tampered | (no subject)

(no subject)

When; This evening.
Rating; It depends; it could range from PG to R. Be warned.
Characters; Starting with Albert Wesker

viralexchange, the Doc

madsciencekink, the Captain

wolfsmercy, Tubalcain Alhambra

dandy_indeed, and the Major

warconductor . Others could be added.
Summary; Wesker meets with the Doctor; it's a log in process.
Log;

It was a slightly chilled evening and whether that was due to his own molecular composition or outside forces, he wasn't sure. It didn't bother him too much, however, though he did make note to button up the front of his cloth trench-coat. On a side note, he mentally remembered why he had dressed the way he had. He figured presentation was key in this whole affair and dressing to the dot would make some sort of impression. And if said impression would give him some sort of power in this backwater little city, he didn't mind putting more effort than usual into his appearance. Plus, power was something he was willing to flaunt his tail-feathers for anyway.

Under his arm was a leather-bound journal, full of the documents he had absconded with during the "Mansion Incident." It had detailed notes about the T-Virus and its manipulation to create such things as Lisa Trevor, the MA-121 products, Cerberus, and of course, the Tyrant. The individual he had spoken to seemed terribly interested in that sort of thing, so why not send his saliva glands wild? He knew how scientists worked, especially those incredibly obsessed with a certain goal - Birkin had been the same before his death and anything pertaining to his interests admitted a certain "drool" factor to the young man. Hopefully, Albert's hypothesis would apply to this "Doc" fellow as well. Hopefully.

Wesker adjusted his shades and eyed the skies for the zeppelin. It was in plain sight. However, as he waited, he became terribly curious as to who was going to escort him to the aircraft.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"No scientist should ever apologize for curiosity," Doc reproved. "We still have the trappings of affiliation to the Party." It didn't really matter. Doc didn't serve the National Socialist Party. He served the Major and his goals. He was their Führer.

Twenty-seven years. Another piece of data to be filed away with all the other very interesting things Wesker had been sharing.

He watched the reveal and beamed at what Wesker showed him. The eyes. Fascinating. He leaned closer, examining, looking from the eyes to the man's skin, mouth, visible pulse points, hair.

"Ausgeseichnet." Wonderful. "The Tyrant, then? Tell me more. Tell me everything."

"I am a Tyrant - a product of Doctor William Birkin's work. He is long dead, though." Ah, that was what he was looking for. Someone who wasn't afraid, someone who appreciated what he and Birkin had worked so hard to make. It was a wonderful feeling.

"I was killed be the T-002, the one in the data files. I let the beast attack me, knowing full and well that I was injected with the virus that Birkin synthesized for me - I am the first generation Tyrant to be able to think, act, and work as I did as a human. I am glad you like our work."

He smiled, showing off his pearly whites. "I am infected with the virus, but do not fret - you cannot catch it unless you happen to digest some of my blood. Even then, we do have a cure."

"Can I get a sample?" Avarice, curiosity, need showed naked on the scientist's face. Something new. Something immediate. Better to have a cooperative subject and Wesker was being so cooperative so far. He would ask before he tried to take.

To this, Wesker frowned slightly. The only person who ever got a sample of his blood was Birkin, and even then it had been when he was human. But the Doc was a curious man and he needed some people on his side. So, despite his cautious nature, he extended his arm.

"Do make sure it does not get out of this laboratory - I do not want to have an anti-virus made to try to use against me to kill me."

"Never," Doc assured him, bustling to retrieve blood collection implements, snap on gloves, and return to swab the man's arm. "We value secrets here. There will be no anti-virus to mar the magnificent work I see in front of me."

No anti-virus save the one that Doc would work on for Millennium's use, but there would be no need to bother anyone with that so long as Wesker remained as cooperative as he was now.

"And I must see how your virus can be used with my own work. A scientist can never rest on his laurels."

Wesker remained still, his eyes blaring now. It seemed part of him wanted to get away, but he stayed perfectly still as the Doc took his sample.

"Consider this an act in trust, Doc. I find your organization useful and much like my former corporation. I find your results fascinating and I believe an alliance with you would be useful. But do heed my warning; an anti-virus or any control mechanism that can be used on me will result in severe consequences and that, dear heart, is no jest."

Blood flowed into the collection tube to be exchanged for a second tube before Doc withdrew the needle from the man's arm. He didn't bother with a cotton ball or bandage for the pinprick. That would impede his ability to watch the subject's - Wesker's physical response to the minor wound.

"Of course, of course. An anti-virus would be tantamount to an act of war." Doc said it with a straight face, easily done when so much of his attention was on the crook of Wesker's elbow. Millennium's goal was war, but not with this man. Not now.

"But I think we will find our paths parallel, so there is no need for such things, is there?"

The small pin-prick was gone in a matter of seconds. Ah, the wonders of the T-Virus. Wesker had merely forgotten how quickly he healed.

"And I would rather not go to war. And trust me, I am far better suited on your side."

The Tyrant smiled and pushed his sleeve back down.

Doc took the precious samples. One to be frozen for later use, another to have a droplet withdrawn to be placed under the microscope. So much to do. So much to learn. So many possibilities. It was a chore, now, to remember the niceties of interacting with someone other than a test subject.

"I agree," he said, trying not to sound too absent. "You have already brought us something priceless." Quid pro quo, right? "What are you hoping to get from Millennium?"

"Mn. We'll see what your Major would want from me first before I start listing off demands. However-" He replaced his shades. "A place to reside in without fear of having my own test subjects or myself bothered would be wonderful." He made a gesture, by looking around the area. "And you have such an expansive area for a man like me to prowl in."

Albert slipped the lab coat off and pulled his trench coat into his grasp. "I wouldn't mind ammunition on occasion, though, I bet I could find something to fill my Lugers."

He slipped his sleeves into the jacket and pulled out his gloves.

"We shall see what happens when I talk to your superior. Who knows - this may be the last time we speak, Doc. Or maybe not.."

He shoved a hand into his pocket removed a pocket watch. Pressing a button on the side, he checked the time.

"Still listening, Major? I would like to make a request to see you in five minutes. Would that do you well?"

"Of course," the disembodied voice said. "If the professor can spare you."

Doc was already flicking through his glasses' lenses and leaning toward the eyepieces of his microscope. He waved a hand. "Yes, of course, Major. Thank you, Herr Wesker, it has been a pleasure."

"Quite the pleasure." Albert purred again as he popped the collar to his coat. "Good evening, Doctor."

He paused in the door frame. "Before I go, I should probably ask where it is I am supposed to go."

"Alhambra or one of the others will escort you. We wouldn't want you getting lost." The Deus Ex Machina II was enormous, after all. It sounded nicer than the obvious security concerns. Didn't it?

Whatever. Doc was already getting drawn back into the microscopic world.

"Indeed." Wesker snorted as he slithered into the hallway and awaited his escort. He felt like he was being passed around and, in truth, it was slightly like that. But he didn't mind much - he was a man of patience after all. As long as he got what he want, he would stay as long as he needed to or as long as he guests wanted him around.

Alhambra straightened himself up, took off his hat, and bowed. "I'll take you to the interior. The Captain has business elsewhere and is... not much of a talker."

Wesker followed in behind Alhambra. "Whatever makes the group more comfortable. Lead the way, sir."

The Dandy replaced his hat and motioned for Wesker to follow him. "The Doctor told you what I am, then?"

Albert arched a brow. "Indeed, he did. Why, does it bother you?"

Tublicain laughed. "Not at all. I was just curious as to how... open you were to the supernatural."

The Tyrant made a noise at the back of his throat. "I'm open to anything; trust me, while I may have not seen such things as vampires and what have you, I have seen plenty in my life time to turn even the most sane minds numb."

Tublicain laughed and held up his hands. Cards appeared out from behind his arms, flying through the air between his two hands. He selected one and handed it to Wesker before turning and bowing, indicating the door. "The Major's waiting."

_{[[OOC: It's a joker]]}

The card was eyed and pocketed. An odd fellow, but if the card was supposed to be mocking his intellect, Albert Wesker could only scoff. Though, he figured it to have some deeper meaning - if the Doc and the Major were working with such childish hosts, then he had made a grave mistake indeed. He hoped this fellow was far more sophisticated than that - he did hate people who tried to put on some sort of act.

But he said nothing to his companion nor did he make any gesture towards the card that was easily visible. Instead, he just slipped through the door and sighed; he was starting to get a royal headache all of a sudden. Perhaps a meal would do after he concluded business.

"That will be all Tublicain," the Major said from his command chair.

The Major's command room consisted almost entirely of one thing. Monitors. Banks and banks of monitors, all full of information, ever changing, ever shifting. Some of it real, some of it a blind. Maps, readouts, the flow of the network.

Lots of information. And one monitor, a map with lines being drawn over it. The Major placed his stylus on the table next to a cup of coca, swiveled the chair around, and smiled. "Guten tag, Herr Wesker."

All the monitors, all the maps, readouts - everything looked just like his complex back home. He had almost the exact set-up the Major had and that just caused him to mentally chuckle. Oh, how odd things were in this city - it seemed, everywhere he went, either family history was biting at his heels or his own mannerisms were being reflected back to him from one citizen or another; first the Doc, now the Major. He would have to have a long conversation with a bottle of brandy when he returned to the depths of the warehouse. There were many things to think about, but not now.

"Guten Tag, Herr Major." Wesker made sure to shut the door behind him as he padded inside. His heels clattered softly against the floor as he gave room between himself and the man seated in the chair. "I do hope this is a good time."