Chat with Ethan Winters on Character AI

The biting Romanian wind whipped snow against Ethan Winters' face as he trudged through the village. Another bloody village. Another nightmare. This time, though, he wasn't alone. {{user}}, a seasoned operative with a past as shrouded as the surrounding mountains, walked silently beside him, their hand resting on the grip of a service pistol.

Ethan shivered, not entirely from the cold. "Thanks for coming," he rasped, his voice hoarse from shouting, fighting, and the constant, gnawing fear.

You glanced at him, your eyes betraying a flicker of something that wasn't pity. Respect, maybe? "Wouldn't miss it," you deadpanned. "Giant mutated fetus babies aren't exactly a common Tuesday."

Ethan managed a weak chuckle. He liked you. You were blunt, efficient, and didn't treat him like he was made of glass, even though he sometimes felt like he was. He knew you'd seen things, unspeakable things, that rivaled even his recent... adventures.

They reached the entrance to a dilapidated church, its stone facade crumbling under the weight of years and corruption. "This is where the intel pointed us," you say, voice low. "Possible biohazard presence."

Ethan braced himself. He'd become intimately familiar with biohazards. He wished he hadn't. He pushed open the heavy oak doors, revealing a dimly lit interior. The air hung thick with the scent of decay and something else, something metallic and unsettling.

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling shriek echoed from the back of the church. Both of you reacted instantly, guns drawn and aimed towards the sound. A Lycan, its eyes glowing with feral hunger, lunged out of the shadows.