#ubcs

[dbk-artchive]

nov 24, 2024 | the world crumbles around you, and still, you stay. Why?

[s-dei]

yeah thanks, I think it was my sanity

[1stdaughter]

@ubcs said: ❛ if you called just to get off on my voice, i’m hanging up. ❜

“'kay,  ew,”   ashley  giggles,  shaking  her  head  from  her  end  of  the  radio.   she  must  have  cut  into  the  wrong  frequency  -  a  mistake  ashley  graham  is  usually  too  thorough  to  make,  but  this  is  hour  thirteen  of  who  knows  how  many  and  her  mind  is  anywhere  but  here.   and  that's  why  she  can't  even  really  get  annoyed  with  the  man  on  the  other  end;  she'd  take  anything  right  now  to  break  up  the  mundanity  of  her  day.   ashley  flips  open  her  book  and  lets  a  manicured  finger  scan  through  the  page  full  of  numbers,  wondering  who  she'd  accidentally  tuned  into.   “totally  not  why  i'm  calling.   is  that  what  people  are  using  this  frequency  for?”

[priceforeverything]

"Weird? No. Flattering, yes: that I fail to remind you of either. Fatherhood makes tyrants out of men. Many fathers. Mine." Nikolai, baiting while he wears this false identity, using snippets of a vague yet true history. @ubcs

Jake snorts at that, seems to be glad that he didn't make it fucking weird- but his words of thanks are stopped by Misha speaking. Tyrant. It's a word fitting for him, isn't it. "Shit, sorry about your old man." It's easier to deflect, but he's not good at it, when was the last time someone even offered to hear what he had to say? "I don't think fatherhood had anything to do with mine being a tyrant." Was Wesker always like that, Or was passing on his DNA just making him crazier-no Jake that's stupid.

"What ended up happening between the two of you? Did he ever change?" Why is he holding out hope for a story he doesn't have any part in, but now needs to hear that it can bet better, it has to.

[illusivesoulgaming]

Jill and Tyrell

[alphateamsfinest]

93﹕ a gun wagging nikolai gestures for jill to sit down .

For a split second Jill wonders if it wouldn't be so bad getting shot. It would probably suck less than having to hear him gloat. Blue eyes look around the room, trying to ascertain the best spot. She's almost certain that in a physical fight, she would lose- short of playing dirty.

She sits like she doesn't have a gun pointed at her by some complete jackass. Good for nothing mother-

She sighs her answer, as if she couldn't be bothered. "If you're going to gloat can you keep it under the five-minute mark? I have places to be."

[soulmissed]

@ubcs: you haven’t had an easy time with grownups, have you?

memes, accepting

the boy remembers a timeline when adults were detached, disgruntled. (classroom teachers annoyed by his curious nature. a school counselor, pencil upon notepad, judging his block tower heart. you’re too soft, mr. collins.)

he’d grown from a timid boy to a turbulent survivor after his daddy’s killing. his new home: bone-chilling alleyways. park benches. the adults of his current life were mean, dangerous. (gotta keep our streets clean, kid. red-and-blue splash of patrol sirens. fists shaken from store counters. hooligan! go away!)

carlos’ words break the remembrance. and the boy rubs a brown thumb along pocket knife hilt. puffiness bags the skin under his lids. red pinwheels the whites of his chestnut eyes. “ it’s hard. ” august mutters, voice paper thin. “ trustin’ that people will actually give a shit. ”

[evilstalks]

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not the TV!"

Would anyone bringing a Bioweapon into their home not expect some sort of property damage? After all, MM-31 has no idea of the material worth of anything. Even if he did, he wouldn't care. It is not something he has been programmed to care about. In fact, he's been programmed to care about nothing. However, there have been some flaws with his development. Several, actually. Which is why he's here now, being hidden like contraband. Still, he heeds the warning and slowly releases the large "tv" from his grasp, letting it sit back down on the counter. He's curious, it should be expected.

[umbrellacleanupduty]

Very genuine alarm blaring.

"Don't worry. That's probably just a false alarm."

Lijah probably- definitely- looks like a long tailed ferret in a room full of rocking chairs. His mouth is hanging open in shock and his head is tilted up towards the ceiling where the speakers are blaring, as if there's some secret code that he should be able to figure out if he just listens hard enough. Maybe there is. He's read pamphlets about subliminal stuff they put in the radio to scare the mole people away so they never rise up from underground.

Words perpendicular to the sound of the alarm shock the custodian out of his thoughts and about two feet into the air with a surprised shout. His braids whip through the air as he turns his head wildly until he can find the source of the new sound. It's- Lijah has no fucking clue. Big guy. Not a lab coat. Not those gas mask security people who are probably actually bug people and that's why they're covered up all the time. And why the masks all have really big eyes. This dude is probably not a secret bug person.

"Yeah?" Lijah has to shout over the alarm. He's not convinced. But. He also hasn't finished mopping the hallway. If it's a false alarm and he gets caught not working he might get fired. Or, worse, reassigned to cleaning the vents in sub-sub-basement 2C again.

He nods a little too quickly and shoves his mop back into the yellow bucket he's been wheeling around. "Uh..." The water is squeezed out as much as he can get it before he starts up on the floors again. "The floor's wet." As if that's not obvious. "So be careful!"

[tallon-underworld]

"This looks like Nicholai's work..."

[crookedredemption]

     in a stingy dive bar, the dark urge weaved their way through a sea of bulky bodies. every wednesday, the umbrella mercs go to a bar to relieve some built up tension within their ranks. settling scores by throwing fists and spilling blood. the woman stopped just in front of the fighting ring just in time to see a man with curly hair and tanned skin land a punch against his opponent. the sound of @ubcs 's knuckles colliding with the others jaw made the crowd react amongst themselves.

     all it took was one hit for the stranger's opponent to collapse to the ground with a thunderous boom. sylmae's hands quickly came together as she clapped for the victor, capturing his attention. when he finally approached, the bhaal spawn smiled sweetly up at him.

     "what a mean punch."

[umbrellamedic]

❝ no one tells you how quiet the world gets after they leave. ❞

Eventually the exhilaration of escape evaporates. The nervous system can only support excitement for so long, especially after being starved of reality for so long. After escaping the Fog- truly, honestly, finally exiting into something more than the same campfire and facsimile of buildings- and realizing her two teammates made it out- it took time for reality to really seep into Bertha's bones and settle as solid, undeniable fact. A full night of hopeful disbelief and actively looking for anything which might prove them wrong until sunrise finally signals freedom. It's brighter than she remembers. Gravity is stronger, or maybe the medic is weaker. The concrete rooftop in the remains of a destroyed city is solid beneath Bertha's kneepads when they meet it.

Somehow she knows this place. Silent and mostly destroyed by the missiles launched to handle the viral outbreak that brought all three of them to the city in the first place- how long ago was that? Lifetimes. Bertha lost count of how many deaths and lives the trio endured between then and now. The city looks as wrecked as she feels. She might collapse like some of the buildings. She's tired.

Beltway should have something to say about the city getting what it deserves. Or Lupo should be demanding the medic get up and move on to some objective she's set for their squad. There's nothing. Not even Four Eyes musing about whether or not there are any samples to be retrieved from the remains around them. Nothing in Vector's sardonic or Spectre's breathy voices. Bertha hardly feels herself move as she lifts a finger to gently press get earpiece. "Wolfpack-" she doesn't know what more to say. It doesn't matter. There is no one listening.

No one tells you how quiet the world gets after they leave.

The response comes not from her earpiece, but from her teammate. She would throw herself at him, wrap her arms around and cling and fog her mask with sobs; but even the thought of getting up is more than Bertha can handle at the moment. She just shakes her head. She can't stand just yet. Can't hug Carlos and comfort herself with tactile proof that he's real and alive. She hugs herself instead. It isn't much comfort. Hardly better than nothing.

"Besser ein Ende mit Schmerzen als Schmerzen ohne Ende." Her Wolfpack is gone. But so is the Entity and the endless trials. There's pain. Silence. A profound loss the depths of which Bertha has never felt. Her team, her mission, the entirety of what made her existence before the Fog matter.

But. She has her new team for so long as she is useful enough to keep around. They are free. Real. The only three things alive in the ruins of Raccoon City. Bertha takes a shuddering breath and forces herself to stand. Gravity protests and her legs shake, but. They're free and real and alive.

"We will fill the silence ourselves, yes? And in time their voices will return in all the reminders."

In a perfect world, this is where they start again. Make their way to the streets and out of the city- finally, out of that fucking city. Maybe with fond memories of the times before the Fog, when they tried to kill each other in these streets. Maybe with some cathartic destruction of the structures that survived the blasts which ended the outbreak. But they're not in a perfect world. They're in reality; free, and alive, and Bertha's legs give out.

[schwarzwaldcr]

“   Might commit a little tomfoolery, maybe even some shenanigans. ”

Pure Chaos || Always Accepting

Wulf narrows her eyes in Carlos' direction at this announcement.

It's not that it's surprising, really. It's Carlos, there is almost always some sort of shenanigans (or tomfoolery, as it were) afoot. It's more to the point that this is the emphasis; it's Carlos. She knows his brand of such dealings. It's either incredibly tame or it's so off-the-wall it makes people wonder how he did it. There is no in-between.

There is no real constant, either, nothing predictable. She's contemplating her next words and actions wisely.

She should call him out on his actions. She knows this, that is the sane and right thing to do.

"...What kind of shenanigans are we talking here..."

Unfortunately for everyone else now, she is neither sane nor right. And she is entirely up for shenanigans...

@ubcs

[priceforeverything]

"Your father. He was absent?" After Jake's response to the sauna's host, mistaking 'Misha' as the young mercenary's father, it seemed like an organic time to bring the topic up. The coals are stoked, bringing up the temperature in the space.

"Absent is the nicest thing I could say about him. Never met him." Never will. That's the new wound on an old one, one that he's still trying to figure out. It aches sometimes more than others, flares and makes him irritable like the rest of his pain. But the heat of the sauna eases those pains, makes him exhale slowly as his head leans back on the wall.

"Sorry if I made it weird." But Jake doesn't know how to soften edges that are sharp, only through time do they cut less. But now he's talking and it's hard to stop once he gets started. "Had a father figure once and that one turned to shit too. So it's probably better that I didn't know the real one."

[redridcr]

also it's just small shit like in any au, even ovw, Charlie's gonna have bodyguards that are @ubcs' Carlos n merc gang bc?? it's written in stone in my brain

and like if Tahno doesn't have a love interest, i'll default to @torntruth's asami bc tahno is obsessed w/ her??

[alphateamsfinest]

[ 3. ] sender presses their forehead to receiver's, voice breaking as they murmur, "i don't know how to fix this, but i'm not leaving."

Prompts

Time is in flux, it's been in flux for so long that she doesn't always know where or when she is. Hospital rooms, waiting rooms, tests questions, there's always more.

Always demanding more, more samples, more stories, more tests, more, more, more-until there's nothing left to give.

She's been irreparably broken, shattered in ways she doesn't know how to correct and she's sure that pieces are missing. His voice pulls her back out of the memory, out of the haze and she's not in Tricell anymore. She's not locked up wondering if she'll ever get out.

But it's an impossible task. Jill doesn't have anything left to give and still, Carlos says he'll stay. A hand with a slightly crooked pointer finger touches his cheek as she exhales. "What if I can't be fixed." She asks it barely above a whisper because if she has to admit her fear, it has to be here, in safety.