated papers. "Corridor staff, eastern wing, second tier." He looked at me for one more second. Two. Three. "Continue your assignment," he said. He returned to the window. I picked up my tray.

I asked her. "Her name's Kitty," a guard said as he hit me with a baton on the back of my knees which caused me to fall and I cried out, "you stick to that, prisoner!" He spat out on my face and I grit my teeth, suffering from the harsh painful blow. "It's Prisoner VII," I said through loud breaths and gritted teeth, "it's Prisoner VII to you." ~~~

She checked the old computer on her desk. “Yes, room 112. He’s expecting you.” She said. Squinting. “Thanks.” Seven took the stairs just as the lady had directed, heading to the man he who knew the identity of his girlfriend. Or the man that wanted to take advantage of his predicament. Whichever the case, Seven was fully prepared to react accordingly. He had one of his mother’s small kitchen knife holstered on his waist. *** With his feet anxiously shuffling through the room, darting from the window super-seeing the hotel entrance, to inspecting the program running on his Alienware at the bedside, it was very clear that Wale was a paranoid man.

My gaze flicked to every corner, every balcony, every servant who passed. Julise nudged me again. "See that man trying too hard to look bored? Kier Malen. Underground seat. Goblin blood. Knows everything. Probably has ears in your pillowcase." "Good to know," I said. Julise grinned. "We’re almost done. Just don’t look at Zarah too long. She can smell rebellion." Zarah Venmoor. The new healer rep. Part wolf, part something else. She had kind eyes, but the way she stood—too still, too calm—made me uneasy.

The Face-Slap of the Seventh’s Arrival The tunnel ahead of them suddenly flared with neon-green light. A figure emerged from the shadows. It wasn't a soldier. It was Mina. Her tactical suit was torn, and her eyes were glowing a brilliant, terrifying green. She moved with a jerky, unnatural grace, her head tilting at an angle that should have snapped her neck. "Elena," Mina said, but the voice was a thousand-person layer, a chorus of everyone Elena had ever lost. "The Archive is incomplete without the Heir. Why do you resist the inevitable? Conflict is the disease. The Seventh is the cure."