The rain was was warm on her shoulders, a welcome occurrence after so long in a place without a sky.

Chell shut her eyes, tilted her head back, and imagined all the dirt and grime and gel residue that had accumulated on her clothes and person all washing away, left behind to be (hopefully) forgotten on the streets of the city.

She still wore her boots and jumpsuit, now tattered and scuffed from the road, as she hadn't been able to procure suitable replacements. She had no money, no identification, and people were (understandably, if inconveniently) leery of the stranger with the spring-heeled boots. It didn't help that orange was a prison colour, though the dirt and tears probably screamed "homeless" (which, she supposed, she was, at least until she could reconnect with someone—anyone she knew, or who knew her, perhaps a friend or relative).

Her pace was slow, no destination in mind, at least for the moment. She took the time to observe her surroundings, though a part of her—long-buried but undeniably present, perhaps from her forgotten childhood—knew she should have been more wary of walking alone through an urban neighbourhood at night.

Too late she noticed the footsteps, heavy and deliberate, felt an arm around her neck and something cold in her back.

A gun, her brain supplied.

"Alright, you know the drill…" Said a male voice, mockingly, and she stumbled backward as its owner maneuvered her into an alleyway.

"I don't have anything." It was the truth—and the first time she'd truly spoken to another human being since her escape, though she'd encountered many on her hike from the upper peninsula. Most of them had ignored her, or regarded her with apprehension, even annoyance as she'd tried to flag someone—anyone down on the road.

Her captor scoffed and let out a laugh. "Oh, you wanna do this the hard way? Huh?!" The gun jabbed harder as the volume and pitch of his voice went up. Ice cold panic rushed through Chell's veins. Her limbs were unresponsive, as if someone else had wrestled away control of her mainframe, and she felt like a spectator in her own body. She'd gotten the best of a homicidal supercomputer! Why would she suddenly freeze up now?!

"Please, I-I really don't have anything. I—"

She was on the ground, stunned, when out of nowhere a loud whoop-whoop drew an expletive from her assailant, who scrambled away into the night. Two car doors slammed, and a second voice yelled, "Stop! Detroit Police!"

Chell blacked out.