Damen
Junior Member
Dark Sex God
Posts: 99
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Post by Damen on Sept 23, 2012 3:52:32 GMT -5
Deciding the redhead was either socially inept, off her rocker, didn't care about social graces or some interesting combination of the three, Kyle decided the best course of action was to simply ignore her. He propped Jezza against the far wall and made sure she wouldn't topple over before turning around to face the room he just exited. He blinked and then looked down at the Tyrant to find it crushed beneath a stone block that must have weighed a few metric tons. The monster wasn't going to be going anywhere any time soon. The mercenary put his fist to his mouth, partly in consideration and partly to block some of the dust that had been kicked up with the stone's movement as he took a few moments to study the monster.
'Hmm. A tyrant sandwich.'
Staying in a crouch, he moved closer to the doorway and peered closer at the monster's face, noticing a few subtle differences from the models that were in common usage when he left the company. He still had a lot of contacts within the UBCS, none of which would be linked back to him so they weren't at risk of company reprisal. He mostly wanted to be able to stay up to date on Umbrella's latest horrors and keep well informed on what he was likely to face on a job and so he was up to date on a wealth of Umbrella's prototype Tyrants. But while the monster before him was somewhat familiar, there were enough differences to make him think this was a brand new model that was likely still in the initial development stage.
"I think our problems just got worse," he muttered, just loud enough for the others, "I've never seen this type of Tyrant before. Looks brand new to me. Which means any information I have will only give us a rough outline of what we're dealing with."
He looked around at each one of the others in the group with a faint frown. The mercenary didn't feel it was required of him to state the other thought drifting through his mind. The knowledge that they were likely being used as a preliminary test case for some new monsters.
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Post by Queen of Cunts on Sept 23, 2012 7:14:30 GMT -5
Shak smiled softly. It was nice to see John not looking quite so tense. He was always such a worry wart. The intestines hadn’t been so much the point of her gift as a break in the stress that was currently keeping everyone on their toes. She could understand though. They had Titch. Somewhere, someone was holding the weenie’s adoptive daughter hostage, and that was enough to make anyone a little less than chipper.
She cocked her head as she peered down at the trapped Tyrant. “Yeah, we need to get its head off,” she said, “I need some piano wire. Think there might be a piano in here somewhere? This looks like the kind of bumboy place that would have one of those.”
She looked at it, how it struggled, and thought back to its grand, dramatic entrance. It had clearly been after Burke and John. And considering that whoever was running this show had taken John’s daughter, that suggested a quite obvious explanation.
“I think it’s after John,” she said, “the good news is, most of you are probably fine, so long as you don’t get in its way. Obviously, we need to get John out of here.”
She contemplated the situation for a few moments, then reached what she thought was a palatable solution. For her, at least.
“Okay, fuckers. Vagina’s definitely slowing us down, so we need to find somewhere to put her and leave her while we sort this shit out. Normally, splitting up’s about as stupid as letting Umbrella run the world. But they’ve got John’s kid, and if it was any of you, you’d all be the first to suggest leaving her behind. Except you John, annoyingly, since you’re going to invalidate my whole argument. Cunt.”
She looked somewhat regretful, or about as regretful as someone could look with a huge grin plastered across her face.
“You. Scum. You’re probably right. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m going to kill the shit out of it anyway. And if it’s brand new that just means it costs more. Win for Shak.”
She turned her grin on Sad-Sack.
“And you. If you’ve been here before, is there anywhere that’s safe. Anywhere we can pick up supplies? Or a piano?”
The problem with their dynamic was that they hadn’t yet managed to form a cohesive group. And the human element was usually the most destructive. She trusted Burke, but she didn’t trust the other ex-Scum. They might both have worked for the company, maybe even the same branch of it, but there was a difference between a man who went into business for himself and one who fought the good fight. And there was definitely something wrong with the Vagina.
Still, she wasn’t going to fuck it, so it didn’t make too much difference to her.
And John trusted Sad-Sack. It even looked like they’d met before. So maybe she could give him the benefit of the doubt. But there was something wrong with him too, and she couldn’t put her finger on it yet.
Best case scenario, they left ex-Scum and Vagina behind, and she kept Sad-Sack out in front where she could keep an eye on him. And hopefully then she could concentrate on enjoying the fighting.
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Post by Admin on Nov 18, 2012 15:16:22 GMT -5
In the interest of keeping things running smoothly, we'll pass the turn over to sexystrife and John Wesker, to see if we can't bring life back to this RP.
Your turn, Rose.
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Post by sexystrife on Nov 21, 2012 17:07:38 GMT -5
((Sorry it's so short guys!))
It was a wonder they still lived with how broken and divided their group was, and insisted on being. John wrung his hands, his eyes falling to one, then the other in silent thought. John wondered if He had assembled this group for that sole purpose; simply to see living and breathing human beings rip each other apart instead of helping one another to survive, like some deranged social experiment that He undoubtedly wanted John to see. His gaze froze for a moment as he fixated upon Chris and studied his profile without a word, without movement as he sorted through a number of rushing possibilities that seemed to cloud his thoughts. As happy as he was to see Chris here—how was he here? With so much time having passed, there was really no way he could possibly be standing before him now, not without foul play of some sort.
The tyrant struggled against the descending ceiling, and caused an echoing rumble to reverberate along the smooth, tiled floor. John twisted upon his heels, brought from his thoughts with a start as his wide eyes found the door way with growing concern, just in time to hear Shak speak.
That beast--It has been following him? John’s jaw clenched at the thought, and he silently wished since the first time of his waking up in the mansion that Malice was at his side.
“I don’t think that ceiling is going to last much longer, miss Shak.”
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Post by crystalofchaos on Nov 22, 2012 21:03:06 GMT -5
Jezza relaxed as she was leaned against a wall and focused on keeping her eyes closed against the world until she was sure her eyes were beginning to recover from the damage. A soft hiss escaped her as she opened them prematurely and the stinging set in through the murky haze. It was never long lived but it was always painful to let her eyes readjust. Enough is too much.
She was getting tired of listening to everyone go on and on about everything. Strategy, tactics, what to do, who was useful. Hell, if she was anywhere familiar she might have been able to sit things out in a locked down area. Here there wasn't likely to be any such luck unless she could find a lab and get the damned humans to clear it.
Shapes swam in her vision as she dared to open her eyes again. The first face she could see swimming in and out of clarity was John's. A thought struck her a bit belatedly as his countenance imposed itself on her mind and her perception faded off to black again. "Yes, yes, we all need to get the fuck out. Splitting up is potentially suicide, staying together is a neon sign for dinner. My eyes are on vacation and all I have on hand to treat you blasted humans when you get wounded is what little Kyle managed to scrape together for me."
She shot a glare in what she hoped was someone's direction. "If you all don't mind though, I'm of the idea to do what I've always done in a situation like this. Hide. Nice little cubby hole where nobody else is looking, stay fucking silent, and stay the fuck there until something either eats me or someone intelligent pulls me out. I'm with the cunt-roll on that one, get me out of the fucking way please."
She scowled as she pushed herself away from the wall and tested her footing before stepping forward slowly, making her way around people if needed but obviously not getting very far very fast. "I'm just going to head back to the bathroom I came to in and hide in a less hook infested corner unless someone can suggest a better a hiding place."
She stopped mid step and smeared her face in her palm with a growl. "Kyle? Which way did we come from?" She was hopeless. Out of her element, abrasive, and obviously not much for playing on teams. She wasn't having an easy time of this but nobody else seemed to be either. She put a hand on the wall and turned slowly. "In all fairness I think the one who knows the layout should be the one to lead, if you humans don't know where you're going then you'll probably not make it very far." She shrugged seeming to accept the fact that she would very likely get a lot less further than them.
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Post by King of Cunts on Nov 25, 2012 17:24:22 GMT -5
Shak’s suggestion had been a sensible one, and it was good that everyone seemed on board with it. It was always so much harder to get things done when everyone had a different idea about what they wanted to do. Quite frankly, this place was still too dangerous, on average, to have a bunch of civilians traipsing around it. He and Shak were the professionals here. If they could find a safe location for the others to hole up, they could clear the place quick, get them back on track looking for an exit.
The Stalker complicated things. They’d probably have to take John with them, to keep him ahead of the damn thing, assuming it could actually get out from under the ceiling trap. He wasn’t going to want to take any chances there. Leaving John with the others might just turn them into targets.
“Listen, lady. Chances are, there isn’t anyone coming. That being the case, we are the ones who are going to get us out of here. We can’t just sit around waiting for help that’s never gonna show. Now what we need, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, is to split up. You’re obviously in no shape to go over this whole mansion, but we need to cover as much ground as quickly as possible. That being the case, I think it’d be best if you stuck with Kyle. We’ll find you a place to hole up, then start our search.”
He decided to get the ball rolling, the better to ensure they distanced themselves from the Stalker. The corridor connected to theirs was already clear. He could see at least one zombie, downed in a doorway halfway down. He didn’t want to wander too far, in case they spread themselves too thin, so he shoved open the first door he came to.
It seemed clear. No moaning, no shuffling. It was probably okay to proceed.
At the end, there was a stairway, leading up. He’d already been upstairs, and he wasn’t clear enough on the dimensions of the place to know where it would put him in relation to where he’d woken up. He knew enough about the ground floor to know that the door under the stairs was a dead end. Hopefully a closet, some kind of safe room for Kyle and the girl.
He pushed open the door, and the reek of death struck him full in the face. The zombie grabbed him by the shoulders and opened its mouth wide, aiming for his neck.
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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 Dec 1, 2012 15:32:12 GMT -5
((OOC: Sorry for keeping the game from progressing there guys; All I can say is that real life happened. But I should be back in the saddle now. Again, you have my most sincere apologies.))
“Both, actually,” Chris looked at Shak, mildly interested in what might be going through her mind. The supplies made sense, not so much the piano room. But if this death house was just as much a replica of the Spencer Mansion as he thought, there should definitely be a piano in the West Wing.
“What are you—” but before he could get the word ‘planning?’ out past his lips, he was swiftly cut off by their tall, black-haired B.O.W. friend with sharp razors for teeth, and her insistence that she was going back to the bathrooms for safety. "Taking shelter" wasn't exactly a bad idea, not for the civis, but she obviously wasn't getting the bigger picture.
Burke promptly cut her question down in response with a sentiment that he shared: Splitting up was dangerous, but it had kept Rebecca and Richard alive, leaving them in the supply room. It wasn’t until they left that they had been put in danger. ‘Safe’ rooms he had called them. Kind of ironic really, since no place was ‘safe’, only ‘safer’.
“Splitting up probably would be the best thing to do.” He nodded in agreement.
“And there are much better locations to hide than the bathroom;" nodding in Burke's direction he expressed, "Our friend here’s right. There isn’t going to be anyone to come and save us. It’s up to us to have to save ourselves. There’s a place here in the East wing where we can go and gather supplies, and leave a few people to wait it out until we’ve cleared out the halls.” Chris offered,
“The Piano Room’s in the West Wing though,” he added, almost as an afterthought as he turned his attention back to Shak.
With that Burke seemed content to lead the way, and Chris let him because he could be just as much a leader as a follower (the first came to him naturally, but he knew how to follow orders well enough), and they didn’t need any ‘Alpha Male’ bullshit bogging the group down.
When Burke tried his hand at one of the few store-rooms located around the mansion—only to be attacked by one of the undead—Chris promptly brought his newly-acquired shotgun up promptly blew the Zombies head off with a well-placed blast.
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Damen
Junior Member
Dark Sex God
Posts: 99
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Post by Damen on Dec 9, 2012 18:59:21 GMT -5
Kyle watched the others as they had their conversation, his face betraying more and more of the bewilderment he felt as they spent the last couple of minutes agreeing with each other on a course of action until he could stay silent no longer.
"Are you people bent?" he asked, a laugh of disbelief coloring his words; "Or have you been watching one too many Scooby-Doo reruns?" He paid very little attention to the struggling Tyrant just a handful of feet away from him as he talked. It wasn't a threat at the moment and until it became one he could dismiss it from his world.
Kyle continued, looking at each of them in turn: "Have none of you heard the term 'divide and conquer?' If we split up, we'll be splitting up our resources. We'll cover more ground quicker, yes, but this place is fucking crawling with monsters. This Tyrant is just the tip of the ice burg. Splitting up will mean we'll have less firepower to deal with threats and we'll also be splitting up our resources, ammo and knowledge. We don't need to clear the mansion, we need to get out all at once and we don't need to spend our time trying to track each other down once we've found our way out. And that's quite enough out of you!"
He punctuated the last exclamation, which was directed at the now growling and struggling Tyrant, by pushing his pistol forward and emptying the magazine full of hollow-point rounds right into the monster's face.
He grunted and stood up, ejecting the magazine and replacing it with a new, fully loaded one; "Being career army I've had to escort civilians out of hostile areas, and some of them were more of a load then her," he jerked his head in Jezza's general direction, "I'll get her out of here, one way or the other, but if we fall behind I won't expect anyone to wait for us. However, we won't fall behind," he turned a withering, no-nonsense look on Jezza that said quite clearly You-Will-Not-Hinder-Us-Understood? "Will we?"
He didn't wait for her to reply, fully considering the matter closed regardless of her input. Kyle turned and started following the group when he saw a zombie lunge at the large man from inside a closet. The only thought that shot through Kyle's head when he saw what was happening was that someone was in trouble and needed help. He shifted his weight over his feet and started to rush forward when there was a deafening roar from a shotgun and the zombie's head became a new and interesting shade of paint on the wall.
"Ah, you got it, then," he gave a rather anti-climactic thumbs up to the owner of the shotgun as his hearing became muted once more. He then turned to Burke and quipped; "Still think it's safe to split up?"
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Post by Queen of Cunts on Dec 13, 2012 8:19:09 GMT -5
Shak shrugged. “West wing seems a bit far just for some wire. Maybe if we’re heading in that direction anyway. But this mansion is gigantic, so let’s just see what happens. Generally best not to have a plan, since they never work.”
She followed along after Ethan, listening to Ex-Scum list all the reasons why splitting up wasn’t a good idea. She had a rebuttal already in mind, from the first moment he started talking. Contrary to what he might have thought, this wasn’t exactly her first funhouse full of monsters either.
“You ever heard the phrase “eggs in one basket”? Or maybe “don’t take unarmed and untrained civilians into dangerous situations against giant bio-weapons”? Because I think those are both pretty valid about now. Splitting up isn’t a bad idea, because we already have too many people to protect. Leaving you and Vagina behind where we can find you is better than losing you in this cunting house.”
She made a vague gesture to indicate the cunting house. Maybe she needed to make the reasoning a little more sincere before he would appreciate her intent.
“Look, Scum, I’m not exactly for the idea of leaving you behind either. I won’t get any points on my League Table if I don’t rescue you both. But there is a Tyrant, in case you hadn’t noticed, and I’m 99% sure it’s after John. Which means we need to take him, Sad-Sack knows where everything is because he’s - implausibly - done this before, and, well, just try to convince Ethan to stay behind. It’s not that I don’t like you. Well, I don’t like you either, but you’re just the most expendable members of the team, so it would be better if you stayed behind.”
She wanted to give him a pat on the back to show that she was trying to reassure him, but she couldn’t do it. He was Scum, and the Umbrella logo on his back looked like it would eat her hand if she touched it. Plus, if she was going to touch him it would be in the genital region with something sharp.
“The important thing to remember is, we all get out of here. Even the Scum, because girl pants over here will cry if you don’t.”
She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at John. He made a nice shield for when she wanted to do something nice, but didn’t want anyone to know. He was used to it by now. Ethan had sussed it out pretty quickly, but most people still thought she was a cunt. Which was grand. And accurate.
“It’s one zombie,” she said, as she came up on the mess in the doorway, “chill your tits.”
She gave Ethan a pat on the head and went into the room. Like Sad-Sack had said, it was a nice enclosed room. She started with the walls, rapping her knuckles against each side to check how strong they were. It looked like he was right. This was a pretty safe room.
“Good call, Sad Sack,” she said, shooting him a manly bro nod.
The room was full of boxes, and each one seemed to be addressed to a different person. There was one for each of them, including her, and a bunch more with names she didn’t recognise.
“Look! Presents!”
(OOC: Please check notes to find the contents of your box.)
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Post by sexystrife on Jan 6, 2013 16:38:10 GMT -5
Jonathan spared Kyle a passing glance as he moved in time with shak, trying his best now to keep at her side and avoid any more possible trouble. Something about the other man’s demeanor troubled him, perhaps it had been the hard edge to his face that had been so absent on the others he had met so far, save for the woman that seemed to eagerly claw for his presence. He wondered why it was he had been dragged into such a place—he, shak, chris and perhaps the woman he could understand, but him? Jonathan knew Albert was a petty man, using whatever reasons or means he could to ruin the lives of others—but there had always been a prior connection of some sort. Albert Wesker delighted in toying with the lives of his subordinates. Jonathan allowed a sigh to pass through him and he silently wondered what it was that Kyle had done to garner his brother’s unfortunate attention.
John quickly pulled himself from his thoughts and granted Shak a light smile, happy in the knowledge she would not strike anyone person down while within the mansion—most likely, anyway. He ghosted his fingertips along her shoulder as he moved pass her, taking care to avoid the gore left in the wake of the shambling zombie, and into the main apex of the room. A sharp chill rattled though his body as he took in the room’s quaint appearance; it looked to be an abandoned store room, adorned with the occasional forgotten gardening tool and a thin layer of dust that lined the edges of the room only made noticeable by the faint lantern light that illuminated the room. It all appeared so very innocuous and quaint, as though no one had ventured into the room for the longest time—save for the very real, and very new boxes that lay scattered evenly along the dirty floor. Another chill struck through his meager frame as he soon realized that every package bore name tags; one for every person that stood with them.
Jonathan swept his gaze along the store room floor and quickly found his eyes drawn to a package bearing his name, and without any real thought he began to reach for it. His hands shook and his breath hitched as an influx of dread flooded his entirety. He exhaled sharply; drawing a free hand to his crucifix in silent prayer then maneuvered his other hand to pull at the package’s edges.
His fingers dug into the cardboard and pulled away the flimsy covering, finally revealing the contents of the box. Jonathan pulled back with a sharp hiss, the color drained from his face and his eyes widened as the contents of his package quickly sank in. His body quaked in barely restrained horror, unable to pull away from the sight,
The box contained a ring finger daintily wrapped in tissues, still wearing a ring—what appeared to be a very familiar ring, and something else that resembled a whistle of some sort.
“A-a-….” Jonathan began, his voice barely above a whisper, “A-a finger….”
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Post by crystalofchaos on Jan 12, 2013 19:26:38 GMT -5
The shot startled Jezebel more than she would want to admit. The suddenness of the sound making her jerk in surprise before she managed to quell the urge to hide behind someone. Perhaps not having her vision could be more of a blessing than a curse. It would certainly allow her to move more freely. Then again she didn't like being unable to see danger. That was why the humans would prove useful. She would have to prove her usefulness and maybe she could even manipulate a few to work to her advantage.
Kyle was already in a position easy to manipulate but she found herself cringing a bit. He reminded her all too readily of uncomfortable things she thought she'd stuffed away long ago. Maybe it was time to burn the old garbage. She couldn't count on her mind to stay clear and objective here. This was far too strange for her and she didn't have the expertise to handle it at all.
Jezza scowled and followed the sound of Cunt-roll's voice until she found a wall nearby to lean on. She cracked her eyes open and was granted the gift of another stabbing pain as what little light available crashed into her over sensitive eyes. She tried again slowly, her eyes not wanting to cooperate but making progress nonetheless. She manged to locate the queen of cunts and pick her way over the mess to slide down yet another wall in the room.
"Please tell me this is a small room. I fucking hate open spaces." A grimace twisted her lips and a new trickle started as the cuts reopened. I wonder what she means by presents? Her elbow brushed a box and sent it toppling into her lap. With a bit of clumsiness she picked it up and ran her fingers along the edges before she chanced looking at it. Her vision cleared bit by bit until she could make out the name tag. Not for me. I suppose I could help myself to the contents. Maybe use the inside as leverage? No, the others might become a bit hostile if I did. I can't afford to make too many enemies besides the infected here.
"Is there one for me?" She asked, her voice soft for once. She slipped the box she'd misplaced back into it's general area though it was no doubt quite cattywampus from it's original placement. She felt a box being pushed into her hands though she had no idea who placed it there. Carefully she opened it and peered through her lashes at the contents, the minimal light still stung but she could make out more than before.
Two photos stuck together with a message she'd have to read later and one shot of something in a capped injection pen. She hefted it a moment to gauge the weight of the pen. "Oh, how thoughtful. Barely the dosage of morphine I put in my morning coffee. I dare say it's the nicest gift I've ever been given... Hopefully it's morphine." She grinned and stuffed the capped shot in her pants pocket. At least now she had something to help with her personal problems or so she'd dare to hope. She could almost make out who was standing nearby but details seemed elusive to her eyes at the moment.
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Post by King of Cunts on Jan 14, 2013 9:54:40 GMT -5
Burke was still recovering from the face full of zombie breath he’d just gotten as the others piled into the room. What was more aggravating than the fact that he’d almost been bitten was the knowledge that he’d gotten sloppy, and that it had been down to someone else to save his ass. He’d been lucky Chris had been on hand to stop him from winding up as lunch.
He needed a weapon. He couldn’t fight these things up close and personal the way Shak could. He might have been immune, but that didn’t matter if the damn things tore his throat out.
So far, there little foray into the boxes had yielded a severed finger, a whistle and a couple of polaroids, but nothing much more interesting than that. Burke still couldn’t tell what else Jez had found, but she seemed content to keep it to herself. Considering her current state, shaking her down to find out wouldn’t be sensible.
“Fingers crossed third time’s a charm,” he said, grabbing the box with his own name on it and ripping off the lid.
In any other situation, he’d have tossed the box, or just left it where it was, in case it was rigged to blow up in his face. But this was a game and he got the feeling there were rules. So if one of these boxes wasn’t set to explode, chances were none of them were. Sure enough, his came open and gave him a good look inside.
There was a pistol resting inside, an Umbrella-model semi-automatic with a pair of clips - 9mm, so a fairly standard model. He hated the company weapons, but he didn’t see that he had much of a choice. Shak probably would have thrown it away, but he kept it. Considering what else they might encounter in this house, it was better than nothing.
Underneath the gun and its ammunition was a sheaf of photographs fixed together with a clip. He picked them up and flicked through them. There was a couple of dozen, all of Shak, all of her in some kind of captivity. He guessed they were from just before she’d been put in here. The soldiers were cutting her, beating her, drowning her. In one of them, she was making a cock-sucking gesture and was an inch away from taking a rifle butt to the face. It looked like an interrogation, only he didn’t know what information she could have had that they would be torturing her for.
“You didn’t tell me they did this, Shak,” he said, waving the photographs in her direction, “what gives?”
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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 Jan 15, 2013 14:03:17 GMT -5
Chris stalled in the hallway for a short time. He was curious what all the excitement was about, but not everybody would be able to file into the cubby space and, at least in his opinion, since he had a shotgun, someone ought to keep watch and that someone may as well have been him.
However, that notion was swiftly brushed aside when Chris thought he heard John breath the word finger: Very suddenly, he had to know what was inside of his box.
“Excuse me.” He abruptly stated, wedging his way between Kyle and Jezza, who was busy investigating the content of her own box—it was an absentminded apology, and one that he was barely aware that he had made. His focus was centered squarely on the foreboding package bearing his name.
Apprehension was a sensation that Chris Redfield was used to; eager tension, or the adrenaline riddled rush before a fight for his life, But not cold dread. And yet it was dread that he felt sink into his lower gut as he pried the crisp paper lid away in order to reveal two objects.
The first was handgun. Not his custom Glock 17 with the magpul folding stock and sling, but a weapon that he was no-less intimately familiar with: a Samurai Edge 9mm semi-automatic handgun, S.T.A.R.S. edition. Only, this couldn’t be his gun. After the mansion and subsequent ‘permanent suspension’ of the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. department, Chris had hocked the firearm. Into a river. Just before he went rogue. So it begged the question: whose gun was this?
Ejecting the clip he found that there was only one round. One bullet. Which he might have made some smart alec quip about, except for the fact that the other item in question was… a photograph of Jill.
Just as macabre and disturbing as the paintings in the winding gallery, but intensely more vivid, the photo in his hands seemed more real to him somehow than the portraits from before. Maybe it was because this was an actual photograph, and not “just a painting”. Maybe it was because, with the direness of his need to escape, he had been able to block out the cruel pieces of “art” and push any potential meaning behind them aside. But the graphic print lying in wait at the bottom of the box was a stark reality check that stung like a slap to the face, and he couldn’t deny the image of its existence, even as much as he wanted to. For a long moment he could only pour over the grim snapshot, and study each detail with scrutiny. Every corner of the candid image was excruciating for him to examine, but now that he had seen it he just couldn't look away;
The woman that he loved stood behind what looked like the thick iron bars of a prison cell. Her warm chestnut hair had thinned and fallen out in large clumps, leaving her head bald, her skin peeling. Her athletic body and round heart-shaped face were thin and haggard. Her eyes empty. It was obvious to him that she had been tortured. And perhaps most telling of all; black bloodstains decorated her shirt and made inky lines that bespattered her chin in dark, sickly streaks. Her hand was reaching out through the bars, almost like she was begging for him to come and save her. And Chris just stared, his mind struggling in futility for some way to escape from the situation, for some way to rationalize or even just process what it was his eyes were feeding him.
Numb, and somewhat out of body, it wasn’t until his hand unconsciously reached to touch the small metal band nestled safely in his left breast pocket that he seemed able to come around to himself. And quickly he tucked the picture away alongside the ring, even as Burke demanded to know what the pictures in his own box were all about.
He couldn’t lose it here, had to hold it together, couldn’t afford to break. He knew that was what Wesker wanted - to test his limits, push him to the very brink. Why else giving him the gun, with just one bullet? But Chris was keenly aware that he did not know all of the facts just yet. He clutched onto that one sane thought despite the sudden flux of emotions that passed through him, twisting in his stomach like a knife. This was just another of Wesker's games, and he wouldn't know the truth unless he pressed forwards and saw things through to the end. Until then, he assured himself that he could not assume the worst. Besides, to bite the bullet was the cowards way out. And Chris Redfield was certainly no coward.
He had just successfully come to a conviction over the matter when Chris was to be jarred all over again: setting the shotgun down to holster the Samurai Edge at his right thigh, he caught sight of the name on the box that Jezza had knocked over, as well as the name on the box placed immediately beside it. And for just one second, he felt his heart stop beating within his chest as the colour drained from his face.
NO.
Although there were still a few other miscellaneous boxes lying around, with names that he, nor anyone else, seemed to recognize - glaring at him from across the room sat the only two names that could have possibly pricked him with any more dread.
Claire Redfield. Cayden Wesker.
Without thinking of anything else, Chris tore the lids off of both boxes, practically ripping them apart, only to find one capped syringe in each box; a radiant blue-green tube in the box for Claire, and a filmy pink liquid inside of the needle for Cayden.
“…My sister and my son are here.” Chris mumbled quietly. His voice seemed to have acquired a far-away sound to his own ears. And he suddenly realized that he didn’t care that Burke hadn’t gotten the answer to his question yet, or that Jonathan still looked the same dashing 38, or that Jezza was blinded, or that Kyle was Umbrella, or that Shak was S.T.A.R.S.
It struck him that that was an inherently selfish thought, but none of their problems seemed to matter to him anymore, because if there had been boxes laid out for the both of them, that meant that Cayden and Claire were here, somewhere inside of the mansion. And after seeing the photograph of Jill, he knew that he needed to get to wherever they were. Immediately.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said, and again his apology felt so half-hearted; “but my sister and my son are here, and I have got to find them."
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Damen
Junior Member
Dark Sex God
Posts: 99
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Post by Damen on Feb 25, 2013 17:25:02 GMT -5
Kyle's initial thought when seeing the boxes was one of guarded caution. His time in the military and the UBCS had taught him to be wary regarding things that a soldier may find useful or desirable. As it stood, the more the others opened boxes, the less inclined he was to believe the boxes were rigged to cause death and destruction and the more inclined he was to believe they were meant solely to be used as another psychological tool to ramp up their stress levels and cause them to make foolish decisions. When a finger had been removed sans hand, a pistol and photographs, and the larger man removing a seemingly important sidearm and suddenly becoming agitated at the idea of his relatives maybe being close by, his suspicions had gone from being a hypothesis to a well rounded theory.
A hard shelled case, fairly thin but long, had his name stenciled across the top and lay on the floor, having been knocked off when the larger man tore into the two mystery boxes. It was with a feeling a apprehension at what he might find that Kyle grasped the handle and slid the case toward himself, allowing it to settle flat on the floor as he pulled it from the pile. It had been held closed originally with a pad lock but that had been rendered useless with a pair of bolt cutters. The mercenary twisted the useless pad lock off and dropped it to the floor and started unsnapping the latches holding the case closed. The final one popped free and Kyle lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled into it's own cut-out pocket in the foam lining, was a very short rifle from the M16 family and he recognized it immediately as a Mk18 Mod 1. It had a standard M4-style collapsible stock and and forward sight, though the barrel had been shortened to just over ten inches in length. The traditional carry handle/rear sight had been removed and replaced with a rail system which currently had a flip-up backup iron sight fitted to it as well as a cylinder on top which proved to be a military issue Aimpoint CompM2 reflex red dot sight.
He lifted the weapon from the case, shouldered it and then adjusted the stock for a more comfortable fit. He tipped the weapon slightly and pulled back the charging handle to find the weapon had already been chambered with a round. He ejected it, then popped out the retaining pin on the back of the receiver. The weapon came apart and allowed him to check the internal controls and to remove the bolt. It was an old habit by now; check a found weapon for sabotage if at all possible. Holding the bolt in his hand, he picked up the round that had been chambered, stuck the tip of the bullet into a small hole in the bolt and used it to pry out a cotter pin, allowing the firearm piece to come apart. He kept an eye on Jezza, not sure if she were going to collapse or throw up again. Finally, he held up the firing pin that had fallen from the bolt and found it to be, hopefully, the correct length and had no signs of tampering. The same held true for the other parts in the weapon as he reassembled the rifle and looked back into the box. Inside was a Beta-C dual drum magazine which held 100 rounds. It was fully loaded with heavy weight bullets that seemed to alternate between hollow-point rounds and black tipped rounds that indicated they were armor piercing.
He grinned, re-chambered the round he had ejected and slapped the large drum magazine into the rifle and slipped the rifle's sling across his shoulders. The mercenary then promptly started wondering who would be foolish enough to give him such a weapon.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of another object in the case nestled into it's own foam pocket. It was a small black case, the contents of which rattled with a metallic sound as he lifted it. He opened it and withdrew a number of military style dog tags. The info on them wasn't what the military used, however, it was what his company used. And each of the names on the tags were people he knew, people who worked for him. Some of which were his friends.
Okay, he thought though nothing at all showed upon his features that may have given away what he was thinking, you want to play it that way, alright. I will kill everyone and burn everything to ashes. Then I will go home, masturbate, and sleep.
He didn't know his face had flushed pink, or that a vein was standing out on his neck, or the muscles in his jaw had clenched wire tight, or that he was grinding his teeth loudly. He was focused wholly on two things, keeping his facial expressions a neutral mask and reigning in his rising anger. It took him a fair amount of time before he got himself under control enough to unclench his fist. When he looked down at the metal tags he had been holding, he found his grip had put slight dents and bends in them. Kyle let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and tucked the tags away in a pocket.
He got to his feet, turned and settled his grip on his new rifle. He looked at each of them and spoke his words in a tone that conveyed no questions: "We are not going to stay here. Whether we go with the group or on own, we will not stay in this closet."
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Post by Queen of Cunts on Mar 4, 2013 20:47:24 GMT -5
Shak did what she usually did to defuse a tense situation. She gave Burke’s arse an affectionate slap and flashed her biggest “don’t worry your pretty little head about it” grin.
“Just between you and me, I’ve had better Friday nights,” she confided, “they were fucking pussies. I’ve still got all my fingernails. I couldn’t have gotten off even if I had free hands.”
She wiggled her still-attached fingernails in front of his face as though to illustrate her point.
“Besides, Malice was watching. That’s one thing that’s guaranteed to make Mister Softy come to visit. And I don’t want to have to explain to him where baby’s come from. Not unless John’s there too. Two birds, one stone and all that.”
Burke looked petulant, which meant that he’d accepted her point of view. What was more strange was why somebody would want him to see it, unless it was some kind of confession from an inept interrogation officer. She wasn’t worried about Malice though. If anything gave him shit, he’d just eat it.
More pressing was probably the fact that John said he’d found a finger. She would have to go and check that out. Her original plan had been to just sit on her arse on the floor to avoid all the menstruation that was currently floating about. Between Sad Sack and Scum they were up to their eyeballs in chunks right now.
She took the finger out of John’s hands and turned it over in her own, examining it from every possible angle. Then, she lifted it and bit down on the fingernail. The flesh gave ever so slightly under her teeth.
“Yep,” she said, nodding to confirm her suspicions, “it’s real. And fresh.”
She winced as she felt the pulse behind her eyes, a sudden pressure radiating outwards from him. Surprised, she put a hand on his shoulder, trying to do her best to snap him out of it. She didn’t know about all this touchy-feely wank. Hugging was the worst one - how was a sentiment of “you cannot escape” supposed to fix anything?
“Don’t worry. A wound this superficial, they’re probably still alive. Otherwise, whichever cunt did all this would have sent a head.”
There was a lot to consider on that front. She wondered if John had a jealous lover. It looked like a ring finger.
“Hey, John. Were you married?”
He did have a kid, but she always assumed that he’d just found her on the street somewhere, like he’d done with Malice. And her, come to think of it. He generally tended to have a stronger gravitational pull to good guys. Which was what made Sad Sack seem reliable. Even if he didn’t want to murder Umbrella Scum, which was a sure sign of a poor upbringing. Or a rich one.
She leaned back against the wall, letting the ladies speak their piece. She figured she should probably check her box, especially if they were thinking about running off soon. And if Sad Sack wanted to run, John might want to follow, which made her own choice fairly academic.
She couldn’t imagine what would be in the box, but there was really only one way to find out. She was keeping her fingers crossed for a packet of fags and a bottle of vodka.
What she got was, surprisingly, better than both. Her babies - two black leather gloves with metal frames attached to them, each one connecting a curved claw to the fingertips. They were sharp and beautiful and she was very tempted to feed Scum to them. In the interest of being the team player that she was not, she decided to curb that instinct. For now. But if he turned, she’d be waiting, and she wouldn’t be walking behind him.
Although, it looked like they’d already been fed. Dried blood was stuck to the claws, a red sheen over polished metal. She couldn’t remember them being like that when she’d last seen them. Considering how sick this place was, she felt something instinctually unpleasant about that. What had someone used them for, and who had done it?
She couldn’t do much about it now, of course. Instead, she wiped her claws down on the sleeve of the coverall tied at her waist. Only she realised that, aside from being stained, they had also been sharpened, and she left four thin slits in the fabric. This was getting weirder and weirder.
Under her gloves was something else she’d been looking for. Her hip flask, and it still felt like it was full. Smirking to herself, she threw back her head and emptied the entire thing into her mouth. A second later, and she realised that she wasn’t drinking alcohol at all. Her gag reflex fired and she spat the vile liquid out in a spray, straight into Scum’s face.
“Fucking water!” she snarled, “what kind of sick fucking perfume-wearing, soap-using, cock-sucking son of a whore puts water in a hip flask?! My fucking hip flask?!”
She was so angry, she couldn’t even string together yet more insults.
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