Hello, everyone! Here is Part 2 of this story, showing what happens to Mr. Wellington after the Umbrella Corporation takes him for questioning. This part has a lot more mature content compared to the first part, and hopefully that will not make you lose interest.
As before, this fanfiction is a collaboration with the user "RT86".
DISCLAIMER: "Resident Evil", and all the characters/places/items connected to that game series, are owned by Capcom. The author and the user "RT86" own the OC David Wellington, and any other custom things mentioned in this story.
Onward!
"Good morning, Mr. Wellington!" The brown-haired middle-aged woman, sporting large glasses that rest on the edge of her nose and bring out her dark-green eyes, greets David with a smile too wide for David's liking when the soldiers open the room's door for him. "How are you feeling today?"
David looks at her employee card and reads the name, "Dr. Millicent Schrovol, M.D., Biology Division". Someone he has never met and probably never would have except for this exact circumstance. The feeling is probably neutral on her end, at least to David's mind. Of course, he doesn't ask that question to her out of politeness.
"Bad," the truck driver answers the doctor with brutal honesty while looking at her wrinkle-free face. "I just got forced out of my work with no idea as to what's going on." His frown does not faze the woman in the slightest, and he is the first to break eye contact.
"I understand this is confusing, Mr. Wellington," Millicent says as David sits up straighter on the side of the bed and stares down at the floor, "but this is a sudden occurrence and must be dealt with as soon as possible. Corporate policy will not have it another way." David agrees with her on that much.
"So, what's the problem?" David asks to spur the conversation along. "The troopers said it was about my most recent DNA sample."
"Yes, yes," Millicent answers with a few nods of her head, "that's the issue. To put it simply, Mr. Wellington, the science team here – well, I'm in that team, so I should say my team – has noticed your DNA has changed very rapidly in the last three weeks. Changed in a very strange way, in fact. So, we're going to find out why that is before anything bad can happen."
"It's already a problem?" David's fingers curl as his heart beats faster in his chest. "That can't be, I would have felt something was wrong."
Millicent is suddenly at David's side, standing just by the bed and carefully adjusting her glasses with a hand. "We don't know if something is wrong yet," she reminds him with a concerned expression instead of her earlier happiness. "We are acting quickly to make sure whatever caused this anomaly is found out and, if necessary, dealt with. The Umbrella Corporation protects it assets, remember?"
David huffs. He does remember, that phrase being one of the first he was told at the initial training seminar before coming to Rockfort. It's worked for him so far, why should this be any different? This problem will be dealt with, and then he can return to his normal life. Unfortunately, David can't entirely convince himself that is correct. Maybe it's because this intense scrutiny has never happened during his time here, but he feels suspicious about this doctor and just why he's been called away from his work.
David's stomach growls loudly to break his train of thought. He blushes, remembering he hasn't had his breakfast yet. If he wants to eat and go back to normalcy, he needs to get on with this extra testing. He's dealt with mistakes before, he can do so here.
"Let's get this over with." Millicent's smile springs back on her face as David accepts whatever fate has befallen him. "What do I have to do to fix this 'problem'?"
"Just stay right there," she answers as she whips out a cotton swab from some hidden pocket in her lab coat, "and let me take a sample. We can do this by a blood test, or a buccal sample." She looks at David's clothed chest for a second. "Considering you sound hungry I would say the buccal sample will produce better results. It's also faster overall."
David nods. He doesn't want to get pricked with needles more than necessary, and he's been poked each time he has given his genes for the "safety protocol". Thinking about drawing that time out by taking some of his blood stresses him without anything piercing his skin.
David notices a small white cotton swab and a plastic petri dish now in Millicent's hands as she steps up to him. "Lay back on the bed and open your mouth, please," she orders, and he complies. She then pops the dish's lid off and puts both items in David's hands. "Hold this for me," she tells him with a quieter voice, "and keep it open."
David tucks the lid beneath the dish using his hands, not looking down to his chest as he feels the doctor's chest get uncomfortably close to his own. He resists the urge to move around as her gloved fingers carefully move the swab up and down against the inside of his right cheek. She presses down against the skin but not hard enough to cause pain. He doesn't look her in the eyes as she maneuvers the swab around for a few seconds.
David can hear the doctor's quiet breathing as she works, a sound he has rarely heard in his life. This is just a medical test, he tells himself, just a test. The immature side of his brain, sensing his stress, automatically starts forming half-baked ideas as to what this might lead later down the road. There is no real chance these fantasies can become real, but that doesn't stop him from thinking about it.
"There, all done!" The doctor leans back and daintily places the swab into the dish. Her hands briefly touch David's as she takes the dish and puts the lid back on. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Wellington," she says with another smile. "We'll get this tested in the lab. You'll have to stay here until we get the results, though." She gives a sympathetic smile to David as he sits up again on the bed. "I'll also ask the chefs to bring you some breakfast."
David watches her leave the room, coat and all, without saying anything. He sees the side of an Umbrella soldier just outside the door, a two-handed gun in his hands. So, he was right earlier about being watched. No, he's being guarded. David knows from his time with Umbrella that anything guarded is potentially dangerous, and anything dangerous needs to be contained. But he isn't dangerous to anyone, he's just a truck driver!
Calm down! David tries to slow his breathing, cold sweat sliding down his back. It's just a test. I'll get cleared, given my breakfast, and go on with my day. And then tomorrow, I'll get started with my vacation.
So, David sits on the bed and waits in the empty room. The moments tick by at strange intervals in his head, the room not having a clock to double-check how long all this has taken. The first big checkpoint to David's clearance comes when the door opens for another trooper to come in. Instead of a gun he is holding a plastic food tray with a few slices of apple, a small bread roll, and a white juice carton. He doesn't appear to notice David's confused expression; this is not the breakfast he normally gets from the chefs. A second later, another trooper comes in with a pistol clearly visible on their belt.
"Your breakfast, Mr. Wellington," the first trooper tells David, placing the tray by the bed. They step back to the second trooper's position just by the now-closed door. David looks at them and silently telegraphs they can leave now. They don't leave, standing at a resting position David sees the guards at the headquarters' entrances take. It tells him, "We're not going anywhere."
Not wanting to cause a scene, David eats what he has been given. It is a very awkward breakfast, the troopers silently watching him from behind their helmets. But the food tastes a bit better than his usual meal. The apple slices burst with flavor on his tongue, while the bread roll is still warm in his mouth. The juice washes it all down, David having it all as quickly as politeness allows him. He doesn't want these troopers to spread gossip about his eating habits across the base, or even to the concentration camp on the other end of the island. That will eventually spread back to him, exaggerated to a crazy degree by people in the intent to get a good laugh—
Woah. David's stomach bubbles as his vision swims. He blinks away a sudden rush of fatigue, only for another one to slap him right after it. He burps up some air, bringing a strange taste back into his mouth, some combination of stomach acids and half-digested food and drink. Something about that food is not agreeing with his digestion. Bread and fruits don't taste this sweet.
Oh, shit…
The soldiers rush towards David as he tries to get off the bed, fails when his legs give out, and crumples to the floor. He slams his hands down to block his head from impacting the ground, and then tries to push himself back up. His arms don't respond in the right ways, and that fatigue is making him feel woozy. He tries to speak to the soldiers who now stand just by him, but his tongue lolls around in his mouth and doesn't help him proper syllables. The soldiers make muffled grunts that might be words if David's ears were still working.
David falls unconscious before one of the troopers picks him up and throws him over his shoulder like an expensive doll. He doesn't feel his body bounce around as they both leave the room and head for the research laboratories.
Blood. David tastes it in the air and on his tongue. He smells it as he moves around on his feet, his eyes and ears filled up or over by warm and wet gunk or slime. His body shifts around on instinct, pulses through the ground. He twists out of the way of something big just as it walks by him. The footfalls it makes shake the ground and knock David to the ground; it must be gigantic. A groaning noise comes through the gunk in his ears as whatever this thing is goes by. A thick, cloying stench comes from this thing and smashes into his nostrils. He automatically spins away and retches, stomach heaving from the scent. He lasts four seconds before something flies up his throat and out of his mouth.
The act of vomiting causes tears to form in David's eyes. With his eyes covered by the slime, the tears quickly fill his eyes up and make them itch incessantly. When he brings his hands up to wipe his eyes clean, several sharp points press around his eyes and nose where his fingers should be. He draws his hands back in surprise, slowly realizing his fingers are different now. How did this happen?
Hunger. David's hands shake as his empty stomach thunders for sustenance. It's too strong to ignore, the hunger is too great. He needs to eat, to feed!
David's arms and legs ripple with strength he never knew he had. The lingering taste of vomit in his mouth propels his hunger to greater heights. He uses this strength to rip and claw at the gunk and get it off. Once he can see his food, he can eat it, and his urges will be satisfied that much quicker. The pain of his sharpened, elongated fingers stabbing through the gunk and drawing blood does not stop him, barely even slowing him down. Hot blood flows down his cheeks along with forced tears as he finally opens his eyes.
The world is tinted in colors and shades David does not fully understand. Colors are sharper, shades are more prominent, and textures are richer than he is used to. There's a lot of red and brown and black in his surroundings, some open field underneath a dark sky. He looks up to see the darkness comes from a series of black clouds, lightning bolts flashing in the air and revealing the ground below with bursts of white-hot light. David looks down to the ground as several lightning bolts flash one after the other.
Carnage. Pure carnage. Corpses piled atop each other without care, cut and slashed and gouged and crushed and beaten. The faces David sees are all human, and all frozen in horror. The blood he smelled earlier comes from all these corpses, their life forces intermingling in small streams that trickle down to the ground beneath. He looks at it all, unable to comprehend the level of devastation. His hunger, the ravenous gnawing in his stomach, is forced back from his brain in place of sheer shock and awe.
How did this happen? How did he survive?!
The hunger surges again. It screams, "Eat!" without a mouth and only for David to hear. He doubles over and carefully places his newly sharpened fingers to his gut. He now sees why his fingers are sharper; they have transformed into black claws, each one at least several inches long. His hands are a sickly blue instead of the regular range of human skin color. Purple veins are clearly visible on his wrists, stretching up his arms along with the blue coloration.
The hunger grows too strong to ignore. An animalistic noise comes out of David's mouth as his stomach roars its emptiness out to anything nearby. He whips his head around, senses ablaze and searching for something fresh. These dead bodies do not excite him, they are not the food he instinctively wants. He is so hungry, anything fresh will be fine. His brain simplifies his instincts into single-worded objectives: Search. Kill. Eat!
A cracking noise comes from nearby. Something hot and sharp slams into David's backside, forcing him forward. He keeps his footing before spinning around to find out whatever just hurt him. The pain focuses his hunger to an objective his fear-stricken humanity agrees with. Fight, the hunger tells him. Kill. Eat!
David sees a human man wearing a bulky vest, pants, and a thick pair of boots. All his clothes are soiled with dirt and blood and gore, and one of his eyes has been gouged out. Still, he holds up a smoking pistol with two shaking hands and stands up straight. His remaining eye glares at David with hatred, but David can smell the sweat on his body. It's a fearful sweat, a sign of his body's fresh quality. He is alive, not dead.
David's humanity desperately scrabbles to regain control as his body stares the man down. For a heartbeat the two size the other up, and then David's hunger grows too strong to ignore. Fight! Kill! Eat!
David charges at the man as his mind screams its denial. His new body, his new senses, this bloody battlefield, this crazy duel – none of it can be real. It has to be a dream, a nightmare!
The nightmare doesn't end when David swings a clawed hand at the man, moving faster than he can aim and fire again. The man's face crumples like paper, skin providing no protection for the muscle and bone beneath. The man flies back from the concussive force, but David's other hand surges out like a tentacle and grabs it. He brings the body back to his mouth, now open and slathering with drool at the prospect of a fresh meal.
David's new body relishes in the taste of fresh meat, bones crunching beneath his new fangs and adding solidity to the stretchy muscles and chewy skin. His old mind looks away and tries to wake itself up from this hell. And then, some darker side of David's sanity decides to make him look and feel every little sensation. He then feels the sheer power from this act, eating something weaker to become stronger. It feels horrifying and, even worse, pleasing.
As David eats his kill, clothes and all, his body rapidly mutates into a new state. His muscles bulge out as his skin darkens into a steely blue, and then metallic grey. The veins throb and expand as more blood pumps through them. His heart beats faster to fuel this growth, thudding against his expanding ribcage as if about to explode. The bones in his left hand crack and pop as a layer of chitin overlaps the skin, leaving his claws intact. Nothing David tries to do can stop his body from eating or slow the mutations. Each new thing brings a whole slew of sensations to his brain.
David's blood now feels like it's boiling beneath the skin. As he rips a chunk off his meal's leg – this isn't a meal, it's a man! – his vision shifts slightly out of his body. He looks at himself from the outside and sees his bones continuing to pop, muscles expanding and stretching to accommodate. He is also much taller, muscular, and, in certain places, more endowed than before. He looks like a human sculpture, naked and chiseled with expert precision yet still having the two arms and legs and a head of a human man. The similarities make the differences even more damaging to David's psyche.
God, David shouts to himself, I'm a freak! His darker side laughs in his ears, David not knowing where to look at himself without being either disgusted or awestruck. There are parts of this body he would love to keep, pieces he had fantasized about when gripped by lust. He did not expect to have just about all of them put together and mixed with the predatory urges of some jungle beast.
The only thing that David's body does not eat is the man's gun. It is left to fall on top of the gray-skinned corpse of a long-dead human. David's enlarged feet crushes the metal into pulp as he is forced back into his new form. He stumbles away from what he just did, even though most of the evidence is now rumbling in his enlarged stomach. Clarity comes back to him now that his hunger is gone. The strangeness of it all makes him think it's a dream, something he can just close his eyes to and wake up to his normal life. He doesn't want to try and think this is real.
The David sees another creature walking among the corpses. It looks like a corpse as well; skin barely hanging on in some places, rotting teeth, and sunken eyes deep inside blackened sockets. These are all important, but David's enhanced focus sees a familiar red-and-white umbrella logo on the remains of its coat.
Umbrella is involved in this. It's a truth David refuses to accept, and it's the last thought in his mind before lightning shoots through his veins and draws him somewhere else.
The body inside the stasis tube, submerged in a blue-colored chemical mixture, twitches and jerks as an electrical shock forces it out of sleep. Several computer monitors in the same room display the body's physical status and brainwave activity. Heart rate monitors beep faster as electrodes stuck on the body's grey skin dispense their charges. The body's mouth moves to reveal fangs, lips curling as it tries to form words. Luckily for the group of Umbrella scientists keeping watch of both the monitors and the tube, the recording devices placed on the tube's top and bottom are turned off.
The men and women in the rectangular room watch their creation scream its birth cries, shocked into the world with a brutal kicking. Dr. Millicent Schrovol stands in the middle of this group, her glasses reflecting the dim light and shrouding her actual eyes. Next to her stands an older man with graying hair who looks at the tube with a stone-cold neutrality, hands curled behind his back. He, like the rest of the team, sees progress in this humanoid creature. Progress he can use to help both the world, and himself.
"Subject T-H90 is awake, Doctor," one of the lower-ranking scientists announces to the two standing scientists. Dr. Schrovol nods in response. "Shut off the electric charges," she tells that scientist without looking at them. The various monitors and displays change their screens accordingly, the body no longer in visible pain as it floats inside the tube. Dr. Schrovol momentarily smirks as few junior scientists mutter some choice words under their breaths. She doesn't need to look their way to imagine what parts of this Tyrant they are talking about.
Clearly, the rest of the team is just as excited about exploring the subject's full capabilities as she is.
"Congratulations, everyone," the older man tells everyone else without smiling, "but we're not done yet. The suits want good results for this new Tyrant. We'll give them the best we can."
Alright, that's all for now.
What will happen to the new Tyrant? How will Umbrella get the results they want? Please stay tuned to future parts to find out!
As always, any feedback/reviews you can give are great for me and "RT86" to see.
Draconos is taking off!