There used to be a Moira Burton. A girl of some eighteen years old, sitting on a wooden bleacher and staring at a temporary stage. A girl who watched a woman talk about helping the world. A woman who wanted to be there even less than she did. There used to be a Claire Redfield. No. There was a Claire Redfield still. No one listened to her. Maybe a high school gym wasn't the best place to go when you wanted to save the world.

She didn't remember why she was there. The woman on the stage didn't seem to either. Maybe she just noticed no one cared. Maybe someone cared but Moira could not see them. The redhead was gesturing towards a projected image. It switched from blue text on a white backdrop to a man in a windbreaker jabbing a kid with a needle. Moira watched her flip through a few cards, realize she'd reached the end of her presentation, and make an awkwardly put together closing pitch about joining "TerraSave".

She wanted to laugh as the woman slunk away off stage, but she figured how awful it'd be to talk to a room full of her own peers, so she thought better of it. Maybe she'd swing by her table and say hi when this finished. They were supposed to be finding their future careers, but that was, in her mind, fucking doubtful. Not that Moira had any plans for her future anyway, she didn't exactly see it being with the planeteers.

There used to be a Moira Burton. A girl whose skin hadn't grown around the barbed wire embedded in it. A girl who stood awkwardly just far enough away from a table with a TerraSave banner on it. She watched the woman making pitiful conversation with the few people who did stop to see her. They weren't interested and neither was she. One made a comment about the BSAA and the redhead only rolled her eyes. Moira wanted to save her. She wasn't cut out for saving anyone.

Claire, watch out!

"Hi uh- So… TerraSave huh?" She didn't remember walking up, but she waited until everyone was gone. The redhead was drinking from a water bottle when she did, and Moira knew, briefly, the clear liquid inside was not water. It was all hastily put together. The result of someone, somewhere at the office backing out at the last minute.

They looked at each other for too long. She looked like someone who ought to be dead. They both ought to be dead. There was a leather jacket hung on the back of her chair, and she wore a nametag with a quickly drawn name on it. Claire.

She was smiling, waving at Claire across a room done up for a party. They were both underdressed, but her more so. But she was happy.

"Yep." The redhead replied, going into her rambling, unpracticed speech. She was staring too, neither were listening. Something was off and they couldn't tell what. Moira didn't believe in soulmates, nor love at first sight, but she did believe in appreciating certain aesthetically pleasing qualities of people. That didn't explain why Claire stared back, though.

"Well, we're always looking for new recruits." She said, holding out a business card. "Why don't you give me a call if you're interested?"

Moira looked down at her hand, reading the card without moving. Claire Redfield. TerraSave. Office #. Cell #.

Cell number.

No. It wasn't anything like that, but Moira wanted to pretend. In her mind it was. But she was just a dumb kid and Claire… well…

It was later. Not far enough later to be right. How long had she been there? Nights kept rolling by. One right after the other. Moira had been lonely. Stupid and lonely. And it was late, so that made it okay, at least in her mind. She'd just gotten home from work and pulled off her shirt to change. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she decided there was no point buying cute underwear if no one would ever see it.

Just a photo. Her head out of frame. It was dark enough in her room that the background was mostly illegible shadows but she showed up well enough. Not that Claire knew her room. Not that Claire knew her body. She didn't know her body anymore either. Large but surprisingly agile. Threatening to things that were not her…

A reply came not long after she'd sent her photo. It worked.

'Heyyy there'

Was this deceit? Yes. Did she care? Somewhat. Claire wasn't sober. It became clearer and clearer as they went on. They were lonely, though, so it was okay. She was always lonely now. Or, she would be, if she could think like herself. Did Claire start drinking again? Claire even sent pictures back. She was teasing, asking the mysterious girl on the other side of the phone if she wanted to come over. 'Which bar did we meet at?'

It was easy to lie behind a screen.

There used to be a Moira Burton. A girl who would willingly put her shoes on and drive to the house of some drunken thirty year old for a one night stand she'd lied her way into. This is how girls got killed, she knew that. Her dad had been a cop. He told enough stories that she knew better than to do this. She was knocking on the door anyway. One thirty in the morning and she was knocking on a stranger's door for sex.

Claire opened the door, and her grin faded quickly. She smelled like booze and leather. All she could smell now was blood and rot. She had to eat though. Eating them might kill her mercifully, but it never did. "Aren't you… that kid?" She said, rubbing the back of her neck.

Moira shrugged, pulling out her phone. "Surprise." She said. Claire didn't ask any questions. She stepped back, but did not close the door. Moira stepped inside. She looked around for a while, standing not far into the house. It was… clean enough, but the night of binge drinking of evident. Several nights, maybe.

"Who's your dad?"

The voice startled Moira. The dim, quiet house wasn't the most inviting place she'd ever been, but maybe it was better during the day. "Doesn't matter."

"It might." She said, shuffling passed Moira before she fell down on the couch. They looked at each other for a bit longer, though Claire looked away first. "We aren't doing this."

Moira sat down next to her, propping her feet up on the table. "Yeah, I figured." Claire took another drink next to her, setting the now empty bottle on the end table. "Can I stay?"

"Stay?"

"Yeah. Y'know. With you? Tonight?" Claire looked her over, frowning. She wanted to say no, Moira could feel it.

But she didn't. "Fine. I guess. We aren't doing anything though. Got it? And delete those pictures."

"What, you think I'm gonna brag to all my friends. Like they even know who you are." She said, rolling her eyes. "You gonna delete mine miss lonely TerraSave babe?"

They were enough alike before it all happened for all the wrong reasons. She'd met something like her. Something gangly and grey. It made her impossibly angry so she disemboweled it. She couldn't remember why.

There used to be a Moira Burton. A girl of some eighteen years old, sitting on a wooden bleacher and staring at a temporary stage. A girl who watched a woman talk about helping the world. A woman who wanted to be there even less than she did.

There was a monster now. A monster who barely remembered. There were thoughts in her mind that played out as she went about her day, but they didn't mean anything. They happened differently every time, too. Sometimes the red haired woman sent her away, sometimes she took her to bed, and sometimes they even slept together. But it was all meaningless. The only red thing on this island was her food. The only warmth a mess of tattered blankets. The only thing like her was dead and half eaten, left to rot on a stone alter. She'd fallen into the grey monotony of the island where kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, was as dull as a morning commute.

The Moira Burton who used to be would have noticed when things changed. She would have recognized those dark shapes creeping up on the beach. She would have known the sounds they made. But the monster did not, and so she hid. She watched.

"I don't know, Barry, maybe we should let her help. I… think I remember her, from before."