For the past few years, Chris has been tracking leads. He's followed the money, he's checked every company that looks vaguely suspicious, he's scoured what seems like every inch of the known world.
And all it's gotten him are a few victories and leads that led nowhere.
He'd gotten wind of something going down here. Nothing concrete, but... whispers. About a man named Stanton Norbert. And about a man who always wears sunglasses.
It's gotten too crowded. Too many people, and God knows if any of them are sane any more. (Norbert's definitely not. Hell, he's not even human.)
Chris ducks into a slot canyon, parka hood pulled up against the wind. His boots crunch in the snow. Every step sounds like a bag of chips being crushed.
Joe-from-maintenance doesn't know this, because he doesn't actually exist; he's Chris' cover while interacting with what is, after all, a diverse group of workers dragged from everywhere to put together a small, secure base.
There are some workers around him, moving purposefully down towards the canyon mouth, tools in hand. There's a crowbar, a hammer. . . a cup of coffee. Anyway, as one they part around him, as though expecting him to fall in. And then, as one man, they stop; and as one, their heads turn to look at him.
Were Leon here, this'd be the point that the magnum would be broken out. And heads would be exploding.
But this is Chris. Let's get serious.
He starts backing up, hands held up in a placating manner. "Uh, hi, guys! Why're you doing that? Woah, hey!" He ducks at the coffee cup whizzes by where his head was a moment before.
"Bob! Jesus. Is this because I didn't get that gum off your desk fast enough?" It's this point that Chris goes for the gun in his shoulder holster.
And this is when Wesker lopes by, taking out a plaga host in passing with an elbow to the head. He's not going top speed here; it's too icy. He glances sideways at Chris and keeps moving, ducking down a slice cut in the side of the canyon to allow a ladder and starting up it.
He's disinterested in combat for two reasons. One, he's learned what happens when he stops taking his eye off the major problem to deal with Chris (and vice versa.) Two, he was being followed and he doesn't have time to play.
Especially since the host he decapitated is starting to sprout orange tentacles and an eye. Going for the head is a well-ingrained combat instinct, but sometimes it betrays him.
Comments 85
For the past few years, Chris has been tracking leads. He's followed the money, he's checked every company that looks vaguely suspicious, he's scoured what seems like every inch of the known world.
And all it's gotten him are a few victories and leads that led nowhere.
He'd gotten wind of something going down here. Nothing concrete, but... whispers. About a man named Stanton Norbert. And about a man who always wears sunglasses.
It's gotten too crowded. Too many people, and God knows if any of them are sane any more. (Norbert's definitely not. Hell, he's not even human.)
Chris ducks into a slot canyon, parka hood pulled up against the wind. His boots crunch in the snow. Every step sounds like a bag of chips being crushed.
It's not going to be one of Chris's better days.
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Joe-from-maintenance doesn't know this, because he doesn't actually exist; he's Chris' cover while interacting with what is, after all, a diverse group of workers dragged from everywhere to put together a small, secure base.
There are some workers around him, moving purposefully down towards the canyon mouth, tools in hand. There's a crowbar, a hammer. . . a cup of coffee. Anyway, as one they part around him, as though expecting him to fall in. And then, as one man, they stop; and as one, their heads turn to look at him.
And then they start to advance, weapons raised.
(Yes, even the coffee cup.)
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But this is Chris. Let's get serious.
He starts backing up, hands held up in a placating manner. "Uh, hi, guys! Why're you doing that? Woah, hey!" He ducks at the coffee cup whizzes by where his head was a moment before.
"Bob! Jesus. Is this because I didn't get that gum off your desk fast enough?" It's this point that Chris goes for the gun in his shoulder holster.
Reply
And this is when Wesker lopes by, taking out a plaga host in passing with an elbow to the head. He's not going top speed here; it's too icy. He glances sideways at Chris and keeps moving, ducking down a slice cut in the side of the canyon to allow a ladder and starting up it.
He's disinterested in combat for two reasons. One, he's learned what happens when he stops taking his eye off the major problem to deal with Chris (and vice versa.) Two, he was being followed and he doesn't have time to play.
Especially since the host he decapitated is starting to sprout orange tentacles and an eye. Going for the head is a well-ingrained combat instinct, but sometimes it betrays him.
Reply
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