Travels.

[tyrantmaker]

He can't get used to the light being all around him. He hates what the first night did to him. He's found another black turtleneck with a thicker collar, and has pulled the collar up as high as it will go. It helps, somewhat

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[soldierunknown]

HUNK had his spear he crafted earlier in the apartment with him, not his TMP. An odd choice, considering how the Survivor's mind worked, but it was not completely out of the ordinary. Perhaps he had run out of bullets? Who knew.

He wouldn't tell.

With his gas mask under his arm, HUNK peeled through the pharmacy looking for anything he could find. He had already collected some cigarillos and a good carton of cigarettes. Now, however, he was looking for lighter fluid and a few other items that he needed back in his room.

"Hn." He maneuvered through whatever he could and tried to keep as quiet as possible. However, with all of his combat gear on, he a bit of noise as he tried to step over broken glass and whatever else had collected over the floors over the years.

[tyrantmaker]

Faint smell of Chris to him. . . a probable alliance. Still, HUNK did have a contract left for a few more weeks and did have a neutral mindset Wesker could only approve of.

He spoke in low, quiet tones, trying to minimize potential startlement. "Not a food scavenging trip? Ah, I'd forgotten your priorities."

[soldierunknown]

HUNK froze and slowly took a breath through his nose.

"Sir," he murmured and slowly turned around, his face far too pale, and the circles around his eyes far too dark.

Obviously, he had been without a cigarette for a long time.

"I was just doing my own rounds. I'm not fond of traveling in a pack."

[tyrantmaker]

"Of course not." Wesker shakes his head, not slowing in his approach. It's direct but slow. "There aren't many here who could keep up with you. And you do have your priorities."

He's pale, but when was he not? Otherwise, he seems exactly his usual self.

"Although I have to say I'm not sure where those lie, now." He looks over the man, curious. "You haven't brought me news. Can there really be nothing at all to report?"

He doesn't sound angry, but since when was that relevant?

[soldierunknown]

"There isn't much to report, Sir. A reporter showed up from the Outbreak. She says she survived Raccoon City and she has a horrible hatred of the corporation. I saw her after the incident with Doctor Birkin. It was brief, but an encounter none the less. She doesn't know anything about me or you, though."

HUNK shifted and grabbed one of his new cigarette packs. Smacking it with his palm on the bottom, he turned to Wesker.

"My apologies Sir. I have been playing it low, as of late. You know, with Redfield out there."

[tyrantmaker]

"Ah, Redfield. How has he been?" Wesker glances at the door. "Besides living a life remarkably free of fatal accidents." He turns his head, regarding the drugstore's counter. He walks over to it, picking up a carton, punching through the cardboard and plastic with his thumb, and waving it thoughtfully under his nose. "These aren't very well-preserved, are they? It can't be easy on your lungs trying to keep your nicotene level comfortable."

He drops the carton to the ground, cutting for the door at an angle, a little closer now.

Between HUNK and the door. Almost looks like there might be a purpose to that.

[soldierunknown]

HUNK noticed it a little but shrugged it off. It was Wesker; Wesker did know about the other meetings he had had on the side.

"I suppose, but it's an addiction, and I can't just say no to that." He undid the top to the carton and pulled out a cigarette. "Anyway, we all have a clock tolling down the time to our death." He chuckled at the end of his sentence, thinking of his old nickname.

"Unless you are death.."

[tyrantmaker]

"Or dead," Wesker agrees, comfortably.

[soldierunknown]

"Heh." HUNK turned around and took another inhale on his cigarette.

"I'm heading into the back." He picked up his spear and spun it for emphasis. "Feel free to join me sir."

[tyrantmaker]

"I want to know something, HUNK." Wesker falls in beside him, moving just as usual; self-contained and with just that bare sense of starting to blur as he ends one move and starts another, as though he's playing at being slow. "You are aware that I don't care to have Birkin killed again? I was angry when you killed him last time, but we both know that's irrelevant." He moves ahead, slamming a fist through the wood and unlocking the door from the other side, standing back as he lets it swing open.

[soldierunknown]

HUNK watched Wesker open the next door for him and gave him a nod of thanks.

"I know and I do not plan to hurt Doctor Birkin. Orders are orders sir, you should know that. I had orders to get the G-Virus, as I had orders to assasinate Marcus when you were still in the business. My rookie killed the Doctor; I did nothing of the sort. I have no qualms with William Birkin."

HUNK casually slipped through the newly opened door.

"I have no qualms with you either."

[tyrantmaker]

He's about to get one.

Wesker watches him move. He's in slow motion, as so many humans are, and for a moment he almost feels pity.

Just for a moment. He waits until HUNK's back is fully to him, then moves. His fist locks over Hunk's on the spear. He jerks it crosswise over the mercenary's body, pinning him back against his chest. His other hand grabs Hunk's free wrist, twisting it up over HUNK's shoulder, locking it in place with the veins towards him.

It takes an eyeblink.

He steps into the room in case of someone coming through the door while he's feeding, dragging them both into the darkness.

[soldierunknown]

HUNK didn't even see it coming. When the spear hit his chest, he let out a small grunt and tried to wiggle around. But Wesker was inhuman, and that made him more difficult to get away from. Growling, the Survivor tried to desperately grab onto the spear.

"Albert, what the hell are you doing!?" HUNK tried to plant his feet into the ground, but he couldn't find a footing until he was cast in darkness. His bright eyes glimmered in the small sliver of light that was filtering inside and he tried desperately to get back into it.

"Albert! God damnit! Albert!"

He hooked a leg around Wesker's, but it was too late.

[tyrantmaker]

"He called it the Kiss," Wesker says into his ear, low and cold. "You lose track of everything. Time. How much blood is draining away. But don't worry." He closes his eyes, gathering the control he'll need. "I won't kill you. Not that you're about to care."

His fangs are already extended. He bites into the wrist, not deeply through an effort of will alone, and drinks.

[soldierunknown]

HUNK's eyes went wide as Wesker began to explain what was about to happen to him and he gripped onto whatever he could; himself, Albert, part of the spear: all of it was clutched hard between his fingers as fear finally took the man everyone called Mr. Death. But it was a righteous fear.

He was about to lose the only thing that mattered to him.

"Don't do it. Don't-" HUNK was cut off by Wesker's fangs plunging into his wrist. At first, he felt like he wanted to let himself hit the ground. His knees wobbled under him and he felt his head spinning. But soon, even though his body was shaking all over, HUNK felt something he hadn't in a while: warmth. It was an inviting sort of warmth, and as his blue eyes fell shut, he felt himself grow more distant.

It was a good feeling. A feeling he had experienced years and years ago.

"B-Boss," he groaned and snapped his eyes open. "-the fuck.."

He breathed in sharply.

"W-what are y-you doing.."

[tyrantmaker]

Wesker forces himself to let go as HUNK speaks again, licking carefully at the cut to close it as he saw Beckett do. They don't want scars.

Scars tell a story. Harth's scar on his neck, for example. He doesn't want this to be discovered.

His voice is flat and detached, as though he were talking into a microphone to a freshly infected Stage One in a holding tank. "You've never wanted to become more, have you? Are you concerned I'm going to turn you?"