“I’ll touch whatever the fuck I want” Shirogane answered, continuing to frisk the shelves, shoving files off and letting the papers fall on the ground in messy piles. There was no medic first aid, but there’s some duct tape– probably for all the faulty wiring. He could– somehow– make do with that. It didn’t need to be clean, it just needed to stop him from leaving a trail of blood after him. The creatures outside were like sharks– and he couldn’t afford to be struck down, defeated by sheer numbers.
Just Chris then? Somewhat a relief then. He takes the roll of tape and sits down on of the rusty chairs. The tips of the fingers of his right hand were starting to tingle painfully, making it difficult to attempt to pull a strip of tape out from the roll. He tries to move his fingers instead, and sure enough, movement was halted. He frowns at this revelation, before looking up at Redfield, regarding him warily.
“I was sent here, same as you” he says, leaning back on the chair and letting his injured arm hang loosely down, black blood dripping down finger tips to form muddy puddles on the dirty floor. He didn’t get to pick where he would go, he was given orders and he had to fulfill them. Not much different from Redfield, he thinks, but the thought is far from comforting. He looks up, tilting his head back further, exposing his neck, before stating matter-of-factly: “My shoulder’s dislocated. I guess that puts you in charge”.
He could ask for Redfield’s help ( I’ll walk you through it– how to set it back in it’s place ) but for some reason, the suggestion wouldn’t get past his teeth. Between being at the mercy of heartless monsters and offering to team up with Redfield, he really couldn’t figure out which was worse.
“You should leave while you can” he continues, still speaking as though stating harmless facts, perhaps even discussing the weather. “It’s only a matter of time till they figure out I’m here” and he gestures vaguely with his good hand– still holding the duct tape– from the black blood pooling at his side to the trail from the barricaded door and beyond.
This wasn’t going to work.
“Let them come.” Chris said. His tone was harsh and cold, quite unusual to him. His eyes glanced momentarily at the barricaded door before he walked towards Shirogane, looking over his injury and arm in an almost diregarding look. The P30 was slowly taking over him, pumping at a whopping 93% due to the friendly welcoming making Chris all less himself and more what he was shaped to be. What Wesker wanted him to be.
“I work with those things on a daily basis, I can keep us both safe as long as you stay out of my way.” Chris blinked slowly, his baby blue eyes look at Shirogane in a mixture of peace and coldness. He was fed to these types of B.O.Ws. Thrown in a testing room with them, to fend for himself with the auto-injector ticking on his chest. Tests of adaptivity, instinct, and a form of punishment when Chris was to defy or talk back.
Lately, with how mentally unstable, how unpredictable Wesker has turned, Chris began obeying more often. At the very least he has stopped [literally] spitting in his face.
“Let me fix your shoulder so you can tend to yourself. I have a lot of papers to purge and files to delete before I can leave, but I can protect you, or draw them to myself once the bleeding is suppressed and give you an opening to run for it.”
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