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damned_institute2007-04-22 04:01 pm
damn-legends.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2007-04-22 04:01 pm
Nightshift 23: Second floor; east wing, near railed area
[[From here]]
This space. All around him, emptiness. Even his hushed, near-silent footsteps boomed with echo in the emptiness of the corridor; he stopped dead and listened hard.
There was something. Something moving along the corridor, slowly, regular. A scrape, like a wounded man dragging an injured leg. And he could feel something too - feel it, the heat in this cold space...
He gripped his pipe tightly, and ran as quietly as he could towards the nearest wall, bracing his body against it.
Was it coming closer?
This space. All around him, emptiness. Even his hushed, near-silent footsteps boomed with echo in the emptiness of the corridor; he stopped dead and listened hard.
There was something. Something moving along the corridor, slowly, regular. A scrape, like a wounded man dragging an injured leg. And he could feel something too - feel it, the heat in this cold space...
He gripped his pipe tightly, and ran as quietly as he could towards the nearest wall, bracing his body against it.
Was it coming closer?
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Without moving his feet, he twisted his upper body and brought the end of his pipe sharply down on what he hoped was the creature's head, resisting the urge to cry out or grunt with the exertion.
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The creature's arm surged forward, making contact with skin and lets its decaying nails scratch down harshly at the flesh.
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With a sudden growl he thrust the pipe with all his strength, aiming it at the creature's boneless chest as if he were fighting with a spear and not a pipe.
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Almost out of blind panic the creature began to wildly flail its arms, wanting nothing more than to bring pain to its attacker before it finally collapsed.
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He examined the carcass closely. It had clearly been operated on. An M-U gone wrong? Had this person once been a patient, fighting to get out, like him?
With very little else to do, he threw off his coat and pulled off the remains of his slashed shirt, and began to examine the wound. It was fairly deep - although he'd had much worse - and bleeding heavily - if he could stem the flow somehow, he'd still need to stitch it up. Disinfectants or antibiotics would be nice, but he probably had no access to them here. All he had were painkillers, but the pain was keeping him concentrating and reminding him he was real and alive and here.
He began to apply pressure to the wound until the bleeding had slowed down enough for him to start treating it properly. Tearing his shirt into strips, he loosed a long fibre from one of the frayed ends and held it in his mouth while hunting in the pocket of his coat for the scalpel.
Carefully, with the tip, he cut six long, small incisions around the edge of the two deeper slashes - the third hadn't cut as deep as the others. Wishing he had a needle, he used the tip of the scalpel blade to pull the thread through each of the holes, until the first wound was stitched up tightly.
While working on the second, he thought hard about the situation. Any other time he would have hunted for the pharmacy Otacon had mentioned, but he didn't have the time. He was already clueless as to where Axel was.
Bandaging himself up with the strips of t-shirt, he eventually stood, throwing the coat back over himself. Shirtless with his hair loose and wearing a heavy coat -
Wonderful, he growled in his head. If I don't look like my father I look like...someone even crazier.
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click click click "Now you leave me to clean this mess."
She laughed then, letting off a disturbing, shrill giggle. The glowing metal rose, pointing at the soldier. "Ungrateful patient."
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- and was that a red-hot poker in her hand? Where would she get something like that? And it was an impractical choice for a weapon; more the sort of thing you would grab to defend yourself from a burglar at the last moment. Certainly not a premaditated choice to march into the battlefield with. He'd had enough experience with stratigic oddities like that to assume there was some sort of personal connection. Unless she's only like that because that's what she's like in the story, he thought bitterly, the part of his mind which believed this institute was some demented fictitious crossover waking up.
Snake's urge was to escape, but he stood his ground.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked, pointing his own cold bar at her in response. If they had been guns he would be in a Mexican standoff.
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Must he ask? Was it not simple, so simple to see, to understand what she was? Who she was? It was etched on her face, on her body, in her voice.
Master Lorenzo knew what she was. That precious princess knew what she was.
Her body shuddered, a light spasm while her voice quivered, head lolling to the side with a resounding pop.
She let out a hiss of breath, anticipating the man's move.
"I am not complete."
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His mind flew back to Shadow Moses. Meryl. Raising the gun to her head...twisting and spasming and forcing a scream past her possessed lips...
Or maybe not. Maybe this went further than that. The Arnolds in Outer Heaven. Nineties AI at its juddering, lurching finest.
This woman was not under her own control. She was either possessed, or some kind of automaton. He'd never seen one this fine before, but he'd never known this place before either.
"Would it make you complete to kill me?" Snake growled, taking a step forward, raising the pipe in a guard position. "Or is it just that you don't have a death to call your own? Because if that's what you want, you've come to the right man."
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Obviously, something went wrong.
She paused at his question, her shaking quelled to ponder the odd statement. She remained silent for a moment, all movement ceasing as though someone had pulled her metaphorical plug.
"Neither," she answered finally. Then, abruptly, she was not so still anymore, usual slow pace seemingly tossed to the side as she frighteningly dashed towards the man, hot metal raised over her head before she swung.
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She did recognize the railed area from Sunday, where she'd been escorted by her nurse to the church, but it seemed someone was already there - two someones.
Claire didn't question how or where the woman got that poker - she assessed the situation in an instant. This woman was attacking a patient. He needed help. She didn't need to know anything else.
Running as fast as she could, Claire lept on the woman's back, plunging the knife into her shoulder. At the very least, she could provide a distraction for the man to get away.
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"What the hell are you doing?!" he roared at her. "Are you out of your mind?!"
Without even thinking, he thrust his pipe spear-like at the woman. All he had to do was save this child, this stupid suicidal child who thought she was a superhero.
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Wesker was momentarily surprised at the scene in front of him, but the surprise didn't hold him for long. Claire had jumped into a battle, but at least she had her knife. And at least she hadn't jumped into battle alone.
Though, from the way the man with the pipe was shouting, he clearly had no idea that Claire could regenerate. "Claire! Be careful!" Wesker found it surprisingly easy to sound concerned, perhaps because while she could regenerate, she really didn't know how to fight.
It was clear that the man had already been injured previously, the bloody bandages and the edges of a wound standing out on his chest. Wesker glanced at the man from behind his sunglasses as he found an opening and stepped in to intercept the woman's weapon, attempting to block it with his knife.
"Don't worry about her," He would leave it to Snake to decide which 'her' he was talking about.
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Hmph.
Pressure on her back meant another worthless patient was behind her. Another patient meant more to clean, and she did not need to clean more right now. Master needed them to go to sleep. What Master says goes.
She stumbled back when the men rammed their weapons into her, the blow to her poker not enough to unleash it from her hand, but enough to swing it back. Good enough, and she let the force of it spin her around to the girl and reach for that… that perfect blonde hair, to tear at it to…
No Azoth in her, but she was… she was
The maid let a screech out from her throat and moved to grab the girl's hair and use it as means to throw her off the railings edge.
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He raised his hand in a half-salute, then charged off into the distance, shoulders hunched and bar pointed down like a gun.
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She lost her grip on the knife when the woman grabbed at her hair, leaving her weapon to clatter somewhere on the ground.
Claire cried out, trying to loosen to woman's grip to no avail - and she suddenly had a horrible, sinking feeling as she remembered the night with Jackie's killer. Tossed like a ragdoll in the same manner, but this time there was no wall. This time, her side hit a railing before she started to go over.
The drop didn't scare her - she'd fallen from greater heights. But how long would it take her to heal if she shattered her bones in this place?
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This proved easier said than done when he was forced to abandon an attack as Claire was thrown. He rushed to the railing, swearing mentally at his lack of enhanced speed and strength as he just barely managed to wrap the fingers of his free hand around Claire's arm before he was suddenly supporting all of her weight, partially bent over the railing and leaving himself completely exposed.
The fall wasn't too far, Claire would likely survive it with minimal damage, but Wesker did not wish to go over the railing after her, or to go back down-stairs after dispatching with the current opponent, but he couldn't help the angry glare he cast at nothing as he started trying to haul his supposed daughter back up to safety.
Wesker was certainly going to have to teach Claire a thing or two about fighting if he was going to continue to keep her as his daughter.
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"Bad patients must be punished," she reminded him before pulling her arm back, then stabbing her weapon forward at the man's back.
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Just as she was sure she was going to fall, Claire felt Wesker grab her arm, leaving her hanging over the side. It was lucky he was so strong, and she managed to get back on the ground without too much of a struggle.
The second her feet hit the ground, though, she realized the woman had wasted no time - that hot poker was going right for Wesker. Claire called out his name to warn him, but had a feeling there wouldn't be enough time for him to avoid the blow.
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Knowing that he would heal didn't make the pain any less as the hot metal went into his back. He hissed in pain, twisting around with the weapon still stuck in his back.
Wesker's eyes glowed gold and red from behind his sunglasses as he slashed at the woman with his knife, using the momentum of his spin and aiming for her abdomen, where there would be no bones to get in the way of his weapon.
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"How rude."
Her other hand shot towards the poker still in the man's flesh, aiming to rip it back out. Daniella refused to go down easy.
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The only problem was this strange (and probably not totally human, from the way she was bleeding) woman was aiming for the same object. Hoping she was faster, Claire reached for the poker to pull it out of Wesker's back and away from Daniella's hands.
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Taking the poker with him when he'd twisted was both lucky and unfortunate. He'd disarmed his enemy, but at the same time his wound might heal with the metal still stuck in his flesh, and ripping out again would be that much more troublesome.
Still, he would much prefer to have the weapon stay out of the strange woman's hands, even if it meant that it stayed stuck in his flesh, so he used his free hand to grab the hand heading for the weapon, spinning slightly as well to keep it out of easy reach.
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"You're bleeding, sir." Daniella pointed her finger, pink sludge supposedly being her blood trailing down her arm to drip onto the floor, "might I suggest you leave and bandage it?"
"It's cleaning time."
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