UROBOROS HASIRA

Resident Evil AU/OC Sarah Hawker. Follows back from shardhearted. Semi-active, under construction.

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Now that I have successfully brought the original blog back from the dead, ALL further activity will take place on APEXWORTHY. 

[apex-worthy]

viruxlent‌:

    “ Shh-, don’t look at him, he’s not gonna hurt you. “ Chris cups the side of her face gently and guides her gaze back to him, his stomach knotting when he stares into the unfamiliar, fear-stricken orange.

    “ S-sarah…” He whispers the name again, softer than before. Even the slight way he holds her is apparently painful– he can’t seem to find a single square inch to grasp that isn’t mauled or broken or mutated, and as he studies her in more detail, any shreds of hope he’s still clinging to very rapidly start to slip. He can tell himself and her that everything will be okay, but it won’t. There’s a throbbing ache in his chest and before he can process what he’s doing and stop himself, he’s leaning into her, pressing parted lips to hers, ignoring the coppery tang of blood that hits his tongue as he kisses her deeply.

     “ I love you... ”

Sorrow chokes him, the words lodging in the back of his throat and coming out as little more than a whimper into her mouth. He wishes he’d said that sooner.

Before she can protest again, a violent SHUDDER surges through Hawker’s small frame like a jolt of electricity. Perhaps it is -- she, of course, is unaware, but the entirety of her nervous system is presently being repaired and rewired, even as the body around it dies. This is of little consequence to the viral wickedness hooking its claws into her at the cellular level. It is designed for one purpose -- to enhance, to improve, to EVOLVE. The level of suffering of the host was not considered. 

But she does not know this, and neither does Chris, and the thing balled up against the side of the wreck that put her in this position probably does not either. Instead she lies there, all the strength and most of the blood gone out of her, simultaneously clawing for a better grip on her consciousness and wishing the blessed, numb darkness at the edges of her vision would just make up its mind already and take her. 

She is in the middle of one of these detached waves of half-awareness when Chris kisses her, and it drags her halfway up out of the dark and back into the pain that comes with the effect -- but she does not care. She cannot reply; her chest is full of knives and to inhale is suddenly an impossible effort, but she grips onto his arm with the feeble remains of her strength and hopes it is an adequate and noticeable response. 

[apex-worthy]

viruxlent‌:

The apparent monster waited patiently for a response as his senses adjusted to the welcome darkness and quiet, a slight smirk ghosting his lips as the dark haze gradually cleared and he was greeted with the sight of a gun’s muzzle pointed at his face– looking far too big in the girl’s small hands. He advanced slowly, knowing the weapon was of no consequence.

    “ Don’t be afraid. ”

It took great effort to keep the soft smirk from twisting into a malicious snarl as more of her came into view, recognition sparking in his still-buzzing head. He’d seen her before, though only in the form of a mugshot in Umbrella’s database. With her highly classified status and that bright orange hair that had seemed to jump out of the dreary computer monitor, she was definitely memorable. What was her name again?

TA-82E-21. That was it.

She was the test subject Umbrella had told him to keep a lookout for on his way out of the city. He’d been promised a hefty reward for her recovery of course… but his ties with them were severed, and whatever monetary prize they would have given him was not nearly as appealing as the idea of acquiring this unique specimen for his own use.

As he stepped closer, he noticed how wrong he suddenly felt– vaguely, he was aware of some missing emotional response he knew should be present, and briefly questioned just how much of himself he’d lost and if it was really worth it; but what was more disturbing was that he couldn’t actually bring himself to care about what that answer may have been; in fact, maybe he liked this version of himself better.

With practiced expertise, he donned that usual ‘good guy cop’ facade (which he’d been getting quite sick of the past few years) and halted a few feet away from her, holding his hands up slightly.

    “ I’m just here to help. ”

Her aim did not waver. Some of the other THINGS she’d encountered had looked normal, too, until they’d whirled around and come at her. Granted, none of them had been talking. 

The gun shook in her hands some, but her finger did not leave the trigger. Keep your booger hook off the bang switch unless you’re pointin’ at somethin’ you’re gonna shoot, came an echo of memory. Well, she was going to shoot, unless --

Wait. 

She backed away slightly, the closing distance between them forcing her to for the sake of comfort, but she swore she recognized this one. Not quite in the same way she’d recognized the mailman, or the next door neighbor, or the nice old man who always walked through the neighborhood when all of the above had come at her in that snarling, stumbling charge. This was a more vague sense of familiarity, but she seldom forgot a face. 

“...You’re a cop.” 

She kept her weapon pointed at him still, caught in a strange middle ground between that guy is a monster and don’t point things at the police. When he stopped, it did little to dissuade the former notion, though she also ceased her backward retreat. 

“You look like one of those things back there,” she began warily. “How are you STILL TALKING?”

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detriimentall‌:

@apex-worthy​

He stands there, watching with glassy eyes as the thick crimson fluid drips off his fingers, each ragged inhale he draws filling his brain with the rancid stench of death. Chris has lost count of the lives he’s taken at Wesker’s command. The corpses of slaughtered BSAA soldiers lay completely shredded at his feet– torn apart with the artless savagery of a blood-thirsty beast. 

    That’s exactly what he’s become, what Wesker has turned him into.

    A killer, a murderer, a monster–

    a monster, just like HIM;

   stripped of all free will and made to butcher on command…

The sound of a clicking lock jerks Chris from his barely-coherent haze– light glinting off the metal monstrosity of a mask obscuring his face as he quickly turns his head, the sight of his target entering into the room hijacking every other conscious thought and replacing it with that single-minded drive to carry out orders.

He knows her– though there is no conscious recognition and none of the usual feelings Chris would have associated with the woman in the past, a sense of familiarity flutters in his chest before it’s quickly SMOTHERED by the mind-numbing poison. Chris no longer sees his partner, his beloved– all he sees now is his objective.

The man is a flurry of black and blond as he bolts forward and attacks without offering her barely a moment to assess her surroundings– he’s far too agile for his size; the fast, deliberate strikes are indicative of someone trained to a highly elite level; displaying an almost inhuman amount of stamina and strength as he disarms and incapacitates her all in the span of a few seconds. As usual, the instinct to kill quickly kicks in, and he easily gets her locked in a deadly position that would allow him to sever her spinal cord with just a twist of her head– when suddenly, he freezes. 

   ‘… and show some restraint this time. I need her alive, Christopher. ‘

    “ … ”

The words of warning perforate the blind, murderous fog, overriding the innate desire to shed more blood, and just as he’s about to snap her neck– the muscled arms simply let go.

The lock yields easily -- too easily. Hawker slips her picks back into their pouch, draws her gun, and wills away the shakes as she eases the door open.

THERE’S SOMETHING THERE WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT --

The hot scent of salt and iron hits her, and she doesn’t have time to process it before a dark mass of something slams into her like a freight train. She’s still struggling to comprehend that it’s a PERSON -- it moves far too fast, unnaturally so. There is nothing she can do. 

Her weapon is out of her hands in a blink and by the time she reaches for her knife, that is gone, too. Both fists come up to defend her face too late; a blur connects with the side of her head and a second with the junction of her neck and shoulder, striking a nerve she knows all too well, although the last time she was on the receiving end of that hit, it was in training, and delivered with a fraction of the force. 

Hawker staggers, her body unresponsive to her dazed mind’s demands, and she’s snatched up in a crushing grip before she gets halfway to the floor. Some odd, delirious memory rears up -- something about it is familiar -- before the sudden, impossible pressure and the serial popping in her neck and back drag her attention back to reality. Gloved hands claw weakly at anything they can reach and she struggles with all her might, but it is like being bound in iron. 

The tightness of her attacker’s hold begins to painfully wrench muscles in her neck, and the agent utters a muted, strangled little yelp before it’s choked off -- but then the absolute mountain holding her stops, hesitates, and drops her. 

She collapses, legs still weak from the stunning barrage, and lies there a moment as she desperately tries to re-cage her vestibular senses. 

“Who the fffuck---?!”

Hawker pulls one leg under her and stumbles, left arm raised instinctively over her head in a desperate effort to defend herself against any subsequent incoming blows. Whoever, whatever this is, it is beyond her capability to fight alone, and FLIGHT has usurped FIGHT on her instinctive list of priorities. The moment she feels she’s able to stand, she does -- and, still shielding her head, takes off in a FULL SPRINT back toward the door. 

[shardhearted]

i’m alive, i promise. i guess this whole tumblr purge has been really discouraging and as a result i’ve taken a majority of my threads elsewhere. i’m not going to shut down the blogs, but at the moment i’m really not inclined to put a lot of work into their (re)construction. 

i’m just gonna see if/when all this blows over, otherwise i might be looking for a new blog platform. but until then, i’m still here, but also still on a hiatus. sorry, peeps. 

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i think i’m gonna switch up how i do my verses, since hawker’s story is largely unchanged until the end of RE5. it’s gonna be either timelines or chapters until there, and then turn into AUs when it gets into ‘alternate ending’ territory, i.e. ‘Lived Long Enough to Become the Monster.’

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detriimentall‌:

Chris lets the gown drop back over her mutilated leg and opens his mouth automatically to answer– the story Albert had invented for her playing clearly in his mind like a recording as he recites the words exactly as they had been said to him.

    “… As we understand it, from the logs and communiques we intercepted, your team was never supposed to make it back… the mission was a setup. They knew full well the ambush would eliminate you– they were merely using expendable infantry to test the degree of danger for a future assault. ” 

The rather simple explanation hangs heavily in the air; they are only repeated words to Chris, but the implications go so much deeper. 

    They sent you to die. You are worthless.

That is exactly what Wesker wants her to believe.

The change in tone, in articulation, does not escape her. Her mind is sharpening by the minute and this is a wild shift from his previous near-mute interaction, and something about it makes the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. 

For now, though, she is in no condition for conflict. Hawker grimaces as she tries to ease herself up onto an elbow, in order to better take in her surroundings. 

It takes a few seconds for what he’s telling her to sink in, and when it does she visibly shivers. 

“No,” she replies, almost inaudibly. “No, they’d never...”

Dark eyes fix on Chris with a renewed intensity -- with DESPERATION. She’s looking for anything, a twitch or a glance, that would suggest he’s bullshitting her, though she struggles to come up with a reasonable motive for doing so in the first place. 

“...That’s not how the BSAA operates,” she says finally, swallowing hard. “Are you sure that what you intercepted wasn’t...?” Hawker struggles to find the word.

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viruxlent‌:

    “ Good. Dismis– ” he only manages to get the word halfway out before an abrupt convulsion sends him REELING forward, a hand darting to cover his mouth out of pure reflex as his stomach lurches violently– before he can even register what’s was going on, thick fluid rises into his mouth and spills forcefully into his palm, flowing between his fingers and splattering at his feet.

Time seems to slow as he stares in sickening disgust and shock at the clots of blood staining the black leather, the outline of his hand starting to blur out of focus as he lifts his head and sends an incredulous glance to Hawker, who’s rapidly fading into a sea of murky red as the poison spreads through his network of veins and arteries like FIRE– knees buckling as he doubles over as wrenches– more dark crimson fluid hitting the floor with gross, wet splats.

     “ Y-you… f-fucking BITCH– ” He barely manages to form coherent words through the violent nausea, spitting blood and choking pitifully on every syllable. Even though his head is spinning with pain, he recognizes the reaction to having his drugs tampered with, and a venomous, snarling glare immediately turns on her.

    “ W-what d-did you DO?! ” Albert lunges, arms flailing out toward her with the intent to MAUL… when suddenly she isn’t where she was a second ago and he ends up crashing right onto his face, laying still for a long moment in utter shock as his muddled brain tries to process what just happened, because she couldn’t have just moved that fast...

He forces his aching body back upright on sheer, defiant will, and takes another swing at her– everything blurring as he suddenly becomes acutely aware of a strange, disorienting disconnect between his intended speed and how fast he’s actually moving; which he finally realizes is horrifyingly SLOW.

    “ GH!! ” Wesker hits the floor again before he can even brace himself for the impact, roaring in frustration as he shifts to his hands and knees, bringing unsoiled fingers to his eyes and rubbing hard– trying futilely to ease away the intense dizziness that has his vision displacing and rotating the outline of everything he looks at. A flurry of hateful, angry thoughts cloud his already hazy mind as he fumbles blindly around his belt for the remote that controls that disobedient little shit’s P30 implant.

It happens far quicker than she expects. His demeanor goes from his usual soft condescension to panicked RAGE, and by the time he looks up she’s already backing away. This is the part she did not, could not plan for, because she didn’t know what to expect. 

He hits the floor and she retreats almost to the doorway, tense and ready to bolt, but some morbid, sadistic thing in her keeps her there. She wants to see how this ends, to see the cause of her own suffering atone for his sins. Something MALICIOUS surfaces in Sarah Hawker now, while the tables have turned in her favor, and the expression on her face is somewhere between teeth bared in fear aggression and a wicked grin. 

He takes another swipe at her and goes down a second time, and instead of turning and bolting like she knows she should she circles him. 

“You thought you were in control, huh?” she taunts quietly, watching with a cold sort of interest as he writhes and groans on the floor. She remains out of arm’s reach; she assumes he still retains the strength to hurt her if he makes contact, but she recognizes that delirious, UNCALIBRATED movement when she sees it. She’s been there herself. 

She knows what he’s reaching for -- and she’s surprised he still has the wherewithal to do it. No matter. Hawker is on him in a single step, delivering a swift, brutal, and still half serum-enhanced kick to his side meant to roll him over. Once she gets him fully on the floor, she figures, she can get the remote away from him if she’s quick. 

“How’s it feel, you son of a bitch?”

[biohazardml]

RESIDENT EVIL DIRECTORY.     this  is  for  everything  resident  evil:    the  games,   the  movies,  original  characters,  multi-muses,   anyone  with  verses.     make  sure  to  add  your  character(s)  in  the  tags  and  if  they’re  canon,  original  character  or  a  verse  or  you  won’t  be  added.

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viruxlent‌:

    “ That’s right, come on, I gotcha. ” Chris murmurs, keeping his fingers outstretched encouragingly as she inches forward; curling his arm around her as soon as she’s near enough and guiding her back out of the tight space into the warm, open air. Soft hazels are all misty as they gaze down at the bloodied face, struggling to support her weight without putting pressure on the gruesome injures– gripping the torn harness tightly in case she decides to collapse. 

     “ Sarah… ” The name is whispered mournfully, almost inaudibly. She’s not DEAD yet– but as an infected, he knows she might as well be.  “ A chopper is coming, you’re gonna be okay. ” he forces a smile, hoping she’s more convinced of that than he is.

– the sudden movements prompt Wesker to tilt his head toward the two, instinctively trying to attack when he sees the familiar ginger mane emerge from the wreck– though the attempt is nothing more than a pathetic flinch as his exhausted muscles absolutely refuse to work properly; a weak growl being all he can manage, predatory red eyes narrowing on her without focus.

It HURTS. 

Hawker utters a breathless yelp of pain when he picks her up, the movement grinding broken bones and lacerated flesh together. But it’s him -- to her increasingly clouded mind, he is safety, and the denial of her impending death takes hold once again. 

Her mostly-undamaged left hand grips weakly at him, whatever she can reach, and she chokes on his name when she tries to speak. There is blood welling up in her lungs and she squirms in feeble protest of the way she’s being held, turning her head to the side in an effort to spit and cough her airway clear, and that is when the one dull gleaming eye that is still open locks with glaring reds. 

She FREEZES, knowing she cannot get to her feet and run. She doubts she even has the strength to lift her good arm if he comes at her. Instead, she squeezes an arm urgently, and manages to rasp --

“CHRIS --”

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viruxlent‌:

Chris suddenly wants to just double over and heave, the anxiety evaporating into dread and panic as his worst fear comes to realization right in front of him. It’s not the horrible injuries– he’s USED to seeing far worse– it’s the inhuman, INFECTED eyes staring back at him from the darkness that makes his heart jump into his throat. The thought of her fallen victim to one of those horrific diseases– of ending up like Albert– had always been something he KNEW he wouldn’t be able to handle. 

He’s frozen for a good several seconds before he can find the voice to respond, pushing every other thought as far down as they would go and just trying to focus on this single situation. He’ll figure it all out later… he’ll figure it out.

    “ He can’t do anything to you, I promise. Please trust me. ”

Hawker struggles to comprehend his words. She’s DELIRIOUS; his voice sounds distant despite the few feet between them and he might as well be speaking a foreign language, the way she has to piece together and decode his syllables. But she does, eventually, and whimpers in protest. Her right side and back feel like they’re full of broken glass; shattered bones and torn flesh are only partially masked by what’s left of her light body armor and it is agony to move. Only sheer instinct, some PRIMAL URGE to protect herself, as would an injured animal fleeing a predator, had overcome the pain enough to enable one last adrenaline-fueled evasion in the form of crawling into her dark refuge of twisted metal. Now, the dark seems a whole lot safer than the light, and even though he is there, she is not inclined to move. 

She coughs again, the noise a labored and painful-sounding thing, and chokes as she spits aside the same dark crimson that has run from her nose and eyes. There was a point, out there, where she realized she is DYING -- and some bizarre delusion has her convinced that if she does not leave the shelter of what remains of the bomber, she does not have to face this inevitability. 

Trust me. Maybe it’s what Chris says -- more likely, how he says it -- that triggers something in her, a familiar memory, and at least for the moment her one-track mind seizes hold of it. The sound of him is comforting, and at last she makes an effort to move toward him. It isn’t much; only her left arm is really still intact and the repeated jostling of her broken back is quickly costing her the use of her legs. None of that matters, though. 

I need him. If I get to him, this all goes away ---

[apex-worthy]

viruxlent‌:

His face goes blank for a second before he giggles–

“ … yeah its a verrry special kind of GUN, you could say… ”

“Special?

-- As in... .38 Special? Chris, you know me.”

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viruxlent‌:

“ Oh but I ain’t an amateur where it counts, baby… ”

“ …ssspeaking of which, Santa left a nice big present for you t’ unwrap… ”

“You’re right. Your bench form is flawless.”

-- He’s fun to mess with when he’s drunk. 

“Is it a new gun? God, I hope it’s a new gun. I’ve wanted that XVR 460 for months.”

[apex-worthy]

viruxlent‌:

“ HO HO MOTHERFUCKERS IT’S NOON AND I’M ALREADY WASTED ”

“It took you until noon?

-- AMATEUR.”

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viruxlent‌:

ARROGANCE had always been the man’s biggest weakness ( literally no surprise to anyone that ever had the misfortune of being around him for more than five seconds ), and no matter how many times his utterly inflated self-assurance felled him, caused him increasingly more fatal and perfectly avoidable fuck-ups, he simply couldn’t seem to accept that maybe he wasn’t as perfect as he liked to think he was– because how could Albert Wesker be flawed? He was not. He refused to BELIEVE in such a possibility.

Pale reds flickered to the side– along with his entire head, actually– avoiding the sharp tip of the needle in the same manner a squeamish child would. 

    “ Hnh “ he grunted in response, curling his hand into a fist and struggling to keep any sort of TREMBLING out of the limb.

It was everything Hawker could do to keep even the minutest GRIN from disrupting that stoic mask -- not because her plan was so tantalizingly close to fruition (that, if she were to be perfectly honest, had her more nervous than anything), but because this was the only time she ever got to see this ABSOLUTE NIGHTMARE of a person, this sadistic, domineering, ARROGANT self-professed GOD, be made to cower. 

Even so, it was only a small comfort; as much as he cringed and averted his gaze at the sight of a needle, she knew full well that if he decided to he could strike out and feasibly KILL her, and that would be that. 

All the more reason to do this quickly. 

She didn’t even brace him with a count -- he could not flinch, not when the delivery of the dose was so unmeasurably crucial. 

Aim, press, CLICK. Doctor or not, Hawker had this down to a science now, and she’d both administered the injection and retreated out of reach once more in the space of no more than four seconds. 

“Done.”

[apex-worthy]

viruxlent‌:

Albert was still a bit fuzzy-headed as he was nudged up to the large window overlooking the quarantine bay, arms crossed tightly over his chest and still struggling to make out much of anything in the intense light… Chris had dragged him out of his cell half-asleep and asked him to help identify some MASSIVE hell-beast of a creature that the BSAA have captured, and from the brief description he was given, it didn’t sound like any kind of mutation he’d encountered before.

Immediately he felt like something was CRUSHING his lungs, the familiar, horrible burn of anxiety and panic settling in his stomach at just the mere sight of the beat-up cage, the presence of a dozen lab-coated scientists huddled nearby, staring at him mistrustfully, the blinding white STERILITY of everything, and the awful screeching sound the creature was making (though only Albert seemed to be able to hear it through the soundproof glass)… innumerable guns and sniper’s lasers were set on it, and he was starting to feel absolutely sick and overwhelmed– the shamefully immature urge to just throw a tantrum and outright refuse to cooperate growing stronger by the second.

He did heavily consider it for a long while, knowing it wouldn’t make much of a difference to damage whatever small amount of DIGNITY he had left…. before he gazed around and noticed that everyone was deathly quiet for some reason…

The beast KNEW what those dancing red dots were outside her enclosure, knew that the silence and white emptiness beyond the suddenly more appealing dark of the containment unit were BAD; something visceral held her in place like a physical force. Perhaps it was memory, perhaps instinct, perhaps both. 

Quiet voices outside the container drew her attention off the opening momentarily, and something touched a scaled flank. A gentle prod, nothing more, meant to encourage her to leave the container -- but it was enough to provoke her, and with a murderous snarl the creature contorted its massive body around and SNAPPED the metal rod between rows of dagger teeth, prompting a flurry of activity and muffled obscenities from the other side. 

She was a creature of the dark, and would have to be strongly convinced to venture out into blinding openness. 

In the observation room, whispers arose again: Maybe if they feed it? -- What does it eat? -- What do you think it eats, numb nuts? -- They said they found it eating a--

As if on cue, an access door beneath the observation room, yet some twenty feet from the floor of the room, opened with a noticeable thump and bang. Inside the container, the creature slithered around once more to fix all ten of those baleful red-orange eyes on the source of the noise, and several seconds passed before something hit the floor with a heavy, vaguely wet THUMP. 

“It’s a fuckin’ cow,” one of the whitecoats murmured incredulously, peering downward. 

The bribe, evidently, was not accepted -- not yet. The beast in the box edged forward, allowing only the very end of a vaguely reptilian, black snout to protrude into the light enough to be recognized. SNIFFING, she fought the ravenous instinct that pushed her forward, desperately wanting to pounce on the tantalizing corpse and tear into it. The light, though -- the light hurt her eyes, and with a distinctly DISGRUNTLED sort of growl, the captured monster merely sat in its refuge of shadow, stared at the carcass, and salivated. 

[apex-worthy]

viruxlent‌:

     “ Jesus– ”  

The sounds startles him– the beam of light twitching violently and almost falling out his grip as he jumps.

    “ Sarah, it’s me, Chris! You’re safe now, everything’s gonna be fine… ” Chris somehow manages to keep his voice relatively steady under the rising ANXIETY as he looks around at all the blood, taking a quick glance backwards at the target of her insult crumpled uselessly against the side of the plane, staring dazedly at nothing.

    “ It’s okay… ”

He swallows hard and holds a hand out, urging her to come toward him.

She stares at him, wide-eyed, and the sudden barrage of light to dilated pupils returns an unnatural  glint. It’s something that belongs in an animal’s eyes, an orange-yellow hue, and it’s gone as quick as it appears when she turns her face away. 

Hawker is still for a few seconds, the labored rasp of her breathing apparent in the confined space, as her body goes rigid with the fresh wave of pain activated by the fall and impact. When it begins to recede she lifts her head again, squinting against the flashlight beam and granting Chris a too-clear look at a face savagely lacerated on one side, with the white gleam of bone and teeth showing through in places it should not. 

“He’s...not...DEAD,” the pilot gasps, a certain tone of desperation finding its way into the grating noise to which her voice has been reduced. “Out...there...somewhere...”

How could she possibly know that the MAD NIGHTMARE which had done this to her, and driven her into this cramped space, still remained mere feet away, separated from her only by thin metal?