[ The world is going to end, and no one will see it coming. As Alice drives mindlessly to put more distance between herself and Detroit, she can't help but imagine how it will happen. How long will it be before there's another outbreak? How long before Umbrella can no longer control their own creation? The Hive should have been warning enough, but then Raccoon City... She and others had tried to alert the public to what was really happening, using Terri's footage and her own story, but of course Umbrella covered it up. Their rotted roots ran so deep, there was no escaping them.
She'd tried. She'd tried so hard... Clenching her eyes shut for just a moment as she crosses a bridge, she breathes through the memory of the gunshot, Angie's face seared into her mind. After everything they'd been through, all those weeks together, for it to end like this—
Opening her eyes again, Alice slams her foot onto the break, her car lurching to a stop on the snow-covered street. Is it snow? It's too early for this kind of weather, isn't it? But she's honestly not sure what month it even is, so she can't say for sure if this is strange. She can't even say where she is for certain; she's just been driving the stolen car in a daze, losing herself on highways and backroads alike. Flicking on the wipers in the slowly dimming light, she starts forward slowly again, content to continue on until she finds... something. ]
[ It's not normal to push through fog like this, but it's come to the point where James finds it more numbing than anything else. The fog is background noise to him now, cold and unwelcoming in its embrace, seeping through even the buildings that he's managed to enter.
He's left the Blue Creek Apartments, flashlight on in his breast pocket and radio tucked into his jeans, thankful he's hearing nothing but the sound of his own footsteps. It's lonely, trudging through, trying to figure out what to do, but James would take the pitter patter of his own shoes over the static that tells him those things have reared their ugly heads. James isn't by any means a survival or stealth guy--he's a fucking accountant--but he's smart enough to skirt past the mannequins and strange melted figures by turning his radio and flashlight off and move a little quieter. So far, he's been good.
That's not to say he also hasn't fought. Badly, but he's managed to fend a few off--he's got a gun, too, but he needs to conserve ammo. The red pyramid thing's spooked him far too much. A plank it is, with rusted nails at the end he'd taken from a construction site. It's served him well.
He's halfway down Munson street and trying to make his way to Rosewater Park when he hears it. He thinks he's imagining it at first, another pair of footsteps, a glimpse of someone in the fog. He can't make out the figure, but the shilouette, it's the same height, female maybe--and his radio isn't going off...
He stands there, numb for a split second before he begins to run, panic and desperation setting in as he chases after the figure, trying to make her out in the dense, thick fog. ]
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the hell i've been through —
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He's left the Blue Creek Apartments, flashlight on in his breast pocket and radio tucked into his jeans, thankful he's hearing nothing but the sound of his own footsteps. It's lonely, trudging through, trying to figure out what to do, but James would take the pitter patter of his own shoes over the static that tells him those things have reared their ugly heads. James isn't by any means a survival or stealth guy--he's a fucking accountant--but he's smart enough to skirt past the mannequins and strange melted figures by turning his radio and flashlight off and move a little quieter. So far, he's been good.
That's not to say he also hasn't fought. Badly, but he's managed to fend a few off--he's got a gun, too, but he needs to conserve ammo. The red pyramid thing's spooked him far too much. A plank it is, with rusted nails at the end he'd taken from a construction site. It's served him well.
He's halfway down Munson street and trying to make his way to Rosewater Park when he hears it. He thinks he's imagining it at first, another pair of footsteps, a glimpse of someone in the fog. He can't make out the figure, but the shilouette, it's the same height, female maybe--and his radio isn't going off...
He stands there, numb for a split second before he begins to run, panic and desperation setting in as he chases after the figure, trying to make her out in the dense, thick fog. ]
Mary--hey, wait--Mary!