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thecapitol2015-10-24 11:23 am
president_evil) wrote in thecapitol2015-10-24 11:23 am
Entry tags:
The more you lose, the less you see.
WHO| Wesker and OTA
WHAT| Discovering the blackout
WHERE| The Tower, and Peackeeper Headquarters
WHEN| Immediately following the blackout
Warnings/Notes| Typical Wesker warnings; otherwise, nothing.
He was in the Tower restaurant when it happened. A glass of wine in hand, he was watching one of the T-virus variants ('Lickers,' as the researchers had unimaginatively dubbed them) skitter along one of the walls of the barren city. His lips were thin, the gloves over his fingers pulled tight, knuckles hard under the leather.
How had they done it, he wondered silently as he had so many times since the arena's opening. Had they reached across to his world again, brought them fresh and screaming from the other side, perhaps from the very gates of the White House, right from under Project Alice's nose? Had they manufactured them here, in the bowels of the Capitol? Had they used his blood?
Did they even know what they had? What they were risking? Did they honestly think they stood any chance of controlling it?
His anger was deep and seething, rolling in him like a black sea. And it was no less dangerous. If he'd had any reservations about his actions, and his plans for the Capitol, they would have drowned then, buried beneath the crashing waves of his silent rage.
And then suddenly, as if his will had caused it, the screen hanging above screamed. The image tore, slanting violently, the colors skewing. It blinked, the licker's distorted body stretching and stretching... and then it was gone, in a burst of static.
Silence fell over the restaurant, safe for that sharp hiss. Behind his lenses, Wesker's slitted serpentine eyes narrowed. The fingers of his glass stilled, and tightened.
The glass cracked beneath the pressure and red wine flowed over his gloves like blood.
~.~
He was quick to make his way to Peacekeeper Headquarters, Panem News Nightly playing softly from his communicator as he strode through the chaotic main floor and on to his office. It was the same useless twaddle as it ever was, but it was all he had until those with more advantageous positions deigned to give up the truth behind the arena blackout.
That they hadn't called him in, he could take to mean that the virus wasn't running rampant, but he had so little faith in the Capitol's competence, he was still preparing himself for the worst case scenario. Plans took shape in his mind, edited lessons learned from the razing of Raccoon City, the death toll shifting with every scenario he ran.
WHAT| Discovering the blackout
WHERE| The Tower, and Peackeeper Headquarters
WHEN| Immediately following the blackout
Warnings/Notes| Typical Wesker warnings; otherwise, nothing.
He was in the Tower restaurant when it happened. A glass of wine in hand, he was watching one of the T-virus variants ('Lickers,' as the researchers had unimaginatively dubbed them) skitter along one of the walls of the barren city. His lips were thin, the gloves over his fingers pulled tight, knuckles hard under the leather.
How had they done it, he wondered silently as he had so many times since the arena's opening. Had they reached across to his world again, brought them fresh and screaming from the other side, perhaps from the very gates of the White House, right from under Project Alice's nose? Had they manufactured them here, in the bowels of the Capitol? Had they used his blood?
Did they even know what they had? What they were risking? Did they honestly think they stood any chance of controlling it?
His anger was deep and seething, rolling in him like a black sea. And it was no less dangerous. If he'd had any reservations about his actions, and his plans for the Capitol, they would have drowned then, buried beneath the crashing waves of his silent rage.
And then suddenly, as if his will had caused it, the screen hanging above screamed. The image tore, slanting violently, the colors skewing. It blinked, the licker's distorted body stretching and stretching... and then it was gone, in a burst of static.
Silence fell over the restaurant, safe for that sharp hiss. Behind his lenses, Wesker's slitted serpentine eyes narrowed. The fingers of his glass stilled, and tightened.
The glass cracked beneath the pressure and red wine flowed over his gloves like blood.
He was quick to make his way to Peacekeeper Headquarters, Panem News Nightly playing softly from his communicator as he strode through the chaotic main floor and on to his office. It was the same useless twaddle as it ever was, but it was all he had until those with more advantageous positions deigned to give up the truth behind the arena blackout.
That they hadn't called him in, he could take to mean that the virus wasn't running rampant, but he had so little faith in the Capitol's competence, he was still preparing himself for the worst case scenario. Plans took shape in his mind, edited lessons learned from the razing of Raccoon City, the death toll shifting with every scenario he ran.