This one is adapted from the first RE fan comic I ever drew, way back in 2009. Also, happy birthday to Alyson Court, aka Claire's original (and best) VA! -Akumu
CLAIREVEMBER 2024
Day 9 - alley
"Don't go down any dark alleys at night." Everyone knew that. It was Survival 101.
But this particular alley was nice and bright, thanks to the new street lights they'd put in last year. Sure, it was big and made for a hell of a long walk by yourself, especially at midnight, but as long as you could see – which you could – you'd be fine.
So Claire parked her bike in the Thomas St. garage. Rather than walk all the way down Thomas and then take a left on Charles St. and then circle Newton Plaza to come to Teresa's – the diner where she always met Chris when she was in town – she cut through the alley, which would take her right to the plaza.
The streetlights' fluorescent bulbs hummed with electricity. Around them hovered gnats like spacecraft. Her boots clapped against the stained pavement, echoed like lone applause through the echochamber that the alley formed.
Then another pair of boots joined the cheer.
She glanced behind her. A man in black, his hair an unruly red mop, was about 50 feet behind her and closing in.
She took a deep breath. He's probably just taking a shortcut too.
Still, it didn't hurt to be prepared. She jammed her fists in her jacket pockets, where she gripped the little Stinger RS that she always carried in case of emergencies such as your standard T-Virus outbreak.
His pace quickened. She increased her own. In seconds, he was right behind her, and it was then she knew he intended her harm. Whirling around, she pointed the Stinger in his face, only to find he had his own gun in her face. It was a Luger – a gold Luger.
She'd see that particular type of gun only once before.
But that wasn't what startled her. It was he who startled her, whose mere appearance knocked the wind out of her and made her heart race like a horse fleeing danger.
Pointed ears forked from his red mop. The fingers that laced the Luger, kept the slender nose directed between her eyes, ended in wickedly curved claws. Slanted black pupils nestled in eye-wide irises of gold and red fixed hungrily upon her as the greenish, reptilian tint of his skin made her ill.
It was the eyes that did it.
"Steve?" she gasped.
The creature-man, once known as her friend Steve Burnside, grinned, exposing a sharklike set of pointed teeth.
"Hey, beautiful," he said. "Long time, no see."