recolle | [OPEN] Prick your fingers, it is done, the moon has now eclipsed the sun

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[OPEN] Prick your fingers, it is done, the moon has now eclipsed the sun

WHO: Albert Wesker (eventually) and whomever decides to join him (presumably you!)
WHERE: Dreamscapes.
WHEN: Slightly backdated to 8/24.
WHAT: Dreamdiving.
WARNINGS: Medical experimentation, brainwashing, child abuse, violence, body horror, depictions of self-harm, a general blanket warning that Wesker has been through Some Shit and as such this is probably going to suck on several levels.

[It's cold.

It isn't the familiar drop in temperature that might come from the weather, but a sterile, artificial chill, the sort associated with medical work - hospitals and laboratories and other places that bring with them a sharp, chemical smell and an unpleasant sense that you don't really want to be there.

Of course, the metal table against your back probably isn't doing much to keep you warm, either.

Trying to sit up will be a bit of a problem, given the heavy restraints locked around your wrists and ankles, your hips and your upper body; they're a combination of metal and leather, old-fashioned and imposing, clearly designed to restrain something very, very powerful, and they're keeping you from going very far. You can look around enough to tell that where you are is...probably not somewhere you want to stay for long - it is, in fact, a laboratory of some sort, full of instruments and vials and jars of things that don't look very nice, the metal walls giving way somewhere just on the edges of your line of sight, turning into something else - a sort of open entrance to what looks like a cave of some sort. Either way, it'll probably take you somewhere that isn't here if you follow it. Tipping your head back will show another potential exit to the area - a metal door in the wall near all the instruments and materials.

Of course, you can't really utilize either route if you're bound down, now, can you? You should probably work on figuring out what you're going to do about that, first.]

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[ When he wakes up, he immediately wants to struggle. He squirms against the restraints and tries to snap them with the strength of the metal left arm, but no luck.

But then he remembers, no, this is normal. For him, this is normal. Waking up restrained like this (or similarly), it just means his superiors are nearby doing....something with him. Maintenance, or something like that. He knows it's happened, over and over and over, but he's never quite remembered the feeling of it.

He doesn't like it.

James calms down and starts looking around for anyone else. Instead, he catches sight of the lab materials and feels...he's not sure what he feels right now, this weird cocktail of emotions brewing in the pit of his stomach, but he doesn't like it. ]

[Eventually something can be heard in the hall, the sort of footsteps outside that are quick-paced and brisk but not urgent, the sort of thing indicating someone with a naturally fast gait that's been given something to do with themselves. There's a voice accompanying it as well, soft and equally quick-paced, but not conversational - or at least, not the sort of conversational that implies that any directional flow is anything but one-sided. Mutterings done to oneself, keeping the mind occupied and on-task, keeping whatever fucked up ducks need to be in a row here in a solid row, and it's all a bit too scattered to be all that foreboding, all things considered.

It doesn't seem like one of your superiors, though; it's not anything recognizable, it's not anything too familiar outside of the setup, and in the end, the man who walks through the door likely isn't familiar either.

He's put-together, perhaps a bit moreso than one would assume from his audible demeanor in the hallway; he seems fairly young, mid-thirties at oldest, with dirty blond hair and a look about him that's a bit tired in nature. He doesn't lack energy for being here, per se, but he seems a bit overworked; the sort of guy that wouldn't take a sick day if his life literally depended on it because he's needed here, for as long as they require him. Otherwise, though, he's just a guy, almost weirdly nondescript - the sort of person that probably lives in the suburbs with his wife and his dog and his 2.5 kids, maybe he has a membership with a tennis club that he never uses. You know the sort.

That said, he's got a clipboard with notes tacked to them on him, and he's glancing those over when he enters, well before he spares a look at James; he seems easy, though, actually setting the clipboard down before he'll address him, because for once someone is not Officially Less Important Than His Notes.]

Well. Good to see you're still in one piece, and so is my table.

[It's conversational, if a bit awkwardly so. Not malicious from the sound of it.]

[ James looks over at the man and...he looks completely unfamiliar. Of course he does. James doesn't actually remember what any of his superiors or the doctors or whoever else he worked with look like, he just knows they exist. Is this man one of them? Is he getting one of those strange memories right now--or perhaps discovering one in one of the strange dreams? ]

...what am I here for?

[ His voice is mostly calm and even, but there's an undercurrent of fear. He really doesn't want to be afraid. He wants to trust these people, he knows he does. Or at least he has in the past. But with so many blanks in his mind, with so little idea of what's happening, he can't help but be apprehensive. ]

A few experimental treatments, that's all.

[His voice isn't comforting in the least, but there isn't any sort of bite to it; it's like he was asked what day it is, and it just so happens to be Thursday.]

I've been given the go-ahead to proceed as we see fit, so let's take it a bit at a time, shall we?

[ He nods, trying to keep relaxed. ]

Experimental how?

[ Surely they wouldn't do anything that dangerous to him, right? Surely there's not that much of a risk here. They wouldn't hurt him. He's valuable, they care about him. They need him. They wouldn't subject him to anything extreme.

(But if that's the case, then why is he tied down?) ]

Things designed to enhance the body, nothing to be concerned about.

[He's messing with some of those vials, though; they may be a bit difficult to see, but there's definitely solid matter in some of them along with liquid. Which is always...you know, a promising thing.]

It's something we've been working toward for a while.

Okay. Okay, that makes sense.

[ They did give him his left arm, after all. (Probably.) That probably involved vials and procedures like this too. Not that he remembers any of it happening, but he gets the sense that that's what took place. This is just like before, then. This is routine. As scary as those vials look, this is routine.

He forces himself to breathe in, breathe out. His breathing is loud, and he's kind of embarrassed of being such a big baby about this. He can't remember any of the last times he was here, being....whatever'd by doctors and professionals. Is he always this scared when it happens? Or is it just something about this particular time? ]

It looks like you've already had some work done.

[The left arm and all. Jesus, this guy's voice is nowhere above casual at any point right now.]

It's good of you to be so calm about this, a lot of our others aren't. Nice change of pace. If NE-Alpha went anywhere near this well, we'd have made a lot more progress over the past couple of years.

[ Between the barely-restrained panic, being tied down to this table, and having absolutely zero recollection of how these experiments go, James can't help but blurt out some of his more deep-seated fears. Especially since this is the first time he's face to face with someone who's worked with him before and should know him and how he operates (or so he thinks, anyway). ]

Am...am I--supposed to remember what that is? Or who the others are? I don't remember--I don't know if I'm supposed to or not, but I don't--I don't know what's going on.

[That gets him to pause a little, though he still keeps his gaze focused on his work.]

None of that is going to matter in a little while.

[ James tenses up and his voice takes on a more concerned tone now. He gets just a little bit louder as the panic starts to rise in him, despite his attempts to shut it down. ]

I thought you said there was nothing to be concerned about?

Edited 2018-08-28 04:58 (UTC)

There isn't. Why should there be?

[...This isn't. Particularly helpful.]

Because you said it wasn't going to matter soon!

[ He feels (and almost sounds) like a whining child. But at the very least, the doctor's calmness is keeping him from completely losing it. James really wants to have faith in him and his expertise, he trusts that the man knows what he's doing. So if he keeps calm, James is going to try really hard to as well. This is all probably just a misunderstanding of some kind. ]

Do you really think I'm going to kill you? That would defeat the point.

[And there's the patronizing tone, the sort of thing that one would address to a whining child.]

We do like to keep them alive for as long as possible, you know.

[ The chiding tone gets him to clam up. He doesn't want to be spoken down to like that again. Despite that, though, what the doctor says reassures him. It's not going to kill him.

(Somewhere, a tiny part of him is uncomfortable with the phrase "keep them alive for as long as possible", but he doesn't understand why. He tries not to think about it.) ]

Okay. You're right. Okay.

...What should I expect? When you give me that?

[ He jerks his head at the vial. As soon as he says it, he regrets it. He's not supposed to ask this many questions, is he? ]

Never mind. Let's just...get this over with.

[The guy just. Shrugs, honestly?]

You'll know once it takes effect. It shouldn't take too long to kick in, not with what we've been doing with it.

[The injection he's preparing is large-bore, as far as the needle goes; this is probably not going to be terribly pleasant.]

It might be a little jarring. But it's the sort of thing that you should just let happen; it'll be easier on everybody that way.

[ By this point, James has already laid his head flat against the table, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn't want to see the vial any more, doesn't want to see the needle, doesn't want to see what's happening. The more he sees, the more he's going to tense up and worry about it. At least this way, he can spend the last few moments before the injection in ignorance. ]

...Alright.

Do you need me to tell you anything about how it feels?

That would be appreciated.

[Damn, you're considerate. Why couldn't Lisa Trevor have been this considerate, it would have saved everyone a whole flying fucklot of trouble.

That said, the injection site is apparently going to be in the neck, because that's fun and not potentially damaging at all; he's pretty practiced about it at least, it's not like he's just going to stab you in the throat, it's about as easy as it can be given the...everything.

That said, it likely burns. A lot. And it'll bring with it a rush of...something. Adrenaline's probably the closest to it, but it's more controlled than that. Not mania-inspiring, not making you want to punch a tiger, but giving you the notion that you probably could if you wanted to. Feels pretty good, all things considered. Outside of the burning.

And whatever that weird sensation moving toward the base of your skull is. That's probably not too normal.]

[ He thought the injection would be in the arm. The neck is so much more intimate and sensitive than he expected, and he twitches and hisses at the injection. He'd hoped he could be a good little patient and keep still and quiet, but this is proving too painful and overwhelming.

It's a strange feeling, the pain mixed with the surge of energy. ]

It--stings! [ He exhales through his teeth. ] And it's--it's like I could punch a hole through the wall right now if I wanted to!

[ He flexes his fists, even though it doesn't really help. Now that he's getting used to this, though, he starts noticing another sensation. ]

My head--at the back of my head--it feels like something's moving. What is that?

Just another of those things that won't matter before too long.

[And eventually, you'll likely find that it doesn't.

It isn't an unpleasant sensation for long; it feels wrong, surely, but there's an odd difference between unpleasant and wrong that'll spread through your system before too long. What it is is a little on the repulsive side, to be honest, and it's probably for the best that this guy isn't being a dick and elaborating for once in his miserable life; what it does is provide the sense that somehow, someone's totally got this. The sort of feeling that comes with realizing you don't have to deal with the cobra in the corner because animal control has shown up; Keanu Reeves totally has control of the bus. It's going to be okay, because someone that isn't you can take care of anything stressful that's about to happen, as long as you'll let them.

It isn't perfect mind control. Your actions are still ultimately your own, you can answer and speak for yourself. But there's a definite sense that someone knows better than you, and listening to others is probably for the best, at least for now, and maybe this guy seems like an acceptable place to start.]

I'm sure you'll enjoy the power it gives you; as it stands, there's someone waiting for you, and it's probably for the best to not inconvenience him for too long. I can let you go to him as soon as you're ready to.

[ The doctor is right. James soon finds himself relaxing. The strange feeling in his head doesn't go away, but...why would he doubt the doctor? He hasn't been wrong so far. And, sliding into his thoughts as seamlessly as the strange feeling did, he remembers that--yes, that's right. This is how it's supposed to go. He remembers now, sitting down in a chair and having a helmet placed over him, and after some treatment, he felt just the same. They've changed the way they deliver the treatment, it seems, but the end result is identical: all his mental panic and fears and discomfort melting away. These doctors are here to help him, they always have been, and it was silly of him to ever think otherwise. He appreciates the return to routine.

He exhales, finally still and calm and completely at ease. ]

Okay, sure. I can go right now, if you want. I feel fine. Great, actually.

[ Y'know, aside from that head pain. But it's okay. If the doctor's not worried about it, he doesn't see why he should be. ]

[Good man.

Those restraints will fall open easily at that - it's difficult to say what he's done to them from his position over there, but the point is that they're off - and he'll tip his head a little, watching.]

Take it easy getting up, and then you can take that door back there. It'll lead you where you need to go.

Good luck, by the way.

[The door he's indicating is the metal one, the one he entered through himself; take your time, man, see how you feel.]

[ Once the restraints are gone, James sits up and swings his legs off the table. Slowly, he eases himself onto his feet to stand up. It's...precarious. He feels woozy and he has to spend a few moments getting his bearings and making sure he can walk straight. But it passes quickly--no more than a minute. By then, he's feeling strong enough to go anywhere. ]

Right. Thanks.

[ He could always use some luck, after all. (He does not question why he would need it here.) He opens the metal door and steps on through. ]

[And once you've stepped through that door, you'll find yourself outside.

The salt air is refreshing after the stifling sterility of the lab, and from where you're standing you can see the entire deck of the large cargo ship; it's a tanker, massive and imposing, and from the look of it you're several floors up off the main deck. People are there, on the lower levels, weaving in and out between the cargo crates as they go about their business; some of them have dogs with them (though the dogs look emaciated and sick despite the way they're lunging at anything that moves) but most of them are on their own, doing their jobs without really seeing each other, just the blank movements of the hyperfixated, unmistakable and cold.]

There you are.

[The voice comes from behind you (didn't you just walk through that door? there was a lab there, but now there's- ), heavily-accented and belonging to a woman in a white dress that leaves very little to the imagination; she sounds like she came from somewhere on the Mediterranean, probably, and she's carrying a silver attaché case with her as she steps out onto the deck next to you.]

We've been wondering when you were going to join us; it's good to see you're already here.

[She sounds a little skeptical about how exactly that came to pass, but she doesn't seem truly bothered; it's something she'll shrug off, something she'll forget about eventually.]

[ James doesn't think about the door that's suddenly gone, or the building layout that makes no sense because of it. He doesn't think about what the cargo ship is for and what all the people down below are doing. It doesn't really matter anyway--they're doing their jobs, and he's doing his. It all makes perfect sense, and it almost feels...nice.

He turns to the woman as she speaks. ]

...Of course I'm here. I'm always ready to help out.

What's in the case?

[OPEN] Prick your fingers, it is done, the moon has now eclipsed the sun

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apologies for delays, this past week has been a travesty

np!