Fine tremors shook Rebecca's hand as she reached for the grip of her gun, all the hairs at the back of her neck prickling up as if electrified, standing sharply on end. Her free hand clapped over her mouth—her sweaty palm grasping around her chin, a choked gasp of sheer, unadulterated
horror slipping out from between her fingers.
The lingering chemical tang of charred wiring and spilled oil assaulted her senses, stinging at her nose and simmering in the air, the low thrum of machinery droning in her ears. Rebecca’s wide eyes darted about, scanning the wreckage of the laboratory around them, the scattered tools and slumped husks of discarded, gutted androids, before inevitably,
reluctantly, veering back to land upon Doctor Gero.
His face was a frightful sight in and of itself, the jagged tears where his tanned skin was razored away peeling and blistering like the rind of an orange, the silvery components that made up his skull glinting hollowly in the half-light. Bruise-colored sparks undulated and discharged in erratic flashes under the glass dome shielding his brain matter, the bubbling fluid inside
boiling, frothing violently as the chip’s electricity licked at its concave edges like a miniature lightning storm.
Teeth bared in a wild, bloody grimace, Gero stood between them and the worktable—doubled over as if bowing under the burden of his own
spine but with his hands curled into quaking, spasmodically twitching fists. His eyes blazed with an unhinged, red-tinged fury as he glared at the group of interlopers, evidently determined to guard the robotic shell splayed out behind him.
To Rebecca’s left, Moran gripped the stock of her rifle and nonchalantly rolled her shoulders—her booted feet shifting apart discreetly upon the stained, oil-slick concrete, knees bent like a dancer poised to leap.
“Unsalvageable?” she murmured out of the corner of her mouth, her icy blue eyes fixed upon the convulsing, stiff-backed Gero.
Wesker's dark leather gloves creaked as his hands… flexed, fingers grasping at the air as if to
strangle something, before sliding to his concealed tactical harness, reaching for the shoulder holster tucked just under his arm.
“…
Regrettably,” he replied, dry as bone.
The familiar barrel of the Samurai Edge glinted coldly under the sterile lab lights as it slid from beneath his coat, the checkered black leather rippling in an artful, barely-there wave.
Moran smirked. “Very much so.”
Slowly, Rebecca’s fingers strayed away from her handgun. She whirled around to gawk at them both, completely incredulous. “Wh—
wait! This man clearly isn’t in his right mind! Are you just going to—to attack him without even
trying to help him?!”
“Do you happen to have a degree in
neurosurgery now, doctor Chambers?” asked Moran, casting Rebecca a shrewd glance from beneath the glossy, sharp brim of her cap.
Said
doctor Chambers spluttered, turning red. “Well, no, but—”
"But
nothing. I assure you, that man’s sanity was already beyond repair before this little… incident," Wesker sneered. "Though I must admit, the prospect of examining his deranged mind with a scalpel
is rather… enticing.”
Holmes, too, interjected with a hushed whisper from where he’d ducked behind her for cover. "I do say, he appears to be quite
barmy, dear doctor."
Rebecca realized, for the billionth time in so many hours, that she was in the company of complete
lunatics.
“Look,” she whispered urgently, darting a fleeting, harried glance at Gero—who had gone eerily motionless by this juncture, just coolly observing them, the multi-barreled gun jutting out from the sickeningly-warped synthetic muscle of his forearm pointed squarely at… well, he seemed to be focused mainly on
Wesker.
That was understandable. Rebecca imagined that if she was in his shoes, she’d likely be more concerned about Wesker, too.
“
Look,” she pleaded again, shaking her head roughly as she shifted to stand between them and Gero, her green eyes shining with an earnest light. “Just… let me talk to him! Maybe… maybe he’ll listen to reason. Maybe I can get through to him.”
Glancing past her, Moran huffed like a hound denied the enjoyment of the chase. “I
highly doubt that, doctor. The man’s off his rocker—”
But Wesker cut her off, arching an eyebrow. "Oh, by all means… feel free to
try."
Ignoring the pointed, waspish glare Moran threw his way, Rebecca chewed her lip and nervously glanced between her slightly less
frenzied teammates and Gero.
Then, she took a shaky step forward.
Moran’s gaze snapped to track her in an instant, eyes shooting wide in surprise; she hadn't actually believed she'd do it. “Doctor Chambers—” she hissed, making a half-aborted move to seize the scientist’s shoulder and bodily
drag her back to safety.
Managing to evade Moran’s grasp, Rebecca focused her attention on the battered man-turned-machine before her.
"Doctor Gero," she began, fighting to keep her voice level and letting her hands hang loosely at her sides, even as the sound of the sparks and sputtering circuits inside his brain-case increased to a… rather worrisome pitch. "Your work here… it's remarkable, but you're hurt.
Please, let us help you."
Gero's response was immediate. His body contorted, the barrels of the gun sprouting from his false flesh clinking disconcertingly as they spun in her direction—his movements jerky and fitful, like the twirling of a puppet with its strings pulled by an unseen master.
"LEAVE!" he barked, his voice fracturing into a digital snarl, the firearm within his arm whirring to life with a low, menacing hum. "You don't understand! It must be completed!”
Flinching, Rebecca sucked in a sharp, frightened breath, her heart
slamming against her rib cage. Her hands lifted with the palms facing upwards; the universal gesture of surrender, albeit wobbly.
"But I
do understand, more than you might realize," she insisted, venturing another step forward—though she angled her body so that she was not direct in her approach, circling instead towards the far wall of the lab. "The drive to finish what we start, to see our work come to fruition… but you can't do it like
this. You'll crash, hard. I
want to help you, doctor. We can discuss this... calmly. Please, lower your weapon."
From the sidelines, Moran frowned, her keen eyes taking in every detail—the twitch of Gero's fingers, the erratic flash of the chip lodged in his brain, the warped animosity in his expression that spoke of a man standing on the precipice. She was uncomfortably,
painfully aware that any sudden move might result in Rebecca being riddled with
bullets.
“No, no, no!” raged Gero, spittle flying from beneath his bushy white mustache, angry red lightning arcing within the blue glass dome. “I don’t need you to
HELP ME! Get OUT!”
He raised his hideously-distorted arm, a bloom of energy pulsing within the gnarled wreck—
*SNAP!*
Abruptly, the entire laboratory plunged into a deep, impenetrable darkness as the lights sputtered and died. Only the faint glare of a massive computer at the back of the room, its screen flashing with a slowly ticking progress bar that was almost complete—and a stray spark from inside the glass dome of Gero’s sawed-off cranium—illuminated the space, casting cavernous, ghastly shadows all around.
*SNAP!*
In a flash, a singular beam of light appeared directly above Gero, unkindly sharpening every wrinkle and pitted scar on his frame. The old man’s features contorted with utter confusion as the red fire in his eyes… wavered, flickering to blue for a heart-stopping moment.
"W-what is this?!" he spat, thrown off-balance by the unexpected intrusion, his head whipping this way and that.
*SNAP!*
A second spotlight blazed into existence, blindingly white, further towards the back of the lab—behind Gero. And in its dazzling cast stood Holmes, his fingers poised mid-snap.
His head was tipped downward, the tattered remnants of his beloved deerstalker cap shadowing over his eyes. One hand clutched the stun baton, using it like a makeshift walking stick.
“My dear doctor Chambers,” said Holmes, a faint, serene smile curving his lips. His chin lifted, just enough to reveal the emerald green of his eyes, gleaming with a mad brilliance. “Shall we take part in this dance of my… incomparable logic and reasoning?”
Wavering in the darkness, Rebecca’s eyes went wide and round, completely gobsmacked.
“I…” she stammered, her words catching in her throat.
Her gaze flitted to Gero. The man was starkly lit, his contorted figure looming in front of her, body hunched and writhing in pain anew as he clutched at the glass dome encasing his brain.
A guttural moan escaped his lips as the chip buried inside the grey matter suddenly seized up with a series of frenzied, berserk flashes, his eyes snapping open to reveal a scorching, redder than red glare.
Rebecca swallowed hard, nodding firmly—mostly for her own benefit, since Holmes couldn’t possibly see her through the darkness. “O-of course, detective! I’d be glad to!”
Holmes straightened his posture, raising a slender hand in the air as he spoke. "Excellent. We must act swiftly," he declared with a sharp flick of his wrist, his index finger raised dramatically in the air. "Attend closely now, for you shall behold the brilliance... of Sherlock Holmes' Logic and Reasoning Spectacular!"
He pivoted on his heel, spinning effortlessly across the room with the precision of a trained dancer, his gliding, long strides guiding him in a wide semicircle. The spotlight shone upon him like the sun-drenched glare of a magnifying glass upon an ant, highlighting every detail of his brown cloak as it flapped behind him—Gero’s gun-arm likewise tracing his every movement, Rebecca couldn’t help but note with alarm.
“Doctor Gero,” stated Holmes, lightly tipping his hat upward from his brow with a single finger. His eyes slid shut, blatantly unafraid, his forehead furrowed in light contemplation. “Allow me to jog your memory of our earlier discourse. If you will recall, I am Sherlock Holmes. Universe-renowned consulting detective, genius inventor, and an aspiring expert in…
catastrophe evasion. If my memory serves me correctly, you disclosed to me your endeavors in isolating various… system error incidents. From the looks of it, you are still deeply engrossed in this pursuit!"
Gero’s crimson eyes narrowed, grisly fractals of purple and red light jittering across his body, making his limbs spasm like he was actively being
electrified.
“Yes! I told you, you need to LEAVE ME ALONE,” he snapped. His teeth clenched as if in agony, molars champing together as he bit out the words. “I don’t have the TIME for this nonsense!”
“Yes, yes, I comprehend fully. This will only take a moment,” murmured Holmes, the filigreed shape of his tobacco pipe suddenly in hand. He tapped its stem against his lips, glancing to the side. “Doctor, your involuntary muscular spasms occurring at precise three-second intervals, coupled with the quite pungent odor of ozone lingering about your person, and the residual energy discharges crackling across your skin, all lead irrefutably to
one inescapable conclusion—”
He paused for dramatic effect, allowing his words to hang torturously in the air, his shadow stretching long and narrow across the workshop behind him. Rebecca leaned in closer, trembling in trepidation, wondering where Holmes's observations were leading him
this time.
"You may claim your work here is grounded in aiding our departure," Holmes continued. "But I deduce that you are not merely isolating ‘system error incidents,’ as you put it. No, you are endeavoring to harness… the very essence of electricity itself! Moreover," he added excitedly, fixing Doctor Gero with a piercing stare, his voice dropping an octave. "You do not suffer from these discharges due to a mere accident or occupational hazard, correct?"
Gero's eyes flared bright scarlet, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a bizarre, angry rictus, but Holmes soldiered on relentlessly. "…Yes, it is exactly so. These peculiar electrical irregularities cannot,
must not be dismissed as mere coincidence—they are symptomatic of an altogether more
extraordinary state of affairs, I fear… as evidenced by something in this very workshop!”
Batting her eyelashes in faux shock, Rebecca's hands flew to her mouth in a gasp of sudden, serendipitous realization. "Oh!”
Holmes cocked his head slightly, his tobacco pipe disappearing inside the depths of his coat’s pockets once more. A small, sly smile played across his handsome features as he pointed a finger at her. "Ah, but I see you've observed the clue just as I have, doctor Chambers. By all means, don’t let me restrict your observations… what gave our friend away?”
“It’s the robot body on the table,” Rebecca murmured, gaze going contemplative, the thumb of one balled-up fist lifting to brace against her chin. “But, no, that’s too obvious! It’s the wires connected to that computer there—”
*SNAP!*
A new beam of light flooded the darkened workshop, revealing a complex array of wires connected to a bulky computer nestled in the corner.
“Yes, that one! With the wires, he’s trying to, um,” Rebecca's bravado faltered mid-performance, one hand reaching up to theatrically scratch at her head, hopelessly ruffling her brown hair. “He’s trying to—”
“You keep AWAY from there! That doesn’t concern you!” snapped Gero, his gun-hand swiveling in her direction, though he couldn’t quite seem to pinpoint her with any kind of accuracy in the darkness; her voice echoed strangely in the workshop, bouncing off the grey metal walls and oil-spattered floor. “It’s not completed yet! Don’t TOUCH ANYTHING!”
Deftly flicking his deerstalker cap back into place with a finger, Holmes
tsk-ed lightly under his breath. “Fret not, my dear fellow: the science of deduction requires no such thing! However, I must confirm my esteemed colleague’s suspicions—with the aid of this cabling, you have quite literally become one with your work… in fact, it has fused quite irreparably with your being! You are transforming into an electrical entity yourself, are you not? A golem of lightning and static! A phantom of the spine-tingling, hair-raising energy that permeates all things!"
…What? thought Rebecca.
“I—” Gero began, swelling with rage, then… paused, his expression faltering. His eyes flickered an unsteady, jittering blue, grainy flecks of red glitching along the edges of his sclerae. “…
What?”
"Indeed, what!” Holmes crowed with a flourish, pointing at the wired-up computer. “It is an
astonishing undertaking of transhumanism, of that I am certain. Your physical form is phasing into a wild, energetic matrix. Soon, you may not require a corporeal vessel at all!” The detective nodded in satisfaction. “And so, my deduction is thus: Doctor Gero, you fear not our intrusion or assistance, but a concern for the loss of your identity in this extraordinarily excruciating evolution. Your lack of certainty does not stem from time constraints, but rather the assurance that what remains will still bear resemblance to a man at all!”
Doctor Gero's face contorted into a profoundly baffled, blank-eyed stare, as if Holmes had just smacked him in the side of the head with a slippery, wriggling fish.
"And with that, my dear doctors…" the great detective announced, triumphantly flourishing his hand and executing a deep bow reminiscent of an orchestra’s conductor wrapping up a show. "...thus concludes Sherlock Holmes' Logic and Reasoning Spectacular!”
A brief moment of hushed silence ensued, the spotlight upon Holmes vanishing with a
click—leaving only Gero illuminated in a sea of darkness.
"WHAT?!" he demanded, his gaze darting wildly around the seemingly impenetrable expanse of looming shadows. The fluid encasing his brain simmered down to a low, seething bubble, his eyes a pale blue once more.
There was a rapid pattering of footsteps as someone, presumably Holmes, beat a hasty, echoing retreat.
"A few sandwiches shy of a picnic, that one," Colonel Moran grumbled from her shadowy perch in the rafters above, observing through the scope of her rifle. “But he's got a fair point about the computer. That countdown can’t
possibly mean anything good.”
Wesker crouched beside her like a sleek panther poised on a branch, his boots skillfully balanced on the steel beam beneath them.
"Perhaps," he mused, twisting his head from side to side with a satisfying
crunch of vertebrae. The unnatural shine of his eyes burned all the brighter, blinking like golden medallions in the dark. "Shall we...?"
PARTY MEMBERS: Rebecca Chambers, Sebastian Moran (Summon), Sherlock Holmes (NPC), Albert Wesker (NPC)
CURRENT LOCATION: Robotics Department
ACTION(S): Rebecca and Holmes are trying to chill out Gero by baffling/short-circuiting his robo-virus chip, but if that doesn't work Moran and Wesker are totes jumping him and his project, boots-to-the-dome style. Queuing up one application of Focus, I would prefer if this was used to enhance Sebastian's Servant skills in the event of danger; she's been Commanded to defend Rebecca at all costs. Her NP is sniping, something to do with tigers... creativity abounds...
FOCUS COUNT: 3/3
REBECCA STATS: REASON 11, STAMINA 12
INVENTORY: Profile Consumables, Survival Gear, Loot Listed Below, Antidote Syringe (Previously Given to Holmes).
STATUS: Spore second stage; contagious, antidote ineffective. Lethargy, loss of appetite, nausea, heightened thirst, headaches, vertigo, hot-cold flashes, itchy skin, dizziness, strange black veining starting at the arms and legs; easily concealed.
CURRENT LOOT:
- Whetstone.
- S.T.A.R.S. Captain PDA. (Given to Wesker!)
- Sunglasses. (Given to Wesker!)
- Voltage checkers.
- Battered old laptop (burnt out, but would love to return this to Wily! Lol.)
- Programming manuals.
- Technical AI documents.
- Pince-nez style glasses.
- Legal pad (Carnivale contestants' names listed).
- Psychology manuals.
- Site Seven notebook.
- Ring of Keys.
- Site Seven Emergency Response Protocols folder.
- Stun Baton. (Holmes has it!)
- One Wesker, please.