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Post by Admin on May 16, 2012 20:36:53 GMT -5
Your surroundings swim into focus as you awaken. The first thing you notice is the tiger looming over you. The second thing is that the animal is made of stone, and no threat. Its eyes are hollow, the correct size to hold the stones that are resting in your hands. When you examine them, you find yourself clutching a blue and red gem, clearly cut for just that purpose.
The door is almost certainly locked, and probably reinforced against your superior strength. Whoever devised this puzzle clearly went to great lengths to ensure that you weren’t escaping without answering this particular riddle.
Attached to the statue is a card that reads: “Acknowledge your true heritage.”
The jewels, the eyes, resting in your hands hold the answer. But which answer is expected of you? And which answer are you going to choose?
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R.E.S.
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Post by R.E.S. on May 18, 2012 14:43:59 GMT -5
The drowsy and anesthetized sensation swimming in his veins, and slowness with-which his body responded to his commands, both told him that he had been drugged. There was simply no other explanation for his lethargic condition, nor the gap in his memory to explain how he had gotten there.
Deadened and benumbed were not normal sensations for him. They hadn’t been for years. And that was certainly concerning.
Cayden sat up slowly. His strange new environment aside, and the stone tiger bust acknowledged as thus – simply a bust, the first thing that Cayden noticed was the sharpness and clarity with which the world came into view. He wasn’t wearing his contacts.
Lenses had never been made for eyes as powerful as his; everything was always slightly fogged over when he wore them, as though he were standing behind a pane of glass. At times his contacts really annoyed him, because the lenses were so distracting, but frankly put: they were a must. He needed them if he was to lie low and pass for human. So the fact that they were missing disturbed him quite a deal. Especially in conjunction with the idea that he had been drugged and then brought here against his will.
Drawing his gaze around the room he quickly put together two and two: He wasn’t where he should be, someone who most certainly was not his friend had brought him here, and he had a hunch he knew who that person was. But, why?
Standing, Cayden found what might have been a clue.
“Acknowledge your true heritage.”
The little white card had nothing on the back when he flipped it over, examining the single leaf of paper. What kind of bullshit was this?
The redhead put the two gems that he held in his hand down together on the surface area in front of the tiger. He really hated puzzles, and didn’t feel like playing the other man’s games.
He was sure of it now.
In the entire world, only Wesker and Claire knew the significance that the phrase ‘true heritage’ might bare on him—and even if his “birthday” was coming up, Cayden certainly didn’t think that this was the kind of “surprise party” that his aunt would plan for him; she knew that he hated surprises, and this game really wasn’t his idea of “fun”. So that pretty much ruled her out. He noted that there was a door to his left, but it looked like reinforced steel to him, and it went all the way the wall across. Although normally that wouldn’t be a problem for him, Cayden had his suspicions that this time was a little different. A certain person wouldn’t bother locking him in here if that weren’t the case.
Cayden tried the handle, just to be sure, and found exactly what he had suspected: It was locked. His next move probably wasn’t all that brilliant, but he figured that he had to give it a go. Backing all the way up into the corner of the rather small room, he rushed at the door and threw all of his weight into it, snarling and gnashing his teeth when the metal refused to give and he was thrown back onto the ground for all of his effort. Again, what he had suspected, but that didn’t take away the ringing in his shoulder. Fuck. What was the door made of anyhow?
Pacing irritably Cayden, perhaps ironically, felt much like a listless tiger being kept in too small a cage. He wanted out. Not knowing where he was, why he was here, or if Claire was anywhere within the vicinity—not knowing if she was ALRIGHT—that made him nervous and angry.
He thought about trying one of the other walls, the floor, or even the ceiling (which he could reach quite easily), but after throwing all of his super-human muscle into the door only to wind up temporarily ruining his shoulder, he was a little weary about doing the same thing a second time. Stopping at the wall on the right, Cayden kicked at the plaster and paint until it crumbled away, revealing what he had known would be the case: that same steel sat on the other side. He traced his fingers from the hole that he had made with his boot down to the floor and after a moment or two he discovered the same thing was true about the flooring: the steel ran beneath the floorboards rather than ending with it. He was in a cage. A steel cage. A steel cage that he could not break himself free from, no matter how hard he tried. And he wasn’t getting out unless he solved the puzzle.
Prying himself away from the corner of the room, Cayden growled bitterly beneath his breath with curled lips and went back to the stupid statue in the center of the room, scowling at it furiously. The riddle itself was simple enough: a beast with claws and teeth, but no eyes. Two spherical gems, one red, one blue, perfectly suited to fit into the empty sockets where said optics should have been. ‘True heritage’. Though he had not consciously thought about Chris in years, it wasn’t as though his deep blue eyes were exactly forgettable. Claire had once had the same eyes. And Wesker… Wesker’s eyes—his own eyes—could be best summed up as ‘red’. Putting that together wasn’t the challenging part. It was the answer that he was unsure of.
Rolling the little orbs around in his palm, Cayden sat with his back against the wall opposite.
What kind of an answer was Wesker expecting? And what kind of answer was Cayden MEANT to give? Those very easily could have been two entirely different things; Wesker had used the word “Acknowledge.” …So perhaps the man expected for Cayden’s natural inclination to be to use the blue gem, when what he actually wanted was for him to use the red gem? Was that what he had meant by “acknowledge”? The thought made Cayden want to simply swallow the red gem and give the blonde the bird while he shat diamonds.
There was of an alternative, of course... Regardless of what genes said, Cayden had somehow ‘failed’ to live up to expectations and instead allied himself with the Redfields. Perhaps Wesker wanted for him to acknowledge the blood that he had chosen to follow. To admit once and for all that he could never be what it was the monster wanted for him to be—whatever THAT was.
Cayden continued to swirl the little gems around in circles, both stones rolling evenly in his hand as he proceeded to stare at the Tiger. Only, after several long minutes, Cayden realized that it wasn’t a tiger at all. The face was too narrow, and the stripes were too few. Too pale; too lightly carved. Tracing his finger over the statue’s ‘fur’, he realized that the animal in question had a mane; short and shaggy, but there. It was that hybrid animal, whatever that creature was called. A “Liger”, wasn’t that it?
A crossbreed. A chimera. An animal that could never exist in the wild. Something with two distinctly different DNA signatures; One part Tiger. One part Lion.
Cayden looked down at both of the gems inside of his hand, and it occurred to him for the first time that the answer might have been simpler than he had originally thought. He had been given two gems. One red. One blue. The creature before him, staring him in the face, was the resulting product of two similar but inherently different animals, and he had been told to acknowledge his TRUE heritage. The truth was he wasn’t a Redfield, despite his name. And he wasn’t a Wesker, despite the appearance. He was usually forced to think of himself in either one light, or the other. But that wasn’t reality. The truth of it was, he was both.
Cayden couldn’t be sure that it was the right answer. But it was the only answer that he could seem to bring himself to agree upon. Taking one orb in each hand, he gently inserted both puzzle-pieces at the same time.
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Post by Admin on May 18, 2012 16:13:58 GMT -5
(OOC: Twinned with Claire Redfield's post.)
You insert the gems in perfect unison, feeling both unusual keys meet their locks at once, without a single moment’s difference. Something moves behind the statue’s snarling features, some mechanism unlocked by your actions.
The tiger statue begins to breathe a stream of green cloud into the room. The door is still locked; the tiger’s eyes are firmly affixed. There is no escape. The gas seeps into your lungs. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t even tickle your throat, but you get the feeling it won’t be healthy.
You feel your strength waning, as though your muscles are degenerating rapidly. But the gas doesn’t seem to be affecting your body. You see no damage, no corrosion, no lesions appearing on your skin. But you can feel the effect it’s having on your abilities. You’ll be lucky if you’re at even half strength after this.
A moment after the cloud dissipates, you hear the sharp snap of the door unlocking, releasing you into the rest of the mansion.
From an unseen speaker, a voice says: “I assure you that this ‘handicap’ is merely temporary. It should last no longer than a handful of days. Should you wish for a more expedient solution, however, you will find it in the laboratory. One of your fellow survivors knows its whereabouts. I believe you have already been acquainted. Though I should warn you that you are not the only one suffering from this unfortunate malady. As usual, your arrogance is most harmful to those closest to you.”
A voice you know only too well.
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Post by R.E.S. on Jun 8, 2012 5:48:16 GMT -5
When the gas began spilling into the room, Cayden immediately went to try and take the two glittering gems back out of the statue, but they had been locked firmly into place. He wasn’t getting them back.
“!!—Son of a…!” he shouted angrily. He put a hand over the tiger’s mouth and his stuffed his nose to the shoulder of his shirt in order to take in as little of the green-stuff as possible, but since the door was still sealed shut, and there was no airflow into the room in question—his cage—the inevitable was inevitable.
The red head didn’t know why he had expected anything differently. He really didn’t. Why hadn’t he just rammed himself into the door over and over again, until either eventually the door gave or he shattered every bone in his body and bled out on the floor in a crumpled, ruined mess? NOTHING good had ever come of playing one of Wesker’s little games, and nothing ever would. Even when there was no other choice, and even when you were playing by all the rules.
When he heard the locking mechanism snicker open, Cayden just about kicked the door down in his haste to be free of the room. The grimace that he wore split into a snarl when the unseen voice of his genetic forerunner chastised him for the choices that he had made.
“MY arrogance?” Cayden snapped after the voice, sincerely wanting to hit something. Since there was nothing within his immediate vicinity that seemed worthy of his wrath, he settled for flipping the bird at whatever cameras may have been watching him, holding the gesture up high in obvious rebellion.
Although he’d sounded as detached and condescending as ever, Cayden got the distinct impression that of the three choices that had been presented to him, the one that he had made had not been the answer that his maker had intended; it wasn’t ‘disappointment’ that lined Wesker’s voice, but Cayden didn’t know what else to call it. A miscalculation, perhaps? A nonfulfillment of expectations? Whatever it was, it obviously left his progenitor laughing on the wrong side of his mouth. All the more reason for him to flip the fucker off; act like Chris, defy him. Wesker could eat cock.
It was the last line that caused him concern, however; “As usual, your arrogance is most harmful to those closest to you.”—CLAIRE! He’d better not have fucking touched her!!
Although his abilities were hampered, the Anti-B.O.W. gas having done its work, the red-haired Tyrant shook off the disoriented sensation and set himself to work at trying to seek her out. It had been a while since he’d been anything but a demigod, an entire lifetime actually, but he had once been able to go at this completely blind. Half his powers were better than no powers at all, and even at half his strength he held an advantage. Assuming Wesker wasn’t lying about the affects wearing off within a few days, he was confident that he could—that he and Claire WOULD—make it out of this alive.
Although faint, he could sense the distinct trace of T-Veronica, waves of it emitting like vibrations throughout his body, when he made himself sensitive to it. Veronica felt different than T: hot, pulsating, corrosive, like liquid fire, the magma flowing through her veins. He had only encountered one or two others with T-Veronica, and thus the likelihood that it was anyone other than Claire Redfield, his precious aunt, was exceedingly low. Without paying heed to anything else, Cayden stabled himself, pushed off of the wall (which he had been leaning against unconsciously), and ran to her. She was close by, she had to be.
He took the short corridor and forked an immediate right, taking the door on the left at the end of the long hallway. The hallway that he had entered formed a “C” shape and there he found her, when he rounded the bend, slumped to the ground, looking as miserable and as broken as he had seen her in years.
“Claire.”
He dropped to his knees immediately in front of her, cupping her chin gently as he forced her to look at him. No obvious wounds or lacerations. No injuries to be had. No indications that she was ill—beyond what was already wrong with her.
“Aunt Claire, are you alright?”
Cayden brushed his hands through her long red hair, tucking it behind her ears gently, obsessively, making it look neat. It was his charge to look after her, after all. He ran his hands across her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. Her lips. And he set his forehead to hers, cradling her. Whole. She was whole and finally he found himself calmed, the animal inside of him soothed by the knowledge that she was safe in his arms. He pressed his lips to her brow, just below her hairline and then stood, drawing her to her feet.
“We have to go now. Come on. Let’s get moving.”
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Post by evios on Jun 8, 2012 20:10:21 GMT -5
Someone was heading her way, Claire could tell, for a brief moment her hand clutched the gun to her side, but immediately released it when she realized who it was. Cayden. She didn't have time to appreciate the fact he was alive and with her again when he grabbed her face in order to force her to look at him.
No, don't look at him. Don't look at him. Not yet.
Claire's mind cried out, she couldn't bare to look at him right now, not after hearing that voice. The one that shares so many features of her dear nephew. To look at Cayden's face would mean seeing the face of Wesker. She couldn't bare that, she kept her eyes averted. Even when he did what he could to comfort her, but being pulled to her feet did create a response. She put her hand on Cayden's shoulder and nodded. They had to get out of here.
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Post by R.E.S. on Jun 15, 2012 10:02:50 GMT -5
When she stood, Cayden took absent note of the gun that Claire clutched protectively within her palm. He was curious as to where she got it, but asking her wasn’t likely to produce an answer. Not when she was in this kind of a state, anyway. She might answer him later, if he asked her about it, but now was not the time.
“Do you want me to hold that for you?” Cayden asked. Claire was better with the Browning—it was her weapon of choice, now that he thought about it—but he was used to being their strong-arm by now, and that meant carrying any immediate baggage. She didn’t have anywhere that she could stash the weapon on her immediate person, except perhaps her back pockets, and his shoulder-holster was much too big to give to her. That aside, there was also the slightly troubling matter of that deadpan look in her eyes... not that Cayden thought she’d try anything funny now that he was here beside her, but there was a part of him that thought he’d feel safer if she gave him the weapon just the same.
Of course, she wasn’t quite so super-human as he was; he still had enough physical power to move a bus. …Well, probably. So he understood when she shook her head in a vehement ‘no’.
Still clasping at the things that made them human, that was he and Claire.
Well, it didn’t faze him either way. He didn’t want her creating sparks anyway, when and where that could be avoided. And for more reasons than just the obvious; it was true that he lit up like he was made of fucking sagebrush whenever flame met with his skin. The pain that came with was excruciating, fire was difficult to put out, and it always took him what felt like forever to heal over—and that was when his regenerative abilities were at their peak. They weren’t right now, but he imagined that his body’s composition was unchanged and that made her powers even more dangerous for him than ever before. But secondly, they were inside of a house. Dry wood and dust meant the place would fucking BURN if she just started lighting shit on fire. He’d have to keep her calm if he didn’t want their surroundings to go up in ashes. Thirdly, and possibly most importantly; Claire’s fire powers were fueled by her blood. Blood didn’t make for the best kind of munition. He could carry her if she fainted, but He didn’t want her overdoing herself. That would just put them both in jeopardy. Especially her. And when he thought about losing her… Cayden shook the notion from his mind and grit his teeth. That wasn’t an option.
“If you get tired, you let me know.”
Cayden wasn’t blind, ignorant, or stupid. The fact that she had avoided making actual eye contact with him clued him into the idea that she had been thinking about Wesker. She always had a hard time looking at him when recounting the past. He couldn’t blame her. It occurred to him that she must have overheard their most hated enemy over the loudspeakers in the hallway back, and not for the first time, Cayden very seriously considered reconstruction his own face just so that she wouldn’t have to see the devil himself every time that she looked at him.
“Let’s go this way.” Cayden stated, moving towards the stairs in the narrow corridor.
Funny place for them too, right in the middle of the hall like that; the bottom stairs met with the right-hand wall of whatever floor they were on, but the top of the stairs opened into the mouth of yet another hallway, at least from what he could tell. He didn’t like the exposed feeling that there was an unknown area immediately above them—were they above ground now, or below ground? There was no way that he could tell—but mounting a defense was always easier from above. Going up was clearly the best course of action, and for that reason he decided to ignore the door to the left of the rather confined passageway and instead began ascending the staircase. He was simply interested in getting he and Claire out of this place, and if not then at the very least he wanted to get a good feel for the layout of wherever it was that they were. The disquieted groaning from above in conjunction with the distant traces of T that he was picking up (now that he was paying attention) both lent to the idea that they were not alone in the crooked corridor. Plus there was always the smell, but Cayden had gotten used to that years ago…
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Post by evios on Jun 15, 2012 21:56:58 GMT -5
She was grateful for having Cayden around, her nephew expected things from her. Never demanding for her to speak, knowing exactly why she won't look at him sometimes. Cayden was always so protective of Claire, always so supportive, but Claire didn't want to rest, she wanted out of this place, she wanted to get away from Wesker. As they climbed up the steps Claire scraped her chew nail stubs up the railing. Most of the time she felt like those monsters they hear groaning. Like she was one of them. There was only one zombie towards the left, blocking their way.
Claire raised her gun but Cayden was quick to handle it, as he always was, so her arm slumped back down. They took the first door on the left, it was opened. Stepping in after her nephew, Claire eyed the mounted animals on the wall. A tiger and a moose. It brought back memories of her time in the police station in Raccoon City, confronting the chief. She leaned against the now closed door. Raccoon City was where she had met Leon in the first place. She gripped her gun tighter, her eyes fixated on the floor. Leon, and Sherry. Wesker took both of them in one way or another. He was still around. Still tormenting her. He was somewhere in this mansion and there was a possibility of running into him
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Post by R.E.S. on Jun 23, 2012 12:49:23 GMT -5
Before Claire could use the 9mm semi-automatic, Cayden brought the heel of his boot against the carrier’s jaw in a whirl of a round-house kick, the Zombie’s head and brain matter spattering against the mansion’s walls like liquid putty or a bucket of snot. Well, at least he was still useful for this much.
“Don’t waste the ammunition if you don’t need to.” Cayden said softly before putting his arm around the small of his aunt’s back and urging her to go left. There were two carriers to the right, around the bend of staircase railing, so they’d take this way for now, while the bloated and gangrenous still-standing corpses were preoccupied with staring at the white stucco walls and ugly brown-wood doors with their dead, unblinking gazes. He wasn’t afraid to tangle with them, per say, but combat got iffy in tiny and confined spaces. It was just easier to go the other way around them for now. They could always turn around later if they found themselves headed for a dead end.
Cayden tried his hand at the door on the immediate left-hand side of the hallway that they had taken, which turned out to open up into a well-lit trophy room with three stuffed animals mounted on display; a tiger, a moose, and an eagle. What an eclectic assortment of beasts and—ENOUGH WITH THE FUCKING TIGERS!! Cayden scowled at the striped animal glaring back at him, its fangs bared. He wrinkled his nose, debating on showing his. Claire sank down against the door and Cayden moved further into the room to get a better look around. Well it wasn’t an exit, but—as he walked across the plush textile rug and up to the coffee table in the middle of the floor (to perhaps steal a glance at whatever books and memos were lying out open on the hardwood tabletop), the lightly-dusted eagle display shifted to follow him in a whirring of what sounded like stone gears grinding against ore. A displeased shudder worked its way down Cayden’s spine at the immensely unpleasant sound. He really hated anything that could be classified as “noise” anyway, but that persistent milling of crag on crag was pretty damn irritating, and it only seemed to stop moving when he did. Did the damn eagle have a camera inside of it? Well, fuck that.
The idea of being spied on in such a most-obvious manner annoyed the red-headed male. He narrowed his hellfire eyes at the bird and walked the room across until he was directly below the moose bust only to hear whatever mechanism it was driving the eagle to click into place and lock up. What the—? Cayden went to move away and heard the eagle unlock itself from its fixed position as a result. Strange. So then maybe it wasn’t a camera, just motion sensitive. But he didn’t know what that was supposed to mean.
Cayden never had been one for the puzzle-solving. His patience simply ran too thin too quickly. But it seemed like wherever they were, they were surrounded by puzzles, and Cayden was just going to have to learn to deal with it.
Studying the eagle that was staring at him for several long moments, he eventually shifted his gaze to the taxidermy tiger from across the room, and even at a mere glance his eyes picked it up just the same: his tiger had one yellow eye (that was made of either plastic or glass), and one round, hollow, empty socket where the other eye should have been. Cayden could only suppress an internal groan. So what was the ‘reward’ to be this time?—the other half of his powers taken away from him, perhaps? Poison gas, maybe? Or a compartment full of snakes? While the other two notions failed to produce a reaction inside of him, that last sarcastic quip really did cause Cayden to shiver, the idea making the hairs on the back of his neck bristle and stand on end. No, not fucking snakes. He’d take anything but that.
It occurred to Cayden to look at the moose bust above him as well, but from where he was positioned all he could see were black pits of long cast shadows. Still, his eyes were keener than that of a human, and he thought that he saw the glint of something. Pushing the dresser in front of him with minimal effort, Cayden got on top of the makeshift stepping platform in order to look the animal over.
Unlike the tiger it had two eyes, one plastic and brown, the other a glittering yellow gemstone. Ha. He went to take the stone out only to find it locked as firmly into place as when he’d set the eyes into the stone tiger bust. Well that wouldn’t do.
Hopping back off of the dresser, Cayden went over to the preserved tiger on display and noticed none-too-absently that it also had a chest-high dresser for just this purpose: The dressers were empty, which in and of itself should have been strange; the rest of the room was lavishly decorated and stuffed with all sorts of crap that he didn’t really give a damn about. The dressers being empty meant that any human being could push them with little to no difficulty, so for him they weren’t even a challenge. Perhaps he and Claire weren’t so alone with the undead and with Wesker as he had originally thought...
When Cayden neared the tiger, the eagle followed him and again locked itself into position. Ah. He thought that he understood now. Inspecting the empty hole where the tiger’s eye was meant to go, he saw little metal clamps which would both keep him from putting the gem in or taking it out. So that was what the locking mechanism was for: as long as the eagle was locked into place with its fixed gaze, the clamps on both halves of the room were locked into place as well, while so long as long as it was shifting from one position into the other, they were fair game. Cayden could have easily done the puzzle by himself; super speed meant that it was a synch. But Claire seemed so dismal on the floor that he felt as though that he should give her a job to do. Redfields always functioned best when they had a task assigned to them, and right now she didn’t have anything to keep her going.
“Hey, Aunt Claire. Come here for a moment, alright?” Cayden asked.
When Claire was at his side, the younger man grabbed her by her wrist and helped to pull her up onto the dresser alongside him. At her confused expression, Cayden quickly explained his logic in the best way he knew how;
“Don’t ask what I’m doing; I don’t know. I just want to try something. I’m going to take the eye out of the other dead thing and throw it over to you. Put it into the tiger before the eagle locks into place. Who knows, we might actually get something good. For once.”
With that Cayden hopped over off of the wooden dresser for a second time only to dash across the room and climb up onto the other one. The eagle followed him much too slowly as he popped the gem stone out of the moose and tossed it across the room and over to Claire. When she caught it, the stuffed eagle on display seemed confused about the direction that it should be looking and turned to start following her instead now that Cayden had stopped moving.
When Claire inserted the yellow gem into the taxidermy tiger mount, a hidden compartment in the wall (next to the light switch) opened itself up in order to reveal a goodie that had the pallid and pale young man, so much like his maker, smirking dangerously. A sub-machine gun. Oh, he would be taking THAT.
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Post by evios on Jun 23, 2012 22:24:46 GMT -5
Claire watched the eagle lock onto Cayden's movements, she didn't expect to be suddenly pulled up on to the desk to assist in doing the puzzle. She didn't get a chance to mention that it could have been a trap, since it didn't cross her mind until after her nephew was staring down at a SMG. Hopping off of the desk, Claire turned towards the door. They would have to go out to the previous corridor, the room they were in lead to no where and was just a distraction.
Well, Claire figured that at least Cayden was happy with his new weapon. But now where they going to go. If they had a map of the place, it would make things so much more easier, they would be able to find the exit. There was still a door to left, and to the right around the staircase rails, two doors. Claire didn't think too much about going down the stairs again, it probably wouldn't prove to be too fruitful.
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Post by R.E.S. on Jun 26, 2012 13:48:40 GMT -5
Cayden looked the weapon over; Ruger MP9. Folding stock, 32 rounds per box magazine. American gun. Compact, lightweight. Very dependable; it would be easy to get a one shot or two shot burst with a weapon like this. Cayden thought that he could probably write his name with this gun. The MP9 was also made in very limited numbers. To be handed one in working order was purely insane, in their day and age. He emptied the chamber and then popped the magazine out of the automatic carbine before trying a dry fire. Smooth as silk. Incredible.
Then he took stock of his ammunition; no use getting excited if he could find any 9x19 parabellum rounds. There was only the one full clip. Not nearly enough for his tastes, so he’d have to hold onto it until a situation where using the weapon was necessary. He’d keep his eyes peeled for any other magazines that might have been lying about. If the weapon was here, a glittering piece of candy for such a simple puzzle, then he imagined that there was ammunition about too. He just had to look for it.
Cayden wrapped an arm around his aunt’s hip, sidling her up next to him as he stared at the newly-acquired arm fondly, sneering a lop-sided and toothy grin.
“Well, I’ve got the weapon and I’ve got the girl, so I think it’s about time that I go and kick a certain fucker’s teeth in.” he half cackled, entirely too pleased with himself.
When he released her, Cayden put his weapon away, holstering it beneath his left arm. He was ambidextrous, but favored his right.
Practically whistling to himself, Cayden went to the door to press on but paused as he reached out for the handle. It struck him now that Claire still didn’t know that he had lost some of his powers. It was important to him to tell her, so that she knew in case things got bad. Well, no time like the present to ruin the good mood.
“Hey, Aunt Claire. I know you overheard the hallway back. But I’m not sure exactly what you heard: I got sprayed by some kind of gas. Must have been a kind of toxin that is affecting my T-cells. I’m only at half of my usual power right now. I’ll do my best, and I should be able to handle it, but I’m sorry if I can’t protect you like usual.”
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Post by evios on Jun 26, 2012 20:21:14 GMT -5
Cayden's enthusiasm reminded Claire of Chris, it was certainly relatable within good reason. Her eyes darted around to still figure out where they should go, it's been some time since she's been in a situation like this. Her attention was suddenly pulled by her nephew speaking to her. Yes, she had heard the voice but not the words. So she was right in her suspicions.
"Anti-B.O.W gas. Encountered it in the Antarctica facility," Claire finally spoke since the time she was put in this God forsaken place. "I breathed it in, too." It was funny, another way to show her that she wasn't normal, to be affected by a toxin to disable monsters. She scoffed and ran a hand through her hair. "What else did HE say to you, Cayden?
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Post by R.E.S. on Jun 28, 2012 11:21:53 GMT -5
Cayden came back over to where Claire was and twinned his fingers in her hair. It was good to hear her voice. Some days he wondered when she might lose her ability to speak to him forever.
"That's not important." he said – voice level, almost a growl. Despite the subtle display of intimacy, there was a firmness to his tone that wiped away any semblance of affection. It was a tone which made him sound entirely too much like the man who had brought them here, a man that either one of them refused to acknowledge by name, when and where they could avoid it; the man who had single-handedly stolen anything good from the world.
Quickly, Cayden recanted. He didn’t like using that voice as much as Claire didn’t like hearing it, but that particular lilt always seemed to emerge whenever he was trying to protect her from something. Ironic.
“…he said something about this being temporary—the ‘anti-B.O.W.’ gas bit hampering our abilities, I mean. Apparently it should wear off in a couple of days, if anything from that fucker’s mouth can be trusted. It’s no permanent solution for you, however, and it obviously hasn’t made us human again.”
Cayden was well aware of his aunt’s internal struggle with herself over the ‘monster’ that she had become, but there was no way for them to unmake themselves; the fact of the matter was, in as much as they were alive, they were both dead. Dammed, Claire had called it once. Cayden couldn’t say that he rightly agreed, but her feelings over the matter weren’t exactly to be ignored either. Ignoring her feelings would only serve to push Claire further away from him, and for that reason he was tentative of them – or as tentative of them as he knew how to be, at any rate. Regardless, they could both could use their powers right about now. Even if his Aunt's fire-starting abilities weren’t useful at this moment, they probably would be sometime before the night was through.
“If we wanted, he also said that we could find a ‘more expedient’ solution in the laboratory, but again; that’s assuming that anything he says is to be believed,” Cayden scoffed at that bit, biting the words off there. The idea was simply too absurd.
“I think we’re better off on our own.”
He paused as though to recall if there was anything else important enough to make note of but he thought that he’d covered all of it: they were stuck in a lavish, strange new environment with less (or none) of their usual powers; The condition would wear off in time, but not in enough time to be of aid to them here and now; the alternative wasn’t really much of an alternative; And oh, yeah—
“Don’t think we’re alone in this place either. The only other important thing that he said was that 'one of' the other survivors would know where the labs are, and this puzzle wasn’t exactly made with my strength or intelligence in mind: anyone could have solved it. So I’m starting to think that this has less to do with the two of us as it has to do with keeping that cock entertained. In other words: we’re just smaller parts of a much bigger game.”
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Post by evios on Jun 28, 2012 21:52:01 GMT -5
Claire shifted her gaze to her hands. No, her nephew was right, it wasn't a solution for her, temporary or otherwise. She still looked like a monster, she was just a powerless one. Then there was Cayden, his abilities that matched the one that trapped them here. If he was weaken by the gas, could he be hurt? A possibility Claire didn't want to find out. She turned her head to her nephew's direction.
"Not alone?" That bothered Claire for more than one reason. If there were other people trapped in the mansion they were being played with as well. They could be hostile. They could shoot first and ask questions later. She moved away from Cayden and placed a hand on a dusty piece of furniture. "The puzzles were probably here when this place was first built. Every thing here is old, even the banister by the stairs felt weak." She mumbled out. Really, she was surprised the dressers didn't break under them when they had climbed up on them.
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R.E.S.
Full Member
Made In Heaven
A Hero's Not Afraid To Give His Life
Posts: 133
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Post by R.E.S. on Aug 10, 2012 21:54:00 GMT -5
Cayden shook his head. He agreed with most of what Claire had to say, but… then there were other things about the situation that still didn’t sit right. To assume every puzzle in the house was a snare devised entirely for their undoing might have sounded asinine and paranoid to the average man, but he’d been through this routine enough times to know that NOTHING was too far-fetched to imagine; anything was possible when it came to one of Wesker’s little games.
“Yeah, most of the puzzles have probably been here since whenever this place was built, but I know for a fact that at least one of them was made just for me.” Cayden said frankly, and he wasn’t budging on that one, “Or if it wasn’t, then it sure as hell could have fooled me.”
The red-head snorted, looking displeased.
“And I said that I don’t think that we’re alone here because he said so himself; his exact words were ‘one of your fellow survivors’ knows the whereabouts to the labs, if I recall correctly. ONE of. That means multiple.”
Cayden crossed his arms as he thought about it, frowning. Like Claire, he had a distinct dislike of the idea that there were other people here. If there were other people stuck in this place along with them, then it would only intensify all of the risks and dangers of the situation: Were the other survivors civilian? If so, would they be any use in a fight, or would they just drag them down? What if they were weren’t so friendly, panicked and scared? What if their reaction was hostile? Would they turn against them? Would they try to kill him?—Threaten Claire?
Without his contacts, neither one of them were exactly passable for “human”. But they couldn’t turn their backs on any other men or women who might have been stuck here either. Cayden wasn’t that man anymore: he wouldn’t allow himself to be. He never wanted to abandon someone who needed his help. Not ever again. But this was all getting too complicated for his tastes; between not knowing where they were, if they truly were alone, and who it could be that they were already supposed to know, Cayden was at a total loss. It made the Tyrant feel irritated and played with.
Sighing he shook his head once again. They’d just have to cross with that bridge when they came to it.
Another pressing matter at the forefront of his mind was how they had even gotten here: He was slowly beginning to recall the events of his capture in finer detail, the more important elements sticking out to him through the thick haze. Like demolishing an entire UBCS dispatch unit. And being tagged. But he recalled absolutely NOTHING after being knocked out. That only confirmed to him that the drugged sensation he’d felt when he’d first come-to must have been the after-effects of whatever drug they’d used to keep him sedated.
“What happened before I found you in the hall anyway?—last thing I remember is taking down a seeker model only to get the butt of a gun to my face. Then next thing I know I’m here, with this intricate little puzzle about my ‘heritage’ and a blue and a red gem. Answering wrong’s what cost me—cost us—our powers. But after that the doors were unlocked. I stumbled around for a few halls, and that’s about the time I found you.”
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Post by evios on Aug 11, 2012 18:50:44 GMT -5
Claire knew that Wesker was a liar when there was something to gain, but the truth came from him easily when he knew it would cause problems for others. She leaned against the wall and rubbed at her head causing her hair to become more of a total disarray.
"I don't remember much, except my vision going blurry. It must have been when I lost consciousness." She droned out lazily as she crossed her arms, bringing her hands over her biceps and rubbed slowly. Without the burning sensation of her blood, she was starting to feel cold.
"When I woke up, all I got was a gun and a journal. There were no messages for me." It wasn't surprising really, Wesker didn't exactly give Claire much credit herself. His hatred was always for her brother. He'd hurt her to get to Chris, usually.
"If answering wrong cost us our powers. Then what would have answering correctly get you, I wonder." Claire mused out softly. With Wesker at the wheel anything was possible. The right answer could have been a worse event. Corruption. Temptation of power. Being made into a slave. Most of the time with Wesker, if you lose, you lose hard, if you win, you still lose.
"It would be risky to meet up with our fellow survivors." She might be a mere shadow of her former, but she was still a Redfield. Hiding away like a sewer rat wasn't the Redfield way. "We'll keep alert, Cayden." Her hand cradled the Browning, before tightening her grip.
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