Vice: The other night I saw a weird amorphous shape moving on the ground just in front of my apartment door. It was dark and I was returning home from a late-night caffeine run and couldn't see very well over the reddish glare of a street lamp that cuts the shadowy façade of my building in two.
Now expecting an encounter with whatever the hell I was looking at, two thoughts ran through my head simultaneously: it was too big to be a cat, and it must be some mutated horror infected by the T-Virus. When it turned to face me, I met the beady gaze of a possum (next thought: hope it's not rabid). Not exactly the Umbrella-engineered biohazard I'd assumed, but that's what gorging on nothing but Resident Evil for weeks on end does to your brain.