❝𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.❞
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Laura Rose was trying to live her life like any teenager her age, or at least she was attempting to. Going to school...
Oh my gosh! 😱💗😱 Ah!!! *Screams like a hardcore fangirl* Excuse my excessive fangirling, but I just saw the official E3 trailer for the Resident Evil 2 Remake 💓 *Screams out loud again*
It looks absolutely amazing, with the graphics and everything!!! ❤️ So bloody, so gory... 💉 I love it already! And hot damn! Leon looks so young, practically a fricking baby! 👶 Yet so sexy at the same time. . . 😍
Here's the official E3 trailer in case you wanna watch it too. ☝🏻
Also, now that it's officially summer break, I will have more time on my hands to do write and hopefully publish more chapters as often as I can. Still, I want to thank everyone for their time and patience with me. It means a lot to me. 😊
Don't forget to comment & like!
Peace out peeps! ✌🏻
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Chris's POV
"What in the hell happened!?" I questioned Dr. Rodriquez with an agitated tone of voice, as she came of Laura's room with the rest of the medical staff.
She halted in front of me, redirecting he gaze up at me. "Due to her low blood pressure and her high heart rate; a deadly combo may I add, Laura crashed. We could've lost her for good this time, but we were fortunate enough to resuscitate her and stabilize her vitals once again. At this rate, if Laura doesn't get a blood transfusion here soon, we won't be able to bring her back the next time she goes into cardiac arrest," Dr. Rodriquez informed me, tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear. "Did you manage to get into contact with the donor?"
"Yes, he's currently on his way here as we speak."
"How long until he gets here?" Isabelle inquired.
"He'll be here around noon, so it'll be about another two and a half hours before his girlfriend and him arrive," I answered.
"Alright then." The pager in Dr. Rodriquez's coat pocket abruptly went off again. Resonating throughout the porcelain-colored hallway. She reached her hand into her pocket—taking out the device and turning it off. "Well I gotta go." Isabelle placed the pager back in her coat pocket. "Let me know as soon as he gets here." She turned around, walking down the interminable hallway. Away from us.
As she was doing so, an Indian man treaded over towards our way, approaching us. He appeared to be around his late thirties, dressed in a clean, black business suit and shoes, with his ID card clipped onto the pocket of his blazer, carrying a clipboard in his hands. He was sporting a pair of Times New Roman glasses. His short, black hair was combed neatly to the side. Augmenting his business-like semblance.
