(no subject)
He cut across the city, moving from street to street, searching. He cast his net wider and wider; it was some time before he found it.
The sign stood outside. Only part of the characters are legible. The word "clinic" is recognisable; he knocks it down in passing. A taller building beside the small, low one collapsed long ago. One wall partially fell to cover it, along with a spill of floorboards, decayed skeletons of furniture, roof tiles, part of a chimney. Wesker circles the place twice before coming across a door.
Inside, it was too dim for even him to see with his shades on. He passed through the lobby, stepping over an overturned display case. There was some structural damage, but he was fairly sure it wasn't going to fall in on his head.
The upstairs appeared to be mostly examination rooms. He came across one operating theatre. Wesker looked in the cabinets, found mostly spilled or cracked bottles from the roof impact, and turned away.
Downstairs. . . yes. There was hardly any damage. There was an emergency generator, small, but enough for his needs once he got it to work. The walls seemed thick enough to keep the sound from reaching the outside world. A freezer, coffin-shaped, rested against one wall. It held a pair of long-decayed cats and a lot of general clutter. A refrigerator, one of the small ones, stood on a counter. More important were the states of the microscopes against the wall, the delicate equipment required to analyse the sickness within cells.
Hmm.
He would need better equipment, eventually.
Wesker looked around at the counters, at the sink in the corner.
There was promise all around him.
And now?
The outside wall was recently encouraged to fall in one place along the outside of the building. It caused some damage to the roof, but Wesker made adjustments to be sure the rain wouldn't eat the place away.
The building was much harder to navigate, and the entrances more effectively blocked. It wouldn't stop a wrecking team, but really, who would go to such effort for him?
The surfaces of the basement are now pristine. Lamps hang from the walls, powered by the soundproofed generator. Supplies raided from the pharmacy are neatly labelled and arranged.
Wesker sits on the refrigerator, casually stripping down a length of tubing with one hand. Gauze is tucked into his bent elbow. His rapid healing and metabolism will help him recover, soon enough. His blood is good as an emergency healing source for vampires. Best to stockpile it before he turns.
He's smiling.
Life is good. Death will be better.
The sign stood outside. Only part of the characters are legible. The word "clinic" is recognisable; he knocks it down in passing. A taller building beside the small, low one collapsed long ago. One wall partially fell to cover it, along with a spill of floorboards, decayed skeletons of furniture, roof tiles, part of a chimney. Wesker circles the place twice before coming across a door.
Inside, it was too dim for even him to see with his shades on. He passed through the lobby, stepping over an overturned display case. There was some structural damage, but he was fairly sure it wasn't going to fall in on his head.
The upstairs appeared to be mostly examination rooms. He came across one operating theatre. Wesker looked in the cabinets, found mostly spilled or cracked bottles from the roof impact, and turned away.
Downstairs. . . yes. There was hardly any damage. There was an emergency generator, small, but enough for his needs once he got it to work. The walls seemed thick enough to keep the sound from reaching the outside world. A freezer, coffin-shaped, rested against one wall. It held a pair of long-decayed cats and a lot of general clutter. A refrigerator, one of the small ones, stood on a counter. More important were the states of the microscopes against the wall, the delicate equipment required to analyse the sickness within cells.
Hmm.
He would need better equipment, eventually.
Wesker looked around at the counters, at the sink in the corner.
There was promise all around him.
And now?
The outside wall was recently encouraged to fall in one place along the outside of the building. It caused some damage to the roof, but Wesker made adjustments to be sure the rain wouldn't eat the place away.
The building was much harder to navigate, and the entrances more effectively blocked. It wouldn't stop a wrecking team, but really, who would go to such effort for him?
The surfaces of the basement are now pristine. Lamps hang from the walls, powered by the soundproofed generator. Supplies raided from the pharmacy are neatly labelled and arranged.
Wesker sits on the refrigerator, casually stripping down a length of tubing with one hand. Gauze is tucked into his bent elbow. His rapid healing and metabolism will help him recover, soon enough. His blood is good as an emergency healing source for vampires. Best to stockpile it before he turns.
He's smiling.
Life is good. Death will be better.