Albert Wesker (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
manufactured) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
recolle2017-10-04 09:13 pm
manufactured) wrote in recolle2017-10-04 09:13 pm
[OPEN] There is a dream inside a dream
WHO: Albert Wesker, whomever chooses to join him (presumably you!)
WHERE: Various
WHEN: Throughout October
WHAT: Nightmares and fog, featuring reunions with "friends."
WARNINGS: Violence, murder, child abuse, a basement full of corpses, medical experimentation, tentacles just goddamn everywhere, body horror, a veritable ball of leeches, other delightful things one would expect from the Resident Evil villain's memories? There is a blanket warning for "this is gonna suck" over this whole thing, though the child abuse warning is only relevant for those who pursue the Spencer prompt; the rest are clear of that sort of thing.
[NIGHTMARE – OSWELL E. SPENCER]
( cw: violence, murder, child abuse, a basement full of corpses )
[The mansion you find yourself in is large.
It seems like it used to be opulent once. You're standing in a foyer that held some sense of grandeur to it but now seems to have fallen into disrepair, and the long arching staircase greeting you dead-center is crumbling in several places. The massive chandelier which once hung above the center of the room seems to have crashed down at some point long ago, lying broken on the glossy marble floor, all shattered crystal and twisted metal and lengths of chain; it seems a bit of a visual nonsequitur – nothing overly important outside of the fact that there was a chandelier hanging in this room, and something sent it crashing down – but as you walk past it, you can see slight movememt beneath it out of the corner of your eye, something tense and slow and pained, almost as though there's something pinned down underneath it.
You probably don't want to know what's pinned down underneath it.
Watch your step as you're moving upstairs, though it does seem you want to move upstairs; you don't know why, seeing as everything is in disrepair and that includes the staircase itself and the exposed hallways leading in either direction off of it, but sometimes dreams are just like that. Aren't they? You move and you move and there's no real reason behind any of it – it's all a little nonsensical, a little surreal, and it seems this one isn't going to be any different.
A door down one of those hallways is lying slightly ajar; pressing on it will get it to swing open easily. However, if you reach out to do so, a voice can be heard from inside; it seems to belong to a man, though it's high-pitched and cracked and withered with age, but either way the words that are spoken seem to be aimed, somehow, at you.]
...You came back...
[Proceed?]
[NIGHTMARE – WILLIAM BIRKIN]
( cw: medical experimentation )
[It feels almost like it's the end of the world.
The place you're in is dark, all steel and concrete, with the oppressive air of something that's far underground; maybe a bunker, maybe a facility of some sort, definitely somewhere that you aren't supposed to be. The hallway you're in is long, dimly-lit with fluorescent lights that seem to flicker and dance in and out of existence despite how strong the walls in this place seem to be.
It's silent. And then, suddenly it's not.
The sound starts up quiet but soon builds immensely, a sharp wail, a moan, undercut with a chilling rasp that sounds almost like a death rattle. A series of loud banging noises that may or may not be restraints against a metal table. All of it emanates from somewhere just around a bend in the hallway, behind a door that's just out of sight from where you're standing but comes quickly into view if you move toward it.
Before you can open it, the sound starts up again, the screech, the keening noise, something that sounds undeniably like death; there are voices, too, beneath it, a pair of people speaking without paying any mind to the cacophony that surely must be happening near them.
If you listen long enough before opening the door, it sounds almost like whomever is making those ungodly sounds is screaming for their mother.]
[NIGHTMARE – EXCELLA GIONNE]
( cw: violence, some degree of body horror, tentacles just goddamn everywhere )
[The stars above are beautiful, constellations in full view; it's almost enough to make you disregard how very cold it is tonight. There's the soft sway of a ship's movement beneath your feet as it cuts through choppy seas, the metallic sound of a tanker's deck reverberating underneath your every step; despite the amount of work it must require to keep a massive ship like this running smoothly at sea, there don't seem to be any actual people on board – it seems that you're alone, and you're empty-handed, and the only indication of whom this ship might belong to is a logo that's present here and there on the metal walls you pass that ultimately doesn't seem to mean anything.
As you make your way to the bow of the ship, a voice sounds out – distorted, unrecognizable for all the static obscuring it as the ship's public-address system relays it through the night air; the words are difficult to make out, but you can surely hear a few.
"But it's too late for you...you won't live to see – "
"Sorry, Excella, but it seems – "
"...One last task for you."
"Farewell, old friend."
In the distance, a woman screams. And something massive seems to connect, then, hard enough to rock the ship, to dip it down hard from the center.
Perhaps you move forward to the bow of the ship to find the source of the screaming – after all, it sounds as though she's really suffering, wherever she is. Or perhaps you choose to stay put to see what happens; there's no sense in rushing into a dangerous situation. Or perhaps you do the reasonable-person thing and try to run from it all, because whatever just happened on deck is large enough to fuck with the boat and that probably isn't anything you want a part of.
Either way, it doesn't really matter; you're going to be intercepted by Wesker, grabbing your arm or...wherever's immediately available like an unreasonable person and pulling you in a different direction entirely, up a metal flight of stairs to a higher deck.]
We can't stay here.
[His words are sharp, rushed despite the fact that he doesn't seem to be doing much with his face; things are...not going well, clearly.]
[FOG – SERGEI VLADIMIR]
( cw: violence, body horror everywhere, a veritable ball of leeches )
[It probably isn't the wisest decision, being out late at night in the fog like this; just the same, at this point...well, this seems like a far better option than sleeping, given the dreams that have been plaguing Wesker's sleep.
This, incidentally, was a highly incorrect assumption.
If you're out tonight in any of the business districts – anyplace that the buildings tower high above, anyplace that has high walls and streets winding below them, you may find yourself grabbed and pulled over toward someone, your back pressed hard against one of those high walls, and when Wesker speaks from where he's got ahold of you his words seem calm enough but there's an undeniable sense of pressure behind them when he speaks.]
If you're armed, draw your weapon. And keep your gaze high. It's not safe here.
[...So that's something that's happening tonight.]
[ANYTHING ELSE?]
[Feel free to hit either my plotting comment or come find me at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
InstantEternity if you want to plot something out with me; I'm here for anything and everything, and if there's something specific that you want for the sake of either getting memory regains for you or just...going on an adventure, I'm willing to custom-tailor nightmares and experiences for you! Resident Evil runs a large and fairly messed-up gamut, so pretty much anything is fair game.]
WHERE: Various
WHEN: Throughout October
WHAT: Nightmares and fog, featuring reunions with "friends."
WARNINGS: Violence, murder, child abuse, a basement full of corpses, medical experimentation, tentacles just goddamn everywhere, body horror, a veritable ball of leeches, other delightful things one would expect from the Resident Evil villain's memories? There is a blanket warning for "this is gonna suck" over this whole thing, though the child abuse warning is only relevant for those who pursue the Spencer prompt; the rest are clear of that sort of thing.
[NIGHTMARE – OSWELL E. SPENCER]
( cw: violence, murder, child abuse, a basement full of corpses )
[The mansion you find yourself in is large.
It seems like it used to be opulent once. You're standing in a foyer that held some sense of grandeur to it but now seems to have fallen into disrepair, and the long arching staircase greeting you dead-center is crumbling in several places. The massive chandelier which once hung above the center of the room seems to have crashed down at some point long ago, lying broken on the glossy marble floor, all shattered crystal and twisted metal and lengths of chain; it seems a bit of a visual nonsequitur – nothing overly important outside of the fact that there was a chandelier hanging in this room, and something sent it crashing down – but as you walk past it, you can see slight movememt beneath it out of the corner of your eye, something tense and slow and pained, almost as though there's something pinned down underneath it.
You probably don't want to know what's pinned down underneath it.
Watch your step as you're moving upstairs, though it does seem you want to move upstairs; you don't know why, seeing as everything is in disrepair and that includes the staircase itself and the exposed hallways leading in either direction off of it, but sometimes dreams are just like that. Aren't they? You move and you move and there's no real reason behind any of it – it's all a little nonsensical, a little surreal, and it seems this one isn't going to be any different.
A door down one of those hallways is lying slightly ajar; pressing on it will get it to swing open easily. However, if you reach out to do so, a voice can be heard from inside; it seems to belong to a man, though it's high-pitched and cracked and withered with age, but either way the words that are spoken seem to be aimed, somehow, at you.]
...You came back...
[Proceed?]
[NIGHTMARE – WILLIAM BIRKIN]
( cw: medical experimentation )
[It feels almost like it's the end of the world.
The place you're in is dark, all steel and concrete, with the oppressive air of something that's far underground; maybe a bunker, maybe a facility of some sort, definitely somewhere that you aren't supposed to be. The hallway you're in is long, dimly-lit with fluorescent lights that seem to flicker and dance in and out of existence despite how strong the walls in this place seem to be.
It's silent. And then, suddenly it's not.
The sound starts up quiet but soon builds immensely, a sharp wail, a moan, undercut with a chilling rasp that sounds almost like a death rattle. A series of loud banging noises that may or may not be restraints against a metal table. All of it emanates from somewhere just around a bend in the hallway, behind a door that's just out of sight from where you're standing but comes quickly into view if you move toward it.
Before you can open it, the sound starts up again, the screech, the keening noise, something that sounds undeniably like death; there are voices, too, beneath it, a pair of people speaking without paying any mind to the cacophony that surely must be happening near them.
If you listen long enough before opening the door, it sounds almost like whomever is making those ungodly sounds is screaming for their mother.]
[NIGHTMARE – EXCELLA GIONNE]
( cw: violence, some degree of body horror, tentacles just goddamn everywhere )
[The stars above are beautiful, constellations in full view; it's almost enough to make you disregard how very cold it is tonight. There's the soft sway of a ship's movement beneath your feet as it cuts through choppy seas, the metallic sound of a tanker's deck reverberating underneath your every step; despite the amount of work it must require to keep a massive ship like this running smoothly at sea, there don't seem to be any actual people on board – it seems that you're alone, and you're empty-handed, and the only indication of whom this ship might belong to is a logo that's present here and there on the metal walls you pass that ultimately doesn't seem to mean anything.
As you make your way to the bow of the ship, a voice sounds out – distorted, unrecognizable for all the static obscuring it as the ship's public-address system relays it through the night air; the words are difficult to make out, but you can surely hear a few.
"But it's too late for you...you won't live to see – "
"Sorry, Excella, but it seems – "
"...One last task for you."
"Farewell, old friend."
In the distance, a woman screams. And something massive seems to connect, then, hard enough to rock the ship, to dip it down hard from the center.
Perhaps you move forward to the bow of the ship to find the source of the screaming – after all, it sounds as though she's really suffering, wherever she is. Or perhaps you choose to stay put to see what happens; there's no sense in rushing into a dangerous situation. Or perhaps you do the reasonable-person thing and try to run from it all, because whatever just happened on deck is large enough to fuck with the boat and that probably isn't anything you want a part of.
Either way, it doesn't really matter; you're going to be intercepted by Wesker, grabbing your arm or...wherever's immediately available like an unreasonable person and pulling you in a different direction entirely, up a metal flight of stairs to a higher deck.]
We can't stay here.
[His words are sharp, rushed despite the fact that he doesn't seem to be doing much with his face; things are...not going well, clearly.]
[FOG – SERGEI VLADIMIR]
( cw: violence, body horror everywhere, a veritable ball of leeches )
[It probably isn't the wisest decision, being out late at night in the fog like this; just the same, at this point...well, this seems like a far better option than sleeping, given the dreams that have been plaguing Wesker's sleep.
This, incidentally, was a highly incorrect assumption.
If you're out tonight in any of the business districts – anyplace that the buildings tower high above, anyplace that has high walls and streets winding below them, you may find yourself grabbed and pulled over toward someone, your back pressed hard against one of those high walls, and when Wesker speaks from where he's got ahold of you his words seem calm enough but there's an undeniable sense of pressure behind them when he speaks.]
If you're armed, draw your weapon. And keep your gaze high. It's not safe here.
[...So that's something that's happening tonight.]
[ANYTHING ELSE?]
[Feel free to hit either my plotting comment or come find me at
no subject
I could, but I don't like to.
[That just gets a dry sound out of the old man, simultaneously derisive and racked with illness.]
He does what he was designed to do. He's a success, in that way.
no subject
Last I checked, people weren't designed to do anything.
[...You know, besides their basic biological functions, but the point's hopefully clear enough.]
no subject
Most people aren't; it's their greatest fundamental flaw, their lack of purpose, their lack of meaning.
But Albert... Albert has always been special, in that regard.
[Wesker doesn't say anything for a moment; eventually, though - ]
It's not going to get any better, you know. I'm sure you've worked out some sort of pattern to how these things go by now.
no subject
[He folds his arms to try and mask some of his tension. How well it's working is up for debate.]
no subject
The old man is going to die soon enough. Whatever he says won't matter in a short while, and those of us that are still alive can all move on with our lives.
Sometimes I hear him out. Sometimes I don't bother.
no subject
So what's it gonna be this time? Will you hear him out, or not even bother?
no subject
[That weird look isn't exactly shifting very far.]
It's about becoming a god - about ruling over the world, and creating a race of people intended to help you do it. About viral experimentation, about how I was the one who survived the tests that we were all put through as children, and how I'm living proof that ascension is possible - about how I've fulfilled my purpose, what I was designed for. What I was manufactured to do.
[And he'll approach at that - not moving toward Silver, per se, but toward the old man; he stops short of the wheelchair, though, he isn't within touching distance.]
Is that what you're expecting to hear from him? Something along those lines?
no subject
Yeah. That's exactly what I expected to hear.
[Yet the fact that Wesker can recite that stuff almost perfectly makes his blood boil. This isn't something that should happen to multiple people. This isn't something that should happen multiple times, to multiple sets of people, and- how does someone get it in their head to treat people like this? This isn't right, it's-]
Are you going to take care of him?
no subject
[...]
Are you planning on staying for it?
[That's perhaps an incredibly fucked up thing to ask, but he's got his reasons, based on Silver's reaction.]
no subject
It's not a real person- it's just a guy in a dream- but the time for any rational thought on the matter has long since passed. He deserves it. If left to his own devices, he'd just keep treating others like tools over and over again, wouldn't he?]
Yeah, I am.
[It's not like he has a choice on the matter either way, but he doesn't look particularly concerned as he takes a small step up to get a better view of what's next.]
no subject
[The sudden comment from the old man gets Wesker to tense up, his expression going cold and hard; when he approaches the wheelchair his movements are brisk, grabbing the man seated there roughly, one-handed, and forcing him to stand.
The old man just laughs a bit, the sound derisive and racked with frailty.]
No matter what you do, it's always going to come back to this. You know that as well as I do.
[Wesker doesn't respond; he just moves, and when he hits the old man it's rough and breaking and accompanied with a massive amount of blood spray in a way that it probably shouldn't - it erupts from the man's back, as though he's been pierced straight through. The old man promptly drops forward hard, leaning up against Wesker's body; Wesker catches him through reflex before jerking his hand back abruptly, removing it from where it's damaged the man's body before he simply casts him to the ground in a manner that's almost annoyed.
He doesn't say anything once it's done, but it...certainly is done.]
no subject
He's fortunate that this is a dream, and all he has to worry about his his own thoughts; his knees don't go weak, and it's surprisingly simple to stop staring in shock, instead settling on some mix between frustrated and distinctly uncomfortable by just how dead that guy is. It's unnatural. It's not something that he should be seeing. He doesn't feel bad for him, necessarily- it was fast and presumably not painless for long, he deserved it- but the brutality of it is difficult to watch, and he's glad he has some distance between the scene and himself.]
That takes care of it.
[It's a dry comment, but there's no dancing around a little nervousness in its tone.]
no subject
[This is...definitely not the first time he's done it that way; it's unpleasant, but just sort of how things tend to be around here.
...It's probably not something he should be this blasé about, but he honestly isn't feeling too much toward it, either.]