DGS4 Phase 6-8 -- Lasers and Feelings

[The Man in Red]

Persons Present:
Rebecca Chambers
Sebastian Moran (Summon)
Sherlock Holmes
Albert Wesker

"Pray tell, if I may ask...." Holmes eventually ventured after they had picked their way through the ruined facility for some minutes in relative silence. "What exactly is the nature of your....grievance with the good doctor?"

"Wily?" Wesker sneered. "The man is shortsighted and blinded by pettiness. His grandiose designs and flair for needless domination are nothing but a hindrance. To say nothing of his bizarre fascination with skulls." The rolling of his eyes was almost palpable. "I have no issue with the man himself. He is perhaps a touch arrogant and overconfident, but....more than capable. His expertise in robotics and technology development cannot be understated. But it is not Wily I have such great issue with. No..." He scowled darkly, one arm whipping out to strike a wall like a sledgehammer. "...it is his successor. The one who stepped in to fill his place in robotics when he was promoted to oversee the entire engineering department."

At this, Rebecca's attention jolted. "Successor? You mean he's not still—"

"As of the year before last," Wesker cut in. "Doctor Albert Wily received...a promotion to head of the engineering department as a whole, and robotics specifically received a new chief in the form of one Doctor Gero." The would-be god wrenched his arm from the small crater it had made in the wall. "The man is undeniably brilliant, but utterly insufferable. His expertise is more narrow than Wily's was, but in that narrow field he is notably more capable."

Rebecca frowned slightly, looking down. A hire that recent would explain why there was no mention of him in any of the files she'd seen so far, if nothing else, but... "What exactly is your problem with this Gero guy, then? It sounds like just a clash of personality."

"Hardly." Wesker's voice went icy cold. "He claims that his own knowledge in biology and creating artificial life — his 'bio-android' creations — would have been more relevant than my own expertise in....virology and modifying existing life, for the purposes of the projects we oversee here, and has no shortage of ill will and vitriol that he was place in robotics instead. He neglects to consider the decades that his projects take to reach fruition at their fastest, when our timetable consists of mere years."

"So it is a clash of not only personality, but professional interest as well," Holmes noted with some amusement. "Perhaps we would do well to avoid the man altogether, then, and simply make haste through to Engineering."

"Perhaps..." Wesker murmured. "I have noticed some...oddities of late with his performance. He has been erratic, moreso than could be explained by simply his response to the incidents at hand. I should dearly like to pay him a visit and have a direct conversation about whatever might be ailing him." As he strode ahead of the group, the way his lips curled upward into a mirthless, predatory smirk were blissfully lost on the others. "....provided we have time before proceeding on our rescue mission, of course, doctor Chambers."

Wesker will be leading the way out of Security and skirting around the central area to head into and through Robotics. You're free to develop things as you wish; you can agree to or try to sway him from his course of dropping in on Gero, at your discretion.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

The abominable irony of Albert Wesker discussing rescue missions was not lost on Rebecca. The thought alone was enough to make her want to scoff bitterly, but the constant throbbing inside her skull and the disorienting vertigo made it honestly difficult to do much of anything.

"Uh-huh… the rescue mission," she echoed, managing a dry chuckle that quickly twisted into a wince as a wave of dizziness overcame her. "Right. I have… complete faith in your commitment to that, Captain."

She steadied herself against the wall, the cool metal a brief solace to her hot, itchy skin. There was an odd, disconcerting moment when the world spun around her, going all topsy-turvy and wildly shifting through all the colors of the rainbow, and she blinked hard to regain her bearings.

Holmes, who had been fiddling with his deerstalker cap, looked up with an inquisitive, concerned glint in his eye. "You appear to be… somewhat out of sorts, doctor Chambers. Are you positive you're fit enough to go on? You've been rather unsteady, and there's a certain pallor about you that I find… most concerning.”

Grimacing, Rebecca grit her teeth in a weak smile, though her heartbeat quickened at the detective’s observation. She brushed him off with a wave of her hand—her fingers trembling despite her best efforts to steady them, the delicate bones and musculature of her arm feeling almost… strange, foreign to her own senses; the dark veining visible just beneath the sleeves of her borrowed winter jacket, turning the meat of her palm nearly black.

"...I'm okay, Mister Holmes, just… coming down with something from the jungle, that's all," she half-lied, averting her gaze from his piercing green eyes... and Moran's own hard, searching stare. “I’m sure it’ll pass!”

The truth was, the unusual symptoms she'd been experiencing were getting... harder and harder to overlook. But she didn't have the simple luxury of being sick right now. Too much was at stake.

"Then let's not dawdle," Wesker cut in sharply, not looking back at them, the shadow of his figure stretching out in the light as he paced ahead. "Time, as ever, is of the essence."

Trailing after Wesker at a safer distance—still a bit shaken from his sudden lashing out at some poor, defenseless wall—Rebecca cleared her throat discreetly, adjusting the weight of her medical bag on her shoulder.

It was… distinctly uncomfortable, empathizing with a man like Albert Wesker on some level. But she couldn’t help it; Rebecca was only human, and her compassion had always made her far more forgiving than those around her deserved.

She had dealt with the type of frustration he described before—trying to argue the importance of her research, only to have it dismissed or undervalued. Though it seemed Wesker had come out on top in that regard.

Memories flooded back of her first postdoc, living in a city far from home and working tirelessly on a project, a project she had been fervently, wretchedly passionate about, that ultimately failed due to lack of funding. She’d had to pack up and move back to a university closer to home, feeling defeated and unsure of her future. But then, an opportunity presented itself in the form of a call from Chris, an offer to work with the BSAA—and she’d leaped at the chance to use her skills as a research scientist for a greater cause.

But that little debacle didn’t even hold a candle to the current situation she found herself in. The mere thought of two of the most brilliant, and likely egotistical, minds in robotics and bio-engineering clashing over their work was a concerning image, to put it lightly, especially given the current catastrophic state of the facility around them.

The idea that this Dr. Gero was acting even more erratic than usual during a crisis was… not exactly reassuring!

More post to follow, just wanted to get this little bit out first!

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

“No,” said Rebecca, standing firm. “Nuh-uh. Absolutely not.”

Wesker looked at her like she was stupid. That was okay, though, because Rebecca was looking at him like he was fucking crazy—which he very blatantly was, considering the circumstances.

The end result was just the two of them standing there, glaring at each other and doing a fat lot of nothing, stuck at an impasse.

"Feeling anxious, Chambers?" Wesker’s voice dripped with derision as he taunted her, the fiery glint of his eyes flickering along the razor’s edge of his sunglasses. "Somehow, I expected… more from you."

“Yeah, well… I don't care what you expected! And that was before you brought me to the laser hallway,” pointed out Rebecca, flapping a hand about, her cheeks coloring an angry, splotchy red in her frustration. “If this is some... some cheap attempt to off me, I’d prefer it if you’d just shoot me again over… this!”

The robotics department had been a jarring departure from the Biological Wing, all things considered, and from the start Rebecca couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of unease at the stark contrast. The rest of the facility she had seen thus far was utterly ravaged, with debris and destruction everywhere, but here…

Here, the floors were polished to a high, mirror-like sheen, reflecting the harsh glow of the projected lights above, which were encased behind protective metal grates. The gleaming white walls were lined with panels of reinforced stainless steel, and the occasional whirring sound of machinery at work drummed within the unnatural silence with a pulsing, almost sleepy three-beat tempo.

It was only as they ventured deeper that any true damage became apparent. Stepping over broken machinery and avoiding pools of oily black liquid, they found the bodies of deactivated androids and other robotic organisms scattered carelessly about the corridors—some with torn limbs, others with shattered glass eyes, but the sizzling, frying-bacon sound of burnt circuits near omnipresent in the air. Wires and gears spilled out from their crooked metal frames like silvery copper and aluminum entrails, threaded with red-blue cabling and sparks of spluttering electricity.

Bulkheads and reinforced security doors barred their path, seeking to halt their progress, but Wesker wrenched them apart with ease—his sinewy arms barely seeming to strain as he seized the metal’s bolted-down edges, muscles flexing with each twist and pull until the doors groaned and gave way under the force, crumpling like nothing more than flimsy tin foil in his grasp.

With every defense gouged out and cast aside, Rebecca was reminded time and time again of the absolute monster Wesker was. It was easy to forget, when he was just a voice over an intercom or a shadowy figure in the background… but here, in the flesh, the frightening realness of his superhuman attributes was… undeniable.

Unfortunately, though, their company eventually came upon a form of defense that could not be so easily nullified. For what lay ahead of them was not a simple security door, but a series of beams of thin green light slicing across the length of an otherwise innocuous corridor, crisscrossing in a highly visible sensor grid… conveniently person-sized gaps discernible between them.

The air positively reeked of ozone and lubricant, a tangy scent that clung like acrid smoke to the back of Rebecca's throat, the very, very faint crackle of energy tickling at her ears. The sound alone made the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end, just like right before a lightning strike—and that was more than enough for Rebecca to know she wanted absolutely nothing to do with this long, fuck-off hallway.

“I’m not going in there,” she insisted again, crossing her arms over her bulletproof vest. “You’ll… trip me, or something.”

It was a little childish, but… tripping her into a line of lasers totally felt like something Wesker would do.

“Trip you?” Wesker mirthlessly repeated, adjusting his sunglasses with a flick of his wrist. He scanned the hallway ahead, the green lasers reflecting in his cold, calculating gaze. “Please, miss Chambers. As if I would ever do something so base.”

“That’s doctor Chambers, to you,” huffed Rebecca. “And is visiting this Gero guy even worth it? I mean… you can settle workplace disputes later. Right?”

“…I must also confess my trepidation at traversing this... acrobatic web,” murmured Holmes, reaching a hand up to deftly drop his bizarre goggles down over his eyes. “The laser grid being visible at all indicates that they are capable of… grievous bodily harm. And I would prefer that my body not be so aggrieved!”

At that, Colonel Moran’s face split with a positively wolfish smile.

"Oh, I don’t know… I daresay it looks quite fun. Though trying to navigate with the weight of both of you would surely be quite cumbersome," she added, casting a measuring look at the detective, which he appeared largely oblivious to. "Sacrifices may be necessary."

Rebecca frowned a little, about to question that comment, when in a sudden rush of air and a blur of motion, she found herself abruptly hoisted from the ground, wrapped securely in a strong, firm grip.

She promptly choked on her own tongue, a strangled yelp escaping her lips as she instinctively clawed at whatever had snatched her up, her eyes slamming shut in terror. The world around her spun in a dizzying whirlwind, the stomach-churning roller coaster of movement without sight making her guts lurch in protest.

Every fiber of her being tensed as she sensed the minutest shifts in her captor’s muscles, the subtle adjustments of their balance as they navigated the deadly laser grid with fluid ease—flipping, twisting and ducking to avoid the searing, subtly humming energy beams, passing so very close between them that Rebecca could literally smell the stench of ozone in the air, could feel their heat as the fine hairs along her arms were singed.

It was Moran. It had to be Moran.

"What are you doing?!” Rebecca whispered in a high-pitched squeak, her words jumbled together all in a rush. She didn’t dare squirm. "You—you can't just—!"

"Quiet," Wesker's voice was a low hiss, alarmingly close to her face. "I need focus."

Rebecca’s eyes snapped open.

The world seemed to right itself for a moment as Wesker paused, everything precisely balanced on what had, up until this point, been a crazily spinning axis. They were halfway through the grid, suspended in a brief, narrow pocket of safety between the crisscrossing beams.

Wesker stood precariously on one leg. The other was like, in the air or something, as if he was performing a camel spin one might do when figure skating—his torso extended in the polar opposite direction, one arm keeping her locked against his body like a goddamn seat belt. The other skimmed just over the ground, his gloved fingers curling and uncurling slowly... contemplatively... visibly considering his next move.

What the absolute fuck, thought Rebecca, feeling a bit deranged. She clutched the front of Wesker's tattered coat in a death grip, her knuckles colored a searing bone-white. Every sense was heightened, from the rabbit-quick hammering of her heart to the thin line of sweat dripping down her back.

She almost wanted to throw up on his shoes and get them both sliced up into itty-bitty, laser-burnt pieces out of spite.

Almost.

With an almost feline fluidity, Wesker continued through the maze, his body bending and swiveling like a contortionist, showcasing an inhuman level of flexibility and control that bordered on the frankly absurd.

Rebecca, for her part, quickly shut her eyes to stave off the nausea rising within her—because she did not, in fact, actually want to die.

The last stretch of lasers loomed ahead, a series of searing beams of green cutting through the still air. Wesker's leather gloves creaked as his grip on her tightened. Then, with a swift duck and an explosive leap, they cleared the remaining grid, landing smoothly on the other side.

As soon as her feet made contact with solid tile, Rebecca ripped herself from Wesker’s grip, her legs trembling beneath her like a newborn fawn's. She spun around to confront him in a flurry of windswept brown hair, her face burning with a cocktail of fury and embarrassment, every breath a ragged, squeaky gasp.

"How… how dare you manhandle me like that!" she fussed at him, though the fire in her words was undercut by the shakiness of her voice. "You could have warned me!”

Wesker straightened his coat with a nonchalant shrug, as if he hadn't just carried her—involuntarily—through a death trap like it was… like it was nothing!

"We don’t have time for your… timidity," he replied, condescending as ever. "You said you wouldn't go through, so I assisted. Be thankful, doctor Chambers."

Rebecca huffed angrily, her shoulders hitched nearly up to her ears. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest, valiantly resisting the urge to stamp her foot and really give him a piece of her mind.

"Assisted is definitely not the word I would use," she bit back at last, her gaze darting back to the laser grid they'd just passed through, a shiver visibly running through her. "More like abducted. Briefly."

“Semantics,” Wesker flicked a hand dismissively, turning to the corridor awaiting them. “Now, then. Shall we?”

“But, but what about—” Rebecca's words trailed off as she turned to see Moran and Holmes standing behind her, having just cleared the maze in… what had to have been seconds.

Moran had a tight hold on the back of Holmes' coat, her face twisted into a sour look that could curdle milk, glaring daggers at the back of Wesker’s head. Meanwhile, Holmes was inspecting a tiny, charred hole in his beloved deerstalker cap, muttering curses under his breath.

Still working on next part! Should be written later tonight.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

From that point on, Moran remained a constant shadow at Rebecca’s side, her movements mirroring hers with such exactness that it seemed like they were one person walking together. Rebecca welcomed the close proximity, for she had grown quite chilled, and the body heat radiating from the soldierly woman was a steady, unwavering thing.

"…So, in what ways has Gero been behaving erratically?" Rebecca ventured to ask, even these whispered words seeming a touch too loud in the quiet corridor.

And why hasn’t anyone looked into this before? she added mentally, but held her tongue. Hell, maybe Wesker had.

Wesker's stride wavered for just a moment, a line of tension threading across his broad shoulders, as if the question was an annoyance he'd hoped to avoid.

"Gero has been acting… off," he stated, as if using such an imprecise term tasted sour on his tongue. "For the past two or three months, he has been consumed by a single project, neglecting his responsibilities unless forced to attend to them by his colleagues. He's been... unstable, as I stated before, fitful in his behavior. But physically? He seems untouched. A miracle, given his advanced age. And as for sleep...? I doubt it's a concept he's familiar with anymore."

"And his projects take decades to produce results?" Rebecca couldn’t help but prod further, her skepticism growing with each passing second. She quickened her steps, trying to keep up with his brisk pace. "That sounds… a little absurd. Is that an exaggeration, or…?"

Twisting his head to glance down a side hallway, one hand straying to where he kept his sidearm tucked inside his coat, Wesker's lips pressed into a grim, stony line.

"Gero is… a perfectionist," he finally relented, stealing off down the corridor, granting a wide berth to a headless robotic shell slumped against the wall, the stump of its neck still sparking sporadically. "He won't be satisfied until his work is flawless, no matter how long it takes."

Holmes, who had been keenly observing their interaction and nonchalantly clutching his stun baton, interjected with an arched eyebrow. "And pray tell, did this Gero have a significant influence on the DAVE project? Perhaps his eccentric behavior stems from his involvement."

"The hardware specifications and design… yes, Gero was responsible for those," Wesker replied, curt as ever. "But as far as I know, the body for DAVE was never completed.”

Stewing in her own thoughts, Rebecca couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern for this… Dr. Gero character. To be so consumed by one's work was something she knew all too well, but to the point of neglecting everything else…? That was a level of dedication—or perhaps obsession—that was worrisome even to her.

The robotics department was evidence of this obsession, Rebecca thought; the restless bones of countless hours of labor and ambition sprinkled around in the form of fractured artificial bodies, their mere existence blurring the lines between machine and biological organism.

Oh, she felt tired and sick. But… maybe she had something…

Slowing her steps, Rebecca reached into her olive-colored canvas bag, shifting around the various documents and objects she had meticulously organized inside. Her fingertips finally grazed against ice-cold, smooth glass—a syringe glittering in the light as she pulled it out.

The long vial nestled comfortably against her palm, its neatly-pressed label inscribed with a looping, spidery cursive; her own handwriting. Inside, a faintly green liquid swilled around, giving off a sickly lime hue.

Turning it in her hands, Rebecca deftly uncorked the cap with her thumb, gritting her teeth a little as she pressed the needle against her inner elbow.

Please work, she thought, and depressed the plunger.

PARTY MEMBERS: Rebecca Chambers, Sebastian Moran (Summon), Sherlock Holmes (NPC), Albert Wesker (NPC)
CURRENT LOCATION: Robotics Department
DESIRED LOCATION: Wherever Gero is!
ACTION(S): Accompanying Wesker to Gero. Rebecca is using one healing consumable, the Antidote Syringe (Rank 5 Healing), to heal 2 Reason and 2 Stamina.

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 (Up from 9), STAMINA 12 (Up from 10)
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.

 

[The Man in Red]

Eventually, the doors to a final lab room opened unceremoniously under the weight of Wesker's heel, smashing into the side walls with enough force to remain firmly embedded within them, and make several loose tools rattle as the lights overhead briefly flickered in protest.

The room within was a complete mess of utter havoc. There were tools and spare parts of machinery scattered over almost every surface and spare bit of floor, with larger bits of dismantled robots and other more complicated machinery thrown about haphazardly everywhere. Spare bits of wire and cable and metal plating, splotches of oil and cooling fluids and electrical grease were only further completing the mess. The only area of the room that was clean at all was a single table, the area immediately around it, and a section of wall with a massive set of blueprints stapled to it.

A few tools lay here and there on the edges of said table, and occupying most of it was a robotic, mechanical body of some kind. It was clearly in the final stages of being worked on, with only a few final pieces of cabling to connect and exterior panels to attach, but it was as yet unfinished.

And standing hunched over it, on a stepstool to get up high enough, was....Doctor Gero.

He flinched at the arrival of his unexpected guests, bracing his hands on the edge of the table as he slowly turned around to look over his shoulder. His face was a ghastly, grisly image, spattered in blood and faux blood of some synthetic blend, bits and pieces of skin and flesh flayed and sheered away to expose electronic components beneath. Much of his scalp had been torn and stripped away by some kind of jagged blades, revealing a faintly glowing dome of blue glass, filled with bubbling fluid, which clearly housed his brain.

His brain which had a very obvious addition of some kind, some chip or small computer or other, forcefully jabbed and hardwired directly into the gray matter.

Gero's eyes, normally a pale blue, observed the new arrivals for a moment in stony silence. Then the chip in his brain flickered, sparks arching and pulsing around it, and the scientist slumped over the table with a wordless groan. One hand clutched at his head, as similar sparks arced and jolted over his body, ugly red and purple light flashing and sputtering incessantly.

".....ah. Is that normal, by any chance?" Holmes muttered.

"No. It is not." Wesker frowned, subtly positioning himself to lunge forward at a moment's notice.

Gero bolted upright, standing with his back ramrod straight and jerking, twitching involuntarily. A harsh whine of machinery overstraining itself sounded as he twisted unnaturally, undulating and moving like something with several times more joints than anything human, as he flowed under and around the workbench, placing himself between it and the newcomers into his lair. His eyes flashed red, pulsing in an erratic pattern as the chip in his brain crackled, a tiny screen on it displaying a flickering skull emblem that only briefly flashed to something else, hard to make out among the static, tiny display and the fiercely bubbling fluid around it.

"Out. Out! Get out!" Gero snarled, his voice dropping briefly into an unruly synthesized mess. One of his arms jerked up, the skin and false flesh around his forearm splitting and rupturing to reveal....some manner of multi-barreled firearm concealed within, as his face twisted into a manic, scowling grimace. "You fools! It's not ready yet! I must finish it; so that we can leave!"

Welcome to DIE!

Or just Gero's lab, if you prefer.

The good doctor has gone quite delightfully mad, as you can see. He has virtually no actual skill to fight with, but his android body is immensely strong, tough, and fast, and has several built-in weapons of varying practicality and/or sci-fi goofiness.

His primary purpose is only to keep you all away from whatever he's working on, on the table, and will opt to just leave you be altogether if you retreat. But he will fight tooth and nail to the death otherwise. Happy not-dying!

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

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.

 

[The Man in Red]

In the wake of Holme's deduction, Gero's lab descended into stark silence, punctuated only by the ragged breathing of its occupants and the occasional beeping and whirring of machinery.

"What...in the world...?" The baffled scientist leaned against his work table, his non-transformed hand coming up with shaking fingers to pinch at the bridge of his nose. The sheer confusion of the incident seemed to have completely overridden whatever had been wrong with him only moments before, at least temporarily. "Who...are you people?" His braincase had slowed down to several small streams of steadily flowing bubbles, warbling and popping here and there. The chip in his brain had gone dim for the moment, the tiny display empty of its former chaotic swirl of imagery.

"I'm sure you recognized Doctor Wesker," Rebecca said with a somewhat strained voice. "And...the rest of us are, er...contestants, in the Man in Red's game."

His pale blue eyes lifted up to regard the intruders into his lab with a cold, unamused stare, but at least the outright hostility and murder had left. "Hmph....yes, I suppose I did hear something about that...he's some kind of ridiculous entertainer." Gero's already wrinkled face did a magnificent job of managing to wrinkle even further in distaste. "I never did care for pointless bloodsport for no purpose other than entertainment..."

"Well then, doctor...you seem to have calmed down for the moment," Holmes cut in.

Gero sneered derisively, his weaponized hand slowly shifting and sliding back into its normal human configuration with several greasy-sounding pops and clicks of machinery. "Think whatever you like. But I wouldn't get too comfortable, if I were you." His eyes flashed dangerously, a single crackling ripple of electricity spouting from his braincase and arcing out to the exposed metal in his arm. "I can still....feel it. Some kind of....of virus, or external programming...." He lifted a hand to his head, gingerly touching the glass as a deep frown etched itself onto his features. "Don't expect your idiot prattling to keep it at bay for long, or to work again...."

"So whatever it is you came here for, I'd suggest you get on with it, while I'm of a mind to talk civilly." He wrung his hands together, striding with an unsteady gait around the table. "I don't plan to be made a puppet again. When I feel that....change coming on again, that will be it. I'll blow myself to bits before I let that thing use me as a tool."

Gero has been talked down from his virus-induced insanity....for the moment. He's still rather aggressive and derisive due to its influence, but will at least talk now.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

Rebecca's eyebrows drew together, her green eyes shining with worry as she peered at the scowling visage of Dr. Gero. Despite the occasional thrumming vibrations of active machinery emanating from some indiscernible point within the lab, the heavy silence that followed his dark statement was… practically suffocating.

Understandable, she thought, suppressing a shiver. I wouldn’t want to be made into nothing more than a puppet, either.

She leaned forward, a renewed determination sparkling in her eyes. “Okay, let’s make this quick, then—who put that control chip inside your brain, doctor? Can you remember?”

The old scientist shook his head, wobbling unsteadily as he leaned against his worktable.

"I… can't seem to recall. Though I do not know if that is this blasted programming’s influence," he muttered, his knuckles forcefully rapping against the table. "There are only three individuals in this entire facility that I would deem capable of such a thing.” A bitter laugh left his lips, his icy eyes flashing with a low, seething fury and his teeth gritted in frustration. "Myself, Wily, or Strange."

Nodding slowly, Rebecca made a mental note to come back to that later.

“I see…” she murmured, her expression solemn, keeping her tone… politely curious, choosing to reserve any judgement, for now. “And was the damage to your body… related to that incident?”

Gero snarled, his mechanical voice filled with bitter resentment. "No, it was not! It was one of those disobedient escaped experiments, Subject F. Though it nearly ended me, I was able to repair myself with… the available materials."

He nonchalantly flapped a hand towards the twisted and mangled remains of countless androids and robots strewn about the dilapidated laboratory, their slumped, crumpled forms in varying states of disrepair. The acrid scent of burnt plastic and ozone lingered heavily in the air, the flickering electric lights above casting an unsettling, eclectic gleam over the gruesome husks of warped steel and wiring.

The medic inhaled shallowly, fighting to maintain an air of composure as she followed his gaze. Her heart clenched inside her chest as she realized he had been taking apart his own creations, cannibalizing parts to patch himself together. A madman’s work, but clearly it had been one of the only things to keep him going for so long…

“And what is the true purpose of this… mechanical shell you’ve built?” Holmes prompted, appearing quite suddenly from behind one of said trashed robot carcasses. His cap, full of holes and singed at the edges, sat askew on his head. With a quick adjustment, he straightened it atop his platinum curls. “And do enlighten us on the procedure being conducted on that computer over yonder!”

Gero's spine straightened at the mere mention of the robot body on his worktable, a comical, yet highly disturbing popping sound emanating from his metallic joints. The fluid inside the glass dome shielding his brain fizzed and frothed angrily, a streak of electricity from the virus-chip causing his shoulders to violently jerk.

What appeared to be an actual cannon surged from between the synthetic tendons of his wrist, prompting Rebecca to take a hasty step back. She observed warily as Gero tried to regain his composure, but it was like watching a balloon deflate in slow motion—squeaky and filled with a disconcerting amount of hot air.

Eventually, though, the cannon seemed to reluctantly comply with his wishes, folding back into a more… socially acceptable, human-like appendage.

Face twisting into a grimace, Gero shook out the limb like it was an unruly umbrella, not a potential weapon of mass destruction.

"The body… is for DAVE. It must be completed… at any cost, as per the demands of the chip," he grumbled, shooting a frigid glare at the detective. "What is currently displayed on the computer indicates the transfer of an… AI routine. I cannot be any more specific than that.”

Holmes and Rebecca shared a conspiratorial gaze, their eyes darting to the flickering computer screen. The progress bar flashed in a sinister, slowly creeping countdown, each second ticking away with all the urgency of a bomb about to detonate.

“Okay! Good to know,” said Rebecca through a strained smile, feeling a bit faint. “And what weaknesses does this DAVE have…? In the event we need that information, anyway.”

Humming, Gero stroked his bushy white mustache, a deep crease forming on his forehead as he pondered the question.

"DAVE isn't as… isolated as our security protocols originally planned," he intoned severely, his eyes narrowing. "He has access to… hm… virtually every contraption and piece of technology within Site Seven. Cameras, elevators, defense mechanisms…"

Her green eyes shooting wide, Rebecca’s jaw dropped.

“W-what? But doesn’t that mean this—this AI you’ve all made could be… watching us right now?” she demanded, her voice dropping to a squeaky hush near the end, as if afraid to speak the mere thought into existence.

“Psh,” scoffed Gero, brushing aside her concern with a wave of his hand, though he appeared to… consider it. “Yes, yes… perhaps. However, DAVE possesses a limited fail-safe in terms of a human-like attention span. He can only process a select number of tasks concurrently, rendering him unable to be entirely omnipresent and monitor all activities at all times. If there’s something else more interesting or concerning to him going on in another part of this facility… he’s not spying on our conversation.”

“Given all the trouble we faced just to reach this location, it is safe to assume that there may be even more of a ruckus stirring in other areas,” Holmes mused, rising from his concealed position with a flounce. “Does this robot body possess any… vulnerabilities?”

Doctor Gero shot a quick glance at him, the scars etched into his skin twisting into a grisly frown, exposing the glint of gouged metal beneath.

“The head of the body is its primary weakness, as the other components possess a self-repair subroutine and are of non-essential importance. And while the head is heavily fortified, it still remains… the most susceptible to damage. In terms of sheer durability, it may not match up to the physical prowess of someone like Wesker,” he admitted begrudgingly, “But it is still… undeniably advanced and more than proficient in its functions.”

The battered scientist shook his head, lips retracting from his teeth in a sneer. “The real danger lies in the integration of DAVE's collective memory and data archives. It has been designed to simulate and replicate the capabilities of… all past Death Game participants, including their unique weaponry and specialized items.”

“My god,” Rebecca's face drained of all color as one hand flew to cover her mouth, leaving her skin as pale as a sheet of paper. Images of the past Death Game results flashed before her eyes in a gory slideshow, which she now dearly regretted viewing before this whole mess even started. Maybe she wouldn’t have felt as utterly gutted if she hadn’t.

Holmes, too, looked rather grim at this news. “…Ah.”

Rebecca bit at her thumb, eyes darkening, her thoughts spiraling inward as she desperately tried to come up with a solution, some mode of attack. There had to be something, anything! That was just how things tended to go, for her, ever since the training school—ever since Raccoon City.

There was always something.

“If… if that upload is completed,” she began, fumbling over the terminology, trying to put words to something she could scarcely comprehend. “Would DAVE not be able to… be anywhere else? Could we… I don’t know, trap him?”

Gero's eyes narrowed as she spoke, his knuckles resuming their dull, rhythmic tapping against the worktable.

"He'd be limited," he said, his voice clipped, lightly strained. "Always keeping one attention point on this body in order to pilot it." The scientist leaned forward, jabbing an index finger at the robotic shell. "But rest assured, even if the body takes a beating, the AI will remain unharmed."

Unable to stand it any longer, Rebecca turned away and crumpled into herself, one hand muffling the soft, despairing noise that left her lips.

Her fingers tugged at her unkempt, limp brown locks, framing her pale face in a disheveled mess. The nausea that had been swirling inside her gut now churned with full force, and she had to take short, measured breaths to swallow it back down, wincing all the while.

Keep it together, Chambers, she mentally hissed at herself, squeezing her eyes shut—fighting back the flood of hot, stinging tears that threatened to break free, to make a fool out of her in front of all these people who certainly didn’t care about how she felt or how much she dearly, wretchedly hoped to live. You can’t let this break you. Sure, you’re sick. Yeah, you’ve been kidnapped. And… yes, you’re probably about to be filleted by a robot or some other awful monstrosity these chuckleheads have cooked up. But it’s not over until it’s over!

Really, there was only one final, burning question left to ask.

“What do we do?”

A soft thudding of boots jolted Rebecca's attention, her eyes blinking open. It was Moran and Wesker, returned from their little sojourn in the rafters, by the looks of it.

Moran stood directly beside her with her arms crossed, a brooding look on her face.

“The way I see it, we’ve got a right bunch of geniuses here,” the fair-haired woman drawled in her posh accent, nodding to Gero, Wesker, Rebecca, and… after a brief pause, Holmes. “So, let’s rub a few brain cells together and hear it, then.”

Nodding, Rebecca hastily dabbed at her eyes, rummaging through her olive green satchel. She emerged with a whole stack of papers and handbooks, crinkled and curled from where they’d been haphazardly crammed into her bag. "Er, I have these… programming manuals and technical documents about the AI… they were Wily’s. Maybe they'll do some good?"

Squinting at Wesker with suspicion, Gero spoke up slowly. "We may be able to piece together something to throw off the body’s performance… or the upload itself, causing a dysfunction for DAVE and forcing him to operate with a delayed reaction time.”

A flash of irritation crossed Wesker's face, though his sunglasses hid whatever true depth of emotion he may have felt. With a slight incline of his head, he revealed his gloved hand, slinking out from where it had grasped the gun holstered under his coat.

"Hmph… yes, sabotaging the body would be our best bet,” he concurred, albeit grudgingly. “It should keep DAVE… largely in the dark about our interference until it's too late.”

Rebecca’s shoulders slumped in relief, an audible sigh gusting past her lips.

"Thank god, we have a plan," she huffed, pushing her glasses back up her nose. "Okay, Doctor Gero… obviously we’re not gonna let you blow up. We may need your expertise later. If you’ll allow it, I’m thinking that Wesker and I can—"

POST 1/2

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

Content Warning: Fictional brain surgery.

"No," spat Wesker, firmly cutting her off, his expression ice-cold. "Absolutely not. How dare you even suggest such an utterly… ludicrous idea?”

“But you just said you wouldn’t mind going at his brain with a scalpel!” Rebecca retorted, whirling to face him. She gestured widely to Gero, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. “Here’s your chance!”

Glowering from beneath his bizarrely prominent brow, Gero's blue eyes darted between them, distrust practically oozing from his sour expression.

“…This does not inspire confidence,” he grumbled.

Rebecca felt that was a little unfair—at least she was a totally normal doctor!

“Come on, Wesker,” she insisted, clasping her hands together, green eyes wide and pleading. “Let’s go. In and out. Twenty minute surgery!”

With a calculated flick of his gloved hand, Wesker adjusted his sunglasses, some of his cool facade thawing enough to allow a thin, chilling smile to spread across his lips. "Well, now. Twenty minutes…? You are quite confident in your abilities, aren't you?"

“Well, I’ll admit, I’ve never attempted a surgery like this before,” Rebecca said with a shrug. “But seeing as we won't need to perform a craniotomy or administer anesthesia, I think it’ll shave off some of the time!”

“True…” hummed Wesker, seeming a little more jazzed about the idea.

“I have NOT agreed to this!” Gero snapped, bristling with anger, to which Wesker curled his lip in a disdainful sneer.

"Pathetic. Do you honestly believe death is the better option…?" he hissed, his feline eyes flashing gold over the dark lenses of his sunglasses. "But if that's what you truly desire, I can… expedite the process for you.”

Gero scowled, glaring up at Wesker with a cold gleam in his eyes. He really was quite short. “Is that meant to be a threat?”

The would-be god smirked, casually cracking his leather-clad knuckles. "Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. It was a promise."

With a loud ’uuuughhh’ that seemed custom-designed to kill the semi-murderous, megalomaniacal vibe going on, Rebecca covered her face with a hand. “Please, Doctor Gero… we’re on a time limit, here. If your brain chip wants to go haywire again or you don’t like what we’re doing, just give us a heads up before you self-destruct. I don’t think it has to be that complicated!”

Though his face contorted into a contemptuous snarl, the tension in Gero’s shoulders eased minutely, his eyes narrowing as he appeared to carefully take her measure.

Evidently, he wasn’t too disturbed by what he saw in her.

"Fine," he gruffed out impatiently, his words more a sharp jab than a true expression of acceptance. "Proceed with your misguided plan. But remember, any misstep and you will suffer the consequences—"

"I understand completely, doctor. But don’t worry," Rebecca replied with a strained, sunny smile, her green eyes crinkling up at the corners as she gave him a cheerful thumbs-up. “I’ve got this!”

From her olive-colored canvas bag, the medic quickly retrieved a small, rectangular box. With a click, it opened to reveal an array of tiny, neatly organized surgical instruments; scalpels, clamps, and hemostats glinting under the flickering, harsh lights of the laboratory. Her fingers expertly selected a pair of pristine hemostatic forceps and a fine-pointed scalpel, holding them up to the light for a closer inspection, her eyes intent behind her glasses.

As she gathered her assortment of instruments, half of which she likely wouldn’t even need, Holmes sauntered over. He stopped beside her and surveyed her tools with interest before speaking in a low, quiet voice. “My dear doctor, it seems the upload may be complete before you finish your work.”

Her hands going still, Rebecca’s head lifted, following the line of his gaze to the computer. She bit her bottom lip, brows furrowing in concern.

“Can’t you do anything to slow it down?” she asked, her eyes flitting back to his face. “Not enough to interrupt it or cause any alarm, but just… something to bottleneck the network’s resources?”

Holmes hmm-ed. “There… might be something I could do in that regard, yes.”

Rebecca grinned brightly, lightly patting him on the arm. “Fantastic! You’re a lifesaver, Mister Holmes. I’m sure the Colonel will be happy to assist you, too!”

Said Colonel glowered, but straightened when Rebecca looked her way, giving a dignified nod of acceptance.

In the meantime, Doctor Gero had settled himself onto a nearby mechanic’s stool with an ill-tempered grace. His hands lifted to brace on either side of his skull, and with remarkably nimble fingers for a man of such an advanced age, he began to tinker with the strange, blue glass dome that encased the vulnerable meat of his brain.

With a clinically detached gaze, Wesker watched as Gero’s hands carefully traced the glass, locating the thin, almost invisible seam running along the equator of the dome.

There was an audible clink and hiss as Gero deftly twisted the top half of the dome clockwise. The glass cracked open like some sort of bizarre egg, revealing not yolk and gelatinous albumen, but coils and wrinkles of grey matter swimming in an unusual, clear fluid. As the dome was cracked open, the liquid gradually began to trickle away through unseen conduits towards the nape of his neck, though their exact location wasn’t easily discernible.

Rebecca approached with caution, snapping on a pair of surgical gloves with two expert flicks of her wrist as her gaze lingered on the exposed brain. She stole a glance at Wesker, who offered only a terse nod—no trace of warmth or encouragement in his piercing stare.

"…I suppose this goes without saying, but please… try not to move," Rebecca instructed as she leaned over Gero's head, the forceps poised between her gloved fingertips. Her voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—a mix of worry for her patient’s well-being and the uneasy knowledge that one wrong move, just one little slip, might lead to utter catastrophe.

As her hands made their first move towards his cerebral cortex, Gero's body stiffened, but remained unmoving—his expression going flat, the synthetic muscles of his jaw clenched in visible discomfort. Rebecca's focus narrowed until all that existed was her immediate mission—extracting the malicious virus-chip without causing any damage. Everything else faded away, melting into white noise.

With furrowed brows, Rebecca pinpointed the chip nestled within Gero's brain tissue, her forceps hovering above it. Its tiny screen flickered with snowy white static, its metallic shape glinting under the laboratory’s stark lighting, a strange intruder in the midst of one of nature’s most intricate, ineffable designs.

It sat there, wedged none too gently between the hemispheres of the android's brain. A network of tiny, vein-like cables snaked out from it, the thin lines of red and purple wiring penetrating deep into the soft tissue—covered in a fine layer of watery, slimy secretions.

“Ew,” mumbled Rebecca, momentarily forgetting that her patient was awake and aware. She hastily corrected herself. “I mean, wow! That… does not look ideal!”

Wesker hummed quietly, effortlessly plucking a scalpel from her grasp. "It seems that we have our work cut out for us. Dr. Chambers, if you would…"

"Yeah, sure… I’ll let you have the cool part," the medic replied with a sardonic huff, mostly to herself, as she positioned the forceps around the edge of the chip.

Heart pounding, Rebecca's steady fingers manipulated the forceps with great delicacy, latching onto the chip and pulling it… up, incrementally. Each gentle, inching movement dislodged the chip from Gero's brain that much more, revealing the dangling wires beneath, strings of goopy, blue-tinged liquid dripping everywhere.

“Oh,” said Rebecca, because she didn’t want to freak Gero out or anything. Yuck! “So, er… which one of your coworkers do you think could’ve done this, Wesker? Now that you’re seeing their work up close and personal, I mean.”

With a series of precise, calculated nicks with the scalpel, Wesker expertly severed the wires’ connection to the chip, each thread-like strand slipping fluidly back into the android’s grey matter.

His lips pursed at Rebecca’s question, perturbed. “Wily’s motives… seem lacking. The chip would appear to indicate his involvement, however. And as for Strange… I haven’t been able to get a read on him.”

“That’s unusual,” quipped Rebecca, carefully adjusting her grip on the hemostats. “And here I thought you were some kind of expert on human nature, or something.”

Slowly, painstakingly, the chip came loose—like a stubborn leech, its ribbed edges clung to the tender tissue of Gero’s brain, but Rebecca was determined. She tightened her grip on her forceps, peeling the implant free with a sickening, slick squelch, until at last it lay inert in her palm, tiny and perfectly unassuming.

“There,” she sighed softly, cupping her hands around it. “All done, doctor. You can, um…”

Gero stirred, his hand lifting, gently gripping the top of the glass dome between his fingers like a tiny bowl. He methodically twisted it back onto the latches of some indiscernible mechanism contained within his cranium, securing it in place once again.

Rebecca observed, fascinated, as transparent liquid began to refill the dome. Then, she shook herself, turning her head to check Holmes’s status.

To her surprise, the great detective was practically doing a balancing act on the desk chair, his knees planted precariously at the very edge of the seat, limbs flailing in all directions like a malfunctioning windmill as the chair spun round and round and round. A wild clattering of keys filled the air, the computer’s screen littered with an endless stream of pop-ups and dialog boxes.

The progress bar had barely budged an inch.

Moran stood guard, utterly flabbergasted.

“…Holmes!” Rebecca called out, very pointedly not looking at Gero or Wesker.

The chair's wild twirling came to a sudden stop. With an abrupt flounce, Holmes jumped up, stumbling and fumbling to straighten his hat atop his disheveled mop of curls. With a wobbly grin plastered on his face, he clumsily tried to focus on the other persons in the room.

"Ah, I see the surgery was a success!" he exclaimed, like a drunkard encountering an unexpected chum at the bar. “Well done!”

“Yeah. We’re about to start discussing what to do about the robot body,” Rebecca informed him, patiently. “If you can spare a moment, that is.”

"Oh, indubitably," Holmes replied with his usual wit, making an attempt to stride towards her. However, his feet wound up pointing in quite the opposite direction and he stumbled towards Moran instead, just barely managing to avoid a collision. "Ah. My humblest apologies, my good sir!"

Sighing softly through her nose, Moran gripped him by the forearms and frogmarched him over.

Her eyes twinkling in suppressed amusement, Rebecca turned to regard her recovering patient. “Doctor Gero, about introducing some kind of… lag to DAVE’s reaction time… why don’t we implant that chip, as well? I mean, it obviously wasn’t doing you any favors…”

She lifted the small chip up to eye level, noticing that the screen was still flickering with meaningless static.

Gero, grasping at the glass dome covering the crown of his head, pondered her proposal. His gaze fixed on the chip, brimming with that special sort of hostility one can only reserve for an inanimate object. “That could work…”

"…hrm!" ejaculated Holmes quite suddenly, snatching the chip from Rebecca's grip. He teetered slightly as he made his way to the worktable, where the robot body lay. "It's quite obvious now… I have deduced the precise course of action that must be taken!”

“Holmes—” began Rebecca, spluttering.

What followed was nothing short of alchemic.

Holmes, with a fluidity utterly at odds with his recent discombobulation, whipped a screwdriver from his coat pocket with all the jubilant energy of a magician pulling a bunny rabbit from a hat. With zero hesitation, he began to dismantle sections of the mechanical simulacrum’s head with a series of deft twists and turns, screws and bolts plinking and clattering to the floor like raindrops drumming against a glass windowpane.

In short time, the inner workings of the machine lay exposed: cables and tubes in many colors all threading together as a living nexus of energy, their diodes flickering like a cloud of fireflies at twilight.

Holding the chip aloft between his fingers, Holmes scrutinized it like a diamond appraiser might examine a precious stone under a microscope… his eyes then skittering over to examine the intricate lattice of wiring before him, nestled within the mechanical body’s head.

Rebecca watched as Holmes moved quickly, and before she could ask him what the hell he was doing, the virus-chip and his hands were already inside the body's head. When he pulled back, the chip was gone.

“There,” declared Holmes, resealing the robot’s head paneling back up with precision and speed, each bolt and screw fastened back in its proper place. “Elementary, my dear doctor!”

“…Is it?” asked Rebecca, staring worriedly down at the metallic shell.

PARTY MEMBERS: Rebecca Chambers, Sebastian Moran (Summon), Sherlock Holmes (NPC), Albert Wesker (NPC)
CURRENT LOCATION: Robotics Department
ACTION(S): Rebecca and Wesker just did brain surgery on Gero. Holmes stalled the download, briefly. Now, we're collectively trying to sabotage the DAVE-bot. *Adds Gero to my inventory.*

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.
• One Gero, please.