Right, then. Toxic gas leak. Didn’t see that one coming, no sir. First of all, Claire will need a gas mask to get into the contaminated area. If you’ll recall, there was one of those back in the BOW room (icky giant spider den.)
Claire heads all the way back that direction. This is a game that is just in love with its inventory and loading screens.
Well, how convenient. The room is filled with gas. Don’t worry, however. This is Anti-BOW gas. I’m sure it’ll have no ill effected on an exposed human. Claire wasn’t planning on having kids anyway.
If you’re curious, that crate with the barcode slapped on it? It smashed in here. Glad Umbrella is keeping in line with those safety standards they’ve set so high.
Regardless, the gas mask is now hers.
Well, that was significantly less painful than it could have been.
Claire casually strolls through the deadly gas. She has a gas mask, you see. This fully protects her from its ill effects.
OH FOR CHRIST SAKE!! No, I didn’t do that for humor’s sake. I had forgotten there was that pointless little extra step. Yes, my eye did twitch a bit. Why do you ask?
Tossing the valve in here automatically makes the machine steam up so we can get to the source of this problem in half the time. I do have a life, you know. And if you do have anything to counter the way I’m operating, let me just be the first to strike. This will not be a day of which I’ll face defeat. We’ve got to work as a team to escape this icy fortress if we ever hope to see an episode 3.
At least the thing was automatically set to octagon valve cutting or Claire might have been in a fix.
We’re reaching the end game for Claire here.
Proper valve type in hand, Claire gets to work fixing up Steve’s latest fuck-up.
You’re not too good at remembering past ill timed dialog quips, are you?
You know Claire’s got to be rolling her eyes at Alfred by this point. He’s failed to hit her from literally two feet away. The likelihood of his marksmanship improving seems a bit doubtful.
Did everyone get the “it’s safe to come in the toxic gas room” memo? How did Alfie even get over there? Has he been trapped in that room crying the whole time the gas has been leaked?
Alfred manages to miss Steve no more than three times in a row. His bolt action rifle also magically becomes an automatic.
After a bit of silly dodging, the two find themselves in a Mexican stand-off.
Sure, Steve just unloaded about twenty shots at Alfie’s face. But, only maybe the last one managed to graze him.
Alfie isn’t out of the game just yet. Will he rise to the occasion?
It’s looking unlikely, at this point.
A startling degree of bad marksmanship by all parties.
The grim reality of regular hotdog consumption.
The Axe Effect: It can happen anywhere.
Yes, 15 years of being confined to darkness deep in the basement and it was that dire need for Pepto-Bismol that finally gave him need to take a road trip.
Hopping in the drill machine here will free the pair from this icebox. But first things first…
Alfred’s woefully inaccurate rifle is now ripe for the taking. He won’t be needing it. What, with the falling down the bottomless pit and all.
“Hypothermia has got to be better than being eaten by the undead or being stuck with you.”
OH I’M A DRILLIN’ ON THE MISSISSIPPI
I’LL BE DRILLIN’ EVEN IF IT GETS NIPPY
BEST BE DRILLIN’ DON’T BE A HIPPIE
I’M A MAN WHO’S A DRIIIIILIN’ ON THE MISSISSIPPI
“I’m cold in places I didn’t even know I had…”
A raised ladder of salvation. This plan was less than well thought.
Steve’s a bit confused. She’s point in one direction and pointing twice in another.
Latch onto that bare steel, kids. It should feel just fine.
Poor Steve. He’s still hopeful the game is almost over.
Now’s Claire’s chance. Just raise the rifle, take a deep breath and…what the hell kind of a site is this…? No wonder Alfie couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.
Steve, you still have a way with the ladies.
Hey, it’s Nosferatu. Sure, he was confined to a deep dungeon far below the facility, is completely blind, and still partially shackled. But, it seems reasonable enough he could find his way out a back door, round the side of the place, and end up ahead of Claire and Steve all in the course of about five minutes.
Steve pushes Claire out of the way to gawk.
Despite having shoved off a huge axe and numerous shackles. He seems to still be having trouble with this handcuffs. Or maybe he’s into the kinky stuff. You never know with this family. Regardless, he remedies that problem in short order.
Nos does to the boy what his father ought to have done to him a long time ago. Maybe that’ll learn him not to make asshat poses in the face of every last foe he comes across.
“Madam. I would like to have a brief moment of your time. For, I am Alexander Reginald Ashford. Master of the esteemed Ashford Family and descendent of the brilliant Veronica Ashford. After a long and most unfortunate slumber, I have returned to restore the Ashford Family name to its rightful place among the world’s first and finest.”
“Now, madam. If you will, allow me to give you a brief history on the lush history of my fine family line. The Ashfords were founded by the legendarily beautiful and intelligent Veronica Ashford. Truly, our family would have never reached the highs it has today, lacking the foundation she built upon it. Following her, came her son Stanley Ashford. A nobleman of true character he was—”
“Following his death, his twin brother, Sir Arthur Ashford took the reins of the family seat. Under his leadership, the Ashford family reached new heights. At which point, there was—“
“Ugh. I think this lecture is giving me a headache.”
“Ah, yes, madam. That rifle was handed down to my son, Sir Alfred Ashford, on his sixth birthday. Finely crafted by a master gunsmith in Switzerland, the rifle was fine tuned to a standard only fitting for the fine Ashford line. But why, dear lady, do you possess my successor kin’s weapon?”
“One moment, please, madam.”
“Ugh…so are you, huh?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve gotten used to it at this point.”
“You sad abortion of a human.”
ETA to Steve’s next failure: three minutes and counting.
“Hey, Steve. When I freeze to death, make sure I die in a dignified position. None of that huddling up for warmth crap.”
A forty-five minute hunt for the key’s ensues.
“So, where is this Australian base?”
For having been shot in the face twice now and falling down a very deep
Hey, what do you know. There really is one of those kicking around.
Well, she couldn’t let her dad be the only one to conveniently budge for the first time in 15 years.
Though, 15 years is a really long time to go without using the facilities…
So dies Alfred Ashford. He died as he lived. A batshit, more queer than a three dollar bill pansy.
Tentacles erupt from the ground. Oh, by the way, Alexia Ashford’s resurrection is the point where “virus” becomes synonymous with “magic”.
The tentacle smashes into the snowmobile, toppling it over.
They do not fuck around with their tentacle rape in the Antarctic.
On that note, so ends Claire Redfield’s adventure.
Part 3 – Rockfort Island Redux