#˾ ᴜᴍʙʀᴇʟʟᴀ ᴄʜʀᴏɴɪᴄʟᴇꜱ ̚ ;; ᵂʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ⁿᵒ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ᶦⁿ ʰᵉˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵃᵈ ʷᶦˡˡ ʷᵃˡᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵃʳᵗʰ ▐ ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ

[replicantdeviancy]

moldcursed asked: " i'm fine, just. . . give me a minute. "

_______@moldcursed || blood, blood, gallons of the stuff ! || Accepting

A small silence persisted as the former detective eyed his companion from his crouched position. Connor supposed that Ethan wouldn’t really appreciate the level of unmasked incredulousness in his tired stare as he inspected the other man's injury. It wasn’t necessarily debilitating. If it were anyone else, the agent might have concerned himself over the eventual survivability, but things like that didn’t factor in with people such as themselves. It was a rarity finding another infected person associated with Blue Umbrella, & Connor usually preferred working alone. That hadn’t always been the case, but after Raccoon… Things had just become different.

That didn’t mean he would show any less professional courtesy or empathy towards his companion. Though he had a mission to accomplish, he wasn’t about to abandon anyone. If he did, then what was the point of any of this?

But he would tease, perhaps even chastise Ethan. It would be a shame to miss the opportunity to express his wit. “Yeah, right,” he breathed, almost a sigh escaping him. His voice was husked with its quieted volume, tinged with a softness that betrayed the meager sarcasm. “You’re acting like this doesn’t hurt.” He was certain it did. The wound looked painful. The agent's lips pursed gently in consideration as he applied more disinfectant with a gauze pad. “You don’t have to be the hero all the time. You know that, right?” Connor hoped that he did, at least on some level. Ethan was a decent, regular guy. He didn’t need to get sucked into this life, not like he had. Then again, life had a way of taking unexpected turns & with The Connections making their presence known in the underworld created in the aftermath of Umbrella’s demise, there could be no guarantees that any of them could ever return to a life of normalcy.

[replicantdeviancy]

eversurviving·:

     Following orders should have been the easy part, but something about the way Connor talked to him, looked at him made him bristle. There was nothing there to be upset about, not really, but Leon was desperate to be of use, to answer a voice that had been calling to him nearly his entire life. Young and inexperienced as he was, he knew he was capable, knew that his heart was strong, and that he could be too. He could be brave, given the chance; he was sure of it.

     So let me be brave. 

    A deep breath both centered Leon and helped him prepare for what was sure to come; more of the undead, eyes white and unseeing, waxy skin mottled, cold to the touch, ready to slough clean off their bones should he have the misfortune to bump into them. Nothing but nightmares and death around every corner, and while it might have felt as though Leon and Connor were only buying themselves time, he couldn’t just give in to despair. They were still alive, there was still hope, and even if Leon couldn’t make it out there was a good chance he could help someone else get a little bit further– and just the thought of that chance was good enough for him.

     “You don’t have to take care of me, Detective–seriously. I’ve got your back, and I’m trusting you to watch mine now. I know I’m young, but I’m not your responsibility right now. I’d say the apocalypse kinda puts us on equal ground, don’t you?”

     There was a faint hint of a smile beneath layers of fear. anxiety, exhaustion. Although Leon had only just arrived in Raccoon, it felt as though he had gone through a sort of mental Olympics, the five stages of grief hitting him square in the chest in rapid succession. There was still denial and a good amount of worry etched into pale features, but he was determined to fight for as long as he was able, no matter what. He wasn’t alone, and they had a shaky sort of plan–a good start, at least. And if worse came to worst Leon knew he could, at least, end it quickly. Hardly the most comforting thought, but he’d rather end things on his terms than become the walking dead.

     “I’m ready–let’s do this.”

                  Commonality of human beings was a necessary & far too scarce trait in moments such as these; a pity as people were social animals, dependent on one another. The detective held no qualms that Leon & he were depending on each other, their wills to survive bringing them to a tense yet easy alliance immediately upon the discovery that neither was hostile. Yet the waves of indignance rolled off of Leon like waves in a river, comprised of his youth & those youthful ambitions for purpose. That sense of longing for optimistic appositeness was poignant & Connor felt it like a palpable thing, affixed in those bright eyes & in the way Leon looked at him. His mouth said one thing & his eyes betrayed him, as they did not so readily depict the politeness trained into the younger man in his childhood. There, his true self was made clear; Don’t underestimate me. Their eyes met, gazes locked in a single instance & something changed between them instantly. The detective was caught unawares as one corner of his lips drew upwards of it’s own accord, pleasure not so readily expressed manifested physically.

                  Leon was a scrappy thing, far stronger than perhaps even he knew, & while his determination did not dispel the desire to protect & serve there was a kind of relief, as the detective expected that same desire coursed through Leon with every heartbeat & by proxy extended to him. By no means did it make Connor feel safer, but it did help him to trust. A single nod was granted, communicative of his unspoken words of assurance, of thanks, the faint sound of an exhaled breath through the nose. He turned his attention forward once more & finally opened the door towards their new destination.

                  The room was seemingly barren of life, encompassed in blinding darkness which left the eyes momentarily without stimuli, the room barely perceivable. But as they ventured, Connor taking the lead, a flashlight was produced from a pocket, coming to life with a near inaudible click. It’s light pierced through the blackness like a beacon of hope but there was no such hope to be found here, only a bloodstained pathway littered with debris scattered to the old wooden floor. Without hesitation Connor traversed the short staircase into the large office, his steps nearly silent & movements fluid, but his eyes scanned the place with scrutiny held in his lightly knit brows, the gentle wrinkling of his worried forehead, as though it were not the fact that bodies had come to rest in this place, rather their placement concerned him.

                  Good… They haven’t moved since last time I came through here…  Granted that had been over a day, the detective having been careful to compartmentalize the station & every room within it. His time spent trapped within these walls had not merely been implemented to serve the unfortunate populous which accompanied him, but to make a mental map of the RPD station. He knew what was where, what bodies had come to life & which lay dormant. He knew which doors were locked, which had been sealed by the lockdown, & where they would be safe in short intervals. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Until they could get that pathway to the parking lot open, this was their best shot.

                  Past the row of desks Leon led his charge, or rather his impromptu partner. It wasn’t as difficult to think of Leon as such as initially anticipated upon first viewing him, but the fogged lenses of exhaustion & dehydration had been cleaned somewhat, like expelling fog from a clouded mirror. He would have been lying if he said he didn’t see something of himself in the kid. At least he now had a face to put with the name. The banner made sense - Welcome Leon - as did the story Marvin briefly mentioned about a newcomer urged to stay away. Part of Connor wished Leon had done just that & never come, but a selfish, deeper piece of him was glad for the company. Company which presented opportunity.

                  The door to the hallway was unlocked & unobstructed, though the hall itself was less than vacuous. A single, shuffling corpse, & an ominous banging from somewhere to his left, around the other corner. Immediately the wheels in Connor’s head were turning, & while he barely seemed to, there was a pause, a moment of consideration. Neither creature had taken notice of them but soon enough one might. For a small, tense moment the detective almost wished he still had his knife, but Leon was in need & he could not be selfish. A shot would bring the attention of both monstrosities, & others were he unlucky. A solution came to mind, one bold & perhaps a little brazen.

                  Reason suggested another tactic but necessity & perhaps a hint of delirium from fatigue had his mind in an altered state, for without a word, only a gesture to guide Leon to the door bathed in light opposite their exit point, the detective switched off his flashlight, holstered his gun & began forward. But he did not move towards the door. Instead, he crept like a cat in pursuit of the zombified man, slow, methodical. Calculating. The creature was wholly unaware of him as he went, until he was behind it, hands raised & poised at the ready. A moment to ground himself, a second of opportunity as he struck. It was not the speed of Connor’s skills hands which may have brought about start, but the audible, sickening snap their produced as the cervical vertebra twisted & the spinal chord was violently disconnected from the rest of the body.

                  He faltered only an instance as the weight of the shambling corpse went completely limp & Connor braced himself, shifted into a wider stance as he carefully lowered the still gnashing creature to the floor. It’s jaws worked, teeth clacking as it tried uselessly to tear into the flesh of the man whom had just expertly disabled it, to no avail. It was eased to rest on the dirty tile & the detective took a shaking breath as he stood at full height, & expelled an equally trembling exhale.

[replicantdeviancy]

                  It had been almost thirty-six hours since his encounter with Heisenberg, & in that time, much had happened. While observing the grounds beyond the castle walls Connor had stumbled upon a secretive meeting place, within what appeared to be the crumbling remains of an old church. There had been scaffolding left erected but abandoned against the damaged walls, for no repair work had been performed in some time - the structures were caked in dust. But it was not the location itself which had piqued the spy’s interests, rather the event taking place therein; an assemblage of the changeling witch & her coven. The Four Lords, those Mother Miranda claimed as her adoptive children.

                  What a farce. The so called children appeared to be just as dysfunctional as she, their disturbances laid out clearly in the candlelight of the once sacred place. From one of the many holes in the decaying building, Connor had listened silently, curious as to the agenda of these delusional beings & their black goddess. While he learned much by that which was spoken, it was the silence which conveyed far more to him.

                  Dimitrescu sat in a giant chair which must have been fashioned specifically for her. She was cross legged & enjoying a cigarette affixed into an antique holder, appearing quite elegant as she did. She was trying her best to hold in her disgust, the utter boredom which looked in her bright eyes. Beneviento sat mute as always, the high-pitched voice of her most precious doll echoing through the old brick structure. She made little reference to anything expressly coherent, more interested in aggravating the others. Moreau did not sit, but instead hung closely to Miranda. He had little to say. Heisenberg took his place upon a pew, resting back casually as discussions continued. He was riled on occasion, though most often by the giantess.

                  A curious family dynamic. It held a place within his musings as Connor found himself out beneath the stars for the third night in a row. This evening he had chosen to climb upwards towards a lookout at the top of the trail which led into the village, as it felt like the best spot to observe for the night. Lycans sometimes wandered the elevated grounds, but he wasn’t worried about them. They weren’t very bright, but they were quick. His trigger finger was quicker.

                  As dusk had approached & painted the sky a gentle, quiet black, Connor had settled in at the base of a thin tree. His jacket was zipped up tightly around him, insulated gloves kept his lean hands warm. Eventually the fires inside of the little houses were stoked & candles were lit, torches lighting darkened paths. Like this, the village of shadows appeared to be a sleepy little place in the mountains of Romania, not the hellish cult’s haven it truly was. Connor knew he  had to remain objective here, focus on the mission. But being along like this, beneath nightfall & the blanket of twinkling starlight, he became a little nostalgic.

                  His mind drifted to the Iron Lord again & the conversation they had had not more than a day ago. If one could call it a conversation. It was more of something akin to a cat & mouse game, one in which neither appeared the victor yet neither felt they had lost. The pretty spy was still alive & functional, a fact that would have had him bewildered had he not believed he’d impressed upon Heisenberg some kind of intrigue. He expected it was a rare few that did not look upon him in fear, even less challenged him without the want to dominate him. There was no need, no desire to. They two stood upon an equal playing field & it had been recognized.

                  Connor would have been lying if he claimed he had not considered the mans invitation, though he wasn’t naïve enough not to know better than to accept. Though the Iron Lord appeared genuine in the moment, & Connor was confident in his ability to detect falsehoods & differentiate from truth, it wouldn’t have been impossible to deceive him. Highly unlikely, but not impossible.

                  Why am I thinking about this?

                  Why, indeed. There was no reason to attempt another encounter directly in order to obtain information. & if Heisenberg wanted his attention so much, then–

                  That thought ended abruptly as the youthful spy suddenly felt the distinct sensation of eyes upon him, a change in the air. It was faint, but his ears noted the absence of sound where sound once was; the gentle serenade of nature in evening, the breeze through the brush. A whiff of something danced briefly upon his senses, lost in the tepid wind a moment later. Musk, aged cloth. Leather. Someone was standing off to the side of him. His eyes drifted towards the unseen one in the pitch darkness, hands moving silently towards his belt. One hand upon the flashlight, the other to his side arm.

                  Quick as lightning Connor turned, his slender frame moving from a seated position to one knee as he aimed. His flashlight was perched beneath the gun, wrists in a crossed pose, illuminating the darkness. Connors visage was stern, eyes forward & hardened. Steely. Until his brain fully registered the target that had found himself in his crosshairs. After that, his body relaxed, though with exasperation. The firearm was lowered & a huffed sigh left the spy’s frowning lips. Heisenberg.  ❝ ...Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to sneak up on people? ❞   he questioned. There was an edge to his dusky tone, but no fire. He wasn’t angry, just tired. His gun was shoved back into it's holster as he moved to sit in one fluid motion. The flashlight was switched off with a soft but audible click, & returned to it’s place. He didn’t need it. There was no danger here.

@macabremachinations

[replicantdeviancy]

                  This head was pounding. That was the most prevalent sensation plaguing Connors cognition. Though there was no pain which accompanied the pressure, he knew his head should have hurt. The operative could practically feel the blood rushing through him, his temples feeling like they were held between a vice. As he pulled himself into a seated position from the vulnerable, prone pose he’d been laying in for some undeterminable period of time, one lean hand came up to rub at his eyelids. Hopeful that gentle massaging the tender flesh might alleviate some of that infernal pounding. Light hurt his eyes, causing him to flinch. But the coldness of Heisenberg's words cut so much deeper.

                  It was startling, feeling the ache of rejection as a kind of dismissive callousness entered his tone where it had never been before, as though the unique vocals & curious regional accent housed it, letting it spread. There was a poisonous way that familiar sound shifted, became something raw with unspoken emotional weight. It grasped Connors attention, but not as much as the sudden motion to stand, to depart. The stunned operative forgot his own confused agony for the time as his gaze drifted upward, followed Heisenberg as he retreated, leaving only more dismissive words.

                  The Lycans won’t be as friendly as I am.

                  You’d better get a move on.

                   ❝ ...What? ❞   Connor felt as though he’d just been struck, so utterly bewildered, so hurt by the indelicacy of the Iron Lords manner, the crass spitefulness laced in his words. Venom upon his breath. It took only a split second to realize that Heisenberg was leaving him here, alone & disoriented, wholly at the mercy of whatever came upon him. It felt like a blade through the chest, making his blood run cold from the single pinpoint of anxiety piercing his ribcage, making his inside ache. It was the only pain Connor knew he could experience anymore, since the virus evolved beyond it’s initial hostile takeover of his system; emotional anguish.

                  Heisenberg began to leave & Connor felt himself compelled by a force of which he couldn’t quite understand to follow, to rise & join the elusive Lord. A part of him wanted to take one of those thick arms into his grasp, to stop him & demand to know why. Why was he acting this way? What had happened to so drastically alter his feelings from only days ago? Had something happened between the other night & now that he was unaware of?

                  Connor struggled momentarily to drag his legs underneath himself, to force mobility into them, balance. Even as he scrambled to his feet, he felt himself undeniably discombobulated, dizzy. As though he had stood too fast & all of the blood had rushed from his head, yet blackness did not dot his vision. But the instability was still there. Naturally graceful feet felt heavy & sluggish, & Connor was forced to let himself drift backwards to fall against the steep incline behind him. It only took him a moment to catch himself, to reorient the confusion inside of him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think his equilibrium was off, but as he stood there silently, watching Heisenberg's back retreat further & further, Connor made himself run through a cohesive list of symptoms one by one.

                  Dizziness. Lack of memory. Difficulty speaking. Emotional. God, he felt his emotions bursting out, spilling from the cracked façade of his like water from a compromised dam. Watching the Iron Lord leave him behind here, in this unknown place hurt. Why am I so emotional..? & why was his head still pounding?

                  A shiver ran through him as the operatives mind produced an idea, one visceral & nerve wracking all at once. One that had him questioning everything. Just what had happened to him? A hand slowly rose to touch the back of his head, where the source of the ache was. There was nothing - no wound, no split skin or damaged tissue. But the area was wet. Breath hitched as anxiety rose. That hand was brought forward, palm open to look. Connor felt his breath quicken when he saw the reason for the wetness; blood. It was mostly dried, only kept moist by the wetness of the earth by the riverbed he’d woken up not far from. His hand shook as he lowered it, wiped the evidence off on his pantleg. What had happened? What had he been doing before Heisenberg had found him?

                  & where was he? A hideous screech from the sky brought a shivering gasp from his lips & immediately Connor was hurried off at a jogging pace, rushing to catch up with the Iron Lord. He didn’t recall what made that sound, but instinct told him it was dangerous.

@macabremachinations​ || > ˢᵘᵇʳᵒᵘᵗᶦᶰᵉ ᴵᶰᶦᵗᶦᵃᶫᶦᶻᵃᵗᶦᵒᶰ  - ˾ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ  ̚   - ᴱˣᵉᶜᵘᵗᵉ

[replicantdeviancy]

Random headcanon, but since Connor is infected with the same Progenitor strain as Wesker (as well as the T-Virus) & that strain holds properties that effect ocular tissue. While it doesn’t effect Connors eyes regularly, if he is seriously injured but not killed or incapacitated, his eyes will change. The irises will turn that typical Wesker glowing red, and the sclera will turn an eerie black.

[replicantdeviancy]

                  From across the short distance of the briefing room, hazelnut hues observed one of the other recruits; a man he’d noticed often, ever since joining the BSAA, but never before interacted with directly. Piers Nivens seemed avoidant, though not to any majority. He was only avoidant of him, never attempting any manner of communication, his eyes elusive, as if evading contact of their gazes. While other members of the group were intrigued, curious about him & his involvement with Chris Redfield, Piers said nothing. It wasn’t difficult to discern why - he’d been very forthright in his in his association with Raccoon City & the incident, in his reasoning for leaving the Detroit Police to pursue a career with the Bioweapon counter-terrorism group; he was infected.

                  Others expressed their concern, not in words but with their eyes, their actions. Piers was the only one who eluded him outright. So it was after that morning’s briefing that Connor decided to take it upon himself to establish contact. Piers sat a short distance away, enough to speak without having to raise his voice. Connor called over to him, his tone gentle, welcoming.  ❝ You don’t have to worry. I don’t bite, you know. ❞   A poor choice of words, all things considered, but Connor didn’t flinch. He carried on, turning a little in his chair to better face the other.  ❝ You’re Piers, right? ❞   He knew that. He just wanted to get the man talking. He figured the soldier knew his name as well, but he decided to introduce himself. It made him seem more approachable. More—  ❝ My name is Connor. ❞   —human.

@fairyrites​

[replicantdeviancy]

                                            Story Continuation

The Events of Raccoon City

Connor was bitten in Raccoon city during the attempt to reach his apartment to recover a disk holding pertinent information on Umbrella that was meant to go to the FBI. He survived, leading himself & his companion (Leon/Claire) to believe he was one of the purported 10% of the population that was immune to the T-Virus. Only much later would he discover this was not the case.

During the Raccoon Incident, after Leon, Claire & Sherry were set to escape the city, Connor was separated from them & was forced to make his own way towards an exit route. There are large gaps in his memory regarding the events, but he was subdued & taken captive & brought to an underground lab for research purposes. However, the lab was left abandoned after the outbreak reached it’s halls & Connor was left in stasis, experimentation only partially complete.

However, Wekser decided this would be yet another opportunity to test just what the virus was capable of. He had come to realize that Connor’s DNA had someone bonded with the T-Virus in a unique manner, mimicking his own response to infection after the Tyrant attack in the Arkley Mansion. For this purpose, he chose to infect Connor with the same Progenitor strain the Wesker children were infected with, to see how his subject would respond.

Because of the further spread of the outbreak, Wesker abandoned the man whom had betrayed his trust to fend for himself. Connor was freed by a soldier & managed to escape the labs & the city, though he suffered from memory loss ranging from acute to mild for some time after.

Aftermath

After the events of Raccoon City, Connor returned to Detroit in an attempt to maintain a normal life, but the scars of those weeks of hell had effectively changed him. He kept in touch with those friends he had made in the RPD (those that were left) & while escaping the city, though with everything moving so fast, it was difficult to keep track. A part of him wanted to continue to help the fight against Umbrella & bioterror, but obligations to family & duty took precedence as Connor struggled to retain normalcy. In time, certain changes became too obvious to ignore; things which hadn’t been present before that assignment.

At first, an increase in strength & vitality were noted, the overall stamina associated with physical exertion. He didn’t get tired as easily (an improvement over his already athletic physique) & he experienced a shift in metabolism, his body demanding more fuel for…some unknown reason. The most alarming change came when Connor discovered he no longer had the ability to feel pain, only the sensation of damage to his body. This accompanied with an increased healing factor was enough for him to try & make contact with those resources once made during his time at the RPD. By then, Chris Redfield had established the BSAA & Connor eagerly requested the organizations assistance.

While never becoming an official member, Connor worked closely with the BSAA & other government organizations in the fight to end bioterror & the use of BOWs, in exchange for aid in determining his evolving condition. During a training exercise where a near-fatal accident occurred, Connor was badly injured but managed to not only survive, but his body healed the serious damage done. However, during the process an uncontrolled mutation began to occur, putting him in the first agony he had felt since losing his ability to feel pain. Connor was rushed into containment & medical staff intervened, but in the end the only viable treatment option was a dose of the T-Virus antivirus. This intervention managed to stop the uncontrolled mutation & with time Connor was able to make a full recovery, however this new possibility of physical change could prove disastrous for all parties involved. Further tests were performed & it was concluded that this issue would only occur during the high rate of cell division necessary for rapid healing of severe damage. Connor was cleared for duty & ordered to carry emergency injectors of antivirus for use in a dire situation.

Unfortunately, the virus has progressed beyond the use of emergency antivirals only during states of extreme injury.

The Connections

Connor was not directly involved in the clean up effort in Dulvey, LA, but he is read in. After the fall of the BSAA, he, too, left along with Redfield & his team, as they shared his inability to trust a corrupt organization. Connor now works with Blue Umbrella as something of an agent, acting as a tactician, spy, soldier or anything else for which he might prove useful. He was assigned in counterpart with Tundra to perform recon duty on Miranda, the village & the Four Lords. Where his journey will take him next is as of yet undetermined.

Notes: (TW injury, death, non-consensual body modification)

Connor has died & revived a total of three times by the Village storyline in 2021. Even a shot to the brain was found to be recoverable with no noticeable ill effects. He is unsure of what, if any conventional means will kill him permanently.

By the time of Village, the Arkeit siblings are 49 years old (fifty in Aug of 2021). While Xander & Colin look very good, they appear to be in line with their age. Connor has stopped aging due to the virus infection in 98. He still appears to be twenty six. This issue deeply affects his mental wellbeing, & he has not returned home to see his brothers in years.

During the experimentation performed on him in the underground labs, doctors removed his uterus to prevent unwanted complications. The scar is still present on his lower belly. It’s the last scar he’s ever received.

[replicantdeviancy]

┌      trepidaticn asked: "...---So, before you take a look into the fridge---" Karl clears his throat, looking somewhat sheepish as a hand finds his way up to his neck to scratch it, brush through some strands of grey hair. "I, uh... I felt hungry last night. Hungry for... well, cheese. ---I know we have just bought those cheeses a few days ago, an' I was goin' to only have a tiny slice, I swear. Just a snack. It just... things just... well. Uh." To be precise - not a crump of cheese is left within said fridge. There had been four different kinds existing just yesterday, including Sharp Cheddar and Gruyère. The iron lord blinks again, with grey hues flicking away from dark brown doe-eyes in what can be taken as awkward embarassment. "...They were really good. ... really good." (Karl obvs for Connor uwu)                                                                                                                            ┘

                  There was a long moment, one which seemed to stretch endlessly, in which Connor stared at the Iron Lord through tired eyelids painted with fatigue. One which stretched so vastly, one might feel the twinges of static at the edges of their senses. Connor blinked a slow, semi-coherent blink, & let a small breath escape his nose. He hadn’t so much as made it halfway down the stairs before his usually excitable lover had rushed up to him & bombarded him with this relayed information, leaving the younger agent a bit dazed, a little confused, but no less passive than his normal self. The hint of a headache was forming in the back of his skull, at the base of it where spin met cranium. He blinked again, hazelnut hues darting past the larger figure a few steps below his, towards the kitchen, before returning to those bright irises that gazed up at him so expectantly.

                  An image came to mind - several, in fact, some involving the lack of proper dairy products in the fridge which remained for his lovers enjoyment & consumption, wrappers discarded in the garage or haphazardly in the waste bin. Another involved whatever sort of gadget Karl was fussing with all night to get his mind off of the visions of the past & the aggressive intrusive thoughts which plagued him nightly, robbing him of sleep. He also imagined this meant they would have to go to the store, which involved a certain level of energy to keep up with the demands of the older male. It was no secret that Karl was the type to become easily distracted when dealing with the far more stimulating environment of Detroit when compared to his former living situation for the last seven decades. Corralling him was a chore, keeping him in a calm & positive state of mind was another.

                  Karl tended to become overwhelmed, his mind overstimulated, leading to frustration & agitation, discomfort with their surroundings. Connor didn’t like to say he needed a handler, but he did require some handling. Just thinking about all that before coffee really had his head hurting.

                  A slow, deflating sigh was released from his mouth as those pretty doe-eyes momentarily slipped closed, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. More of a display than anything. He needed to think this through. Not now. Not before coffee. Before Karl could get himself worked up thinking he’d upset his younger lover, Connor descended the stairs, coming to stand on the one just above that which his older lover stood on, & wrapped his arms around the larger mans form, holding him close as his head rest against Karls. Connor let himself relax, cheek caressed by silky grey locks & he breathed a long, relaxing breath. Only after he was certain Karl was calm & open to listen did he pull away, only to cup whiskery, scarred cheeks & guide him closer.

                  A kiss was pressed to scarred full lips, foreheads resting against each other.  ❝ Darling…I love you, ❞   he began, dusky voice soft & gentle as always, so very patient.  ❝ But this is something we need to discuss after coffee. ❞   At least a cup or two, maybe more. He needed the energy to keep up with the older man, after all. Karl could be a bull in a china shop sometimes, worse if he was hungry. Another small kiss to the forehead before Connor moved to walk around him, making a point to take the older mans hand & guide him to follow, pulled his arm to hook with his own at the elbow, keeping him close.  ❝ Now, let’s caffeinate me, maybe feed me, then we’ll talk about a solution. Okay? ❞   Meaning a grocery run, probably to that fancy yuppie store they both liked with the organic produce & the unique cheeses. Maybe some chocolate, while they were at it.  ❝ & I don’t want to know what the garage looks like right now. ❞   He shuddered to think. The last time Karl pulled an all-nighter & ate half his weight in artisan food, he’d been trying to improve an old V8 with varying results.

[replicantdeviancy]

                  ┌                           bettercffdead asked:                                          “ that information’s classified. ” ( piers @ xander )                                                                                                                                           ┘

                                   @bettercffdead​ || Resident Evil 2 || accepting

                  Frustration mounting like a quiet storm on the horizon, Xander could feel the tension build in his very frame, in between the find muscles of his face. His jaw was set as those bright, stony grey eyes stared the soldier down with no small hint of irritation within them. Moments such as these, the youngest triplet took full advantage of his brothers relationships in respect to others, as it aided in his own needs. Connor was so disarming, so charming & welcoming, it was easy to unsettle those who knew him just by a simple expression alone. Xanders features were a mirror of his older siblings, though genetics granted him subtle variations which deviated from their likenesses. The same arched brows were a little straighter, lips rarely quirked into a smile. He was outwardly stoic, almost stern. Coupled with the unusually bright eyes, these simple distinctions could be upsetting in the right context.

                  Xander knew he was intimidating, even without ever meaning to be. However, this was one of those occasions where the illusion of barely repressed anger could be used to his advantage. A slightly downturned chin coupled with a strong stare could easily be misconstrued as glaring, head tilted just bit to the side let his eyes catch the light of the dim room, making him appear all the more serious. His voice aided his façade as well; so like his brothers, but a touch deeper, uncanny. He purposefully deepened it just a bit more, defined the natural dusky warmth into an authoritative gruffness as he retorted in kind.    ❝ & refusal to comply with requests for shared intel will only impede my work. Need I remind you that my family’s contributions to the BSAA are the reason why your team found the last Tricell bunkers? ❞   Contributions that didn’t go unrewarded, of course, but good intelligence gathering wasn’t cheap & his brothers & he weren’t mercenaries for hire. They had become too involved, too deeply imbedded in this world of BOWs & counterterrorist intelligence just below the surface to ever escape it again.

                  Not since Raccoon. They couldn't get out even if they wanted to, but who could live with themselves if they allowed Umbrella & all it’s constituents, it’s rebrandings do as they pleased when they had to power to do something about it? Xander himself knew he couldn’t. He expected Piers felt similarly. Hardheaded as he was, the former detective hoped he might be reasoned with.   ❝ At least give me something. ❞   Colin, the middle child, had nearly been compromised & thusly put in grave danger for the information Xander had brought in return. Classified or not, this quid pro quo wasn’t a one way street. They needed some idea of what they were getting into next.   ❝ I can’t afford our mission to become jeopardized because someone wasn’t forthcoming, Piers. ❞

[replicantdeviancy]

           ┌                    bettercffdead asked:

                                   “ look no offence but i’ve already lost interest                                         in what you’re talking about. ” ( jake )                                                                                                                                ┘

                         @bettercffdead​ || SCP CONTAINMENT BREACH || Accepting

                  There was a twinge of something in the back of Connors mind, a hint of frustration he chose not to voice, but it was present. It felt in equal capacity to the contempt in Jakes tone, the total lack of regard for others. The younger man said ‘no offense’, but there was a sneaking suspicion he in fact meant full offense & Connor chose not to give into his efforts to irritate him. In many ways, the mercenary was just like his father, but in others he couldn’t be more different. Wesker was a right bastard & a conniving, manipulative & overwhelming individual, but he had more patience than his offspring. Then again, their lives had been totally different & circumstances had favored the elder. The former detective knew he shouldn't try to rationalize or scrutinize Jakes behaviour, as it felt like he was giving him an excuse. Maybe he was. Either way, he refused to let it bother him.

                   ❝ Of course. I forgot you had a short attention span, ❞   Connor quipped back in a tone none too different than his usual calm, polite manner of speech. Something in that even duskiness felt sarcastic, exasperated. This whole business with new data on the defunct Umbrella’s small attempts at resurgence under yet another name was tiresome. For a moment the older male let himself contemplate the idea of an end to the war on B.O.W.s & where that might leave him. The BSAA had had it’s uses for Weskers son, as his blood held the key to solving the virus’s which plagued their world since Umbrella first began it’s developments of the Progenitor. Connor, on the other hand, had his own plans. Selfish as it seemed, his agenda would reap benefits for many, but only if he could get Jake on board. He just had to be patient.

                   Softly arched brows raised slightly, the soft flesh between them pinched enough to wrinkle. Connor watched Jake a long moment before turning his body fully towards him, folded arms falling to rest at his sides. He wanted his body language more open, inviting. He wanted the younger to want to listen. Getting his attention wasn’t difficult, but retaining it--   ❝ I heard about what you did for Agent Birkin. Your inherent immunity is going to save a lot of lives. ❞

[replicantdeviancy]

        ┌                       ltsharpshooter asked:

                               “I’m not going to leave you behind. If need be,                             I’ll carry you.” (For Conner in RE verse or Detroit)                                                                                                                            ┘

                                 @ltsharpshooter​ ||  𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 & 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒  || Accepting

                  The thin, high pitched whine of tinnitus which encompassed his aural perception & etched itself upon every word which left Piers lips didn’t go wholly unnoticed by Connor in the slow coming of realization of present circumstances. He couldn’t say there was pain as he felt very little, but in the quiet dizzying chaos he came to understand that he was on the ground, that flowing dark crimson which was meant to remain hidden from the world had spilled onto the floor from the wound he could not feel. What the hell had just happened? His addled brain struggled to put the pieces together, but slowly, soldiering through the blinding white of his foggy memory the former detective recalled. B.O.W., very large & aggressive. It had been his idea to bring improvised tactics into the mix while Piers had tried to stop him. Rightly so; it was a fools errand & Connor was dealing with the consequences of his own actions.

                  Trembling arms which pushed his sprawled form upright to sit nearly gave under the effort & he groaned softly. There was pain to the sound, yet he felt nothing. That was perhaps the most alarming sensation of all; the total numbness melding hauntingly with the feeling of wet flesh & torn clothing, of exposed muscle. He knew even without the agony of the injury that he’d been hurt badly, that he’d been gashed open. Split muscle of his slender, toned back stretched & bone threatened to protrude. He should have been alarmed, but the only thought that persisted was that of danger. Why was Piers still here?

                  As he eased himself to sit, one hand moved to search the torn remains of his clothing, scouring pockets & coming up empty. The pack on his belt which held the precious necessity of antivirus was missing. It wasn’t long before he was brought into a state of excruciatingly lethargic panic.   ❝ Shit…. ❞   Second hand joined the search, breath hitched only to accelerate. His heart raced as fear set in, though not for himself.   ❝ Shit, where is it? ❞   Those trembling hands deepened in their shaking, the fret having reached those hazelnut eyes. Where Connor should have been afraid for his life with such critical injuries sustained, instead he seemed unbothered. Unbeknownst to either the bleeding had slowed to a near stop, skin already beginning to knit. Connor didn’t have to see it; he knew what would happened, & that he would endanger everyone if he didn’t find that antivirus.

                  Eyes widened in desperation, he looked to Piers & instinctually pushed him off.  ❝  I-I had an EpiPen… ❞   He sounded lost as he said it, almost as if he were in shock. Connor continued to stave off the attempt of the soldier to aid him.   ❝ Piers, find it! I need it! ❞

[replicantdeviancy]

Can we just talk about how in my RE verse Connor was bitten & survived after experiencing the symptoms of what felt like a serious illness & he thought he was one of the 10% that’s immune to the T-Virus & only later on did he discover that he’s hella not after waking up inside one of the containment tubes inside of  NEST with almost no memory of what the hell had happened to him? Cause I feel I need to reiterate that Connors infallible logic also makes him a blithering idiot sometimes...

[replicantdeviancy]

Outline:

Connor E. Arkeit (26yo) is a homicide detective for the Detroit Police, Central Precinct, in downtown Detroit. He has been working with the DPD for four years, experience outside of the academy of two years as an officer before receiving a promotion into the detective position in Homicide, where he has a further two years experience. Before joining the force Connor attended college at Michigan State where he had a double major in forensics & criminal psychology. He graduated summa cum laude along with his two brothers. Within the DPD Connor quickly made a name for himself, not only in regards to his appearance & magnetic, charming personality, but with his work performance. To date, his case record stands at seven assigned cases solved, thirteen cold cases solved; solving cold cases has become something of a hobby for himself & his brothers in their free time.

Skills:

Connor has expressed a certain skill level for making seemingly impossible connections through evidence that help solve his cases. The gift of imagination coupled with his extremely proficient sense of observation builds the underlining structure of in depth reconstructions of scenes & incidents, & he has the ability to run through those reconstructions within his minds eye. (Connor used to place himself into the point of view of the perpetrator in order to better understand them in a psychological profiling, but after the Zlatko case he no longer does.) In Connor’s imagination he is the unseen observer to the crime, watching it unfold either in pieces or as a collective in order to fully understand what happened. Note: Because of his observant capacity he is often able to predict events with a strong level of accuracy, aiding him in planning & execution of close quarters combat & defense.

Due to his mental condition, Connor is an extremely proficient tactician, using psychological & emotional manipulation both in his work as well as occasionally in civilian life. He has been known to leave those he is tasked with interrogating in a disturbed state of being in extreme cases, though more often than not his tactics are standard police interrogation techniques. He is a calm & collected negotiator who can bury emotional instability under pressure in order to accomplish his task. Connor has learned from many years of conscious practice to use his mental dysfunctions as a tool rather than a detriment, & while he can be incredibly empathetic & warm he also has the ability to shut his emotions off completely if it is necessary. He can lie without any indication save for the involuntary dilation of pupils, keeping his pulse steady & breath shallow.

His proficiency with weaponry & martial arts is impeccable, though he would claim he is still learning. His accuracy with firearms is upwards of 97% (conditions do apply) & he has proven a capable sniper. Close quarters combat is where he thrives & his dulled sense of pain helps mask the damage he might suffer. While not notably strong physically, Connor is very fast & agile, & he shows a talent for improvisation. He can be brutal if necessary. Around the office, the team gave him nicknames like ‘Bloodhound’ or ‘Plastic prick’ just to razz him, making him part of the group of older, more seasoned police officers. Criminals on the streets call him the Deviant Hunter.

Notable Case:

A hostage situation following a murder of John Phillips on Aug 15th, involving a housemaid turned hostile after discovering he was going to be dismissed in favor of a replacement. (Evidence suggested there may have been romantic involvement between the suspect & the victim.) The daughter, Emma, was taken hostage by the housemaid, Daniel, & threatened with her fathers handgun at the edge of the high-rise balcony. SWAT was called in but with Daniel being so close to the edge of the building it was decided that a negotiator should come in to handle the situation. Connor was called onto the scene, arriving at 08:29PM, where he took the time to profile the suspect before engaging in negotiations. Connor managed to lull Daniel into a sense of security enough to feel assured he would walk out of the situation unharmed, though in cuffs. He released Emma & was taken down by SWAT snipers.

It should be noted Connor was left with a thick scar on his shoulder from a gunshot where the deltoid muscle peaks. In a fit of confusion & panic Daniel fired a single shot at Connor, having initially believed he was Xander, Connor’s younger brother, who was at the scene with his SWAT team that evening.

Sidenote: It was the triplet’s birthday.

Zlatko Andronikov was a suspect in a large scale underground human trafficking ring in Detroit & was under investigation for multiple cases of murders in the area. A raid on his home in the historical district on Nov 6th uncovered a far deeper sinisterness to Zlatko than ever imagined. Beneath the mansion were cages where Zlatko kept some of his ‘experimental art’ - the ones who survived their transformations. People turned into mere flesh barely living, yet still breathing, tortured & disfigured beyond recognition as truly human. Most did not live beyond a few days after rescue, to which most believed was best. Zlatko was killed by a houseman he had manipulated into servitude & Connor was tasked with a profile on Zlatko in order to aid the court proceedings for Luther, in order to reduce his own sentencing for his employer’s death & for accessory charges.

This case broke Connor psychologically & he was forced to spend time on leave to recover from the traumatic experience of inserting himself into Zlatko Andronikov’s head on a psychological level.

Psychology:

Connor, like his brothers, has been diagnosed with moderate high functioning antisocial personality disorder. It is because of this condition he is able to act in ways & in situations people may find uncomfortable, callous or almost impossible. He carries out his objectives without compromise lest the involvement of his partner might somehow compromise the situation. He has been shot protecting his partner, Lt. Hank Anderson, & has killed to defend him in the line of duty. Connor finds difficulty in attaching any kind of emotions to those he has not become close with, & his outward demeanor is more superficial than completely genuine. He is friendly, sociable & very kind, but mostly out of necessity to make work & life easier. He shows concern for others not on his behalf, but on the behalf of those he does care for who might feel sincerely for another. He does not feel guilty for any cruel or damning actions performed in the line of duty, only feeling remorse if he manages to upset someone he feels genuinely for. He lies, is very manipulative & has a tendency to flirt with people, men & women, in order to obtain something he wants with relative ease. He may also flirt in response to another’s flirtations, amusing himself by playing with them a little before moving on.

On the other side of the spectrum, when he does manage to attach an emotional connection to someone he cares deeply, almost manically. His desire to protect & see those he loves well is near insatiable & he has been known to use those same manipulative tactics on people closest to him, though with sincere intentions for their wellbeing. He does not & will not attempt to isolate people from others, insert himself into situations for attention, or harm them in any way, especially psychologically. If he loves, it is completely. He will also never lie to a loved one on any important matter, or really any matter at all.

Though it is very well hidden most of the time, Connor has anxiety & depression, though his depressive moods are few & far between. His anxiety, however, is in constant contention with his numb state of being & only in rare cases will it ever come to light. Nervous fidgeting, such as with pocket change or stress-grooming, are commonplace, though he is not prone to panic unless someone he loves is in danger or his objective is dangerously close to failure.

Involvement:

Silent Hill - A fog loomed over him, not merely over his body but over his mind like a blanket, cool & soft, beckoning him into the darkness. Connor found himself in an unfamiliar place, in a state of utter deprivation, bewildered yet too fatigued to do anything about it. It was not a fatigue of the body, but of the mind which was so powerful it stole all strength from his body & he could not move himself. He didn’t know why this town stole him away, but he knew he would either become a sacrifice for God or repent for his past mistakes.

Resident Evil - Full outline HERE.

Hannibal/Silence of the Lambs - In pursuit of the Chesapeake Ripper, the team under Jack Crawford of the FBI grew needy for assistance as Crawford became further concerned that his specialized profiler, Will Graham, had been compromised psychologically & feared breaking him. Through his resources Crawford touched base with Detroit PD’s director of criminal psychology, Amanda Stern, who suggested her own protégé Connor Arkeit as a worthy successor. As such, Connor was assigned to work with FBI & transported temporarily to Quantico. There he was directed to work with Graham & learn what he could, ready to take over should there be a need for it. Instead he learned to completely harmonize with his partner, after realizing they both possess the same gifts of imagination & reconstruction. However, he realized Will could not turn off his empathy, & slowly Connor began to take on more & more in his role as profiler, both using Will for information & protecting him from further psychological trauma with mixed results.

Marvel 616/Netflix - Many months after the incident in New York when the world learned that extraordinary heroes walked among them & villainy came not only from the furthest reaches of the globe, but from beyond the stars. After the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen helped expose the corruption within the city & FBI filtered out the turncoats within the NYPD, New York was in dire need for replacements. The Arkeit siblings volunteered for a temporary transfer to help clean up the city & maintain order. Having grown up so close to the city limits of Detroit & fully immersing themselves into it’s culture, darkness & light, the trio believed they would be fit to handle the task. On a more personal note, the boys were highly intrigued by the tales of super heroes & vigilantes, & the exploits of organized crime within Hell’s Kitchen. Connor was intent on learning all that he could, against the warnings of his siblings that he might get in over his head.

[replicantdeviancy]

                    ┌                           aimtrick asked:                           ❛ Everyone has thought about killing someone,                                                  one way or another. ❜ // for Connor !                                                                                                                     ┘

@aimtrick​|| NBC’s HANNIBAL SEASON ONE SENTENCE STARTERS || Accepting

                  The moment of silence which followed the declaration was one of stillness & pensiveness. As Connor absorbed those words & the implications of them, he allowed them to settle as an old consideration came to mind. The act of killing, whether it be in self defense or otherwise, whether it be to protect ones life or the life of another, was supposed to feel some kind of way. The young detective understood that in himself, these emotional ties were stunted & bare, never fully developed. He had killed in the line of duty more than once, had been forced to make the decision to use deadly force to preserve his own life or save another. He felt nothing, only concerned for the wellbeing & emotional state of those he felt responsible for. He supposed there was something to say for all that, but delving into the darker details of his own mental health wasn’t exactly a favored topic of conversation. He said nothing as the seconds ticked by.

                  Raccoon, he recalled, had been an entirely different affair. To have called it a warzone felt inaccurate, but at times it had become one. To say it was a horror alone felt hollow & it stole away some of the paramountcy, the significance it deserved. Hell felt more appropriate, but Connor didn’t believe in such a place, even when he had seen a bare glimpse of such with his own eyes. The haunting visions of undead shuffling & reaching, gnashing teeth exposed like those of bare skulls with rotten flesh slipping from bone, monsters & unimaginable mutated flesh which had once been human; it stuck with him, but he didn’t know how to feel.

                  What he felt now, standing before Leon in an instance of quiet reflection, was as of yet undeterminable. Connor decided he was fatigued, the world itself a buzzing thing, demanding his attention as his senses felt momentarily overwhelmed. His skin shivered.   ❝ That’s human nature, ❞   he expressed after what must have felt like a small eternity.   ❝   Whether for resource competition, elimination of threats of self-preservation, there’s a primal part of every animal that has that instinct. ❞     He believed this was one of the reasons why the T-Virus perpetuated itself so easily. To those so, so very lucky few that were immune, they would be spared the horrors. But for those less genetically fortunate, it hijacked the body & forced it to play a braindead, unwitting host to its own propagation. Humans were just animals after all, & the instinct to attack, to bite & scratch was a natural one. No wonder that little midwestern city had been so easily overtaken. No wonder so many had died.

[replicantdeviancy]

                  The tender keening of the ocean rushed quiet & somber in his ears, touching the deepest parts of his senses & caressing them in a state of utter blackness. There was peace here, tranquility in suspension of nothingness, inconsequential & incorporeal. Time was limitless here, fleeting & inert as the masses at the very edge of a stellar event horizon, caught upon nothingness & infinity. How long had he spent his existence here in onyx nothingness? An hour? A day? Centuries? The being which had been, once was ****** ****** could not know, for he (He?) was everything & nothing, a meager soul lost in blackness & fluid warmth. But it was the sensation of warmth against his skin, or what he perceived to be his skin, that slowly drew him out of the twilight & into something beyond the peace.

                  Noise. There was sound echoing against his brain, tinny & quaking in quagmire through the ripples of ocean. No, not ocean. Water. Something twitched, a part of him at the edges of his nervous system & with vague deduction & ponderous mind he realized there had been a hand there, fingers. Warmth, slow & still, began to undulate. That sound grew louder in his ears, tugging, dragging him away from the waves.

                                        [SECURITY BREACH. SECURITY BREACH.]

...What?

                  The ocean fell away & suddenly he was completely aware that he was being cradled beneath his arms by a harness of some kind, one which wrapped around his ribs & suspended him from above. The fluids which drained away from his naked form took with them their warmth & reflexively his body gasped at the chill the absence of giving, blanketing peace offered. Dark eyes shot open & his body wretched, choked upon the apparatus attached to his face, the tube lodged deep into his throat. With trembling hands he clawed at the mechanism which had been forcing air into his lungs & with one great, heaving lurch of his entire frame the trapped man rid himself of it’s oppressive hold & stole his first gasped breath.

                  Blurry eyes peered listlessly around the room, desperate for any familiarly, any marker or vision which would grant some recollection. Nothing. Only the cold uniformity of pristine, sterile white & computers monitoring his every vital sign. Embarrassment did not come as quickly as the necessity for freedom, & the trapped man tore with greedy hands at the harness which held him. He did not realize the error of his judgement until legs weakened from disuse over an undetermined period of time crumpled beneath him, sending his body to the wet floor of this...pod. There was no pain, no acknowledgement of injury though his knees hit the metal with a resounding crack. Yet as soon as his body touched the ground he curled into himself, a trembling & broken thing, & tried once again to fervently gain his bearings.

                  Where was this? What was he doing here? & more importantly, who was he? The blaring warnings of a security breach in progress did not disquiet save for the noise, grating & irritating as it was. A small groan escaped his lips, his throat sore & raw. What fresh hell had he fallen into? Or rather, what hell had he just managed to collapse his way out of?

@conorbyrne​  | 💙’d for a Starter!!

[replicantdeviancy]

Scar Analysis: Connor E. Arkeit

This analysis is to express any & all (current & optional) scars Connor might have in his Human Verses. More will be added as Verses are expanded. All are derived from optional wounds obtained during the game (besides those associated with gender reassignment) & have been carefully selected for certain plot points or story arcs. As there are still plenty left, there are opportunities for future use.

Right Temple - Miniscule, faint & circular. Obtained some time during early childhood, before Connor can remember.

Left Deltoid, Center, Mid - Thick & slightly keloid from poor skin regrowth, somewhat rough. Obtained  in the line of duty from a gunshot during a hostage negotiation situation by a housemaid named Daniel [Expunged], in which the bullet deeply grazed Connor’s shoulder muscle, creating a tunnel-like gash. Recovery was slow as skin was unable to be completely closed with stitching.

Underbust, Below Pectorals - Thin, faded twin scars, only slightly discolored with time. Obtained during mastectomy surgery associated with gender reassignment (age 21).

Mid-Abdomen, Above Navel - Small, slightly puckered circular wound. Obtained from a gunshot in the line of duty during a police raid in which Connor acted to protect his partner. No complications. The bullet did not hit any major organs.