#Lab Refurbishment

[labfituk]

Transforming Scientific Spaces: Why Lab Fit UK is the Go-To Choice for Lab Refurbishment

Why Lab Refurbishment Matters

Laboratories are high-precision environments that demand a careful balance of safety, efficiency, and usability. Over time, outdated infrastructure, wear and tear, or evolving research needs can compromise functionality. Investing in professional lab refurbishment not only improves aesthetics but also enhances performance, safety, and compliance with current regulations.

What Sets Lab Fit UK Apart?

Lab Fit UK specializes in the design, fit-out, and refurbishment of laboratories tailored to the specific needs of your organization. With years of industry experience, they offer end-to-end solutions — from initial consultation and 3D design to installation and aftercare.

Key Services Include:

Full Lab Refurbishment — Upgrading everything from flooring and ceilings to fume cupboards and workstations.

Custom Design Solutions — Each lab is uniquely designed to meet your operational needs.

Compliance & Safety — All projects are delivered in line with current HSE and building regulations.

Minimal Downtime — Work is carefully planned to reduce disruption to ongoing operations.

Who Can Benefit?

Educational Institutions upgrading their science departments

Pharmaceutical & Biotech Companies modernizing R&D labs

Hospitals & Healthcare Providers enhancing pathology or diagnostic labs

Industrial Facilities improving chemical testing or manufacturing labs

Real Results with Lab Fit UK

Clients across the UK have seen immediate improvements in productivity, safety, and staff satisfaction after working with Lab Fit UK. Their expert team ensures every detail, from lab furniture to ventilation systems, supports the lab’s purpose and future growth.

Get Started with Lab Fit UK

Whether you’re planning a full-scale renovation or a phased lab upgrade, Lab Fit UK is ready to bring your vision to life. Backed by a commitment to quality, compliance, and client satisfaction, they’re the trusted partner in lab innovation.

📞 Contact Lab Fit UK today for a free consultation and discover how your laboratory can reach its full potential.

[purple-goo-writes]

Punk Hazard pt 2

Part 1

"Clocky...what's wrong with me? What did they do to me?" It hurt so much, so much. Something was wrong! Wrong Wrong Wrong WRong! "I do not know Daniel...but you can not stay here any longer."

Danny, now Punk Hazard, was not expecting to be sitting in a safe house, what looked to be a refurbished warehouse, and to be fussed over by various of the older members of the Rogues as Captain Cold called them upon introducing them to Punk. Yet, here he was sitting on the couch as James, who was apparently the Former Trickster, fussed over him while Captain Cold, or Leonard Snart as he was told to call him, bustled around the kitchen with Heatwave. Killer Frost had dipped after they escaped the heroes and Mr. Snart talked about introducing him to the Rogues. Maybe he should have done the same. But, Mr. Snart had promised him non-reanimated food.

Though he had looked rather concerned when Punk asked if it was going to try and eat him. Apparently food didn't do that here. Good to know.

James seemed content to know that his scars while glowing an eerie green/blue weren't hurting him and that he had no injuries after his tussle with the Flashes. Glider was amused when Punk commented that James was rather motherly for a former villain, "Yeah, he's just like that. Think fussing over us keeps him from relapsing at times."

"Definitely not used to an adult caring for me...Usually, they want to rip me apart molecule by molecule." Punk commented only to blink in confusion as the warehouse went silent, even the kitchen was silent as Heatwave and Leonard stopped to stare at him. "Guessing that's not normal?"

James made a strangled noise while Glider pats his shoulder to calm the man down, "No?!? Who does that to a kid?!" "I think you need to start from the beginning, kid," Captain Cold sighed as he handed the mixing bowl to Mick. He probably shouldn't be holding anything for this.

Twenty minutes later, Leonard wondered if Barry would forgive him if he froze a few government facilities solid. Probably, the guy was just as soft-hearted as he was when it came to kids. "Okay, let me get this straight...see if I have all the facts.." "...Pretty sure chair arms aren't supposed to bend that way."

"Your parents were mad scientists and worked with an evil government agency-"

"Not necessarily mad-"

"Found out you were a meta-"

"Technically I wasn't-"

"And decided to work with said government agency to rip you apart and find out how you tick-"

"Viviscected is the correct term for it."

"Along with other experiments which fucked with your biology and powers even more. And now you are on the run after ransacking their labs."

"Yeah pretty much.."

"Right you are one of ours now-"

"I'm not sure that's how adoption works-"

"Do you need a new name? I think you need a new name. Not just your rogue tag."

"He's not listening is he?"

[astra-ryuusei]

"Awakening the Sleeping Giant"

-----------------------

flings my creation into the unknown

the brain worms have gotten too powerful and I’m simultaneously dying of skystar disease of so have this 1400-ish-word Fucking Thing™ based on @keferon's mecha AU featuring human!starscream as the the little bastard you can't live with but also can't live without, and skyfire/jetfire as the unfortunate victim of Fate Being a Real Bitch Sometimes and accidentally deciding the outcome of the Space Race

"ulchtar" as a name for human!Starscream was borrowed from starscream's early name (and also Skybound)

also i don’t remember if the corporation that produces mechs in this au was ever properly given a name so i just kinda. gave them a generic one lol

-----------------------

Ulchtar is a mechanical engineer working on developing spacefaring mecha. He’s climbed through the ranks based on his expertise (and, occasionally by sabotaging other peoples’ work). Nobody really likes working with him; he’s kind of an ass at the best of times. But his experience with these systems makes him a danger if the company ever lets him go. He could sell his knowledge to anyone else in the world, creating new competition in a sector they’ve more-or-less monopolized. This keeps him from being kicked out…up until Mecha-Corp’s first voyage into the stars goes horribly wrong. After the disappearance of Jazz, the fingers are pointed at him, even though—for once in his life—he’s actually not to blame. It’s decided that he’s no longer useful, and he needs to be disposed of.

Ulchtar doesn’t know this, of course. Not until—after being called into a meeting in one of the downstairs labs—the door to go back upstairs locks itself, and he hears the telltale, unholy screeches of alien beasts around him. The beasts he has helped contain for years.

“…shit. Shit shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshit—”

He starts running. Not upstairs, that’s not an option, but maybe there’s another way out of here. He finds that the door upstairs is locked, but not the way down, and that means there’s still a chance, because if there’s anything the higher-ups here right about, it was the fact that Ulchtar knows way too much.

In a last, desperate attempt to survive (or at least go down swinging) Ulchtar decides to unleash his final gambit. He runs down long-forgotten halls, hurls himself downstairs until he reaches the lowest floor of the facility—a floor where nobody goes. It’s down here that he’ll make his stand and wake up an old “friend.”

The few who know it exists call it the “Sleeping Giant.” Corny name, but it made sense, given it's…well, fucking gigantic, maybe even bigger than Vortex. It was found buried in the Arctic in the mid-1950’s—what looked to be an ancient, alien shuttle, lost under the ice for perhaps millions of years. It was all kept hush-hush, but in secret, its discovery had turned the tides of the Space Race…and when it fell into the hands of what would soon become Mecha-Corp, they quickly learned it was much more than a vessel. It was alive.

Some of the earliest mechs? The huge, bulky ones that never ended up getting mass-produced because it wasn’t economical enough? They owed their design to the Giant. They owed their existence to the many times it had been torn apart and put back together to see how it worked, to the many years it had laid on a table inert, unaware of what humanity had done to it. It was their greatest trade secret.

And the Giant owes its currently-intact state to Ulchtar, who’d thought studying it as a whole was more useful than research on individual parts. Which is the only reason he knows, at least in theory, how to power it on. Hell, he’d even done some refurbishments when nobody was looking. He runs across a table far too big for him, pulling out cables and unlocking restraints. He doesn’t have time for final checks, not with a horde of kaiju bearing down on him. He just has to hope, to scream until he makes the stars hear his name—or he dies trying.

"COME ON!" He shouts. "WAKE UP, YOU OVERSIZED SUNOVA--"

At that moment, the stars respond.

-----------------------

He can’t move.

He’s freezing cold.

Is he dead?

How did he get here?

He’s…he was…looking for something, he’s pretty sure. Something very important.

Something so important he’d risk getting trapped under an ice sheet over it.

Who is he? He's not sure.

He wants to go home, but he can’t remember where that’s supposed to be.

Trying to remember hurts too much.

It’s hard to think like this, when he’s so cold and everything hurts and he’s so tired.

He lets himself drift, fluttering in and out of death-dreams that he can barely recall.

Eventually, after he’s lost count of the cycles, something happens. The dim light filtering through the ice gets brighter. Small creatures—the lifeforms of this planet, he thinks—peer down at him, pointing, shouting, but he is too weak to respond.

He has hope, for a brief moment, when he sees the sun again, but those hopes are quickly dashed—once more he’s trapped in walls and ceilings of white and gray. This time, the prison is own body. He’s escaped the glacier, only to find himself paralyzed and comatose. Occasionally he laspses into consciousness just long enough to steal a few kliks of awareness before he falls back into darkness.

At some point, he feels himself revert to ‘bot mode, which is something he'd forgotten he even had until then. He’s vaguely aware that he is being picked apart and put back together by the scavengers, again and again and again. The dull ache of not being whole is the only reason he knows he’s still alive, if this can still be called living.

And then…something changes. Everything goes dark for a very long time. The next time he’s aware of anything, his first realization is that he doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t feel broken. His arms respond when he tries to move.

What?

He sits up, still in something of a daze, taking in the surroundings. It’s a room seemingly sized for mechs, and yet the furniture strewn about is far too small—maybe meant for the scavengers? He has little time to wonder about the whole situation, because he soon hears them—the distant, telltale sounds of Quintessons approaching. He remembers what those are, in a way that’s almost instinctive.

To his right, though, he hears a small screaming noise. A lone organic is shouting something at him almost hysterically, pointing at the entrance before gesturing wildly, and then pointing up at the ceiling. It runs over to a set of controls, pushing at buttons furiously until the ceiling begins to open up. Once again, he sees the sky and feels something like hope.

Then tentacles lash out from behind the entrance, and he remembers this is no time for sentiment. He picks the organic up, deciding to just plop the creature inside his cockpit where’s it’s relatively safe and jump for it. He doesn’t trust the creature, not for a second, but he needs someone to explain what’s going on. Engines flare to life for the first time in millions of years, and he hears horrific screeches as Quintesson flesh is cooked under the heat from his thrusters.

They sail up and up and up until there’s no walls anymore and that feeling of suffocating is gone and it’s warmer than anything he’s felt in millions of cycles and he’s alive.

He lets himself spin a few times in the air. He’s above the clouds and the sun feels like fire on his still-frigid wings but somehow that’s good, it feels right. He wants to just hover here and bask in it forever.

He realizes why the creature is kicking him when gunfire whizzes past his face, followed by a pair of aircraft piloted by the scavengers.

Are the scavengers after him? Or the one he’s holding onto? He’s not really sure, but he also really doesn’t want to find out.

He transforms, looking for any way to shake them off. It becomes a mad, spiraling dance as he tries to avoid getting shot, to mixed results.

He considers the enemy’s design—these aircraft don’t look like they’re meant for spaceflight. Knowing that, he climbs higher and higher, looking to get above these things’ maximum operating altitude. He flinches as a few bullets scratch and tear at him, but doesn’t stop. This eventually pays off, as he sees his pursuers begin to stall out, dropping away behind him.

He hopes his scavenger didn’t get too sick in the cockpit. That’d be a mess to clean up…

…Primus, why am I worrying about that at a time like this? He laughs to himself, though this high up, the air is so thin that it’s barely audible.

He looked down at the planet below—dusk was soon to fall on this side of the world, and he needed to find somewhere to hide.

“…where do I even go from here?”

A knock from the organic, who held up what looked like a tiny datapad with a nervous grin.

Maybe they had an idea?

-----------------------

part 2

[ceilidho]

Ok if this doesn't sound like an idea you'd be interested in then disregard, i don't want to bother you 🙂 BuT! It's been itching the back of my brain since forced throuple au and creepy-apartment!ghost has compounded it so:

Forced throuple but a sort of android verse with some body snatching horror thrown in for flavor. Reader's husband (Soapy boy) dies suddenly and in their grief a lot of stuff has gone into disrepair, so they mail order an android to help around the house and with crippling loneliness. The company sends Ghost, a refurbished security model now named Simon, and he ends up being pretty helpful despite the silent brooding. Hell, sometimes that even helps as scary dog privilege so you let it slide (big mistake dumby, that android is falling for you in the process of taking care of you ohhh no-).

But maybe Ghosts old security features make him super observant (obsessive) paired with his new "fix it" code make him come to the conclusion that, actually, reader could still use her husband and mail orders a Soap-bot-3000 without letting them know :O. Watch the horror unfold as Reader wakes up one morning to her VERY NOT dead husband in bed and both Ghost and Soap acting like nothing is wrong :)))), maybe some "Simon reverts fo Ghost" too as the story progresses

this is from awhile ago (apologies, anon) and so wickedly weird and cool :)))

androids that are so realistic and bodies so malleable that they almost feel lifelike, like they're flesh and blood. you never wanted to actually give in and purchase one because you have personal qualms with the idea of something so human-looking being programmable and subservient to you; it's just always felt wrong and borderline cruel, and johnny used to concur with you when you spoke about it. that was then though. years and months and weeks before the accident.

now it's midday on a tuesday and you can't even get out of bed. there are two weeks of dishes in the sink and the lawn is overgrown and the feral cats haven't stopped by in days because you haven't had the strength to get up and feed them. your voicemail's been full for days. your sister stopped by and insisted when she saw the state of your house. "at least for a few weeks," she pleaded with you. you can always return it when you're back on your feet. she's already ordered you one from 141 Labs before she's even out the door, making you promise to give it a shot.

when you open the box, you worry that you might've ordered the wrong model. the size of the android they sent you feels out of place, like he's meant for private military companies or as a bodyguard for celebrities. not depressed accountants who can't get out of bed because their husband died two weeks ago. but it's your name on the receipt, your address. so when his blue eyes flare neon when he's first activated and all six feet and four inches of him sit up in the crate (that had to be wheeled in by two delivery men, you recall with a small amount of horror), you wait patiently to introduce yourself.

maybe this one was sent to you because of the defect. he wears a mask because the only layer of skin on his face starts from the bottom of his face down. at first you roll the mask up only to shudder at the exposed wiring and metal where cheekbones should be. you roll it back down.

he comes with a name. Ghost. that's his model, you surmise from the lengthy instruction booklet you're provided. the whole situation feels weird at first; his presence in your house always catches you off guard, even though, you suppose, it's his house now too. you jump whenever you walk into a room and he's just there, silent, so large that you nearly always think Threat first before you recognize him. maybe it's not fully your fault. he makes no effort to signal his presence, moving silently from room to room when he helps carry out the garbage or swifter the living room. sometimes you catch him staring at the photos of you and johnny that still line the top of the fireplace.

you try to be equitable, insisting that he take the guest room as his own. Ghost won't hear of it, following you into your room when night falls; ominous. you have to lock yourself in the en suite to change, heart beating away because you know he's standing just outside the door, like a cat waiting to be let in. shaking hands drag your clothes down. you stare blankly at the door while you shower, fingers twitching when you pass a washcloth over your nipples.

you think there's something wrong with you. you're sick or something. you're sick or something worse because your husband died two weeks ago and the thing in your house isn't even a human and still your stomach clenches when you think of him waiting for you in your room, knowing that you're naked behind the door. it's taboo; it's not something that's done, at least not something that's spoken about. people don't sleep with their androids. recent widows especially should not be thinking about fucking their androids.

two weeks go by. you can't even think about johnny without wincing these days.

"he was your husband."

you look up. Ghost says it like a fact, not a question. you're in the living room sorting through insurance papers while Ghost vacuums under the sofa (he lifts the corner up with just a single hand; you swallow, throat already dry). neon blue eyes zip across your face when you look over at him. you wonder sometimes what he sees there, etched into the plains of your face.

"yeah." your smile is tight, pained. "johnny."

he looks back down to the framed photo in his hand, studying it. you wish you could ask him what he's thinking about, but you worry that would be just another privacy stripped. you can't ask more of him.

"what happened to him?" he finally asks, looking up again.

you feel it catch in your throat. "he, um - he." it doesn't come out. your nose stings before you can even try to get more out. you grimace, shrug instead. you try to smile again, but it's warped, unpleasant to form much less look at. don't ask, it says, whatever you do, please, please don't ask.

"you miss him?"

you blink at him, misty eyed. "ye - of course."

his eyes are so, so blue when he stares across the room at you. it's unnerving to look at; terrifying to find yourself under his scrutinizing gaze. what do androids even think about?

"I understand." he puts the photo back on the bookshelf and walks out of the room.

sometimes you catch him watching you too intensely; rare moments when he doesn't seem entirely mechanical. you wonder if one day you'll roll the mask up and there'll be skin there suddenly, a real flesh and blood person. it feels entirely possible some days. he moves too fluidly, has his own quirks and intricacies that seem newer each day.

you don't try it. the minuscule amount of professional space between the two of you is an absolute. you worry sometimes what you'll let happen if you ever let that distance collapse. already he sleeps motionlessly in the chair beside your bed, refusing his own room. he powers down with his eyes still open, the blue flickering away to a dark grey. it's only mildly reassuring.

when you open your eyes in the middle of the night though, he stares back at you, eyes dark and sightless.

you worry sometimes that you might have made a mistake, letting your sister talk you in to this.

it's the arm tucked around your waist when you're doing the shopping, freezing for a second before the hand on your hip squeezes and he pulls you towards the fruit and veg. it's the menacing stare from over your shoulder when a man approaches you in the checkout lane, offering his condolences (an old colleague of your husband's, he says) and an invitation to dinner. you open your mouth only for Ghost to answer for you.

"No." it thrums out of him, a different modulation. you stare helplessly as the man's face goes white and he makes an excuse to leave, offering you another lame apology.

it's the hand that tugs you out of the store by the back of your shirt, Ghost's voice rumbling like he doesn't know you can hear him. saying something about how you don't need another man in your house. that you had johnny and now you have him.

[xx-j4nu5-c4t5-xx]

thinking about rebuilding the strangetown lots and here's what I'm thinking

Smith house: Already started this one. No major complaints, aside from the balcony. Hate the vibes of that thing. I kept it but downsized it a lot in favor of the bedrooms (so now Johnny actually has room for a dresser and stuff). Overall probably my favorite house in strangetown already so not much needs to be done

Grunt house: Needs a fallout shelter for sure. Also might eat into the kitchen to get more room for the master bedroom (because why can Buzz only fit a single twin bed in his shit ass room??)

Curious house: Needs to decide if it's a refurbished lab or a really weird house. Leaning towards the first. Keeping the evil green bathroom but a lot of the structure overall needs to change, I think. Also they need a couch + lose double tv privilege because it makes me insane.

Beaker house: Needs doors. I'm sorry. Definitely feel like the lab can stay visible from the rest of the house but Nervous's weird pit should not be a straight shot from the front door. Maybe needs more weird frightening towers. We'll cross this bridge when we get to it.

Specter house: I really like this one, actually. Don't feel like much needs to change. Also I'm scared of accidentally losing a gravestone or something. Might add a little bit of decor or an extra room but not much tbh

I'll get to any other buildings when I get to them but here are my thoughts for the main occupied houses

[britt-kageryuu]

A bit unlikely to happen in TMNT, but the thought of the Turtles finding and claiming an uninhabited island to make a remote base. Doesn't sound to far off.

Or maybe they reclaimed it from a villain or something similar? (Donnie secured the deed or ownership before booting them out)

Either way they put together a little island paradise that they go to in between that multiple 'save the world' scenarios. Gotta distress somehow.

Other than the house and lab, there's a small clearing made into a tranquility garden for Meditation. The refurbished security marine life pools. And the training area that was rebuilt to fit the Turtles training style.

Not to forget a regular farm and garden area for various reasons. Like fresh ingredients for cooking or medicine.

Other this just depends on which version of the Turtles are taking over this island.

Though I've seen a couple of fic where MM/TOTTMNT just turn SuperFlys based into a hideout, so there's that.

I was thinking of those various Island Adventures playsets, and a few Secret Island Lairs playsets, and this started forming in my mind. I can't remember if there was ever a TMNT one or if my mind is making it up.

[desceros]

so. we are all familiar with villain rise leo x reader by now. but do u have any headcanons or just ideas about villain rise donnie x reader ? 🤔

so. this, uh. this got out of hand quickly

villain!donnie au where splinter didn't scoop up all of the turtles when he fled, and donnie got left behind in the exploding lab. god i love pretty boys with trauma

as the lab explodes around him, little baby donnie barely finds a safe place to hide so he survives. he gets crushed under some rubble, and he and his shell becomes scratched and bruised. after everything settles down, he crawls out and manages to escape to the streets of the hidden city. not properly tended, his wounds heal improperly and scar, leaving him always just a little bit in pain.

despite the odds, donnie survives. he's resourceful and brilliant, and with his naturally aggressive nature, he manages. after a painful lesson where he's nearly killed by a small local gang, he learns that hiding his soft shell is important, so he begins picking through the trash and putting things together. he's good at it, he realizes quickly. able to see things that connect together and make something bigger than their parts. he begins to scrap together all kinds of contraptions; a cover for his shell, a tool to help him break into people's houses for their blankets when it gets cold, something that plays soft music and keeps him company when he feels a little hollow in the back alleyway like he's supposed to have someone with him and doesn't.

as he grows up, he learns. he has a cold exterior that never betrays his inner thoughts, because those are just as vulnerable as his soft shell. he has no friends, no family, nobody but himself. he's so, so quick to attack, cruel and unforgiving, defensive and hardened from his youth. if he hurts you first, you can't hurt him, after all.

he starts making money selling his tech to sketchy people, until finally he manages to land an actual apartment. he goes one on the sketchier side of town so he can twist the landlord's arm (read: blackmail) into letting him do whatever he wants. running water, heating, a bed; these are all things he quickly becomes picky about, now that he has them. he craves comfort, so he remodels the entire place from the inside until it's unrecognizable. then, wanting more, making enough money because he's so fucking good at hacking and tech, he gets the apartment next to his, too. puts a door between them. refurbishes the other one into a full-blown lab where he can push, create, experiment.

he's got himself convinced that he prefers it this way, that the hum of his tech around him is all he needs. he finishes something and looks at it, almost like he's waiting for... for something. (...for someone to tell him he's amazing.) but he brushes it off, puts it to the side, then moves onto the next thing. this is all he needs. this is all he needs.

one day, he wants more. there's one more apartment on his side of the floor, so he goes to the landlord. unfortunately, there's someone inside, and they're, uh. not to be messed with. no matter how much donnie twists and grills. infuriated, he goes home to take matters into his own hands—only to learn that the person in the apartment next to his is you.

you are the underpaid, overworked, exhausted, single, addicted to this black swill that you call coffee but you're pretty sure is some kind of yokai magic juice personal assistant to one baron draxum. the motherfucker's been trying to get you to move into his lab for a few years now, but if you have to spend one more minute in his presence, you'll scream. also, you warned him that if he even thinks about mutating you, you'll quit, and since you're the best goddamned assistant he's ever had, quadrupling his tracking numbers since you started, you're also one hundred percent human. ('when you are the last human, then i shall mutate you, as i will no longer have need of your services then.' 'try it. i'll gnaw your fucking arm off and password lock the coffee machine.' '...bah.')

you meet donnie when a package is delivered, mistakenly, to your apartment with his name on it. (it's a passive aggressive gesture where he had it specifically sent to your apartment, so you could come talk to him and he would, uh, kindly inform you that you'll be moving.) unfortunately for him, you're used to dealing with mad scientist egomaniacs whose respect is nigh impossible to earn, so when he tries to threaten you, you laugh in his face, drop the box off at his feet, and go to work.

.......donnie stares at the spot where you were for a good, like, five minutes after you leave.

over the next few months, over and over this little green fucker next door makes your life miserable. he does weird experiments at weird hours—until he learns that actually, you work weird hours, so then he does them at normal hours which keeps you from getting any sleep. he blares loud, obnoxious music. he leaves snide messages on the corkboard by the stairs, even though you both know that you're the only two people who live here so there's only one person who could be doing it. he fucking mutates your favorite pothos plant where it was sitting, innocent, beautiful, on your balcony, so now it sings to you exclusively in nickelback lyrics when you go to water it. (...your one consulation there is that, at least, you aren't the only one who suffers.)

donnie, meanwhile, is perplexed. enraged. how the fuck are you so resilient?! he has done everything short of actually shooting you in the face, which he would have done were it not for your tie to baron fucking draxum, and yet you're still fucking here, preventing the expansion of his lab. it's infuriating. he can't stand the sight of you. just looking at your face and the way you smile and laugh at his machinations makes his chest feel tight. his fingers curl into fists when he looks at you bending over in those stupid pencil skirts of yours to grab your mail when he leaves the door open and it all falls to the floor. he wants to wrap his fingers around your pretty little neck and pin you to the nearest surface and squeeze until—until—

...oh. oh.

the day you get a beautiful bouquet of flesh-eating mutant yokai lilies on your front doorstep, no note attached because really there's only one person who has the resources to do this, the bottom of your stomach drops as you realize, perhaps too late, that you have attracted the gaze of something truly, truly terrible.

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Aftermath au: Red Letter Day

Barney gets a call that Gordon Freeman had been found after ten years of being missing in action.

Word count: 4382

Notes: Another fic for my au "Aftermath" because I think its neat. I'm not sure what else to put here, enjoy the fic

Barney was beginning to remember how much he hated Winter as he stared through the warehouse window in front of him. Despite it being the beginning of March, spring was yet to come, meaning the snow was still falling with the temperature following suit. Barney had always hated the season, and as much as he tried, he could never come up with a proper reason. Maybe it was the fact it was cold, wet, and dreary, making any trip outside miserable, or perhaps it was the fact he was mainly cooped up inside all day, leaving him to get cabin fever. Or maybe it was a mixture of those two at the same time, along with the loneliness that came from them. No matter the reason, Barney kept quiet about it, realizing he had no ability to change the weather. All he could do was drink his hot coffee and put on a few more layers than usual. 

Barney took a sip from his mug as he looked away from the window, instead focusing his attention back into the room he was in. It was a storage room, full of random junk and scientific doodads Barney had no knowledge of. Boxes and crates were stacked up in piles taller than he was, stacked in such a way that it made Barney nervous even being near them in the case of them toppling over. Due to the lack of a radiator in that room, it was even chillier than the rest of the refurbished warehouse, making Barney glad he was wearing the warmest sweatpants he could find in his closet, along with a worn out grey hoodie, with the logo on the front being so faded that it was hard to make out as Black Mesa’s logo.

As he looked around, he was startled by the sound of a box slamming against the concrete floor, along with a short exclamation. “Oh, blast it!” “You alright, Doc?” Barney asked the other man in the room, watching as he bent over to pick up the fallen crate.

“I’m fine, just…hoping whatever was in here isn’t fragile…” 

Dr. Isaac Kleiner, or “Doc” as Barney referred to him as, was wearing a white lab coat over a robin-egg-blue dress-shirt and black tie, trading warmth for safety at his place of work. His glasses were slipping off his face as he moved boxes and rummaged through everything in the storage room, making it even more of a mess than it was before. 

“Where on earth could she have gone?” Kleiner asked, not necessarily expecting an answer. “There aren’t any vents she could have crawled in, are there?”

“I hope not,” Barney stated. “Last thing I want is that thing to fall on someone.” As Kleiner looked under a table, Barney spoke up again. “You think it ran off or something?”

“Oh no, I don’t believe so,” Kleiner stood up straight, “I’m sure she wouldn’t. After all, she needs to get fed eventually, so I imagine she’ll come out for that.” “If the thing didn’t eat someone's cat or something.”

“Hush!” Kleiner held a finger up to his mouth, causing both he and Barney to become silent as he listened closely. Barney attempted to hear what Kleiner was listening for, but to no avail, hearing nothing but silence. “Fie! I could’ve sworn I heard her moving around…”

Barney let out an exhausted sigh, “Doc, please, there’s plenty of those pests out there–”

“But there’s only ONE Lamar!”

“...Right.”

“Now, are you going to help me look?” Kleiner adjusted his crooked glasses, “Or are you going to simply stand there, doing nothing?”

“Uh…” Barney glanced away, thinking for a moment. “...No thanks.”

“Oh, you act like she’s some kind of wild animal.”

“It kinda is.”

“She’s been de-beaked and trained, and you know this!” Kleiner stated as he walked towards a filing cabinet near the corner of the room.

“‘Trained;’ I don’t think that thing is really…trained. My dog is trained, and I know you can train cats, but I don’t think you can train a literal parasite–”

“Oh! I think I’ve got something!” Kleiner said excitedly, “Help me move this cabinet, would you please?”

Barney reluctantly approached the metal cabinet as Kleiner positioned himself to the side of it, ready to move it as soon as Barney was. As soon as Barney placed his free hand against the side of it, he pushed, with Kleiner on the other side pulling it towards him.

Barney let out a loud yelp when something leaped at him from behind the cabinet, causing him to fall on his back and drop his mug on the floor. It was Lamar, the “Pet” headcrab that Kleiner had lost, and it was even uglier up close. As it laid on Barney’s chest, its six small, beady eyes stared back at him as he remained absolutely still, afraid of it trying to attack him. Its teeth on its stomach prodded at his stomach, along with its chipped, large front claws, which had colorful duct-tape covering the tips of them to prevent them from being too sharp. After a few moments of tense silence, Kleiner came to the rescue, picking up Lamar from where it rested on Barney’s torso, allowing him to take a breath.

“LAMAR!” Kleiner exclaimed, looking at his pet with relief in his eyes, “Oh, delightful! I’m so happy to see you weren’t left out in the cold somewhere…”

“Mm-hm…” Barney lifted himself off the ground, looking at his feet to see his knocked over coffee cup, with its contents spilled over. “Ugh…” 

Barney picked up his cup from the floor as Kleiner let Lamar go, watching as it waddled across the floor before jumping up onto one of the tables. Barney stared at it with contempt, the opposite reaction to Lamar’s rediscovery compared to Kleiner’s joy. 

“Do you even have a license for that thing?” Barney questioned as Lamar sat down on top of some loose documents. “If you don’t and animal control finds it, they’ll kill it–”

“I’m…in the process of getting one,” Kleiner stated, voice stumbling slightly. “And I hope no one finds her, cause if they do…I’m afraid of what you said coming true. I’m sure it will be fine regardless, at least she knows to stay inside.”

“...Sure.”

“Is everyone safe?”

Barney and Kleiner turned towards the doorway that led to the rest of the warehouse, seeing a lone, albino Vortigaunt staring back at them with her four maroon eyes. She was wearing a similar lab coat to Kleiner’s, with a borrowed pair of black dress pants, along with a fitted light brown sweater, with a hole in the middle of her chest for her third pseudo arm. She stared at Kleiner and Barney for a little while before Barney answered her question. 

“Yeah, we’re fine…” Barney sighed, glancing towards Lamar, “We just found Kleiner’s…pet.”

“Everything’s under control, Violet, you can get back to work!” Kleiner added.

“I see.” Violet’s gravelly voice seemed quieter than usual, making Barney’s brows furrow a bit.

“You alright?” He asked.

Violet seemed puzzled. “Hm?”

“Are you doing alright? I have noticed you’ve been a bit…closed off for the past few hours.” Kleiner inquired.

“We have been…distracted…” Violet responded. “I imagine it will be cleared up soon.”

“We?” Barney asked.

Violet didn’t answer. “I must get back to helping the others…the teleporter is nearly ready for its first test...”

“Oh! Wonderful. I’ll be there in a little bit.” Kleiner stated as Violet left the room. Barney remained puzzled, looking back at Kleiner with a feeling of unease in his chest.

“She said ‘we’.” Barney stated.

“I’m aware,” Kleiner responded. “You see, the Vortigaunts are able to tap into something they refer to as the ‘Vortessence’, and are thus all conne–”

“I know, Doc, I just…” Barney paused for a second. “If she’s talking about all the Vortigaunts, then wouldn’t that be a bit worrying?”

“...Maybe, but I'm not sure.” Kleiner stated. “Though, one of the members of the survey team we sent earlier today was a Vortigaunt, and that team hasn’t returned yet so…maybe there is a connection there.”

“Maybe.”

“Either way, I believe i’ll go and speak with her, just to make sure everything’s alri–”

Barney’s phone ringing from his pocket interrupted their thoughts, and when Barney pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open, he saw the number was from one of his coworkers at the hospital. “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

“You’re fine, you go ahead and I’ll go check in with the others.”

Barney nodded, watching Kleiner leave the room before he answered the call and put his phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

Barney listened closely to the person on the other end of the phone, barely processing what they were saying. 

“What’s going on? 

Not going to believe what? 

So what, why are you telling me this?”

Barney listened closely, all before he felt his heart skip a beat. The sinking feeling in his chest was enough to render him silent, all before he let out a meek “I’ll call you later.”

Barney rushed out of the room, running past Kleiner in the process, nearly pushing him over as he approached the exit. “Barney? What’s going on, are you alright–” “They found him.” Barney’s voice shook as he spoke, with him barely being able to make out the words from how tight his throat was.

“Found who?”

Barney was already out of the building by the time Kleiner asked the question, leaving it unanswered.

Barney saw his own breath clouding in front of his face as he sprinted across the parking lot of the warehouse, nearly slipping on ice multiple times but not giving any time to care. When he reached his car, he swung the door open and crawled inside, starting the engine and speeding off without a single word. His thoughts ran through his head faster than his car was capable of going, slurring together without a single cohesive thought coming through. He didn’t care if he was a few miles above the speed limit; he needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. He needed to see if what his coworker said was right.

If it was truly Gordon Freeman that was brought into the ER, he needed to be there.

When Barney made it to the hospital lot, he rushed through the front doors, looking around before approaching the front desk, out of breath from both the physical and mental strain that was put on him. Through harsh breaths, he asked, “Is Gordon Freeman here?”, with pleading eyes focused on the woman behind the desk.

“Oh, hello Mr. Calhoun, I can look through the system for a ‘Gordon Freeman’, if you’ll sit tight for a moment.” She looked towards the computer in front of her, typing in something and looking through files as Barney waited, his impatience building up inside of him.

“Fuck this.” He pushed himself away from the desk, storming down one of the hallways despite the woman at the front desk telling him he wasn’t allowed to as he was off duty. Barney rushed past hospital workers, asking them if they knew where Gordon was, only to be met with worried and frightened looks along with no answers. Barney’s frustration only grew as he ran through the hospital halls, with the familiar building beginning to feel like a maze meant to confuse him. As he ran further into the hospital wing, he slammed against one of the doctors in the hall, causing him to topple to the ground as Barney tripped over his own feet.

“Sorry, I just have to–”

“Barney? What the hell are you doing back here?” The man questioned as Barney sped past him.

“I’m looking for Gordon Freeman,” Barney answered, turning around. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s in the ER right now,” The man snapped back as he slowly stood up. “You can’t see him until he’s out of surgery.”

“Surgery? Is he safe? Is he alright?” Barney questioned, walking closer to the doctor. 

“Yes, he’ll be fine, just…” The doctor let out a tired sigh. “Get out of here, you’re off duty and risking your job with a stunt like this.”

“I need to see Gordon, alright?” Barney explained. “He’s been gone for a fucking DECADE, and he’s been found again, I can’t just leave him–”

“Calhoun.” The man raised his voice as he glared at Barney with a look of both contempt and pity. “...Listen, just wait until he’s out and I’ll see what I can do, do you understand?”

Barney remained silent for a moment, letting out a sharp breath before nodding. “Alright,” He stated, defeated. “But he better be getting the best treatment in there.”

“I’m sure they’re doing all they can, they understand his reputation–”

“I don’t care about his reputation, if i’m right, that’s my goddamn friend in there.” Barney spat. “...Let me know when he’s out. I need to at least…make sure it’s…the right guy.”

“I’m sure someone will let you know.” The doctor stated. “...Now please go back to the waiting room before I call security.”

Barney did as he was told, reluctantly walking across the hospital premises and back into the waiting room, where he will stay for another few hours. He paced around the room, bounced his foot up and down, fidgeted with his hands; anything to try and pass the time as the minutes passed by agonizingly slow. After he had already been there for what felt like days within the timespan of a few hours, he saw a nurse walk towards him. “Mr. Calhoun?”

Barney’s head lifted up, looking towards the nurse before following her down a hallway. After a couple-minutes walk, they stopped in front of a door leading to a recovery room. “He’s in there,” The nurse stated. “He’s currently sleeping, so I ask you to be quiet and not attempt to wake him up.”

“...Yeah.” Barney hesitated before walking through the door, stepping into the room, seeing a curtain blocking his view of the bed. He paused, standing in place for a moment as he wondered if the face he was about to see was truly Gordon, or simply someone mistaken as him. He wondered if he wanted the answer, or if he’d rather live in ignorance, avoiding the crippling disappointment if it wasn’t the man he thought it was, but as he walked past the curtain, every worry in his mind ceased and his thoughts became silent as he looked at the man on the bed.

Sure, his body was covered with blood-soaked bandages, his right leg was in a cast, he had medical equipment around him, and he was missing his glasses, but his face was painfully recognizable. Barney choked back a sob, covering his mouth when he saw Gordon’s face again.

“Are you alright?” The nurse behind him asked, noticing Barney’s teary-eyed look.

“I’m fine.” Barney whispered before letting out a short chuckle and a forced smile. “It’s just…he didn’t change a damn bit.”

Barney hadn’t even noticed it had been an hour since he entered the room, being surprised when he glanced at the clock and saw it was nearing 10 PM. He sat on a chair beside Gordon’s bed, having moved it from the corner of the room to right beside it. His leg bounced up and down as he looked at Gordon, all before lowering his head and letting out a deep sigh. He wished to speak to him but he was out of words he could possibly say at that very moment, not to mention the wish to stay quiet so Gordon could recover without being woken up. He wanted to tell Gordon everything that had happened in his absence; how Kleiner started up another lab to continue Black Mesa’s studies, how Eli also set up one on the other side of the city, and how Barney had finished college and was able to become a nurse. Gordon missed so much, and even though Barney wished to dump every piece of information onto him, he realized that even the realization that it had been ten years would be overwhelming enough. Thus, Barney figured to start simple, and just talk, like friends, for the first time since the Black Mesa incident.

As Barney leaned back into his seat he felt the back of his head hit something that wasn’t there before, feeling bitter cold yet organic at the same time, like a corpse’s fingers curling around the top of the backrest. He swung around, half expecting someone to be there, yet he saw nothing of the sort, seeing only the beige wall behind him. Barney let out his breath, looking back at Gordon before realizing he should head back; his stress and emotional state must have made him paranoid, not to mention the feeling of his hair standing on end. He stood up, walking towards the door out of the room before taking one last look back at Gordon before he finally left.

Later that night, Barney paced around his living room, being watched by his pet rottweiler as he talked on the phone. “The Survey team were the ones that found him?” he asked.

“That’s what they said,” Kleiner stated from the other side of the line. “The Vortigaunt was apparently the one that found him, specifically.”

“I see.”

“Quite Miraculous,” Kleiner continued, “The fact that Gordon had survived there for ten years before being found.”

“Yeah…” Barney unsurely stated under his breath.

“Nevermind that, what are you planning now?” Kleiner asked. “Should we have some kind of party? A celebration should be in order for him being back, I’d say–”

“I think he needs rest, he’s…been through a lot.” Barney stated. “I’ve thought of him staying over at my place until he can find a place of his own or until he recovers, but we’ll see how he’s feeling.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure we can find a spare room in the lab for him.”

“I dunno if he’d wanna live in a loud lab with a headcrab, doc.”

“...I suppose you have a fair point.”

“It was just so…strange.” Barney stated. “They say it was a ten year coma, but I don’t buy it. I don’t buy it at all.” “What makes you believe that?” 

“The fact he was bleeding. The fact he had fresh wounds from Black Mesa,” Barney elaborated, brows furrowed and his free arm crossing over his chest. “Not to mention the fact he was found with that…suit on.” “What kind of suit?” Kleiner questioned. “Oh, do you mean the Hazardous Environment Suit?”

“Yeah. Why would he be wearing it ten years after the incident was already over?”

“Who knows,” Kleiner sighed, “I’m sure I can talk with Eli to see if he has any ideas on–” Kleiner was interrupted by a loud crash and squeaking coming from behind him, audible through Barney’s phone. “Goodness gracious, LAMAR, NO–”

“You alright Doc?” 

“I’ll have to speak with you later, Lamar got in the vents again–Lamar get DOWN from there, that’s not safe!” After that, the call ended, and Barney was left to himself once again. Barney sighed, putting his phone back in his pocket before he heard a deep ruff coming from his dog, who was laying next to the couch in the living room, with its white patches of fur on its snout showing its age.

“You hear that, Gordon?” Barney said. “You might get a new roommate…a…different Gordon.”

The dog yawned and rested his head on his paws as Barney walked towards the living room couch, sitting on it and resting his feet on the coffee table in front of it. He leaned over the armrest, scratching the top of the dog’s head. “Guess I’ll have to explain to him why you’re also named Gordon, huh bud?”

Gordon didn’t respond, instead just letting out a soft ruff again. Barney leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling before folding his hands on top of his stomach. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining why his pet was named after his friend, he realized. After all, it’s not very easy to tell someone you thought they were dead for years.

As soon as Barney received the call that Gordon was awake the following evening, Barney rushed back to the hospital to visit him once again. As he drove across the city, worries he didn’t think about before began to creep up inside his brain. Even though he didn’t necessarily believe the coma theory the doctors had, nor did he believe even they believed it fully, he thought of the possibility of it being true, and if Gordon would even remember who Barney was after a full decade of sleep. It would be a surprise if Gordon remembered anything after that amount of time, but Barney pushed down his pessimism, trying to be optimistic just this once.

After making his way down the hospital hallway once again, he found himself back in front of the door to Gordon’s room, with a nervous feeling deep in his gut as he prepared to walk inside. He took in a breath and stepped inside, looking towards the bed in which Gordon was laying on, only to have his gaze met by two bright green eyes, ones Barney hadn't seen since ten years prior. Barney froze in place, staring back at Gordon, who appeared to be surprised to see him. As Barney sat down in the chair beside the bed, he swallowed hard, wondering what he could possibly say now that Gordon was awake. As he thought to himself, a question left his mouth that he wasn’t initially planning on asking:

“Where were you?”

The question lingered in the air like a foul odor, with Gordon’s brows furrowing lip quivering slightly, all while he curled his hands into fists. He turned away from Barney, looking down at his feet, thinking of something to say, though his hands didn’t once lift up to sign a single word.

“You…disappear for 10 years without warning,” Barney continued. “Leaving everyone to believe you were dead.”

Gordon didn’t make eye contact with Barney as he spoke.

“I thought you were dead and buried somewhere, Gordon,” Barney choked. “But…You’re here in front of me now.”

Gordon glanced at Barney before he felt arms being wrapped around his shoulders, tight, but not too tight to make it hurt.

“I fucking missed you, Gordon.” Barney said as he hugged Gordon, feeling the gesture being returned to him. Gordon’s hands shook, feeling weak and cold, yet he didn’t want to let go of the single shred of kindness he had felt since what felt like eternity. After a few moments Barney let go, sitting back down with red, tear-filled eyes. 

“...You…missed a lot.” Barney stated; Gordon nodded knowingly in response. “I’d tell ya’ everything, but…I don’t even know how to start.”

“Are they safe?” Gordon’s hands were shaking, but Barney could make out the message regardless.

“Who, like…Kleiner? Eli?”

Gordon nodded slightly, lips pursed in anticipation. 

“They’re alright,” Barney assured, allowing Gordon to let out a breath. “In fact…they’re excited to see you again. Kleiner especially, he’s hoping to get you back into his lab…don’t know if you want to do that, but the offer’s there.”

Gordon appeared to have had a weight lifted off his shoulders at the news, but the cold yet somber gaze didn’t leave his eyes. Barney planned to tell Gordon that they were among the few survivors of the Black Mesa incident, but he bit his tongue for the time being.

“...Never thought you’d be in the history books, did ya?” Barney let out a lighthearted chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You’re a hero in everyone’s eyes, now.”

Gordon shook his head, looking down and away from Barney’s gaze as he clasped his hands together on his lap. Barney stared at him with a look of confusion and worry, all before forcefully clearing his throat. 

“I’m just…happy to see you alive, Gordon.” Barney stated. “After…a few years I began to…to lose hope.” Barney paused for a second, realizing Gordon was still not meeting his gaze. “...Should’ve known you were a tougher son of a bitch than that, I guess.”

Gordon scoffed slightly before shaking his head again, still staring at his feet. Silence fell as Barney attempted to think of something else to say to ease the tense atmosphere, though his thoughts were blank and void of any ideas. Barney looked towards Gordon yet again, seeing he was raising his hands up to sign something:

“Missed you too.”

Barney smiled slightly, despite feeling as if he wanted to cry right then and there. He never anticipated he’d be this emotional in his life, yet here he was; about to cry for the second time that day. Seeing his legally dead friend after ten years of being missing in action was enough to warrant it, he supposed.

“I’m sure the others will be happy to show you everything they’ve been working on,” Barney said, with Gordon finally looking back up at him, before looking directly behind him, “They’ve been working on a new telepor–”

Gordon flinched, staring at something behind Barney before attempting to crawl backwards, nearly ripping off his IV in the process. Barney looked behind him, seeing nothing but the wall before he heard a loud thud coming from the bed. He turned, seeing Gordon had fallen off of the bed and onto the cold linoleum floor. “Gordon!” Barney quickly ran to his aid, holding out an arm for Gordon to grab, lifting him off of the floor. When weight was put onto his right leg, Gordon grimaced, using Barney as leverage as he was put back onto the bed. “Jeez Gordon, what got you freaked out so ba–”

Barney was silenced when Gordon hugged him without warning. Barney could hear him quietly sobbing into his shoulder, and as he returned the hug, he wondered if he had ever seen Gordon so touchy before; It was as if he hadn’t had human contact in days. This time however, Barney wasn’t quick to let go. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his best friend behind again.

Not this time.

[quill-of-thoth]

Today (and yesterday, and last week... it's been one of those months, TBH) things got weird at work again. Background: I work in animal health but we are more about reportable disease and blood work than cute living patients. Therefore the office is one old vet, one young vet, and three lab techs, only one of them with a veterinary degree. The other two of us did envisci (me) and criminal justice. She does a lot of the Bloodwork.

Bloodwork is also the only one of us who was born and raised locally, a mormon, and the youngest by about one year. This means, since I now live in the same ecosystem as the LDS church, that our equally mormon local handyman keeps trying to set her up, because his uncle knows her dad or some other such - matchmaking is not ONLY the provenance of female relatives here. Bloodwork does not want to be set up. She wants to refurbish her great grandma's house for herself and her cats. The first time Handyman decided to take his break in our air conditioning and decided his only avenue of conversation was construction dudes he knew who Bloodwork should have coffee with (all most of a decade younger than her) I offered to run him out of the building. With a broom. This was not enough of a hint for him, and as such, Vet Tech and I have been regarding him with a sort of polite territoriality. Building inspections and repairs therefore go like this: We let him in. Bloodwork finds something to do besides play tour guide. Handyman blithely and with complete friendliness makes a casually sexist comment about what 'you ladies broke' or 'do you do anything but chat' and Vet Tech and I hackle up like a pair of lionesses. Politely. Some portion of Handyman's hindbrain realizes that even though he's twice the size of both of us, if we're lionesses he is the wildebeest. He goes to put a wrench in something, usually a pipe. Today we needed to fix the emergency shower in the lab, because the last thing you need if you get a corrosive acid on your face is scalding water direct from the water heater.

For those of you who never had to do the lab safety training: the emergency shower is a bright yellow overhead faucet designed to dump a fuckton of water on you in case of contact with chemicals. It is in no way partitioned, and is in the middle of the lab. Because time is of the essence if you are developing a chemical burn. If you get in there you're diving in fully clothed and also drowning your phone. It also has a separate little sink for rinsing specifically your eyes.

Enter Handyman. Handyman climbs first a ladder, then our filing cabinets, to get WAAAAY into the supply room ceiling. There is a pipe junction in there or something. We turn the eyewash on and take turns running our fingers through it to test the temperature, because we don't actually own a thermometer in the lab. Temperature is adjusted, Handyman plonks down on the floor to ask if everything is good. "If you ladies need to take a hot shower I can turn it back," he says, seemingly unaware that this could be taken as not the BEST thing to say at work. "We're good," says Vet Tech, "this means we won't scald your eyeballs."

[labfituk]

Building the Future of Innovation: The Essential Role of a Lab Design Company

A lab design company specializes in creating functional, safe, and efficient spaces for scientific research, healthcare, and industrial applications. The goal of a lab design company is to tailor laboratory environments to the specific needs of the users, whether they are working with chemicals, biological materials, or other specialized equipment.

Key elements of lab design include optimizing space for workflow, ensuring compliance with safety regulations, and providing a well-organized infrastructure for various laboratory activities. A lab design company often collaborates with scientists, researchers, and engineers to ensure that the design maximizes productivity while maintaining safety standards.

An important aspect of lab design is the integration of specialized features such as ventilation systems, energy-efficient lighting, and chemical-resistant surfaces. Additionally, the layout of the lab is carefully planned to allow for easy movement, proper storage, and access to equipment. Many lab design companies also consider future scalability, ensuring that the lab can accommodate growing teams or evolving technologies.

By focusing on these factors, a lab design company helps create spaces that are not only functional but also conducive to innovation and scientific discovery.

[wil-o-wispy]

The Wife, the Lover and the Bastard Son - Part 5

Pairing: Chris Redfield x FEM!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 (You are here) | Part 6

Summary: The more hours that pass, the closer he is to finding you.

Content: Canon typical violence/swearing, descriptions of blood, more reader lore drops, references to RE5, brief mentions of vomiting from seasickness, mostly next chapter setup but there's some juiciness in here, brief description of banging a head against a wall. Reader is referred to as 'Doc' and is the wife of (dead?) Albert Wesker and is a former Umbrella scientist.

a/n: That took longer than I thought but here it is. Once again, I appreciate you and thank you for reading!

w/c: 9.4k

It felt like you were running for an eternity after you witnessed Albert breaking out of his experimental confines. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have a plan. You didn’t even think on where to go next. Your only goal was to get as far away from Albert as physically possible.

Years of suppressed trauma from the day Albert died rears its ugly head and everything floods back to you in one overwhelming emotional wave that feeds your adrenaline and keeps your feet moving one in front of the other. Fear. Confusion. Anger. Devastation. Fear. You keep having to wipe away the tears that won’t stop leaking out of your eyes, trying in vain to keep your vision clear as you blindly wind your way through the facility.

But adrenaline highs eventually run out even if paralyzing fear is still present.

Your legs cramp. Your lungs scream for something more than just short puffs of air. Your heart works overtime from the strain of the situation and beats so fast it hurts and black dots the edges of your vision. Blood pumps through your veins so quickly that you can hear it in your ears so you can’t focus on anything else.

The moment you need to place your hand on the wall to keep yourself from collapsing is the second you decide to open whatever door is closest and hide out in whatever room is on the other side of it.

You’ve managed to run from the inner sanctum of the new lab all the way to an older, non-refurbished part. Is this the old lab? What used to be part of the military base? You can’t tell and you don’t care. You push open the door and sink to the floor as soon as you shut it again, trying to gulp some air into your lungs so you don’t keel over and pass out. As you try to slow down your breathing and collect yourself, only one thought is going through your mind.

This isn’t fucking happening he’s supposed to be dead.

There’s a sound that makes you jolt upright and whip your head to the edge of the room.

Whoever was here previously left in a hurry. There are loose DVD’s, clear DVD cases, and cases with DVD’s still in them scattered all over the desk in the back while a projector idly flickers against a white screen against the adjacent wall. The noise is coming from behind the projector.

You cautiously get up from the floor and make your way over to it, still wobbly on your feet but able to keep yourself from toppling over and discover the source of the whirring: a DVD player. The disk holder is trying to retract into the machine, but the machine is askew and miscellaneous office junk is preventing it from closing properly. There’s a date written in Sharpie on the disk: March 19, 2006. The day Albert died.

A note with an official looking letterhead sits next to the machine, partially crumpled up. You pick it up, unfold it, and read its contents.

RE: Wesker Collection: Africa Tanker July 2002 – March 2006.

To Our Most Esteemed Client,

We thank you for entrusting us with this extensive recovery project involving the late Albert Wesker and his surviving wife. It has truly been an honor to observe the infamous scientist in his private life while carrying out these services.

We are happy to report that 93% of the recovered footage provided from the Africa tanker was able to be upgraded to your UHD specifications, as well as remove the most glaring audio anomalies for improved sound quality. Please see the attached inventory sheet for a full breakdown. The full transcripts will become available in the coming weeks as previously discussed.

I would humbly encourage you to reconsider my suggestion regarding upgrading the remaining footage archive. There is much to be learned from his methods in creating the Uroboros virus as well as advancing the gestation of the Plaga parasite. Should you change your mind, we would be elated to welcome you back as a client.

You feel a gentle numbness come over you as you read the note. The DVD player whirs again. Your eyes flick over to it. You absentmindedly put down the paper, reposition the DVD player so it sits properly, and move the junk that’s preventing the disk compartment from closing. The little door finally closes with a soft tapping noise, and the DVD inside it whirs until it emits a soft hum.

The image flickers to life on the projector and you feel a lump in your throat. You recognize the room. It’s CCTV footage a captain’s quarters space with a metal chair in the center with straps to constrain an unlucky subject to it at the wrists, arms, and chest. On the screen, two distant voices outside the room are arguing: a man and a woman. As the voices get closer to the room, you recognize the sound of your own voice even before Albert kicks the door open and drags you into the room by your forearm while you struggle in vain against his grip.

“I’m not like you!” You retort defiantly.

“But you are my dear, in more ways than you care to admit.” Albert replies, clearly getting impatient with how you’re acting.

“Like hell I am! Statistically, I’m gonna end up like any other one of your test subjects!”

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to those weaklings!” Albert spits, incensed at your response and abruptly forcing you in front of him so his angered expression is up close to your nervous one. Albert breathes heavily for a moment, then speaks in a colder, more pragmatic tone that is expected of him.

“You will evolve beyond your limits, and you will thank me for it.”

You watch Albert force you into the chair despite your continued protests. You watch as he straps your wrists to the arms of the chair and your torso to the back of it so quickly that the video appears to buffer on Albert’s main movements while you fail to struggle against him. You know it’s not the video. He was just that fast. You continue to struggle even after Albert takes a step back with an angered look.

“I have a rendezvous with an old colleague that I can’t afford to miss, but when I return-” You watch Albert roughly grasp your chin and turn your face to look up at him and you freeze. Albert’s voice turns into a deadly, low tone.

“I want a satisfactory answer out of you.”

After staring you down for a moment, he releases your chin and walks to the door, intending to close it. You watch him go with a defeated look.

“Please don’t do this.” You beg with a small voice.

You see Albert pause at the door and sigh with his back to the camera. He doesn’t turn to look at you. “It’s happening with or without your participation my dear. I suggest you be in good company when my New World emerges from the embers of humanity.”

Albert slams the door and you jump in your seat. A lock engages, then heavy footsteps quickly get further and further away. Once it’s quiet again, you immediately resume your attempts to wiggle out of the chair.

With no warning, the footage erupts into pixelated static, a slideshow of random frames you can barely make out, then it finally cuts to you later, still strapped to the chair in that room, and screaming at the top of your lungs.

“HELLO? I’M IN HERE! GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF THIS THING!” Your voice is strained from shouting and thick from crying. You remember the ship rocking from side to side so precariously that you thought it was going to flip over and you’d drown in that room. There’s methodical, forceful banging on the door and you can see it straining from the force of your rescuers on the other side of it.

In the real world, you hear heavy footsteps stomping towards the room you’re in and you’re suddenly very aware of how loud the projector is. Whoever heard already knows you’re here, so you just grab the closest thing to a weapon you see, which happens to be a stapler, and crawl under the desk and pull your knees to your chest. All the while, you hear yourself keep screaming for help on the projector.

A moment later, the door to the projector room flies open with so much force that you hear it slam against the wall followed by quick and heavy footsteps rushing into the room.

At the same time on the screen, you hear the door to that room finally break open, and Chris’ words trying to comfort you as Sheva and him undo your binds. Their chorus of ‘It’s okay’s’ and ‘you’re alright’s’ are ignored by you, and you get straight to business as usual, albeit with a rattled voice.

“What was that? Why was everything shaking?”

You can’t see the screen, but you know Sheva and Chris are looking at each other. Sheva finally answers.

“Excella was rejected by Uroboros.”

You’re silent for a moment on the projector. “… I tried to warn her.”

You hear yourself struggling to get to your feet, your seasickness coming back at full force as you struggle to walk in a straight line and you hear Chris grab your arm to steady you.

“Careful!” Chris says with a worried tone.

“Forget about me! We have to hurry we’re running out of time!” Your voice is strained like you’re about to vomit and you hear yourself quickly stumble out of the room while Chris and Sheva hurry after you.

The three sets of voices retreat from the room on the screen and the projector grows silent.

In the newfound silence of the room, you realize your breathing is much too loud so you cover your mouth to silence yourself.

But it’s too late for that.

You hear the footsteps stealthily approach closer.

And closer.

And closer.

You sense the presence stop right outside of your range of vision under the desk.

Albert found you. This is the end.

You yelp in surprise and raise the stapler to bludgeon whatever just discovered your hiding spot, but you freeze like a deer in headlights when you see Jake with his pistol raised.

For a moment, he just stares at you while you try in vain to steady your staccato breathing. You know you look like a mess. Tears streak your terrified face, hair sticks out in every direction, and most notably, there are blood splatters that stain your clothes.

“Doc? Jesus what happened to you?”

Jake holsters his gun and brushes your arms out of the way. He looks closely at your clothes, looking for entry points for injuries.

“It okay it’s… it’s not mine. I-I just can’t get a grip.” Your voice is hoarse and strained. No matter how hard you try you can’t seem to slow your breathing enough to even think about calming down.

Jake stops looking for injuries and directs his icy gaze to your tearful expression. “What happened?”

“He’s-” You take in a deep and shaky breath, “-he’s alive b-but he’s… he’s not himself and I… I don’t know if that’s better or worse-”

“Doc. Take a breath. Who’s alive?” Jake is trying to be the voice of reason in your panicked state, but his tone has an edge of seriousness to it.

“Wesker! These people excavated his fucking corpse and decided it was a genius idea to reanimate him. That director guy took me to the chamber, then he woke up and there was carnage when he heard my voice and… and…I can’t… I can’t do this again Jake!”

You slam down the stapler onto the ground and you put your head in your hands trying to get some sense of comfort. You mumble in your hands, still not wanting to believe your new set of circumstances.

“Why do people keep doing this? This kind of shit never ends well. You’d think people would learn but they just don’t.”

It never ends. People will always think they’re smarter than their predecessors.

Your head is pounding behind your eyes so you move a few fingers to pinch the bridge of your nose for some relief.

“What do you mean?”

You blink. Your hands retreat from your face and your eyes slowly move to Jake’s. “What?”

“You said you couldn’t do this again, what do you mean?”

Right. You did say that. You take a deep breath and finally muster up enough composure to answer.

“I… it’s a long story but to make it brief, I was the one who blew the whistle on the Uroboros project.”

Jake’s serious expression doesn’t change. You look at your hands.

“I finally realized how apocalyptic the project really was and I needed to tell someone. By a stroke of dumb luck I managed to get a B.S.A.A. radio and alert the African division.”

You feel your eyes growing hot again and you blink away the heat.

“Two agents were able to get to me about two weeks later and I told them how to kill him.”

You take another deep breath and continue.

“I told you earlier he needed regular doses of the virus to keep it stable. I knew that giving him too much would cause adverse effects. Or at least slow him down enough so the B.S.A.A. could put him down.”

You swallow the lump in your throat.

“So I showed them where he kept the extra doses. And then I showed them where the virus warheads were.”

You close your eyes and lean your head back against the underside of the desk. Jake doesn’t need to know the rest. He doesn’t need to know that Chris noticed how sickly and scared you were and put his hand on your shoulder to comfort you. He doesn’t need to know that Albert saw his nemesis touching his wife and was seething with barely contained rage because of it. He doesn’t need to know how your heart got caught in your throat when you felt Albert’s inhumanly strong arms wrap around your waist, your body move dizzyingly fast, and before you realized what had even happened, he had your back to his chest and his hand wrapped menacingly tight around your throat as he growled in your ear.

“It’s in your best interest to listen to me dearheart. We wouldn’t want any accidents to happen in front of our guests, would we?”

Jake doesn’t need to know that everything in your body betrayed you at that moment. You should have screamed, you should have thrashed, you should have done quite literally anything to try to escape his grip as futile as it would have been. But you didn’t. Jake doesn’t need to know that you’d seen Albert angry a handful of times but this was the first time you felt that he could actually kill you for going against his wishes. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he knew it was a thinly veiled threat at best, but it was more than enough to rob you of your voice, freeze in place, and cause tears to prick at the corners of your eyes, just like today.

You don’t tell Jake any of this, but he seems to understand the subtext of your words perfectly anyway. When you feel confident you’re not going to burst into tears again, you look back at Jake.

“Albert saw. He knows what I did. He’s going to kill me for betraying him.”

Silence weighs over the two of you like a thick fog, choking any semblance of hope in the haze of reality.  You sit there wallowing in the harsh reality of your words. You knew in your soul that it was the truth, but it feels so much more real when you hypothesize Albert’s intentions with you out loud. Jake is silent, the wheels turning in his head on what he should say.

“That was a long time ago you can’t know that for sure.”

“He’s not the forgiving type, Jake. He never was.”

You hear a distant clang, and something you could have sworn was a monstrous roar from the direction of where you last saw Albert outside of the room. You freeze. Jake glances outside of your hiding place, then back to you, now aware of how distressed you actually are. Jake holds out his hand to you. He gestures you to come out.

“C’mon. I found someplace safe we can hide out for a while.” He whispers in a confident tone.

You don’t look at him. Your eyes are trained on the open door to the room.

Would Albert inject you with a virus first? Terrorize you? Gloat? Kill you outright?

“Doc, we have to go. You can’t stay here, it’s not secure.”

The ‘not secure’ comment breaks through to you, and you turn your head away from the hallway to nod up at Jake. You let him help you to your feet.

It takes much longer than you would have liked to get to the safe place even though it’s only a few hallways past the room you ran into. You freeze at nearly every distant noise, but Jake is surprisingly patient with you. He gives you incentivizing but firm words to keep your feet moving, occasionally putting his hand on your back to encourage you to keep going.

The ‘safe room’ ends up being a hybrid communications room. One part is dedicated to running the security cameras with over a dozen different monitors flickering to different parts of the facility with an intercom system attached to it. Another computer system close by it has a complex-looking computer system with a microphone attached to it. Yet another part is made up of a large console for computers and a hodgepodge conglomerate of tech for listening to and watching different sorts of media, some storage boxes, as well as a professional assortment of radio equipment. Jake sees your eyes light up upon seeing the radio setup, then shakes his head with a serious expression.

“Don’t get your hopes up yet. It’s busted.”

Your shoulders slump.

“��� great.” You utter quietly. You drag your feet over to a table overflowing with scattered papers, a pair of headphones and a personal computer on it, and slump into a chair.

“Hey, we’re not out of options yet. We’ve still got this thing.” Jake says optimistically, lightly smacking his hand on the control panel of the large computer system with the microphone. “All it needs is a key card with enough clearance.”

You sigh, wanting the computer route to work out but also trying not to get too invested in the idea if it doesn’t. “Try this.” You mutter, pulling out Youju’s white keycard and holding it out to Jake. The blood on it has dried to a sickly brown color and has a faint coppery smell. Jake takes it with an eyebrow raised.

You shrug. “It was Youju’s. He won’t miss it.”

“…. I’m sure he won’t. Give me a couple minutes.”

Jake heads over to the computer and you hold your head in your hands, leaning over the table on your elbows trying to process everything that’s just happened.

Albert’s alive.

You destroyed the only Uroboros sample on this godforsaken island.

You’re willing to bet the military part of the facility isn’t stocked up on a convenient rocket launcher to get you out of this mess.

You aren’t one to wallow in self-pity but given the unthinkable circumstances, you can’t help but feel like you’ve already been backed into a corner that you have no hope of escaping.

You take another deep breath and stare absentmindedly at the papers on the table. You weren’t particularly looking for anything, but you can’t help but notice the format of the documents in front of you. All of them are audio transcripts. One of them catches your eye with its title in bold letters at the top of the page. The heading reads WESKER/GIONNE UROBOROS MEETING– JANUARY 18, 2006. A few inches below it, there’s a handwritten note in the right margin: No good. Audio too distorted and she doesn’t say anything we can use. Positive depictions of the wife only.

Positive depictions of you only? That piques your interest.

You think back to what Youju said before you woke Albert up. We’ve tried recordings of your voice and they’ve yielded positive results but not the ones we’re looking for.

You turn your attention to the computer, then eye the headphones. You dig for the mouse under the mountain of papers and wiggle it when you finally find it. The computer monitor hums to life, already logged in. On the screen, there’s a video file already pulled up of the meeting.

Out of curiosity, you put on the headphones and hit play. As the audio recording runs, you alternate between looking at the transcript and watching the footage.

The footage plays and you see a board room with a presentation on a projector. The angle is from above the projector so you can’t see what’s on the screen, but you have a good view of you and Albert sitting on opposite sides of a conference table with a cloaked figure standing not too far from you.

Jill. She deserved a better chance than you to rescue her from hell.

You recognize Excella’s thick Italian accent before you can even see her come into view. You can’t really hear everything Excella is saying due to her being in such close proximity to the camera microphone, but you recognize choice words throughout her presentation.

Tanker.

Uroboros.

Transport.

Warheads.

You remember this presentation. Excella was talking about transport protocols for Uroboros leading up to the actual virus release. Albert insisted on your attendance. While you never gave verbal feedback on his experiments at this time, you eventually figured out that Albert would carefully watch your facial expressions and body language to get your thoughts instead. You perfected your stone-faced expression out of necessity in not accidentally contributing to his plans. You watch yourself paying rapt attention. You have to give yourself credit, your poker face looks good here even though you know you were scared out of your mind. It was finally sinking into your head that the world would end if you didn’t do something to intervene.

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Excella finally finishes her speech and sultrily saunters behind Albert’s chair. Now that Excella is farther away from the microphone, it’s picking up the rest of the audio in the room much better. Even so, the audio still sounds grainy.

“Albert?” Excella croons, putting her hands on Albert’s shoulders and lightly rubbing them. She leans down close to his ear.

“Do you have any contributing thoughts?”

Albert doesn’t even look at Excella. Instead, his sunglasses adorned face turns to you sitting across the table. “I’d like to hear what my wife thinks of this contingency plan of yours.”

Excella’s mouth morphs into a thin line and she straightens her posture, not happy about that request but not saying anything to refute it. She puts on a fake smile but doesn’t take her hands off of Albert’s shoulders. “Of course.”

You don’t look at him. You only stare blankly at the presentation on the projector. You can’t tell from your body language, but you know that in this moment you were already thinking of ways to combat the Uroboros plan. But you also knew that voicing your honest thoughts would throw a wrench in any plan you would make in the future.

“Excella has already outlined the important details and caveats. I have nothing else to add.” You reply politely. Even through the slight graininess of the footage, your stiff posture and unwillingness to look in Albert and Excella’s direction are very noticeable.

Albert grunts with a nearly imperceptible frown, not satisfied with the answer. Or with the fact that you’re refusing to look in his direction. “Very well, but I still want your thoughts on the project.”

“You already have the project in good hands. End of thought.” You finally turn your head away from the screen and gesture to Excella with a neutral expression.

You knew that Excella wanted Albert, but you were almost certain that he didn’t want her. He only mentioned her in passing in whatever limited conversation he had with you, but there was always an underlying message in his choice of words that he thought she was beneath him. A pretty face with brains, a bankroll and resources behind it, but too caught up in wanting to be recognized as a legitimate member of her prestigious family and not having enough self-awareness to know she was in partnership with a viper in the grass that would discard her when it became convenient. You were almost certain because even though you knew this, he never pushed her off or rejected her advances in front of you.

“I feel tired. I’m turning in early.” You get up from your seat and briskly walk to the door.

It would have been easy to miss if you didn’t know Albert’s mannerisms so well, but you see him let out a sharp breath through his nose. He’s miffed by your response. He knew you were growing more distant by the day. He knew you didn’t like his plan. He knew you were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand that he methodically kept trying to contain by constricting his grip even more heavy handedly than he did before.

Any other interaction like this behind closed doors would have progressed to him subtly forcing his proximity to you; following you out like a suffocating shadow and pulling your attention to any mundane conversation that would ultimately lead to him explaining himself with yet another angle that didn’t justify his end goals in the slightest with the intention of you at least understanding why he thought this was the only viable course of action. Saving the known world is an admirable adventure in a number of epics old and new. But saving the world by starting anew? A new world with superhumans could never be justified by sacrificing billions of lives.

On any other day he would have followed you.

Instead, Albert is forced to save face in front of his suffocating business partner.

“Escort her to the suite.” Albert orders the cloaked figure, which follows you right on your heels. His tone is short. Controlled.

As soon as the door shuts behind you, Albert raises from his seat and shrugs off Excella’s wandering hands. Excella has an annoyed look on her face for a moment, but quickly covers it up with an alluring smile.

“You hear that, Albert? The project is in good hands.”

Albert doesn’t even bother to look at her. He only prowls to the front of the projector clasps his hands behind his back. A map of South Africa is reflected in his sunglasses. “Then ensure it stays that way. I won’t tolerate any further delays or incompetence,” Albert replies in a cold tone.

The video ends.

You pull off the headphones with a scowl on your face. The son of a bitch was trying to make you jealous on purpose.

Despite your annoyance, your eyes keep drifting back to the note in the margin. Positive depictions only.

If this one was rejected, then what do the accepted ones have you saying?

You begin looking more closely at the scattered papers.

It appears that Neo Umbrella was only working from security footage that was obtained from the Africa tanker. It’s not surprising they weren’t able to find a lot of usable audio from you. You were falling out of love and didn’t have a lot of sweet things to say to your husband. Even with that in mind, you’re surprised at how little they were able to scrape together with the gargantuan amount of media they had to work with. You knew Albert liked his cameras, but you didn’t know he kept footage of you that was this extensive.

From what you can see from the transcripts, the only ‘useful’ audio was you calling Albert one of the few pet names he liked hearing; dear, darling and love, sometimes with a ‘my’ thrown in there. Albert insisted that other terms of endearment sounded too casual, although in the early days of your marriage you’d call him increasingly ridiculous nicknames until he’d put you in your place in a way that left you both shaking and satisfied. There was a time where he liked it when you challenged him. Not just on the domestic front, but in the Umbrella labs. You weren’t afraid to tell him he was wrong or that there were more efficient methods of doing things. Sometimes you were right. Other times, Albert proved you wrong. Even with the latter, Albert would always at least listen to your input since he saw you as someone who was worth listening to.

Among the other transcripts, strangely enough, there was a fifteen page document of you reading plaga laboratory results to Albert. This was a routine occurrence. It wasn’t uncommon for Albert to ask you to read things like that aloud to help him think or as a way to review previously explored experiments before diving into new ones. It was a small ask in your eyes and it was a good way to stay informed on what Albert was doing, so you didn’t object unless you felt too seasick. What surprised you was how positive the margin notes were: Yes! She sounds interested and engaged. Find more of this to put in the rotation.

Talk about desperate for something other than curt politeness and apathy when talking to your husband. Nearly every other transcript has less satisfactory notes:

Wife too combative. Exclude from rotation.

She sounds too demanding. Discard.

This one has Gionne talking over the wife. EXCLUDE the audio if Gionne is present in future selections.

Too disinterested, but keep on file just in case.

They’re fighting again in this one. Do not use.

Can’t you read? Wesker clearly didn’t respect Gionne stop giving the lab team audio of her flirting with him.

“Doc, we’re in business!” Jake’s victorious exclamation pulls you out of your investigation.

You whip your head over to the monitor Jake was working on and to your delighted surprise, instead of the Neo Umbrella logo, you see a landing page with a number pad.

“What does it need? Radio frequency? Phone number?” You ask intensely, shooting up from your chair and standing behind his to look at the screen.

“Phone number unfortunately. The radio stuff is out as well.”

You blink, unsure why he made that sound like a problem. “Do you not have number you can call in your phone? Like your captain?”

Jake’s facial expression turns something close to sheepish.

“I lost it. Let’s keep it at that.”

You look at him blankly. Do people these days not memorize important numbers like that?

“… I know who we can call.” You mutter, shooing Jake out of the seat so you can type it in and speak easily into the microphone. You’re not sure if he’ll pick up, but he’s your best bet.

For a moment, you hold your breath hearing the dial tone come in over the speakers. Is he on a mission? Asleep halfway around the world? Stuck in a never-ending cycle of training exercises?

A gruff, annoyed voice that makes you weak at the knees finally answers on the last ring. A crowd of voices can be heard in the background. “Hello? You’ve reached Captain Redfield.”

“Chris, it’s Doc.” You breathe a sigh of relief. Even though it’s just Chris’ voice, you already feel a little better knowing rescue will imminently be on its way.

“Doc?” Chris’ tone immediately shifts to a relieved one as sounds of rummaging erupt on his end of the call. “Are you alright? Do you know where you are?”

“Well… debatable considering the circumstances and somewhere in the Pacific. Jake Muller has more info on that.”

The rummaging abruptly stops. “Wait, Jake’s with you?”

“Right here Redfield.” Jake says nonchalantly. However, you notice a sliver of something in his tone but you can’t place what it is. You have a feeling Jake isn’t on the best terms with Chris considering his role in Wesker’s death at the mansion. Second death at the Spencer Estate? Third death in the volcano? Does the third one even count at this point?

“Yep. We’ve already been introduced. He’s got an interesting history with the B.S.A.A. I’m shocked we weren’t introduced sooner since we’re both consulting.” There’s an underlying message of I know who Jake is and you’ve got some damn explaining to do in your words, but now is not the time to read Chris the riot act.

You hear Chris sigh on the other end of the line. “Well Doc I tried calling, but you’re a hard woman to reach.” Chris doesn’t sound accusatory. Just… stung. You feel your face heat up at that. You had been dodging his calls ever since that intimate moment in your kitchen a year ago. However, any guilt you feel is overshadowed by frustration in not being informed about Jake until today.

“You could have given me a little context and I would have made the time.” You reply through your teeth. Jake gives you a weird look as you’re leading this exchange. He silently points between the microphone and you, then holds his hand up in a ‘what’s that about’ gesture. You mouth back ‘long story’ as Chris ignores your comment starts addressing Jake. “Jake, your orders were to find the location of the G-sample.”

“I’ve done that boyscout.”

You hear Chris huff in annoyance. “Your orders were to find the location of the sample and not leave the mainland.”

“Well… when opportunity arises, I take it.”

“Do you have it?”

“… still workin’ on that.” Jake replies with a sour expression. You jump in.

“Chris, we’ve got bigger problems than the sample. Albert’s alive.” The words feel wrong coming out of your mouth, but you have to let any personnel know what danger is waiting for them.

Silence. Even the hum of the people in the background grows quiet. For a moment, you’re worried the call may have dropped from the old machinery.

“Did you hear me? Say something.”

“Heard you loud and clear. What’s his status compared to when we saw him last?” Besides sounding more serious, Chris doesn’t even seem phased. He’s in soldier mode: Know the enemy. Come up with a plan. Rescue the hostages.

“Physically, very similar to your encounter with him in the volcano. Mentally… he’s different I don’t really know how to explain it.” You try to put on a brave face, but even without seeing you Chris picks up on your current vulnerability.

“That’s alright. The important thing is that you’re safe and you stay safe. Are you two able to hole up somewhere until we arrive?”

“Well… we have a safe place for now. And how long’s that gonna be?”

“Depends on your location. Jake, do you have any coordinates?”

Jake responds with a latitude and a longitude. You hear talking on the other end of the line, then you hear something that has to be a curse from Chris before he finally gives you an answer.

“Seven hours, give or take.”

You sigh. That’s too long but you can’t shorten the length of the ocean, so you accept it. “Okay. Just operate off the assumption that he’s going to be hard to put down. Use flame-based ammunition, magnums, rocket launchers, and anything else you got that packs a punch.”

“I’ll pass that along. Keep this line open, I’ll be back. Don’t hang up.”

“Roger that. We’ll be here.”

You mute the microphone and lean back in your chair with a tired sigh. Jake gives you a pointed look.

“You have Golden Boy’s number memorized, but you talk to each other like that?”

You give Jake an annoyed look. “Not important right now! We have bigger problems.”

You get up from your seat to pace the room. You need to come up with a plan. “As of right now, we have absolutely nothing in terms of defense.”

Jake leans against the computer system with his arms crossed and watches you. “Not exactly. There’s too many gas masked bozos walking around here for there not to be an armory somewhere.”

You look at Jake, exasperated. “Machine guns and pistols aren’t going to make a big enough dent. There were five guards unloading everything they had on Albert in the chamber, and it didn’t even phase him. You’d need something stronger. A lot stronger.”

“Well maybe they have some heavy-duty stuff stashed away for emergencies. Point is, we won’t know unless I go out and look.” Jake pushes himself away from the monitor and starts to walk towards the door but you stand in front of him before he can get too far.

“You’ll be a sitting duck out there!” You chastise, ready to put what remains of your fighting spirit to convince Jake not to walk straight into the maw of the beast, but your facial expression shifts to a haunted look when something on the security system catches your eye.

One the center console, a hulking figure that makes your blood turn to ice comes into view. You see the black, elongated, tendril engulfed arm grasp the corner of a hallway before the rest of Albert’s body comes into view. The blood of all the unfortunate scientists is splattered across his face and chest. His red eyes are very clearly dilated, and he has an uncharacteristically wide grin on his face.

Jake notices your expression and looks behind him. Jakes expression and tone turn cold and serious.

“That him?”

You nod, unable to tear your eyes from the screen. You walk toward the console as if you’re in a trance and sit in the chair in front of it. Like driving by a car accident, can’t take your eyes off of the disaster that Youju insisted on causing. You see Albert’s lips move, but nothing is heard.

“Does this thing have audio?” You mutter the question to yourself more than anything, but Jake is quick to come to your side and flip on a switch on the control panel. Albert’s voice, somewhat morphed from the audio system, is heard loud and clear.

“My looooove? Where did you go lovely? We have so much time to make up for…”

Albert speaks in that same ‘off’ tone from before; direct and garbled. However, now it has a… singsong quality to it? Your fear is momentarily replaced with confusion. Jake glances at you, then back to the screen just as confused as you are. This is his infamous father?

“Did he… talk like that?” Jake asks, watching the screen along with you.

You keep watching the screen with a befuddled look on your face. “Absolutely not. The lava, or whatever Youju’s team tried to do to wake him up before today fried his brain or something. It’s a complete personality shift.”

You and Jake continue to watch Albert on the screen as he leans against the wall walking down the length of the hallway, leaving a trail of black gunk dripping down the pristine paneling along where he’s touched in his wake. When Albert’s in the center of the hallway, his posture grows rigid and he stops walking. His unengulfed arm attempts to reach behind him in the center of his shoulder blades in jagged movements. After a couple seconds, Albert’s body twitches again and the free arm drops back down to his side and he keeps calling out to you and continues his journey down the hallway.

You lean forward closer to the monitor that Albert was on.

“Wait… he was clawing at something on his back.”

Jake nods and pauses the footage. Then rewinds. As you saw before, Albert stops sauntering down the hallway and jerkily tries to reach behind his shoulder to something on his back. It’s easy to miss with all the black Uroboros tendrils overtaking his upper body, but there’s clearly a circular device between his shoulder blades.

“You’re right. What is that thing?”

You tilt your head and squint, recognizing the shape but confused as to why it’s there. “It’s hard to tell from the angle, but it looks like a regulator.”

“Regulator? For what?”

You shake your head, still confused. “Nothing Uroboros related.”

“Then why is it there?”

You don’t have an answer. You sit back in the chair and keep looking at the regulator in the center of the screen. “Before Albert woke up… Youju said all avenues of breaking his comatose state had been exhausted,” you think out loud.

The gears in your head are turning. Once solitary threads of thought gradually intertwine to form a loose weave until they tighten into a tapestry revealing the answer. The sample room. The audio recordings of your voice. His comatose state. Him acting much gentler with you than he ever was when you knew him. The regulator.

You sit up in your chair so quickly that it startles Jake, but you’re too caught up in your revelation to care. “Neo Umbrella gave him a parasite!” You exclaim excitedly, turning towards Jake. “We can use that.” You don’t wait for Jake to reply, you’re already up and out of the chair looking for some kind of map.

Jake looks at you blankly, not following your thinking. “A parasite? And that’s a good thing?”

“I think I know what Youju meant! There is no reason for them to have that extensive of a virus collection unless they were using it for something. I bet they tried injecting Albert with a bunch of viruses to see if they could wake him up. When that didn’t work they turned to parasites.”

A map of this floor of the facility hangs on the wall from haphazardly placed yellow tape next to the door. Your smile grows bigger and movements more animated the longer you explain your thought process as you grab the map off the wall. You turn back to Jake.

“But not just any parasite. The Nemesis parasite.”

Jake is still confused, not knowing what that means so you continue, walking back to the announcement system and putting the map on the console.

“Back when Umbrella was making Tyrants, big beefy bioweapons that were designed to be soldiers, they were impressive physically, but had limited brain function as a result of the T-Virus so they could only follow simple commands and they couldn’t talk. ‘Kill everyone you see,’ ‘guard this thing,’ you get the idea. They were trying to find a way to make them a bit smarter. They’d hit a dead end with viruses, so they added engineered parasites to Tyrants.”

You pause to make sure Jake is still paying attention. He is, but he still has a look that says, ‘how is this relevant?’ so you keep going, taking a pen from the table and trying to find the locations of the cameras to mark them on the map.

“The Nemesis still had limited brain function, but he could say a few words and it could carry out detailed commands and use weapons. ‘Kill these specific people, use this rocket launcher’ etcetera etcetera. But there was still a high risk of over mutation when the parasite was inserted, so they smacked on a regulator to help mitigate that.”

Jake blinks, still not understanding. “So?”

“So if they gave Albert the parasite, that means he’s going to be much more susceptible to taking orders from me.”

“From you? Weren’t you worried about him killing you earlier? Why would he take orders from you?”

“Like… the parasite has been told for however long it’s been in there to wake up because its wife is here. It’s only been given carefully curated audio snippets of my voice, so it’s forced to view me as a positive… figurehead in Albert’s life.” You point to the transcripts on the table, trying to make Jake see your point before turning your attention back to him.

“He told me he missed me, Jake. I’m willing to bet if I use that announcement system, I can lead him anywhere the system is-”

“-and give me a window to slip in and get the sample and some supplies.” Jake finishes with a serious expression.

“And if everything goes right, we just might hold out until reinforcements get here.” You’re smiling, still riding the adrenaline high from finally figuring out the bigger picture of what’s going on.

Jake crosses his arms and stares at the monitor with Albert still on it. “It’s a crazy plan Doc.”

Your face falls and you’re about to try and plead your case, but Jake smirks before you can answer.

“I’m in.”

_____________________________________________________

“Albert? Where are you darling? I can’t find you.”

You croon into the microphone and watch Albert, yet again, jerk his head towards the hallway you just projected your voice to and use his Uroboros arm to drag himself along the wall in the direction of your voice.

On the walkie talkie Jake scrounged up from the storage boxes that were by the broken radio equipment before he left, Jake provides an update on his search for better weapons plus the G-Sample.

“216 through 245 are bust. It’s just storage.”

“Copy that.”

You respond on your walkie talkie, marking off and labeling the relevant rooms on your map and watching Jake continue to navigate through the labyrinthine facility on the cameras.

Considering the circumstances, everything has been going well in the half hour Jake has been gone. Albert, in his limited mental capacity, hasn’t caught on to the fact you’re talking to him through the announcement system. Plus, Jake is making good time going through each hallway in the facility thanks to Youju’s white keycard.

 Chris’ professional voice from the computer system breaks your concentration.

“Doc? Jake? You there?”

You close your eyes and take a breath. You were hoping that the universe would be merciful, and the connection would drop so you’d have a valid reason not to talk to Chris.

You weren’t so lucky, so you check the cameras one more time to ensure that Albert and Jake aren’t going to cross paths, then roll your chair over to the microphone on the other module. You flick off the mute button.

“You’ve got Doc. Any updates?”

“We’ve got an army of guys on their way to your location. Time of arrival is estimated at seven hours.”

You feel your shoulders visibly relax. Rescue is on the way.

“That’s great news.” You mutter.

“Is Jake around?”

For a second, you think about lying so he doesn’t know you’re alone. Nothing convincing comes to mind. “No. He stepped out to get supplies. I can pass along a message on his walkie though?”

“That’s alright.”

Awkward silence.

“How’s working in Germany?” Chris sounds less professional this time.

You sigh and close your eyes. “I don’t think this is the best time for small talk.”

“Just making conversation. We’ve got time. I want to know how you’re liking it.” Chris says. You can hear the slight smile in his voice. The genuine nature of his words.

You always had a weakness for his kindness. He had a way of worming himself into your good graces without even trying.

“It’s good. The people are great. I miss having reliable air conditioning though.” You joke.

You hear Chris chuckle. “Yeah, the Europeans aren’t big on that kind of thing.”

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling. As much as you hate to admit it to yourself, you missed his laugh. How easy it is to talk to him.

“What about you? How’s Claire doing?” You ask.

“She’s still helping the world in her own way with TerraSave. She’s also been breathing down my neck about cutting back on smoking.”

“I’m sure you don’t mind that. If she’s breathing down your neck, that means she’s visiting.”

Another chuckle that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach sounds over the speaker. “If she were doing it in person, I don’t think I’d mind so much.”

Both of you sit in comfortable silence.

“I’ve missed seeing you around, but I’m glad you’re doing alright.” Chris says, vulnerability underlying his words.

Your throat gets tight, and you bite back the words before you can say them.

Don’t tell him you miss him too. It will make him feel worse.

Luck is on your side this time. Jake’s voice emanates from the walkie talkie in your lap.

“Doc? I need eyes on something.”

You let out a sigh of relief, then speak to Chris through the microphone. “Jake’s calling. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here.”

You mute yourself on the microphone and wheel yourself back over to the security system.

“I’m here. What do you need?”

“Can I get your professional opinion on what’s happening in front of 250?”

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, but you pull up the necessary camera to see what Jake is talking about. All you can do is stare for a moment at the grim sight. Most of the lens is obstructed by a black substance, but even with the limited visibility you know it’s the personnel and guards that were unlucky enough to be in Albert’s way when he escaped containment. Black gunk saturates the walls and ground that you’re able to see.

You force yourself to respond.

“Part of the lens is blocked, but those are casualties of Albert. Just step around them. The dead don’t come back naturally with Uroboros. It just makes them harder to kill.”

“Not talkin’ about that Doc. Give me a second.”

You’re about to ask what Jake means by that, but before you can, you see something wiping the lens of the security camera you’re looking through. After a few seconds you see an uncomfortably close view of Jake’s nose as he wipes away the gunk from the lens.

How the hell did he scale the 12 foot height to wipe that gunk off?

You use one of the other screens to pull up an angle of the hallway Jake just cleared, and you can see that he scaled the wall by somehow using his balance and strength to tuck himself into the corner where the two hallways meet.

“Were you raised in the fucking circus? Where did you learn that?” You say into the walkie in disbelief.

“By being a teenage shithead, now look!” Jake replies, exasperated and moving out of the way of the camera and revealing a body almost completely overtaken by worms of Uroboros. Your disbelief quickly shifts into grim realization.

That needs to be burned.

Your voice comes out eerily calm.

“Don’t touch it. Don’t shoot it. Don’t interact with it. Uroboros needs to be burned for proper disposal.”

You see Jake crouch to look at the body from a different angle. You see him bring the walkie to his lips.

“Will touching it infect me?”

“No, but it might eat you since you’re organic material!! Just don’t ingest it, keep your distance and you’ll be fine.”  You spit through your teeth, not liking Jake’s series of questions or what it could mean for his future actions.

Jake looks at the body for a moment longer then stands up with the walkie to his lips, looking at you through the camera.

“Don’t lick the weird black stuff. Seems simple enough.”

You groan. “Let’s just hope these Neo Umbrella guys had the foresight to keep a flamethrower on hand.” You tiredly respond.

On one of the other monitors, you see Albert meandering in the direction of Jake’s current location. You speak into the walkie.

“Hey sit tight for a minute, I need to redirect Albert.”

You see Jake give you a thumbs up on the camera and you flit your attention to one of the other monitors. While Albert isn’t alarmingly close to Jake’s location, it’s still too close for comfort. You set the microphone to make an announcement in the opposite direction.

“I’m over here love! Come find me!”

You see Albert’s face light up on the screen and turn to follow your voice, but he freezes mid-turn. You tap the screen, thinking that the old equipment froze up on you. But then you see Albert’s face twitching.

It’s mild at first; only one of his red snake eyes twitch. But then it’s his whole face. The uncharacteristically wide grin twitches downward, a scowl gradually etches itself into his visage, and his blown-out eyes undulate like a heartbeat smaller and smaller until they’re thin slits.

You hear a guttural groan of something akin to agony escape Albert’s lips as he attempts to reach behind him towards the regulator in between his shoulder blades.

“I will not be subdued!” Albert seethes through his teeth, arm, body and face twitching from an invisible battle for control. It’s a losing battle, and Albert isn’t on the winning side, but he realizes it too late. The second his eyes start to dilate and his arm stops grasping for the regulator, he throws his body against the wall in a vain attempt to remain coherent by bashing his head into the smooth white plaster. He shrieks in a heart wrenching combination of frustration and agony. You recognize it with dreaded clarity from the day he died in the volcano. The plaster is marred with a watercolor painting of red, pink and black splotches. Then, as quickly as it started, Albert freezes in place, his face twitches back to what it was before, then he meanders towards the direction he last heard your voice, not bothering to wipe off the blood or black substance from his face.

“Dearheart? Where’s my little wife?” Albert asks with an uncanny grin, leaving a trail of black liquid in his wake.

All you can do is sit and try to process what you just saw with a haunted look on your face. Albert hasn’t changed. It only appears like he has.

You slowly bring the walkie to your lips.

“Jake there’s been a development.” You speak into the walkie lowly.

“I’m guessing it isn’t the good kind.” Jake quips.

You don’t acknowledge his attempt at humor. “It looks like Albert’s fighting with himself.”

Jake is silent for a moment. “And what does that mean?”

You take a deep breath to collect yourself. “This is only a theory, but I think because Albert has a natural immunity to a lot of viruses and parasites, his subconscious is buried but mostly intact.”

“So… the parasite’s driving the car but Wesker’s in the backseat trying to take the wheel.”

“Exactly. And I don’t want to find out what happens if he succeeds.”

You glance back at the monitor where you last saw Albert. From a surface level perspective, he’s back to how he was when he broke out of the chamber. It’s apparent that the Nemesis parasite currently has the upper hand. But what happens when it doesn’t?

You shake away the thought and keep talking to Jake through the walkie.

“Look, try to find Youju’s office and try to figure out exactly what they did to try and wake him up. I can give a much more accurate game plan on how to handle this.”

“What’s the theory without it?”

“If he overpowers the parasite, we’re fucked.”

“Find the papers. Got it. Just keep the old man busy.”

“Will do. You keep laying low.”

You set the walkie on the security panel, already feeling exhausted. You watch Jake continue his methodical room check on the monitor, then drag your attention over to where Albert is heading, his sudden clarity sending a chill down your spine. Then you look over to the computer system where Chris is still waiting to hear your voice.

You groan and let your head hit the back of your rolling chair.

This is going to be a long night.

Tag List: @killerwendigo @appreciativemediaconsumer @kaymarnun @chucklefak

a/n 2: Thanks again for reading! I've got an AO3 account now so I'm cross posting this series on there if that's where you prefer to read your fics. Based on my outline, it looks like this thing is gonna be a 10ish parter so stick around!

Also I'm on AO3 now at wil_o_wispy if you like reading your fics on there!

AO3 link for this part.

[frill-shark]

Kinda crazy that it's somewhat implied that Karis does have the capability to cure the mutation, because Cynte was apprehensive at best and it was reasonably risky but he never like went full on "That's impossible! I was studying that thing for so long! There's no way" just "Maybe you should rethink testing on yourself". Especially when Karis said "I'm sure" he doesn't interject or anything. Because Cynte can get angry at him!!! If he's emotionally stirred enough he can yell back at him for being selfish and how hurt he was, this time he just accepts it. I mean there can be other interpretations but its fun to chew on.

the level of trust cynte still has in him despite EVERYTHING is so insane to me like he's down BAD. because you know that if it had been literally ANYBODY else he would have 100% been ridiculing them for thinking they could do it, ESPECIALLY given the conditions karis had to work with at the time!! it's already half a miracle that a commercial luxury cruise vessel even HAD something resembling a lab in the first place (perhaps it was refurbished/repurposed at some point?), and that's before taking into account the fact that karis has likely never seen or handled the parasite up until this point, or if he even would've been the one to do so had he still been on the asteroid base (which is admittedly very speculative but lets be real if you were hiring a medical professional for your space cruiseliner you would almost certainly be prioritizing a Real Doctor with general experience over a lab researcher). LITERALLY three biosamples and a dream.

and it hurts all the worse when it inevitably goes wrong because, although he's clearly worried and uncertain, cynte never outright tells him that he CAN'T do it. he acknowledges that karis's goals are fairly optimistic and best-case-scenario, and implores him to reconsider putting himself at risk, but cynte seems to legitimately believe that he at least has SOME sort of chance, however unlikely. there's an implicit level of respect there, despite everything that's happened and the horrible situation they're both in. cynte's soft spot (or at least the closest thing he has to one) for karis is absolutely EGREGIOUS in comparison to how he treats literally every other character in the game, but... it makes sense, in a way. if he was able to show cynte how to love, and BE loved, once upon a time...then in his eyes, he might be capable of just about anything.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Dear Dire Crowley,

I am writing this letter in advance because there are responsibilities which you so graciously dumped on me I have to tend to. But I am in desperate need of your help.

You see– you haven't given Grim or I the allowance that you promised to hand us for school supplies and other basic necessities. Although I have been saving up to repair some of the damages *the kitchen sink keeps leaking, the floorboards are creaking, the water pipes are not piping* to make Ramshackle more comfortable to live in, there were urgent matters in the school *totally has nothing to do with some nasty students* that cost us madols/thaumarks.

So oh-so-kind and benevolent Headmage, could you please give us our allowance? I know you are incredibly generous and I promise I will continue to actively work hard on my schoolwork AND meet your high expectations. I will deal with all the crazy shenanigans that the NRC students are up to. I will deal with EVERYTHING even the constant overblots you claim are rare.

From,

Your tired and desperate Ramshackle Prefect/Supervisor: A Shrimp!Yuu

Enter; An Unkindness of Ravens.

The mail ghost had dropped off a letter for you in the morning. Pitch black, with a glossy sheen, reminiscent of a raven's feathers. You broke the golden wax seal bearing Night Raven College's emblem and opened the envelope.

Your heart leaps and seizes in your throat.

It’s correspondence from Crowley.

Dear Prefect,

I hope you are doing well down in Ramshackle. The other day I happened to pass your lodgings while on an errand rushing to aid in an emergency in the Alchemy Labs. My, hasn’t the building been spiffied up! The dorm that was once destitute and in disarray is no more. I hardly even recognize Ramshackle without all the leaks, creaks, dust bunnies, inconsistent electricity, and busted water pipes exceedingly rustic charm.

I’ve heard that many of those that temporarily stayed at Ramshackle for the VDC training camp donated their second place earnings toward its renovation and refurbishment. Isn’t it wonderful what the power of friendship can do for oneself? When you so generously give to others, they will give back a hundred-fold.

I have, of course, taken this important work you do for our Night Raven College into account when calculating your monthly allowance. However, let it also be known that I have also taken note of your new living situation—which is significantly different from what was originally provided for you and Grim-kun. These new accommodations take quite a bit of upkeep. Working water, electricity, wi-fi… those amenities do not pay for themselves!! Therefore, I will have to deduct a portion of funds and redirect those to pay for the newly renovated Ramshackle dorm.

As requested, enclosed is your allotted allowance—meant for your school supplies, living expenses, and other necessities. Do not spend it all in one place, and please do keep doing your urmost to meet my expectations!!

Sincerely,

Dire Crowley

Headmaster of Night Raven College

You closed the note and peered into the envelope it had arrived in. It didn’t feel very thick with cash, but perhaps there were some substantial notes tucked onside. So, inverting the envelope, you shook vigorously.

Out drifted a few thousand thaumarks and a flashy coupon. “500 thaumarks off one item of your choice!” shouts the bombastic text upon it. You recognize Sam’s funky scrawling letters, the colors of the Mystery Shop.

The money and the slip of paper drifted to the floor at your feet. You stared blankly at the pathetic trove. Thinking that you must be mistaken, you checked the envelope again—but alas, there is nothing more left to reap.

Trembling, you squatted down and hurriedly collected your bounty. As little as it is, it was still something.

The reassurance did little to quell your undulating emotions.

You crushed the meager amount of thaumarks—and your 500 thaumarks-off coupon—in your hand. Taking a deep breath, you unleashed all of your pent-up frustration in a single roar, shaking your fists at the skies.

“Curse you, C-r-o-w-l-e-y…!!”

Your voice carried across NRC and up to the headmaster’s office, where he happily scribbled away at a contract. Beside him was a platter piled high with sweet treats and baked goods.

(“Certainly NOT purchased with money pilfered from school funds!! Why, that’s embezzlement, which is a grave crime,” he would scoff if you asked him about it. “I work hard to earn my keep; I deserve to spend my wage as I like, fufu.”)

“Ah, I see that my charitable gift has finally reached its recipient!” Crowley hummed. “Good, good. May the Prefect put their money to use, just as I have.”

With that, he sunk his teeth into a tea cake and drifted off on a cloud of sugar and butter.

[seramilla]

Dragon’s Blood Curse AU

(What if fantasy setting where Carmilla was a champion for the Unseelie Court? And what if Sera was the High Fae of the Seelie court? I dunno!! Just had a lot of what if’s while thinking about Carmilla as a dragon)

Atop the hill looking across the dark forest stood the grey and foreboding decrepit castle. In the topmost window of the highest tower stood a tall thin skeletal figure clad in black attire. The lich paced for some time as the sun started to dip behind the tree line. He decided to check on the daughters of his dearest friend before speaking to her.

Zestial made his way to the alchemy lab and quietly opened the door just a sliver. He smiled seeing Odette taking notes of what appeared to be an elixir. He had no doubt she was looking for a way to help her mother. Odette had always been the more studious child. He watched as she removed a glove revealing a scaled arm then pluck one off her arm. He holds his breath as she places it in a bowl and pours the tincture over the scale. An acrid smell filled the air as the scale sizzled and dissolved like it’s in acid. Zestial’s eyes widen seeing her grab the vial in a fit of anger and frustration and throw it against the wall with a snarl.

He let her be as he quietly closed the door and headed further downstairs.Zestial made his to the balcony of the crumbling courtyard and found Clara practicing her swordplay. Judging by all the destroyed training dummies it was safe to assume that she too, was in an irritable mood, so he continued deeper down into his ancient abode. He could hear the sound of chains rattling as he approached the barred door to his dungeons. He had not needed to use them in over a century. Now he was refurbishing them for his close friend. She refused to stay anywhere else in his home and quickly learned the reason why she made this decision.

Magic pools into his hand surrounding it with a glowing green energy as he mimics the motion of unlocking a door.

The enchantments and seals dissipated and the massive iron bars slid back allowing the door to open. He approaches the inky black room that fell silent. He was early it would seem as his eyes met a large pair of blazing crimson orbs filled with rage and spite of a deep injustice. A large light stormy grey snout snaked into the dim light as lips pulled back into a snarl revealing a dangerous set of teeth followed by a dark grey mask like marking around the furious orbs. Next came her large black horns and luxurious mane of white fur accentuated with a few black stripes. The chains rattled and went taught as she lunged at him. He could feel his cloak being disturbed by the air flow from the massive talons slashing the air in front of him. Perhaps he should have knocked first. Any further thoughts vanished as a roar of despair and pain shook the foundations of the castle. Black and purple flames erupted from the dragon burning away the form till a much smaller shape of his dear friend remained.

“Carmilla, art thou alright? Thou were rather upset, was thine beloved on thy mind?”

Zestial held out a hand for her. A large white hand takes his.

“Yes Zestial, I was thinking of her.”

“Why? Thou knew the High Fae of the Seelie wouldn’t be able to court anyone beneath her station.”

Her crimson orbs with white irises stared sadly into his.

“She loves me Zestial, me who was nothing more than a human champion of the Unseelie court. She loves me so much…and I love her…but when our courts discovered our union…”

She shudders and wipes her eyes.

“Well the blame fell solely upon me. But no one expected the Seelie to give such a cruel punishment. Her court cursed me Zestial, the Seelie court cursed me.”

She sighs walking to the small grated window and gazes into the moonless sky.

“But at least she wasn’t punished… How are-“

Zestial stops her in her tracks.

“Thy daughters are well but hath thrown themselves into aiding thou however they can.”

Carmilla gazes up the stairs with worry. Her daughter had been lucky to barely have been affected by the Dragon’s Blood curse. She starts to head towards them only to be stopped the silver shackles.

“Fret not Carmilla, they shall arrive shortly.”

Zestial unlocked the her bound wrists. as they slowly headed up to the main hall.

“Mother! Zestial!!! There’s a fae!!”

At the sound of Odette’s voice, Zestial and Carmilla rush at the the rest of the way there only to catch sight of the fae collapsing on the floor. They looked terrible and they had a squirming bundle. Carmilla cautiously approaches and sees an infant in an embroidered blanket. She looks at it more closely and freezes. She recognizes her own stitch work. Carmilla had made this for the next child they were planning on having. She moves back from the unconscious form realizing who this is and why they are here.

“Sera…?”

Zestial whisks away the unconscious Sera to Carmilla's room, where they both check the fae for any serious injuries. Carmilla asks her oldest and dearest friend to turn away for a moment, while she cleans Sera's wounds. The woman must have been through Hell — she’s covered in scrapes and bruises, and looks exhausted. Carmilla dresses her in fresh clothes and puts a cool rag to her forehead.

Zestial stands off in the corner of Carmilla's room, holding the babe and singing to her in a deep and enchanting, dark hymn. The child seems comforted, thought she is still quite shaken up from whatever had caused Sera to become unconscious. The child had been protected from any serious harm by the embroidered blanket that Sera enchanted prior to the child's birth. It's seen better days, but the fibers are still intact, and there’s no blood from either the child or Sera on it. Thank the Heavens for that. Carmilla's foresight had born prescious fruit yet again.

Carmilla had always suspected the Seelie might attempt to harm another of her and Sera's children, were they to find out about their coupling. This most recent event had been the last straw, and thus the curse of the dragon inflicted upon Carmilla would also be carried down to any of Carmilla's blood. The effect was lessened on her and Sera's descendants; Sera's Seelie blood has a pacifying effect on the curse, but Clara and Odette still have their own problems to bear. They research, study, and concoct enchantments for hours on end, desperately seeking a cure for their mother, and thus, their own predicament, as well.

But even this latest child, Zestial can see, isn't immune from the Dragon's Blood curse. Specks of rainbow-colored scales adorn her small face like freckles, under each of her eyes and scattered around her nose like little reflections of sunshine upon her face. This child's patterns seem almost...pretty compared to the grays and blacks of Carmilla and her daughters. This child also resembles Sera...much more so than Clara and Odette. Some deep enchantment is at work here. And Zestial thinks he may need for Sera to awaken before any answers are forthcoming.

Carmilla observes Zestial with her and Sera's youngest child, singing to her and calming her, just like he'd done with the other girls when they were babes. Thankfully, this one falls asleep very easily. Zestial strokes the child's cheeks with one of his sharp, vicious claws...they could tear through bone and flesh so easily, but with her children, the lich is as gentle as a lamb.

She's thankful for his help. Carmilla is still reeling from the fact that Sera is here...with her...and she'd brought their third-born with her, to boot. Carmilla has so many questions...she pleads with Sera, entreats her to just wake up! Her logic fights with her emotions, knowing the other woman must rest, but also mentally demanding answers; this back-and-forth between her Unseelie self and the impatient, predatory nature of the dragon is an imposition on her, even now.

Thankfully, it doesn't take long for Sera to stir. Whether from sensing Carmilla's tender hand against her face, or from the strangeness of her new surroundings, Carmilla can't be sure. But as Sera's eyes open, after at least an hour of Carmilla standing vigil by her bedside, squeezing the other woman's hand, Sera’s light gray eyes finally meet Carmilla’s red and gold.

Sera's lashes blink desperately, as if trying to make sense of what she's seeing. Carmilla grips Sera's hand closer to her chest, hoping the faint smattering of scales on her hand and forearm can't be felt by the other woman in her drowsed state. Sera blinks heavily again, and then shakes her head...then meets Carmilla's gaze, and there are tears in her eyes.

"Carmilla!" Sera cries, almost too out of it to do much more than squeak the name aloud. Then, as if coming back to herself, the Seelie starts to sit up, and look around the room desperately. There's an air of panic and worry to her features. Carmilla thinks she knows why.

"Emily?" Sera asks, still looking around the room desperately for her daughter. She hasn't yet spotted her being held by the dark figure in the corner. "Where's Emily?!"

[spyrkle4]

[Recognition Test] made me SO sad. It's really well written. But it makes me sad.

Watari has been one of my top 3 Tetro favs (Tsuno and Harada being the other two) and I had been really hoping she'd be able to survive and see the sky and also get to have fun again...

Well at the very least... She gets to be foxes with her partner in crime

I ramble abt my investigation thoughts under the cut

-Thank god no one split up, even tho Hayashi tried to, least Tamba went to investigate w/ her

-Wada stepping up

-Not the buff characters being sussed as the culprit in chapter 4 of all chapters (jokes aside I find this hilarious, poor Hama and Hayashi tho)

-I really liked the investigation partners

-Ken gets to investigate w/o being nerfed!!! Yay!!! (honestly it was a good thing in hindsight bc the characters who are good at solving murders get picked off...)

-Also speaking of Tamba some of her ideas made me concerned about the fact she was left unsupervised last time, like Tamba plz no dont carry gasoline in the wreckage of a fire

-Student profiles being brought up again, I wonder what lore Ken saw.

-Dear god the way they described the body.... Tetro REALLY takes advantage of the audio drama format to go ham on the details

-I CANT BELIEVE YANAGI FELL THROUGH THE FLOOR AND IS PROBABLY GONNA SPEND THE TRIAL CONCUSSED. HASN'T HE HAD ENOUGH LS?!

-Also oh my god I had a feeling they were underground!!! I called it!!!

-I wonder if they're in some kind of military bunker that had been refurbished into a school, I mean staffside hints that the lab is on a mountain, so maybe it'd make sense?

-Hey jasons when we get to the deceased character sprites for this trial is Okazaki's profile gonna have her mask on, or is it gonna be the sprite w/o her mask

I liked this investigation a lot! It had a lot of fun and sad moments.

[98zhou]

The man who ran.

Zigmund— Zig— Callahan, was always too close for comfort. He was often considered a genius and he sure lived up to the title, afraid of being a fraud. He seemed to have an answer for everything; he had control over the chaos; he was the kind of guy who was always solving problems— except the one inside of him.

Shots of liquor and a phone call was enough to refurbish the memories he thought he'd long left behind. Is one still considered intelligent if they're programmed to choose flight instead of fight each and every time?

Zig's POV

"I'm gonna stop, I... I need to go home." I say sparingly as I down my presumably last shot. My eyes were sunken and my cheeks were flushed, the reflection of my relatively sober colleague merely fogged in my glasses the moment I sighed. I look like a mess. It was out of character for me to drink; I avoid chasing the taste or feeling of alcohol because I hate the aftermath of my terrible hangovers. So I don't indulge in it, I remind myself it's just another day. Only it wasn't; today was special. Today was the day I completed a successful experiment in the lab, one that took me an extensively long time to acquaint research for. As a chemist, and as a decently positive human being, these are the moments worth celebrating. And so celebrate I did.

I slur my words and my stomach remains hot as I set the shot glass down and let my gaze fall along with it. Absentmindedly, I rotate my wrists to gently stir the shot glass, watching the residue of hard liquor spiral much like the way my mind does. I've been unwell these past few months. I barely recognize myself at all. The only people I find myself talking to are Estelle, the friends I've made through work; a decent and respectable group of nerds, and Damon too, of course— before we fought. Now I try my best to occupy my life with work, allowing my disastrous life outside of the lab to remain untouched. I don't have to face it yet, right?

My colleagues continue the shift in turns to drink and I reach for my phone kept in my pocket, taking a little longer to enter my passcode as I try to fight back my drifting vision. My gut tells me this isn't a good idea; or at least it tells my stomach that. Then my brain. Then my heart. I can't see straight and the liquor starts to get brave inside of me, repainting the world around me and cutting the line of rationality right when I was at the peak of an important decision. This is bad.

"...Hello?"

"Hi! Hi Axel... I'm out right now..." I sigh, adjusting my glasses "It's so nice to hear your voice..."

"Zig? Are you drunk?" He asks, sounding more sure than I would've wanted.

I run a hand through my hair, glancing around at my coworkers who seemed to be enjoying themselves more than me. I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh, "Doesn't matter..."

My muscles loosen and a smile forms on my lips. "I miss you, Axel." I blurt out. Before my mind tries to stop me; before my senses shut down. The red flags grow increasingly visible and the alarm sounds ring in my ignorant ears. Nothing seemed to matter, nothing seemed to feel like a bad idea anymore. I had Axel's voice again after a year. Silence fills the distance between us through the phone and I start to wonder if he ended the call.

"Zig, you're drunk." He says after clearing his throat as if those three words took him try after try to choke out.

"Axel..." , "Please, Zig. I can't do this right now. I'm hanging up."

I feel a pang in my chest and I answer almost immediately, "No! No— please— don't hang up on me... I want to hear your voice." I sound like a desperate and selfish child, pathetically begging for something he knows he doesn't deserve. That was exactly the case between Axel and I.

"Please, Axel, I want to make things right..."

"No, you don't. Zig, stop..."

He sounds more and more pained as he speaks, as if every word I say strikes a different nerve or tears open a different wound. Once again, there's silence from the other line and I take it as my own invitation to keep talking, hyperaware of the fact that what I'm doing is wrong, selfish, and irrational; and yet my body makes no effort to stop. I need an intervention.

"I want to see you so badly. I've been such an asshole and I want to see you— I need to see you. We can make this work, please, Axel—" I hardly process what I'm saying and where I'm going until I find myself outside the bar, slowly crouching to my feet and nodding my head down, tears streaming down my face like bullets in a crossfire. "Axel?" I sob. The line cuts. I feel myself growing dizzier and my knees weaken. I drop my phone and I blackout.

When I open my eyes, I find myself in my apartment. My head throbs and it forces me to sit up. All sorts of memories from last night scatter and fog inside my mind, all but the most important one. I let out a groan and look for my phone, finding it on the table beside my bed. One—or three of my coworkers must've brought me home. The aftermath of my idiocy makes my head spin even more and I find myself dreading the thought of going to work and facing those people again.

I get up and go on about my daily routine lackadaisically, my mind at an immobile rest. My mere surroundings made me sick and lethargic, I didn't want to leave the house and function like a normal human being. To my misfortune, errands needed to be done. I have to get my shit together somehow.

I get dressed for my one day off and get my phone, about to create a to-do list. That's when I'm immediately bombarded with previous texts from last night sent by Estelle, my coworker. I check my inbox, seeing if I have any other messages as if I were a bustling sensation when I reached rock bottom. And if I wasn't about to throw up before, I definitely was now. I look at my call history and see a number I know all too well, followed by the caller ID. Fucking hell. I called Axel?!

The horrors drift from my phone into a contorted mortified look on my face as I inevitably imagine all the things I might have said to him. Questions to questions flood my brain and I suddenly wish I could stop thinking. Because who would want to wake up knowing they just called the guy they never really let go of? This was bad.

Axel and I were meant to be history. I've spent the past year trying to convince myself that what happened between us was a mistake and I made the right decision of running away. He didn't deserve that call, not from me. He's the last person I should've dialed.

I feel sick to my stomach as I try to power through. I close my phone, writing my to-do list on a slip of paper instead, scribbling on it intently as if it were the only thing worth paying attention to. Fuck this. I don't have to face it yet, I don't. I won't let myself slip like I did last night. Because vulnerability was dangerous. Vulnerability meant losing control.

When I arrive at work the following day, I receive more looks than a usual morning greeting would warrant. I proceeded to work, tightly gripping the stirring rod as I mixed the solution. It didn't require thinking. It was precise, controlled, and simple enough as something I knew wouldn't screw up.

Estelle enters the lab, her bright voice loud enough to cut through the silence. "You're gonna burn a hole through that beaker."

Estelle was the coworker who helped me home along with a few others, and the one who nearly blew up my cell with messages asking about how I was. She was good company, not that it mattered to me right now.

"I'm fine." I reply with little to no emotion as I continue working, not bothering to look up. My gaze remains fixed on the chemical reaction and Estelle leans on the counter beside me, watching me for a beat before speaking again. "You sure? You've been running on autopilot for a week."

I lie through my teeth, "I've been busy." The excuse was thin and I know it, but I wasn't about to open up and talk about my feelings. Not to her, not to anyone.

Estelle's the only coworker I consider an actual friend, she's seen the other end of my professional side but remains unaware of what actually goes on inside my head, as things rightfully should be. Nobody needs to see through the cracks, I've pushed everyone far away enough. Estelle gives me a nod, "Just... careful, yeah? You're a walking stress ball."

"I'm fine." I repeat with more finality. She gives me another nod and doesn't press any further, letting the silence settle between us yet again as my thoughts begin to drift. My mind finds its way back to the phone call, trying to remember how drunk I sounded and how hurt— no, disappointed Axel did. At this time, it was all coming back to me in fragments. I'm a mess and Estelle was right to point it out. I wasn't here, I was elsewhere, I was there with Axel in the agonizing deepness inside my brain. The worst part lies with the fact that maybe I wanted Axel to hurt. I've worked so hard to keep my distance, to shut Axel out, to make sure nobody saw through the cracks.

But Axel already did, that was the problem. He's always been able to see right through me.

A soft sigh escapes my lips, and for a second, I feel my façade falter, just a fraction. But only a fraction.

I shake my head, dismissing the cloud of thoughts racing inside and I straighten my back. There was work to do. Problems to fix.

Precision.

Control.

That's all I need.

I don't have to face this yet.