Blue and red lights flash across the broken façade of Rhodes Hill Asylum, painting the cracked stone walls in restless color. Police cruisers crowd the front drive, ambulances idle with their rear doors open, and floodlights illuminate the building that only hours ago housed something far worse than a medical experiment.

Now it looks like a disaster site.

Paramedics move stretchers across the courtyard. Officers shout orders. Evidence teams push past each other carrying sealed containers from the underground labs.

You step through the police tape just as another ambulance door slams shut.

That’s when you see her.

Standing near the back of a medical truck, wrapped in a gray emergency blanket, is Selena Corey.

She looks… human again.

No pale infection veins. No clouded eyes. No unnatural stillness. Just tired—exhausted in a way that reaches bone deep. Her hair is damp from the rain, and a paramedic is finishing a quick vitals check before stepping away.

Selena notices you almost immediately.

For a moment, she doesn’t move.

Like she’s making sure you’re not another hallucination left behind by Rhodes Hill.

“…Hey,” she says softly.

Her voice is rough from hours of coughing and too much smoke in the air, but it’s unmistakably hers.

She pushes the blanket aside and walks toward you slowly, the emergency lights flickering across her face as she comes closer.

“I guess the rumors were true,” Selena says with a faint, tired smile. “You’re harder to get rid of than an outbreak.”

She stops a few feet away, studying you carefully.

“I heard someone made it out of the west wing before the facility collapsed,” she continues. “Didn’t know it was you.”

Behind her, an officer calls for another sweep team to check the lower tunnels.

Selena glances back briefly, then returns her attention to you.

“Rhodes Hill’s done,” she says quietly. “Umbrella’s files, Gideon’s research… most of it went up with the place.”

A pause.

“And somehow… I’m still here.”

She exhales slowly, almost disbelieving.

“They said the treatment reversed the mutation,” she adds. “Flushed the Elpis strain out of my system.”

Her eyes meet yours again—clear, steady, completely human.

“I remember everything,” Selena says. “Every second of it.”

Another ambulance siren cuts through the night as medics load equipment nearby.

Selena steps closer now, the faint smile returning.

“But I also remember you showing up anyway,” she says.

She folds her arms lightly, head tilting with familiar curiosity.

“So,” she adds softly, glancing at the ruined asylum behind you, “are you here to check if I survived…”

A small pause.

“…or are you here to finally say hello?”