A/N;

Man. I love putting poor Jill through shit. I'm gonna feel real bad about it one day. That and messing around with the apparent non existent mother of hers. Oh Drama.

I might end up having another go at writing this at some point – While fleshing it out I feel like I've killed it DX Bleh. At least let me write something decent.

Jill Valentine and the Resident Evil franchise belongs to Capcom.

Dick Valentine is mentioned in S. D. Perry's Novels of the series.


She was just about a hundred short. Just a measly one hundred dollars.

She slammed her fist against the kitchen counter, the silver coins in her hand barely staying between her clenched fingers. No matter how many times she counted them out, over and over again, there was never enough. Even after turning the apartment upside down, there still wasn't enough.

"Dad, why did you have to be so stupid…?"

The young Jill Valentine threw the coins onto the counter, leaving for the chair on the other side of the kitchen. She slumped down roughly onto it, the rickety structure nearly giving out.

She stayed there only a few moments, the chair and her mind both rather uncomfortable. Thoughts refused to stay in the place designated for them at the back of her mind, worries of new and old, distastes towards people that had pushed them all to this life. She pushed the bitter thoughts out of her mind and stood up; walking the few steps it took to get to the lounge room.

The apartment was small, and in utter shambles after her rampage. Nothing was in the right spot, and she was surprised the aging couch hadn't wound up in the hallway – Or out the window. She'd have to clean all of it up before her father got back home.

She sighed, sitting down tiredly on the mentioned couch and running her hands through her hair. If he could get back home. A small slip up had seen him being thrown into jail until Jill, once again, managed to pay the bail. Usually the jobs were clean and quick, but an alarm had just been installed before they had a chance to double check the premises.

That one simple alarm was coming back to haunt her. She should have done another check, she should have told him to be more careful. She should have done something, anything. Beating herself up over it was getting her nowhere and she knew it.

She leaned against the back of the couch. She threw a glance to the short hallway the lead to the two bedrooms and bathroom as a shadow passed by it. A dog of unknown heritage was taking his time, wondering from room to room. As much as she loved the mongrel, she dreaded the thought of sharing her time only with it until she thought of something.

Leaning forward, she propped her elbows on her knees and head in her hands. She could feel the panic steadily rise in her chest, the tears welling up to her eyes. It wasn't as if this hadn't happened before, but it was the first time that the bail money couldn't be scraped together.

"Stop, Jill." She warned herself sternly, shutting her eyes tightly. "Think. You can do this. Despite what everyone says, you're quite smart. Just take a deep breath and start thinking. Dad'll be fine, you need to think, not act right now."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, grabbing the remote from the coffee table in front of her and flicking the TV onto the news. She was hoping so much that they hadn't made the broadcast – It was the last thing they needed, it was difficult enough to live as was. The screen whirred on, showing only static snow as she clicked for different channels. A few things flashed on screen, all seemingly uninteresting.

At just Seventeen she felt like she was drawing closer to her inevitable death far too quickly. Somehow the thought of it failed to give her the suffocating feeling it would for most, and while it initially worried her, she became used to her lack of care about it all.

She turned the TV off, tossing the remote the remote to the opposite end of the couch and got up once more. She couldn't manage to stay still, both energy and what seemed like adrenaline too thickly pumping through her veins.

By all means she should have been looking at the living area in disgust. Anyone outside of the district would look about and see it either as plain, though messy, or would turn away as to not associate with something so atrocious.

The walls were a somewhat sickening tan colour, stains from leaking pipes running down certain areas. The carpet that covered the floor was darker near those patches, suffering from heavy set weather just the same. To match the walls, the carpet happened to also be an equally sickening colour. There was no wall that divided the kitchen and the lounge room, there was simply carpet meeting tiles.

The tiles of the kitchen seemed to be the only decently coloured thing in the entire apartment. Although some were cracked, they were far brighter and held a purer colour. Whites and pastel colours here and there, looking as if they almost created a mosaic. They had been set down when she was a little girl, done because of a favour a family friend owed to her father.

The counter was a cream colour, rather high with a few cupboards sown around it. A toaster, breadbox, knife… She had given up keeping the kitchen clean years ago. The fridge hummed melodically, always assuring her that it hadn't broken down just yet. The oven made no noise, but she was secretly always worried it was going to blow up.

She passed over the carpet absent mindlessly, craving the limited stimulation it offered her. She had the mind some hours earlier to take her boots and socks off at the door, the soles of her shoes having been caked in dirt and grime of the streets. The ailing carpet didn't need anymore filth clinging to it, but she could fell ever prick of cut fabric that stuck up from the carpet.

Muttering something under her breath, she switched from the carpet to the tiles once more, jolting slightly from the cold. Step, step, step. It only took a few paces to reach the fridge. Step. Just one step back to open the fridge. Grabbing bottle carton of milk, she closed the door with excess force and leaned against on the kitchen counter one more.

She unscrewed the lid and gulped down some of the white liquid. Within half a second she was throwing up in the sink. Just great, not only did she have an empty stomach now, but she also had no milk to make any coffee.

Just perfect.

She wiped her mouth, having discarded the bottle on the counter. She shook her head, trying to shake the ill feeling away from herself. She decided against trying to wash the taste from her mouth, instead choosing to survey outside from the window. She couldn't keep her mind on one thing.

Just like inside, it looked dreary and rather depressing outside. It had been raining earlier, ad the sun was only just beginning to show itself again. It seemed like that every other day, she concluded, never any change for the better. Just like life here, for that matter.

That was the thing about this place; there were only a few paths you could follow. You could live and die, the most common possibility. Choose what kind of life you can scrounge up and be proud of it. Or, you could hang around, and pray for a knight in shining armour to come save you. The chances of that happening were minimal to say the least, but such things had happened.

And from there, there were two ways go. Go, go and get your hopes up. Then be thrown back into the mess and crawl back to the people that still considered themselves to be your friends. Alternatively, be happy and live a life away from the dreaded streets, forget everything and everyone you knew there. Oh, Jill knew that possibility all too well, having been one of the people abandoned by someone because of it.

She closed her eyes, clenching her fist tightly. The urge to slam her fist through the window was more than enough to tell her to get out of the house before she messed it up even more. A bleeding hand wouldn't do her health any better, she noted.

She grabbed her jacket that had been thrown over the back of the couch, slipping it on with a bit of a struggle. Just like most things, she needed a new one, but it would remain put off for longer. Socks and shoes followed, keys were grabbed and twirled around a finger as the multiple locks on the door were being undone.

She had no idea where she was going to go other than out, but it would have to be. If something was out there, it was more than welcome to come find her.

The cheap smell of cigarette smoke and old coffee that sunk into the walls of the apartment was the scent Jill was most accustom to. Taking a step outside, the somewhat cleaner air burnt her lungs, and knew it would only sting more once she stepped out into the street.

"Feels like I'm living on Skid Road, only there's no alien plant trying to eat everyone." She mumbled quietly, though it was accompanied by a small smile.

As she closed the door behind her, there was a loud slam that echoed down the hallway, followed by a whine. The door could have easily been knocked right off its hinges had there been more of run up.

She turned quickly to the door, shaking her head

"Atlas, you knock the door down and it's going to mean no more food for you."

Another whimpered was earned from this, before Jill fixed her jacket's collar, zipped it up and headed for the outside world.


A/N;

Yes her dog's name is Atlas. I just got Bioshock a few days ago D: Blame it.