damned_institute | Day 43: Intercom, Evening

Hello! I.R.I.S. here once more to announce to you, our honored guests, that you have officially made it through a day of our typical Landel's treatment. Of course, it isn't quite over: we will now have you retire to our designated patient quarters with one of your agency partners to inspect their sleeping area and the tools that we provide them with for the true bulk of our behavioral testing. On an added note, we would like you to notice once again that the meals we provide to our subjects are of the highest quality.

For those of you feeling apprehensive about taking part in our more intensive methods, please be aware that we would never imagine putting all of you in any danger whatsoever. This last shift will be your last at our Institute; afterward, we will escort you to our Head Doctor's personal observation station to survey some of our test Next-Wave participants in the rigorous trials we put them through – all for their betterment, of course.

Once again, we hope that you are satisfied with what you find, and as always, direct any questions you may have to your console.

The nurses began to escort the patients to their rooms. They didn't even seem to be brought to awareness by words such as "testing" and "subjects."

[ All room threads go in response to this post; please post your character's room number as the subject line of the initial post. (Find all of the newly changed room assignments and shift introductions here.) If you are introducing your character during this shift, you may either choose for them character to wake up before their roommate gets back, or after. ]

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Scourge brought out his emory board soon after the nurse left. In between bites of his dinner he went to work sharpening his nails to fine points, getting ready for the night. Pearl had done decent work cleaning them up, but he wanted them combat ready as well.

He knew Lord Recluse had wanted him to fetch more chemicals, but after last night's stark terror he felt he deserved a night of relaxation in large numbers. Honey seemed to be a few gears short of a minibot, but the organization was real enough and even if the food wasn't ready tonight it would still mean safety and large numbers.

Today had certainly been interesting to say the least, and Wesker still wasn't sure if he could classify the day's developments as good or bad. Sherry was a very valuable asset, but at her current age not particularly useful. Still, Wesker would have to ensure her safety, and as clever as she was it was possible she might have some use, although more likely during the day than at night.

William Birkin, however. That was interesting. Apparently he was a graduate of the program, if the machine over the intercom was to be believed. Wesker hoped he would never reach the day where he willingly called himself Alfred for anything other than tricking the staff members into thinking he'd recovered.

"Good evening, Scourge," Wesker said, almost not paying attention, as he sat down to dinner. He did, of course, take note of what exactly his room mate was doing. In a scenario where large numbers of people were imprisoned like this the creation of weapons was natural, and in this case it was an essential part of survival. "I see you made it through last night. Did you get bitten?"

Scourge stopped his filing to give Wesker a cheerful wave, then left his arm up in response to the question. "No, just scratched to Earth and back." He pulled his sleeve down, revealing a series of bruises and scrapes. "I was door guard. You?"

The tracker wiped the keratin dust from his nails and examined his left hand, making sure they were even and properly sharp. Spying a flaw, he furrowed his brow and went to work correcting the angle of the point. It wasn't the same as sharpening a blade or cleaning a gun, but it still had the feeling of preparing a weapon before battle and made Scourge feel that little bit more at peace with himself. Besides, they were only going for cake. Nobody guarded cake.

There was no sign of infection around the scratches, so Wesker wasn't concerned. If Scourge was going to catch something, he would've had stronger signs by now. "I am unharmed," Wesker said. Even if he had been injured last night it would have healed by now, and he had no concern about catching anything from a common, or even uncommon, zombie. "Although I understand there were quite a few casualties last night." Including William's former room mate. Well, now Wesker wouldn't have to worry about figuring of if William had infected him with a virus or not.

Scourge seemed quite intent on sharpening his nails to perfection, so Wesker turned his attention to dinner. It was a suitable assortment of protein and carbohydrates, suitable for keeping his body in excellent shape and fueling any regeneration he might need to do in the coming night.

Scourge's voice went solemn and sullen. "Yeah. I know." He hadn't really liked Blitzwing, but he hadn't hated the guy either. And it was obviously ripping Lugnut apart and he hadn't see Megatron in a while even though he was clearly still here, so...so that was team unity out the window.

He blew on his fingers and turned his attention back to his dinner, setting the little rainbow heart on the side of the tray. Steak for energy, cake for later. Or whatever sweets there were.

So it sounded like the former machine had lost someone. Well, the population was relatively small, so it wasn't surprising that they both knew people among the deceased. Not that Wesker had been particularly attached to anyone he knew.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Not that he was, but Wesker was very adept at false sympathy. It was something he'd had more than enough practice at during his time as Captain of S.T.A.R.S. and he was an excellent actor when he wished to be. He could even pretend like his room mate was a perfectly normal, well adjusted individual, and ignore his eccentricities. Even if they were starting to uncomfortably remind him of Alfred, since he had been thinking about that particular embarrassment lately.

"Nobody saw him die, or saw the body," Scourge grumbled, ripping into his steak with knife and fork. "People disappear from here all the time. Doesn't mean anything."

He didn't sound like he believed it, but he was annoyed enough at the situation to defend the possibility from any attackers--he'd spent all morning doing it to Lugnut in an attempt to keep him from taking over the bulletin board with his pleas. Made them look bad, made Scourge depressed--he saw too much of himself in it and the possibility of losing Cyclonus to madness like this. Somehow dying in a fleshy body felt far scarier than dying in his real one, as scary as any dying was.

Day 43: Intercom, Evening

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