( Waking up in a strange facility and a world even more fucked up than she remembered isn't a new experience for Alice, though it's one she'd hoped she wouldn't have to repeat yet again. That night in the mansion when she'd struggled through temporary amnesia on the descent into the Hive had been bad enough, but then there had been the hospital in Raccoon City, and the research facility in Detroit... And all that had been before the world properly ended. Before she'd spent five years alone, doing what she could to protect what was left of humanity while staying off Umbrella's radar.
The end of that time is... fuzzy. She'd sent the handful of survivors to find Arcadia, taken care of Isaacs, and teamed up with the White Queen to synthesize a cure while working to take down Umbrella for good. None of that lines up with how she'd ended up in cryo in an underground facility in a desolate but miraculously green landscape. It doesn't make sense. There wasn't an Umbrella logo in sight, just a handful of variations for something called Bridges. Though, to be fair, she could have easily missed something — the facility didn't have power and she'd had to crawl her way out of a pitch-black room and return after she'd found some emergency flares in the upper levels. Whatever the place had been, it was long abandoned, which doesn't help her one bit in figuring out how long she's been out of commission.
Finding the gas station felt like nothing short of a miracle after walking for the better part of a day, but she'd been dealt swift disappointment when the shelves were littered with dust and scraps of decayed packaging rather than anything actually edible. There was no water in the pipes either, though the broken mirror in the tiny bathroom offered the first glimpse of herself in who knows how long. She looks even paler than usual in the dark sweater she'd pulled from a locker, mismatched with a pair of Bridges-logoed pants and boots that fit only with two pairs of socks.
Alice looks out one of the broken windows at the darkening sky and sighs before searching for something to rig to catch rain in. The exact limits of what the T-virus will save her from have yet to be tested but she'd really rather not start with severe dehydration.
That's when she hears the bike, the first sign of another living human being. Hope tightens in her chest and she shoves it back down, remembering all the people since the world ended who have tried to kill her on sight. She doesn't have a gun. She doesn't even have a knife. The best she could possibly do is pry loose a piece of metal shelving, but that would be loud and take more time than she has. So she does the only thing she can — she waits, standing with a shelf between her and the door, in plain view but with enough cover in case she has to make a break for that broken window. )
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The end of that time is... fuzzy. She'd sent the handful of survivors to find Arcadia, taken care of Isaacs, and teamed up with the White Queen to synthesize a cure while working to take down Umbrella for good. None of that lines up with how she'd ended up in cryo in an underground facility in a desolate but miraculously green landscape. It doesn't make sense. There wasn't an Umbrella logo in sight, just a handful of variations for something called Bridges. Though, to be fair, she could have easily missed something — the facility didn't have power and she'd had to crawl her way out of a pitch-black room and return after she'd found some emergency flares in the upper levels. Whatever the place had been, it was long abandoned, which doesn't help her one bit in figuring out how long she's been out of commission.
Finding the gas station felt like nothing short of a miracle after walking for the better part of a day, but she'd been dealt swift disappointment when the shelves were littered with dust and scraps of decayed packaging rather than anything actually edible. There was no water in the pipes either, though the broken mirror in the tiny bathroom offered the first glimpse of herself in who knows how long. She looks even paler than usual in the dark sweater she'd pulled from a locker, mismatched with a pair of Bridges-logoed pants and boots that fit only with two pairs of socks.
Alice looks out one of the broken windows at the darkening sky and sighs before searching for something to rig to catch rain in. The exact limits of what the T-virus will save her from have yet to be tested but she'd really rather not start with severe dehydration.
That's when she hears the bike, the first sign of another living human being. Hope tightens in her chest and she shoves it back down, remembering all the people since the world ended who have tried to kill her on sight. She doesn't have a gun. She doesn't even have a knife. The best she could possibly do is pry loose a piece of metal shelving, but that would be loud and take more time than she has. So she does the only thing she can — she waits, standing with a shelf between her and the door, in plain view but with enough cover in case she has to make a break for that broken window. )