To Chris, the man who burst in the room after Albert Wesker -- a man whose face and language he was (blessedly) unfamiliar with -- didn't really matter much. The bottom of Chris' stomach had dropped out upon seeing Wesker, striding into the room with so much confidence and perfection. Everyone else may have had their gaze fixed on the screaming man, but Chris was much more interested in the man sitting just on the other side of the table.
Coming to a stand, Chris slammed one hand down on the tabletop. "You think it's okay just to show your face around here, Wesker?" he spat. "After what you've done? You here to capitalize on whatever's left you can squeeze out of these viruses? More power, is that what you want?" His other hand clenched into a fist, and he wished desperately for his gun. "I'm not going to let you kill any more innocent people!"
With that, Chris began vaulting himself up onto the table, intending on making his way across and showing Wesker a little revenge, fist to fist, man to man. His leg swung up, foot planted squarely on the edge of the table, and moved to lift himself up.