DGS4 Phase 3 -- Emergency Tunnels

[The Man in Red]

Persons Present:
Rebecca Chambers
Sebastian Moran
Sherlock Holmes

Past the somewhat grim scene of the western bunker, the doorway lead to a short tunnel. Straight ahead for perhaps 30 feet, before reaching a sharp angle to the left and terminating at a door. Or at least...a doorway. The door itself had been entirely out of the way, its frame battered and mangled almost beyond recognition. Beyond it, stairs lead downward into darkness from which a dim red light filtered up.

A square stairwell, descending in precisely measured flights of 15 steps before a sharp right angle at a wall and continuing further down. The further down the stairs the intrepid trio ventured, the brighter the scarlet glow from below became. Eventually, it resolved as the dull glow of emergency lightning, recessed into the walls just shy of the floor and ceiling of the tunnels below. After some dozen or so flights of stairs, the final one exited into a small alcove in the wall of said tunnel.

Immediately across from said alcove were two carnivale employees, wearing some kind of armor beyond the standard uniform, and pinned to the wall by several jagged blades, just next to a sign indicating directions: left to the Biological Wing, right to Security. Arrayed around them were at least half a dozen assorted....things, nearly human but not quite so; recalling all too violently and messily the 'experiments' of a certain viral development program. The sickly smell of rot from above was more pungent and strong down here, wafting not only from the corpses and remains, but from somewhere to the left, along with the smell of smoke and ash. And distantly, the sound of something...or several somethings moving, trudging and meandering among the darkened tunnels, could be heard. Sound seemed to echo uneasily down here, making it hard to tell from where or how far any given noise might come from, but at least it was bright enough to see.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

It never got any easier.

No matter how many years she had spent working closely with the BSAA, no matter how many horrors she had faced, Rebecca had never quite grown accustomed to death. How could she? It was human, to fear death—to strive to correct it, to mold it, to evade it at all costs. Even Albert Wesker, a man who had transcended the very limits of human potential, a man who had looked into the abyss of genetic perfection and saw himself staring back, feared death. Or so Rebecca imagined.

And as they reached the bottom of that final, fateful flight of stairs, the deep, hellish-red emergency lights casting sharp, unnatural shadows upon their faces, the scene before them unfolded like something out of a nightmare.

Corpses, human and monstrous alike, littered the narrow stairwell—scattered about like broken dolls, carelessly cast aside by their overseer. Severed limbs and trailing strings of sanguine, gore-slick viscera were strewn about haphazardly, dark puddles of thick, mirrored crimson pooling across the bleached-white linoleum tiles, lapping eagerly at the toes of Rebecca’s boots as she stepped down from the last metal-plated stair.

Before she did anything else, Rebecca whipped around to face her comrades, her stare grave and unyielding.

"Keep your hands off anything without protection," she warned in a low whisper, the oppressive silence threatening to swallow her words. "These bodies… who knows, they might be carrying some form of contagion..."

A faint, sardonic smile played upon Moran's countenance—a calm, assured curl of the lips beneath sharp blue eyes—as she raised her hands, already adorned in silken white gloves. "One step ahead of you, Dr. Chambers."

Holmes, silent and unsmiling, merely nodded in acknowledgment. He slipped on his own pair of gloves, a wintry, padded sort swiped from the crashed train’s debris.

That settled, the three of them—doctor, soldier, and detective—stood amidst the carnage with an apprehension that might have been comical under any other circumstance, their nerves taut like an asp poised to strike.

Acting first, Rebecca’s footsteps echoed off the steel walls as she carefully skirted around the corpses, eyes darting to and fro as she scanned for any signs of life among the lifeless. Almost immediately, though, her nose crinkled up as she clapped a hand over her mouth, fighting tooth-and-nail against the overwhelming urge to gag—it took everything she had to swallow back down the mutinous contents of her stomach, a queasy look worming its way across her face.

In such a small, cramped area, the putrid odor of decomposing flesh and acrid, caustic smoke was downright suffocating, frothing up towards the ceiling in steamy, noxious fumes. The cloying odor seemed to envelop Rebecca like cling-film, coating her taste buds with the familiar, sickly-sweet stink of decay. And if that wasn't quite bad enough, a high-pitched buzzing of flies built to a near-deafening crescendo the further Rebecca moved amongst the mess, zigzagging lazily in the air, plump and glutted on flesh.

She approached the pair of Carnivale Rosa employees, the long, sawtooth blades jutting out from the centermost point of their armored torsos glinting dully in the dancing crimson emergency lights.

Pinned like insects, thought Rebecca, unable to suppress a shiver.

Lifting her Samurai Edge, she prodded gently at the dangling, drooping head of one employee with the barrel of her gun. Their head lolled to the side and, weighed down by the thick helmet still enclosing their skull, awkwardly twisted their own esophagus like a pretzel bow—sending thin strings of milky, pink-tinged spittle gurgling out from the corners of their blue-tinged lips, their filmy eyes staring sightlessly into oblivion.

Not far behind, Moran was carrying out her own inspection. Her icy gaze dropped to the remains of a mutant creature at her feet, sweeping over its reptilian green skin and frog-like head, its beady eyes now a murky, lifeless yellow, a pair of thin, snake-like nostrils marking its snout. It had razor-sharp talons the size of machetes jutting out from its strange, four-fingered hands; clearly bio-engineered for combat…

Suddenly, the silence around them was broken by a noise echoing from further down the tunnels, to the left. It was a low, shuffling sound, like the tripping scuff of a missed footstep, echoing off the emergency tunnel’s metallic walls.

They were not alone.

Rebecca turned towards the disturbance, handgun held at the ready, heart quaking inside her chest like a rabbit before the hounds. Her green eyes flicked to the sign on the wall, its letters stark and forbidding in the red-tinged light: Biological Wing.

Slowly, Rebecca's fingers clenched tighter around the grooved grip of her Samurai Edge, her knuckles burning white in the darkness. Her eyes narrowed, scouring the darkness, the fear in them hidden behind the reflections playing across her glasses.

Alongside her, Colonel Moran passed the stun baton to Holmes, a silent exchange under the smoulder of the emergency lighting, her other hand firmly gripping her rifle.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

The trio moved in formation; Rebecca leading the pack, with Holmes in the center and Moran their ominous shadow. Their boots padded over the cold tile, bodies tense as coiled springs, each sound echoing disconcertingly along the long, dim corridor. A hellish scarlet glow seeped over everything, casting demented shadows on the grimy, smoke-stained walls—adorned with a leering black-on-red biohazard symbol that seemed to mock them from its place at the end of the tunnel.

An overturned gurney lay sprawled square in their path, its metal frame twisted and dented. Its once pristine white cushioning was tainted by dried, rust-colored stains, the body of an armored employee slumped across it, their limbs contorted in unnatural positions and their head just fucking gone. Nearby, black body bags oozed a viscous, brownish liquid onto the sterile white tile, like festering wounds seeping pus.

As they crept closer, one of the body bags twitched—convulsing like the inching of a worm across the ground, slime and all.

Immediately, the trio paused, eyeing up the wriggling sack.

“Dr. Chambers, Mr. Holmes,” Moran's words were low and unhurried, her eyes glued to the twitching, writhing bag. “I do believe we’ve encountered a minor obstacle.”

“Indeed, Colonel. Quite a grotesque sight," Holmes responded, his voice equally hushed, though laced with a hint of disgusted fascination. His piercing green eyes turned to Rebecca, the whites of his eyes bright in the half-darkness. “Doctor, would you do the honors…?”

With a curt nod, Rebecca cautiously approached the writhing body bag, her Samurai Edge held aloft.

But as she drew near, Rebecca stopped, halted dead in her tracks. She stared, her head tilting as if transfixed, as a curved, paw-like hand stretched out from beneath the tattered body bag, scraping over the white linoleum tiles with an abrupt, ragged screeeeech.

The enlarged and painfully bulbous finger-bones of a human hand were clearly discernible beneath a sheath of pale, red-tinged skin that resembled exposed human muscle, but that was where the resemblance ended. Large talons protruded unevenly from the gnarled mass of the thing’s forelimb, excess keratin forming spur-like spikes around its cuticles, like a hangnail from hell.

As she watched, the bag ballooned, bulged and contorted, revealing the misshapen imprint of a humanoid skull pressing against the glossy black plastic. And from within came a sound, a strained and gurgling rasp of breath that filled the stagnant silence with a chilling, blood-curdling hiss.

Eyes shooting wide with recognition, Rebecca's gut twisted with fear as she hastily jerked back, but before she could move more than a step, Moran lunged forward with her rifle raised high.

CRACK! The rifle slammed down, crunching flesh and bone inside the sack. The thing inside crumpled and fell still, an unnatural puppet whose strings had been abruptly cut.

“Sorry,” Rebecca blurted out, the tension in her shoulders giving way. She smiled reflexively, red-faced. “I was just... ah, taken aback. I only saw part of it, and yet I knew right away what it was.”

"And what was it?" asked Moran, sounding only mildly interested, as if she were inquiring about the brand of lipstick Rebecca was wearing or how she preferred her tea.

She prodded at the body bag with her rifle, the glossy material snagging on the barrel.

With a sharp tug, she peeled back the covering to reveal the ghoulish creature's head. Its brain was exposed and swollen up, split into two clear, bulging hemispheres, its skin and eyes missing, serrated teeth jutting out like spikes from its gaping maw. The thing's skull was dented in like a smashed soda can, thoroughly caved-in after the brutal force of Moran's strike.

“It’s a bioweapon,” Rebecca replied. She reached up to tweak her glasses, leaning in for a closer look, and suppressed a light… cough, with the back of her hand, before clearing her throat and soldiering on. “Derived from a variant strain of the t-Virus. A Licker, some call it in reports. They use their barbed tongues to stab and decapita—”

“Ugly bastard,” the Assassin-class servant interrupted with a sniff. She straightened, withdrawing her rifle and allowing the body bag to fall, fluttering back into place.

A slight frown creased Rebecca’s face, but she relented, deciding not to get into all the science-y babble right now. Her students always hated it when she went off the rails.

Looking up, she studied what awaited them further down the tunnel, the tiled floor stained with patches of dark red and peppered with burn marks from heavy firearms. Her fingers curled tightly around the grip of her Samurai Edge, the cold steel offering a strange sense of comfort.

In that moment, the gun became like an extension of her own pounding pulse—a counterbalance for the potent mix of terror and adrenaline flooding her veins.

“Right, continuing on…” she murmured, setting off down the corridor again at a measured pace, headed straight for the bold biohazard sign emblazoned on the wall.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

At the hallway's fork, Rebecca's green eyes darted back and forth between the two paths, on the alert for any signs of lurking danger. In the center, a solitary computer console stood, its screen cracked but still flickering with an eerie blue light beneath the splintered, spider-webbed glass. A smear of blood spattered its surface like a Jackson Pollock painting, dripping onto the hard plastic casing and to the tiled floor below.

A definite indicator of worse things to come, in Rebecca’s remarkably informed opinion.

With a cursory glance at her companions, Rebecca approached the terminal, scrutinizing the remains of the… allegedly once-functional technology. Her fingers traced over the fractured screen, wary of the shards of broken glass and blood, as she delicately prodded at it. “Let’s see, here…”

She'd scarcely touched it before the console flickered and glitched, rebellious, taunting her with an error she’d dearly hoped wouldn’t appear: INVALID REQUEST.

No shocker there, just pure aggravation.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Rebecca turned back to Moran and Holmes, shrugging helplessly. "This thing’s a total wreck," she whispered, frustrated. "Can't access it. I'm afraid we're flying blind here."

“I would expect little else,” commented Holmes drily, stepping up beside her to investigate, as well. Until his head suddenly lifted, that is, peering down the narrow passageway to their left. “Speaking of flying blind, however…”

Rebecca heard it before she saw it.

With a shambling, scraping sound of shoes over tile, a humanoid figure lumbered into view from the shadows, lurching forward on stiff, unbending legs stricken with rigor mortis. A once glorious Carnivale Rosa uniform hung in tatters from its decaying body, a guttural, creaky groan emanating from between lips that were half-rotted and hanging loosely from its chin like melted, slimy wax.

Its head turned with a disconcerting crrccck of dried meat—vacant, milky-white eyes boring into Rebecca’s own.

Immediately, its arms lifted, outstretched; grasping for her with bony, blood-stained fingers, its footsteps slow and shuffling. The hissing groans grew in intensity, rising in pitch, its yellowed teeth chattering in her direction as if it sought to taste her flesh from afar.

Rebecca's hand instinctively dove for her belt, fingers finding the comforting leather grip of her survival knife. Her back pressed against the cold, blood-stained surface of the adjacent wall just out of the creature’s sight. Flanking her, Moran and Holmes followed suit—their bodies flattening against the wall.

The undead employee's steps were a metronome of danger, shuffling forwards in a sickening rhythm that grew louder... and louder... and louder.

Closer… and closer… and closer.

“Am I to assume you have this one handled, doctor?” asked Moran with a glint of amusement in her eyes, though her fingers twitched on the gore-spattered stock of her rifle.

“Yeah, I do,” Rebecca replied shortly, not even turning. The arm holding her knife remained raised, poised to lash out, her handgun lowered to point at the floor.

The scarlet emergency lighting flickered against the creature's sallow skin, casting a sickly gleam as it heaved its carcass around the corner. Its gnarled fingers clawed at the air, desperate to wrap her up in its cold, dead arms.

But Rebecca was ready, springing from her hiding spot in a blur of green and white. With a precise motion that spoke of prior experience, she stabbed through the darkness with her knife—the blade sinking deep into the zombie’s forehead with a nauseating CRRNCH, the squelch of ruptured brain matter and cracked bone echoing in the dank, cramped corridor.

It stumbled backwards one step, then two, collapsing in a heap on the ground. Its lifeless body lay sprawled out, the silvery glint of the bloodied knife protruding from its skull.

Rebecca let out a long, breathy exhale and knelt beside it, her hand darting down to snatch up the knife with a violent jerk. The rush of adrenaline began to fade, but her fingers still trembled as they grazed over the ragged fabric of the creature's uniform, her head positively throbbing, the world seeming to spin around her.

God, why am I so thirsty? she thought blearily, blinking rapidly to recenter her vision.

Composing herself, she searched the body’s pockets, every nerve abuzz, but only came up with a small, crumpled note from its breast pocket. Adjusting her glasses, Rebecca squinted down at the blood-stained paper, her lips pursing.

“I had no choice. We got away from those… those things, relying on each other for survival when all hell broke loose. But Joseph, he began to show signs. Blisters. Oozing. Uncontrollable vomiting. I didn’t even know it could affect vampires that way… I couldn’t help him.

I couldn't bear to watch him suffer. With that much strength, he was tearing himself apart trying to rip the source out. He would have done the same in my place, I think. After ending his suffering, I stashed him in the maintenance closet.

I’m no hero, though. I'll never forgive myself for being a part of this. And eventually, I know I'll get mine.

No escaping this madhouse now. It's only a matter of time.”

Rebecca's lips flattened into a tight line as she read, her eyes flicking up to study the lifeless body before her. After a beat, her fingers refolded the note and slid it back into its resting place, lightly patting their breast pocket to smooth it over.

She stood, her olive-green medical bag thumping heavily against her hip where she had slung it across her shoulder. She gave a quick glance to Moran and Holmes, their faces equally somber.

"Alrighty then," she swiveled to the left, pointing towards where the zombie had emerged from. "That's our path."

Moran turned to follow her gesture, her icy blue eyes narrowing. The pale wall and flooring ahead was practically black with scorch marks and ugly, streaked gore, foul-smelling smoke trailing across the ceiling like a miniature, caustic atmosphere.

“Really?” she asked, looking at Rebecca as if she’d grown two heads. “That way. Right into the eye of the storm?”

“It does seem to be… not the wisest course of action,” Holmes agreed, stroking his chin. “Though it may prove fruitful for our investigation?”

“Trust me,” Rebecca murmured, already walking in that direction. “It’s always at the heart of these things that you find the most answers.”

PARTY MEMBERS: Rebecca Chambers, Sebastian Moran (Summon), Sherlock Holmes.
CURRENT LOCATION: Emergency Tunnels.
DESIRED LOCATION: Biological Wing.
ACTION(S): We're headed towards the Biological Wing. Queuing up the use of my consumable, the "Health Spray" Hand Grenade, if serious danger arises.

FOCUS COUNT: 3/3
REBECCA STATS: REASON 11, STAMINA 12
INVENTORY: Profile Consumables, Survival Gear, Loot Listed Below.

STATUS: Spore incubation stage; contagious??? Lethargy, loss of appetite, nausea, heightened thirst.

CURRENT LOOT:

• Whetstone.
• S.T.A.R.S. Captain PDA.
• Sunglasses.
• 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.

 

[The Man in Red]

Further on down the halls and tunnels, things seemed, somehow...to only get worse and worse.

The pervasive smell of rot and blood in the air grew stronger, the smell of lingering gunpowder and something burning ever closer and more pungent. The number of bodies and bloody meat laying splattered on the walls increased in quantity.

Slowly but surely, the remains of more mechanized and mechanical entities and remains began to join the mess of corpses. Sparking and sputtering, some of them still making errant spasmodic twitching jerks as they tried in vain to repeat motions. The soft click-click-click of empty magazines on unseen firearms as they tried in vain to track the movement of shadows and the passage of Rebecca and her group.

How far the tunnels went was hard to measure, in that dank, dark place with no real landmarks. But ever onward it seemed to go, up stairs and along more narrow tunnels, finally terminating in what was at one point probably another access-locked door like the one from the bunker. But now, it had been completely demolished; a truly herculean feat of strength had wedged something between the doors and pried them open, bending and crushing the metal as if it were cardboard, and chewing through the doorframe to either side with the five-fingered grip of something human, the edges of the fingermarks almost looking melted or welded rather than simply torn apart.

"I must admit, I am getting a very peculiar feeling about this place," Holmes suddenly spoke up, his normally exuberant demeanor growing quite...tempered and serious as he hefted the stun rod. "It harkens back all too unpleasantly to a time I was...shall we say, tossed into a lion's den."

"Figuratively, or...?" Rebecca ventured hesitantly.

"Oh, literally. Very much literally. For one reason or another, after I let myself into a certain gentleman's abode, he didn't seem to take kindly to my having the run of the place to search for something a client of mine was looking for, you see." A faint smirk flitted across the detective's face. "Though in hindsight, I don't quite think it was the den of a lion I was thrown into...they're not quite usually so stealthy."

"What do you...?" Rebecca murmured, her brow furrowing, clearly fighting through whatever fresh exhaustion had crept over her of late. Holmes was clearly trying to tell her something, she could tell that much, but...what?

A low, whisper-quiet noise drifted out of the doorway behind the trio, followed by the ominous and unmistakable thud of the booted treads of something very large stepping up to bear. A harsh smell of ozone permeated the room, and the sizzling crack and hum of electricity resounded with a literal hair-raising sensation.

"Doctor, get down!" Moran and Holmes shouted and cried out in unison. The assassin was quicker to act, whirling around and bringing a hand up to wrench Rebecca down by her shoulder, just as Holmes grabbed her by the forearm and pulled her forward. Just in time, as a colossal hand the size of a serving tray, wreathed in a massive gauntlet of gold and spewing electrical arcs into the air, nearly cleaved her head and upper torso from the rest of her.

Holmes yanked Rebecca back, his normally expansive vocabulary deserting him at the sheer incredulity of what lay before them now. Moran did her best to take steady aim with her rifle while backing away at a more measured pace.

The thing before them was...human, at least in appearance. It stood head and shoulders above even a large normal man, cresting well over seven feet at least. Broad shouldered and built like a tank, ancient-looking weathered skin somewhere between pallid and bloodlessly pale and weatherbeaten by decades in the sun, drawn back tight and bloodlessly over a engorged muscles. Pale gold shone from deeply set eye sockets, flashing and crackling with lightning. The entire body was wreathed in long, ornate white robes and a cloak, save for the arms: from jus below the elbow down, they were encased in spectacularly detailed and magnificent looking gauntlets of gold, forged and form-fitted delicately to their bearers' swollen arm musculature, and ending with razor-sharp clawed talons in place of fingers.

"What...in blazes...?" Holmes managed to whisper, recoiling as the lumbering creature bared its teeth in a silent snarl.

"R-Run...." Rebecca choked out, forcing herself up to her feet. She raised her samurai edge up, taking aim at the monstrosity before them, even as her arms wavered and her breath started to rise to shaking, wheezing gasps. "Run!" Tyrant... The thought came, almost unbidden, to her mind. This thing looked different than the one she'd seen. More advanced, clearly. More complete; more...human. But she could never mistake that general base design.

It took a lumbering step forward, and let loose an earsplitting noise. Somewhere between the mindless bloody roar of a beast, and the shrieking cry of a man in unbearable agony. Listening closely enough, buried somewhere in the deafening noise...one might almost imagine they heard actual cries and pleas for help. In an instant though, it passed, as the electrical behemoth lunged forward with alarming speed, its clawed and sparking mitts grasping and striking with wild abandon.

They ran, as Rebecca had bidden them. In an open chase, with no obstructions or obstacles, it would have been nigh fruitless -- the hulking monster was at least as fast as any of them, even when hampered by the difficulties of moving in the confined lab spaces, and its longer stride and pure savagery-driven instinct would have let it overtake them in the blink of an eye. But luckily, they had the advantage in mobility. All they had to do was outrun it, get somewhere out of its line of sight and—

A wrenching sound of shearing metal, accompanied by a cascading burst of sparks, preceded a massive hunk of industrial science equipment nearly taking Holme's head off as it crashed into the wall ahead of them. Out of a sudden burst of creative desperation, driven in no part at all by fear, the great detective threw himself around a corner in the path ahead and barged bodily through a partially open door.

Moran halted at the corner, turning and dropping to a knee briefly, lining up her rifle...and quickly let off two shots one after another. The first barely even seemed to register, though the second staggered the behemoth, earning a strangled grunt of something between surprise and pain. A momentary halt in its lumbering stride saw it reach out a hand, the engorged limb trembling and shaking, as its maw stretched wide open, another earsplitting, deafening scream issuing forth. And this time, the mangled, desperate words within were unmistakable.

HELP...ME...

Lightning sparked and flared around the titanic thing's frame as it lurched forward another step. Sparks arced and sizzled out against every nearby surface, carving red-hot lines into walls and floors, bursting nearby lights, and making the entire area filled with a tingling, harshly unpleasant field of static.

With half numb, fumbling fingers, Rebecca had pulled something out of her bag. A silvery-white canister, topped on one end with a spray nozzle...stamped with a green cross.

"I don't think a little medical attention will help this thing, Doctor!" Moran hissed as she backpedaled around the corner, clamping a hand on Rebecca's shoulder to drag her along as well.

"I...I know...but...!" Gritting her teeth, she squeezed down the spray top and almost feebly let it tumble from her hand, an underhanded toss toward the thing as she was dragged around the corner. Seconds later, it exploded with a colossal blast, shattering the already damaged and partially slagged corridor intersection completely. Debris and rubble rained down upon the monstrosity, burying it as it screamed again in its mixture of incomprehensible rage and suffering.

"Doctor Chambers...." a voice spoke up calmly, from a nearby speaker mounted on a wall. "Still as lucky and resourceful as ever." Further down the hall, there was a soft chime as a set of doors slid open. "This way, if you would. Before our friend decides to...wake up. You know they don't like to stay down for long."

You have encountered Subject V!

Results: Singed and seared by lightning, haunted and shaken to the core by the unexpected guest...
Rebecca suffers 2 Stamina and 2 Reason damage
Holmes suffers 4 Stamina and 2 Reason damage

The door opened ahead will close behind you, if you choose to proceed that way, leading to a fortified safehouse where an old friend is awaiting Rebecca. Subject V is injured, but not down for good; it will arise and be a problem later on, for certain.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

That voice…

As the set of metallic doors slid open with a cute little chime that belied the absolute horror they had just narrowly escaped, a voice, chillingly familiar, echoed from the wall-mounted speaker, their composed and cool tones resounding beneath the crackling of flames and settling rubble.

Jerking slightly, Rebecca glanced sharply up from where she’d slumped against the wall, her desperate grip on the cold surface being the only thing propping her upright at the moment. Her forest green eyes narrowed behind the soot-smudged lenses of her glasses, flickering with an uneasy mixture of dread and resignation.

Wesker. A shadow from her past. A man she had hoped very much to never, ever meet again. And yet, here she was.

Abruptly, the weight of her bulletproof vest felt like it was bearing down on her sternum, suffocating her racing heart, the rabbit-quick pulse throbbing in her ears like some infernal stopwatch ticking down to zero.

But she didn't respond aloud, didn't provide the satisfaction of her fear or disgust—though both brewed beneath the surface of her shaky, adrenaline-riddled exterior. Instead, her gaze swept across the rubble-strewn hallway around her, eyes straining against the pungent, stinging odor of burning plastics and assorted metal debris that frothed like a smokescreen in the air, before at last coming to rest on the crumpled form of Holmes.

The detective had fallen nearby, his once immaculate brown coat now marred with burns, the remnants of his signature deerstalker hat smoking faintly like a dying ember at the edges. He was clutching at his arm with a strained grimace, a glimpse of angry red skin visible just beneath the great black mark that had scorched his coat’s sleeve.

Staggering away from the wall, Rebecca moved to help Holmes despite her own lightly singed state, her instincts as a medic kicking in. But before she could reach his side, she felt herself actually being lifted off her feet, a strong arm wrapping around her waist as Moran swept her up like an unruly toddler.

After a beat of hesitation, the blonde-haired soldier seized Holmes by the collar of his coat, as well—dragging them both through the newly opened doors with an ease that was completely at odds with her slender frame.

Reduced to nothing but rag-dolls in her iron grip, both were left utterly bewildered as they were unceremoniously dumped on the floor of yet another dreary, cold-tiled corridor.

With a polite chime, the doors smoothly closed behind them, sealing them inside.

Moran, seemingly unfazed by... recent events, dusted off the shoulders of her singed red uniform and adjusted her cap with a flick, her stern blue eyes scanning the pristine hallway. It was a stark contrast to the tunnel-turned-battlefield they had just left behind, its clean, sterile environment a far cry from the bloodshed to be found mere meters away.

Dragging herself over on her knees to Holmes, Rebecca peeled back his sleeve, revealing a searing, ugly brand on his forearm, the blistering wound almost resembling the fern-like patterning of a Lichtenberg figure. She gingerly grazed her fingers over the scorched skin, stomach churning at the stench of burnt, sizzling flesh that permeated the air.

The ragged sore was already inflamed and furious, throbbing with an intense heat that made her eyes water in sympathy. She’d needed to act fast if she hoped to prevent infection.

Brows furrowing in concentration, Rebecca’s fingers shook only slightly as she retrieved a water bottle from her olive-colored canvas bag, its surface slick with condensation, and poured its cold contents over the wound. Holmes flinched as the icy liquid hit his skin, tension building in his jaw as he gritted his teeth, trying to withhold any hisses or gasps of discomfort.

Turning back to her bag, Rebecca began to rummage through it, unearthing another silvery spray can. Before she could use it, however, Holmes waved her off with a flourish of his uninjured arm, his green eyes twinkling at her despite the clear strain the pain he was feeling wrought across his dignified features.

"I've… suffered worse in the pursuit of a case, Doctor Chambers," he murmured, managing a weak chuckle. "I assure you, I can manage."

“Oh, well,” Rebecca paused, her lips twisting into a slight frown. Slowly, she returned the spray can to its rightful place in her bag… before deftly producing another cure from her stores, firmly clasping Holmes’ hand in her own and pressing something cold, tube-shaped and metallic into his palm.

He glanced down at his hand, feeling the weight of the smooth, icy glass syringe as he wrapped his long fingers around it, the thin, almost luminous green liquid inside lapping against the vial’s interior.

When he looked up again, Rebecca merely shrugged and flashed a small, shaky smile his way. "Use this only if you need to, then. No pressure."

With a light huff, she grasped his unscathed arm and helped heave the detective to his feet. Her trusty medical bag swung heavily from her shoulder as she turned, surveying the hallway ahead of them, ending in yet another sealed door.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road," she muttered, her cautious, padding footsteps echoing softly along the new corridor. She slid her Samurai Edge back into its holster at her belt, the weight of the weapon thumping against her hipbone with her every move.

I hope I don’t regret this, she thought, just a touch sourly.

PARTY MEMBERS: Rebecca Chambers, Sebastian Moran (Summon), Sherlock Holmes.
CURRENT LOCATION: Emergency Tunnels.
DESIRED LOCATION: Biological Wing/safehouse.
ACTION(S): We're headed towards the Biological Wing safehouse to parley. Rebecca has given Holmes x1 Antidote Syringe. I would like to use my Role Bonus to scrounge up useful stuff inside the Bio Wing!

Antidote Syringe (x1)
Healing Rank 5 (1000C)
--Transferable (+250C)
--Activation (10 seconds, -250C)
Cost: 1000C

Descriptor: A syringe that restores health. This item provides minor healing when injected, a process which takes up to 10 seconds to complete. It can be given to and used by Rebecca's allies.

FOCUS COUNT: 3/3
REBECCA STATS: REASON 9, STAMINA 10
INVENTORY: Profile Consumables, Survival Gear, Loot Listed Below.

STATUS: Spore incubation stage; contagious? Lethargy, loss of appetite, nausea, heightened thirst.

CURRENT LOOT:

• Whetstone.
• S.T.A.R.S. Captain PDA.
• Sunglasses.
• 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.