thearena | (no subject)

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WHO: Albert Wesker and OTA
WHAT: It's a shiny new tribute! Come and get him!
WHEN: A few days before the end of Arena 4
WHERE: Tribute launch site (near what's left of the ruins), then anywhere your little hearts desire.
WARNINGS: ~~Wesker's ego.~~ Violence and death.

The tribute appeared as the last echoes of the announcement faded over the trees, standing tall and proud as his pedestal rose slowly to the surface with a soft mechanical purr. The platform clicked flush and silence fell.

An unnatural silence broken only by the gentle rush of the brine smelling breeze. The night creatures were holding their breaths, waiting and watching.

A new predator was in their midst.

Beneath the artificial moon, Albert Wesker stood still and simply...looked. Studied. His nose gently flaring as he breathed, deep and even, and tasted the air.

He had questions - how had he gotten here? How had these people taken him, and just who were these people exactly - but he pushed them away, schooling his mind to back to the task at hand where it belonged.

Survive, they'd said. Told him as the metal had closed around him.

His mouth pulled, an amused smirk. Survive?

Albert Wesker didn't survive. He thrived.

A glow appeared, a bright, ruby tinge behind the dark lenses that even now - here in the dark of night - he still wore, and then, Wesker moved.

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The last image was far too familiar, even in his weakened state Chris recognized the captain of his S.T.A.R.S. team.

Took him some time to get close to the cornucopia, staying to the shadows of the trees he watched.

Chris grimaced as his foot fell on a tree branch snapping it. Damn

The blond head turned, snapping toward the sound.

He knew there were others here - his unfortunate competition - but he hadn't expected them to be so forthcoming.

How very considerate of them.

Moving low and fast, he disappeared into the dappled shadows surrounding the dark, crumpling ruins and headed for the trees.

Chris didn't remember him being THAT fast, or maybe it was because he was that sick. Though didn't take Wesker long to catch up.

He didn't really run far though, after all he wanted to make sure it really was who he had thought it was, though why the hell was he wearing glasses at night. That was unfashionably 80's.

"Wesker," The word was simple enough, and he held back punching him for now, though God knew Wesker deserved it for slamming the door on his face and leaving him to deal with the mutts and another way in.

He smelled him before he saw him: the stench of an unwashed body, the sickly sweetness of festering wounds, the metallic bite of blood... and something interesting.

There, beneath the generic human stink, was something familiar. Something he recognized.

He knew who he was chasing.

Skidding to a stop - his suspicions realized as the other came into view - he grinned. Laughed, a low, velvety sound of amusement.

"Chris Redfield, as I live and breath."

"You're entirely too amused at that."

He stayed back watching a moment, trying to figure him out, after all no one had seen him in the mansion since they all separated. "Wild guess on this, but we're the only ones aren't we?" Because he wouldn't wish this hell on Jill or Becky.

"Well, you must admit, Redfield, the irony is delicious: escaping the clutches of Umbrella just to end up here, so very far from home?" His sleek blond head tipped, his tongue clucking softly. "Project Alice must be beside herself."

"Project Alice?" He'd ask what drugs Wesker was on, but really... If they're made by Umbrella it's not worth the price to try them.

"I don't know, last I heard Raccoon was going to hell, at least here the dead stay dead." Oh how little do you know Chris, it's actually adorable.

As quickly as his genial mood had appeared, it slipped away, the eyes behind the dark glasses narrowing.

Acute memory loss could be explained if the Redfields had been placed into the Scarab program after capture, such as their fellow captive Mrs. Valentine had been... but then - he had distinctly called Wesker by name....

Wesker turned the possibilities over quickly in his mind - postulating, considering, and rejecting - as he studied Chris like he might some interesting new organism beneath a microscope.

"Tell me, what else to you remember?"

"Why don't you start Captain?" Like hell he was going to give Wesker more information than he already had. His only thoughts were at least his sister, Jill and Becky weren't there.

Captain?

Wesker's nostrils flared - his only outward reaction to the word.

Well, well... something truly had gotten mixed up, hadn't it? But was it Umbrella (a clone perhaps, confused and lost), or these new people? Had they done something to addle Chris Redfield's mind?

Know why to know without showing his hand and perhaps playing in Umbrella's hands.

"If 'Chairman' is the word you're searching for, don't bother," he replied, deceptively smooth for the careful way he was picking his words. "It is no longer applicable."

Okay Chris knew that Wesker had some say in the organization but chairman? Yeah, excuse his laughter for a moment Wesker, we'll blame it on the radiation sickness okay?

"Right, like they'd give you that much power. Who ya tryin' to kid? Or did Jill actually cold cock ya before you showed up here. Pretty sure you were the one that warned me about her right hook when you recruited her for S.T.A.R.S."

Clone, Wesker decided, tongue sliding over his teeth. These people, whoever they were, couldn't have any reason to tamper with Redfield's memories this much.

No... this had Umbrella's fingerprints all over it. (Though this was certainly more creative than they usually got.) They'd obviously seen an opportunity to institute a new variable in the test simulations and had taken it.

Question now, was how to proceed.

The actual Chris Redfield could have been of use, both here and when he was returned home. (Wouldn't Project Alice be so grateful when she discovered how they had worked together, and how Wesker had tried so very hard to save them both only for it all to go so tragic in the end?) But a clone?

Clones were imprinted with the most basic of memories, of skills. Just enough to ellicit realistic responses to the biohazard....

He took a step closer.

"Last that I was aware, Miss Valentine was safe and sound-" as much as one could be when surrounded by army of infected, "-your dear sister, however..." He took a calculated risk, mentioning the littlest Redfield, hoping this Chris would know her and be distracted by it.

Edited 2012-12-10 14:04 (UTC)

"If you've hurt her Wesker." Chris balled his hands up, unable to stop himself he swung out. He had seen how fast Wesker had moved but hoped that he'd be able to move fast enough to at least try to hit him.

Instinct, reflex, and training, Wesker had all three.

His hand came up, the meat of his palm catching Chris' fist, his fingers closing around it and squeezing, hard.

There was no rewarding crack of breaking bone, unusual, but it was enough.

His lips quirked, a cruel smirk, and behind his glasses there was a flare of light, a bright, red ruby. The only warning Chris got before Wesker's other hand shot out, heel first, and connected with Chris' sternum.

Chris stumbled back at the hit, hurt like hell but he managed to stay standing at least.

"What the hell are you?" Chris had noted the eye flare for a moment. There was no way he was going to move closer just yet, he needed a few more moments to get his breath back.

His lip curled, strong white teeth flashed.

"I'm more than anything you could ever hope to be."

And his mouth opened - impossibly wide - then wider still, and somewhere back in the dark of his throat, something moved. Something fast and dark. Something that pushed out of his mouth and dropped into a mass of dripping muscle and gleaming teeth.

And there would be a startled sound that NO MAN should ever have come out of his throat as Chris back pedaled, without a real weapon there was no way he wanted to get closer to the thing that looked like Captain Wesker.

"What the F..." Hey he only censored himself because he tripped over a tree root and landed firmly on his ass.

The mandible flexed, tentacles curling and opening, giving Chris an eye-line straight past rows of sharp, hooked teeth and back into a dark, wet gullet.

A glimpse of a painful, bloody end as Wesker stalked closer, his hands fisting at his sides, his stride purposeful.

Chris scrambled back more because even in the mansion he hadn't dealt with anything like that. Only thing with teeth he remembered was the damn shark.

"Always thought you weren't human Wes. Thanks for making it easier." Now he was wishing he had a better weapon on him.

A flash of red, a low rumbling sound, and Wesker lunged, tentacles spread wide and reaching for Chris' head.

Chris managed to fall back when Wesker lunged, kicking up to throw Wesker off him as he rolled to get away.

"Damn me without my gun..."

Tucking his shoulder under, Wesker hit the ground in a fluid roll and came up as quickly as he'd gone down.

He couldn't speak in his current state - his mouth otherwise occupied - but there was a sound like laughter, a beastial sound from somewhere deep inside the man.

He was amused. Surprised that a clone would have the gumption, but pleased by the fight.

(OOC: Feel free to have Chris take off anytime. He's set to be offed by Don in the thread below.)

Chris shook his head, if Wesker was still around after he licked his wounds he'd off him, right now Chris didn't think what he had on him would work, so while the 'creature' that looked like his Captain laughed he took to the shadows of the trees again.

((ooc: no problem))

Survive. Survive?

There was not much surviving when it came to this creature. Though, then again, Albert had the advantage of being fresh meat. Literally, and figuratively. He was not touched by radiation sickness. And even as Donatello's monstrous form watched his newest prey - or was it rival? - he could not help but give a grunt.

He didn't feel good. Not at all. No amount of food was helping. Eating this newcomer probably wouldn't help, either.

Edited 2012-12-06 03:30 (UTC)

Hunting the Redfield clone, Wesker moved silently through the dark, mandible still extended, twisting and curling as if sensing which way the man had gone. He paused, listening, waiting for him to give himself away-

-and his head snapped toward the sound off his side, eyes narrowing behind his lenses.

...Well, this is a bit different, isn't it? Instantly the creature was in the air, landing in front of ~~Bertie~~ Wesker on all fours. Looking up, his red eyes slowed as it growled, drool coming out of his mouth as he pounded a forepaws on the ground. A challenge, perhaps. Something in Donatello's bestial mind liked that, somehow.

One thing was probably obvious to Wesker, on the other hand.

This was definitely not Chris.

He took a step back, just the one, and the mandible receeded, disappearing back down his throat with a soft pop as his jaw settled back into place and he looked the creature up and down with a crictal eye.

It looked something like the 121s, one of Umbrella's more successful designs, but larger, darker and - unreachable.

Like called to like, and Wesker could sense that this was not a fellow creation of T. This wasn't going to be like the dogs.

"Impressive."

Perhaps he'd underestimated these people.

Wesker's response was a roar, as Don got onto his back legs and stood to his full height. It wasn't just intimidation. Don also was - in his own, monstrous way - sizing up Wesker. And he preferred to tower above his new prey so those mandibles wouldn't try and get his unprotected neck, thank you very much.

Once that was out of the way, Don charged.

Lip curling in a silent, determined snarl, Wesker held his ground, waiting, waiting, waiting until the last possible second-

-then he lept aside, tucking and rolling to come back up on his feet behind the creature, counting on its size to slow it down and give him advantage.

Eyes glowing, he instinctively reached for his side - for the Desert Eagle that would normally be tucked into the holster under his arm - and cursed when he remembered.

Damn them.

His size did slow it down. But not by much. Donatello was remarkably fast in this form. Indeed, by the time Wesker remembered that his gun was gone, Donatello was already facing Wesker, ready to charge once more, this time crouching down slightly to better suit the fight as he charged.

Facing this beast unarmed - facing this beast unarmed when his virus granted gifts seemed to failing him - was not high on Wesker's list of desirable activities.

This called for a strategic retreat.

Figuratively speaking at least. As soon as the creature moved, so did he, running straight toward it and hoping to duck aside and past.

Oh. Oh no. Wesker wasn't going anywhere. If Wesker thought he had a nasty uppercut, well...

...he probably does. Even de-powered, in this place. Sadly, in this state, so does Donatello. And if that last-minute swing connects, it's going to hurt.

Edited 2012-12-20 01:06 (UTC)

He saw it coming - expected it even - but he couldn't avoid it. Not entirely.

Claws raked against him and fire sang through him. It didn't stop his momentum completely, but it did knock him off course, did bring him down.

He rolled across the ground, tried to get back up, only to have his afflicted leg - already numbing - giveout and send him down again.

Unfortunately for Wesker, that's a good opening for the creature, and Donatello takes it. That gimp leg is going to be grabbed at, and whatever might happen after if he succeeds, well...

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IDKMYBFFWESKY?

Bring it on, Godzilla.

More like Godzuki. But...we don't talk about that.

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