Discover Top Posts Tagged with #metmydeadline

@metmydeadline SENT : sender and receiver sit around a bonfire.

the world keeps going despite its rot. a cool headline in claire's mind, if not for the fact that it describes a reality of life she would rather not witness come to existence. yet what she wants rarely becomes true, hence why she's silently begun to lose all hope - a part of her wanting to believe this trial against umbrella will do some good, bring some justice for those who can't demand of it anymore. her mind rewinds back to the memory of seeing little sherry birkin sitting on the windowsill of her new house while waiting for her new guardian to run med check up on her blood. who's going to give her justice?

"you guys seem more cohesive about this whole thing than us," she says after a while, hand vaguely gesturing at the bonfire in front of them. claire hadn't met any of these survivors during her stint in raccoon city, but is glad they managed to save themselves as well from that hellhole. "mine couldn't come, but say thank you for the invitation."

#answered.#metmydeadline #screaming crying throwing up etc

@metmydeadline gets a starter

It's the off season for Raccoon City. Early Autumn. Midwest. It's either going to be hot outside, or close to freezing. Today the weather chooses to be cold. The wind chill is steep, and the warehouse strike is huddled, smoking, sipping beers, talking shit. The other warehouses in the area are unionized, but not Umbrella's. The union busters are enough to keep it from happening.

It's not just the unions, its the pay, it's the job, it's the hazards. There's no upkeep. No security. Last month a man got his leg smashed under a pallet of diabetes supplies. One pallet. 200,000 diabetic syringes. 50,000 pen caps. 20,000 alcohol pads. 25,000 units of insulin. A couple hundred thousand dollars. Smashed plastics and glass and bent syringes, and leaking insulin, mixing with blood while some 50 year old lay there screaming.

He survived, leg amputated, but he was fired. Can't work anymore. It was a bad move for Umbrella, all around tasteless for most people. People around the work-yard scraped together a couple thousand to gift him and his wife. The strike was a month or so of planning, and Umbrella caught wind of it pretty much the moment it became a thought in some old man's head.

HUNK stands in the crowd. He doesn't stand out. He doesn't stand out anywhere. He looks like every other Eastern European immigrant hired on low income. This time he wears a dusty jean jacket and a worn beige shirt, and swaps his combat boots for more worn down steel-toe boots. The first thing he does is ask one of the men huddled together for a cigarette, and is given one and tossed a lighter. He's given a chance to stand back and watch, wait for his target. He looks around the area, scanning for her, trying to pass it off as just people watching. He smokes. He watches.

#rp #ic #metmydeadline

@metmydeadline

About ten minutes after a .zip file lands in the dropbox Alyssa set up, the phone does ring. It’s not the best quality - probably a disposable flip phone that may not survive past this conversation. The voice on the other end is clear enough, though, and the woman’s voice is confident. Wouldn’t know to listen to her that she’s planning to blow the lid on a long-running BOW outbreak on American soil.

“Hey. I was hoping I’d hear from you quick. You can probably guess you were a front runner for who I’d want to have their hands on this information.” While she talks, Emily sops up egg yolk left on her plate after the majority of her breakfast with a piece of sourdough. This cafe’s a great place to get food, especially early enough that the only people coming in are generally getting their food to go.

But just in case someone does have an ear out, she’ll… be careful how she words things. “You don’t need to worry about a deadline. With the way this is probably going to shake out, it’d actually benefit me to stagger the public reactions a little.”

#on task ;; ic #v: exit strategy (pre-RE8)#metmydeadline

@metmydeadline

(txt): Covert Lebensborn homes around Europe and US funded by Umbrella in the 60es.

(txt): Run by a certain Dr. Wesker.

(txt): See what you can dig up.

#metmydeadline #rubbing my mitts

« ◦ ❝ @metmydeadline › continued.

unstoppable force & immovable object, that's the phrase that always comes to mind when alyssa's endless enthusiasm meets yoko's, well, fortified wall of social self-defense. “ uhh, ” she's gotta take a chisel to it one of these days, unlearn the guiding principles of closing yourself off from other people for some imagined safety.

they've made it out of the city, they're each reaching for new milestones, seizing the morning sun in the cup of their hands. the dog & pony show of state mandated therapy & government ordered financial compensation from umbrella's auditors isn't going to last forever. “ i finally got my degree back, the state senator put in a good word for me. you know, john cherry? ” if anyone is going to know who fills what seat, it's gonna be alyssa.

“ can't imagine why, i'm not really popular. ” yoko makes for a good headline. tissue donor & umbrella employee that's indirectly responsible for the outbreak she survived, now testifying against her former employer in some bit at absolution. pin the tail on the hypocrite, see if it sways the jury in umbrella's direction. “ but, um, anyway... i'm gonna be a data analyst with the federation of pharmaceutical companies. ”

“ that kind of tech work pays really well, & they're in the same boat as me, really, playing defense at the trial. ”

#metmydeadline #« ◦ ❝ 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾 › 2004‚ coming to our senses.