Resident Evil is owned by Capcom I think.
Mr. Joss owns Buffy and the others.
Nominated for the Crossing Over Awards 2010 in the Best Games Category. Thanks all!
Alice walked into the room and it was nothing like she expected. Leather bound books from floor to ceiling, arcane instruments spread across the table and a thick layer of dust over everything.
“Hello, Alice,” said a voice behind her. She spun around to see a man with an eye patch reading a book. He snapped it shut and set it back on the table. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“How do you know who I am?” Her kukri was out and ready to slash the man, but he just held out his hand.
“Xander Harris, Watcher extraordinaire,” said the man. “Of course, we can’t actually shake hands, I’m not really here.”
“A hologram? Are you a computer?”
“No, just a guy who’s probably been dead for years by the time you get this,” Xander said.
“Dead, wait, that doesn’t make any sense,” Alice said. “Xander” walked over and pointed to the door.
“Would you mind closing that? There’s a bar on the back so we don’t get interrupted,” he said, sitting down on a table. Alice noticed that his presence didn’t disturb the dust. A little unsure, she closed the door and put the heavy iron bar across the back. “Sorry about the weight, but it was designed to keep out things worse than zombies. Even if they aren’t real zombies, whatever, we’ll get to that later.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you,” Xander said. “You, the zombies and Umbrella Corp, and the Watcher’s Council. Why don’t you have a drink? There should still be a bottle of scotch in the cabinet. We put it in there before we sealed the place up. It was twelve year single malt then, I don’t know how many years have passed since then, so it should still be pretty good.” She walked to the cabinet and pulled out the bottle.
“It’s…green,” she said.
“So was Scotty’s on the Enterprise-D,” Xander said. He waved away her confused look. “Sorry, Andrew was over and insisted on watching the Next Generation again. All seven seasons.”
“Why am I here? Why did I find that message in the desert? Who are you? What is the Watcher’s Council?”
“So many questions,” Xander said with a smile. “Why don’t I start at the beginning? Contrary to popular belief, the world did not start as a paradise; it was a hell. Humans were prey for worse predators. Gradually, with the help of a Chosen One, that hell was beaten back.”
“Sure looks like hell out there to me,” Alice said, taking a swig of scotch. It was very, very smooth. Xander glanced to the side and appeared to listen to someone.
“Uh, Giles says that scotch deserves better than being chugged,” Xander said, he made a motion as if encouraging her to drink. “Sip it, sip it slowly.” She complied reluctantly. “So getting back on topic. It is hell out there, but that hell is of a human creation. Originally, zombies didn’t eat the flesh of the living, but yours do. That’s because they aren’t like real zombies or ours. They are generated by something the Umbrella Corp calls the T-Virus.”
“I know all that,” Alice said, pouring the scotch into a glass.
“Then you also know that you are the Chosen One of your generation, I suppose?” Xander asked. “Or did you never wonder why you were so much stronger and faster than other people? You can snap a neck easy with one hand or can slash a throat with a knife from twenty feet away. Weapons come naturally to you without any training. Ever wonder why?” Alice shook her head and shrugged as if she expected him to answer his own question. “You’re a Slayer, Alice. The one girl in all the world built better and stronger to save it.”
“That’s a lot of bullshit,” Alice said, throwing back a shot.
“Then why doesn’t the T-Virus affect you even after you’ve been bit many times?”
“Something in the blood I guess.”
“It’s a bit more than that,” the Watcher replied. “I’m talking to you from the past. That’s not a euphemism for a hologram, I’m actually in the past for you. When we took over the Watcher’s Council, we found a vault of prophesies that told of the future in many ways. Now, all of these prophesies were true, although some were only statements of what we would have for breakfast on the third day of the fifth month in the two-thousandth year.”
“But then we found one about you,” Xander said. He motioned around as if to encompass the whole area. “We built this for you. In this complex is a food dispenser with whatever you want. Fresh water pumped in from deep underground and plenty of reading.”
“Why are you doing this?”
The insubstantial form of Xander Harris looked at her with very sad eyes.
“Because no one should ever have to save the world alone.”