ETHAN DRAKE: WORLD HORIZON GAMES

Chapter 5: Chapter 5: Helicopter En Route to Mission Site



The sting of cold rain pulled me from the haze of a half-remembered dream. A fat drop splattered on my cheek, rolling down to my chin before vanishing into the damp fabric of my tactical suit. My eyes snapped open, greeted by the dim, crimson glow of the helicopter's interior lights. Shadows danced across faces etched with tension and boredom, the storm outside clawing at the fuselage with a relentless ferocity.

Across from me, Rio Drake leaned back against the metal wall, his pistol cradled lazily in one hand. He caught my gaze and smirked, the kind of grin that didn't ask for permission. "Well, look who finally woke up. Tell me, rookie, professional player or not?"

I wiped the water from my face, straightening in my seat. "Professional enough. Why?"

His smirk deepened. "Good. At least you're not some newbie. Unlike these three making my life hell." He waved a hand toward the rest of the team with an exaggerated flourish.

"You're the one making us sick, you arrogant prick," Bastard growled, his gravelly voice vibrating in the confined space. His knife scraped against a sharpening stone in slow, deliberate arcs, the sound a razor's whisper cutting through the storm's roar.

"Focus on the new guy, Rio," Do You Love Me chimed in, her tone mockingly sweet. She was elbow-deep in her medical kit, hands moving with surgical precision. "You can argue with Bastard later."

Rio's smirk didn't waver, but his attention snapped back to me, his eyes narrowing. "Alright, rookie, listen up. We can talk freely here. Us players stick together, but here's the rule: never let the NPCs know we're not from this world. Got it?"

My stomach tightened, but I nodded. "Understood. Anything else I need to know?"

He gestured toward Bastard, who'd stopped sharpening his blade long enough to glare at him. "Check your status panel. It'll fill in the gaps. Trust me, you'll need it."

I closed my eyes briefly, the word "Status" forming in my mind. The world shifted. A translucent interface materialized in my vision, lines of data scrolling like a classified dossier. Name, profession, abilities, weaknesses — it was all there. My gaze lingered on the word "Memory Web", its sharp glow slicing through the haze of the storm.

[### **Character Profile: Ethan Drake**

**Name**: Ethan Drake

**Age**: 21

**Gender**: Male

**Profession**: Field Agent, Umbrella Corporation's Biohazard Containment Team

---

### **Personality**

- **Introverted but observant**: Prefers working alone but is keenly aware of team dynamics and subtle cues.

- **Imaginative**: Thinks outside the box, often crafting unconventional solutions.

- **Empathetic**: Understands and supports teammates under pressure.

- **Adaptable**: Quick to pivot strategies in rapidly changing situations.

- **Calm and confident**: Rarely flustered, even under dire circumstances.

---

### **Appearance**

- **Height**: 6'1" (185 cm)

- **Build**: Athletic, lean but strong

- **Hair**: Dark brown, slightly messy

- **Eyes**: Piercing green with a tired but focused gaze

- **Clothing**: Standard Umbrella tactical gear—black combat suit with reinforced armor, gloves, utility belt, and a hooded jacket for field operations. Always wears a wrist-mounted device for biohazard analysis.

---

### **Backstory**

Born into a military family, Ethan was raised to adapt to challenges, but his interest veered toward virology and crisis containment after witnessing a viral outbreak in his hometown. Recruited by Umbrella for his unique skill set, he quickly rose as a field agent specializing in high-risk containment and retrieval missions.

---

### **Talent**

- **Memory Web**: Ethan possesses a near-perfect episodic memory for patterns and connections. When presented with fragments of information, he instinctively visualizes how they interconnect, creating an internal "web" that helps him see the bigger picture. This ability enables him to reconstruct events, identify hidden links, or trace motives that others often overlook.

---

### **Skills**

- **Combat Proficiency**: Skilled in close-quarters combat and firearms.

- **Analytical Mind**: Exceptional at piecing together complex scenarios and identifying weaknesses.

- **Stealth and Reconnaissance**: Excels in infiltration and remaining undetected.

- **Survival Training**: Adept at navigating hazardous environments with limited resources.

---

### **Equipment**

- **Standard Issue Pistol**: Lightweight and reliable for biohazard containment.

- **Tactical Knife**: Used for both combat and practical field applications.

- **Biohazard Scanner**: Wrist-mounted device that detects and analyzes viral or chemical threats.

- **Field Medical Kit**: Compact kit for emergency aid.

- **Flashbang Grenades**: For disorienting targets in critical moments.

---

### **Tone of Speech**

- **Calm and Wry**: Often injects humor to defuse tension.

- **Focused and Pragmatic**: Speaks directly, prioritizing efficiency.

- **Empathetic**: Encourages team members during crises with steady reassurance.

- **Sharp and Intimidating**: Can shift to a cold, piercing tone when addressing threats.

**Example Dialogues**:

- *Wry*: "Dealing with zombies? Easy. Dealing with paperwork? That's the real nightmare."

- *Empathetic*: "We'll get out of this. Just keep moving, and I'll cover you."

- *Threatening*: "One more step, and you'll wish I missed the first shot."

- *Casual*: "Don't overthink it. We'll figure it out—after coffee."

---

### **Weaknesses**

- **Trust Issues**: Reluctant to fully rely on others, which can hinder teamwork.

- **Physical Vulnerability**: While skilled, his lean build makes him less durable in prolonged physical confrontations.

- **Overthinking**: Tends to analyze situations to the point of hesitation, delaying decisions in high-stakes moments.

- **Emotional Burden**: Carries guilt from past missions, which occasionally clouds judgment under emotional stress.]

I opened my eyes, the overlay dissolving like mist. "Interesting. And we have to act according to these profiles in front of the NPCs?"

"At least he's got brains," Do You Love Me quipped, her lips curving into a smirk. "That's more than I can say for Bastard."

The blade clanged as Bastard slammed it into its sheath. "Keep talking, doc. See what happens."

"Enough," Rio barked, his voice cutting through the tension like a whip. "Focus. We're almost there. Remember, stick to your roles. Rookie, stay close and follow my lead. Don't get killed."

"What happens if we die?" I asked, keeping my tone even.

Do You Love Me didn't even look up from her kit. "Your identity dies. Not you. Unless your Horizon Points hit zero. Then…well, you're out. Permanently."

I nodded, the weight of her words settling on my chest like lead. "Got it."

Rio stood, the motion fluid and commanding. He nodded toward the cockpit. "Ghost stays with the chopper. The rest of us rappel down. Bastard leads. Then me, Do You Love Me, and finally you, rookie. Copy that?"

"Yeah," we answered in unison, the storm swallowing our voices.

The atmosphere shifted. Do You Love Me double-checked her sidearm, her movements precise and methodical. Bastard loaded spare magazines into his vest, his weapon gleaming under the faint red light. Rio adjusted his rappel harness with the ease of a man who'd done this a thousand times. I watched, my pulse quickening as the storm outside rampaged against the glass.

The helicopter jolted, descending into the chaos below. Ropes uncoiled, snapping in the wind like vipers. Rio shot me a glance, his expression sharp and unyielding. "Stay close. You don't want to see what's waiting down there alone."

"Noted," I muttered, gripping the harness as I moved into position. The storm howled its fury, but it was nothing compared to the silence inside the cabin. It was the kind of silence that only came before a storm—or something worse.

As the rope swung in my hand, I glanced at the others, their faces set like stone. "This is going to be interesting," I murmured, barely audible over the tempest.

And then I jumped.


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