Tyrant

by Methinks

Chapter 2

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Warning: This chapter contains lots of technical blathering that, while accurate to the best of my ability to both Resident Evil and true science, may contain inaccuracies. I ask for your patience regarding them and your help correcting any truly egregious mistakes I may have made.

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All lassitude forgotten, he swiftly grabbed a scalpel from a nearby tray and lunged at the doctor, grabbing him roughly and forcing the surgical knife to his throat. "Who the fuck are you? How do you know Lisa?" he hissed. Caught completely off-guard, the doctor simply stared at him blankly so he pushed the scalpel a little harder, beginning to draw blood. "Answer me!"

Dr. Matthews swallowed nervously, his Adam's apple pushing against the knife. "If I promise to tell you everything, will you put the scalpel down?"

John pushed him away roughly, slamming him back into the desk. "No. But who knows, you might just live a little longer." He expertly twirled the knife through his fingers. "Now start talking."

The elder man hesitated for a moment longer before beginning. "I originally met Lisa Trevor back in 1978 when I joined a research team for a cutting edge pharmaceutical company named the Umbrella Corporation. Back then, we were doing testing on something called the Progenitor Virus, which in theory showed great promise for both military and medical applications. However, every single one of the test subjects infected with the Virus died in a matter of hours."

"All except for Lisa Trevor." John clenched his fists, his nails digging painfully into his palms, eyes narrowing.

The doctor nodded nervously. "Correct. Instead, Lisa's body mutated the Virus into something that was later dubbed as the Tyrant Virus, or the T-virus. The virus, we came to discover has four stages of infection. During Stage I, it kills the mitochondrial organelles in infected cells and replace them with a replica of itself. This lasts until the hosts entire system has been infected in this way, which can take from several weeks up to a number of hours, at which point it proceeds to Stage II.

"During Stage II, the infection begins to provide a number of benefits, including increased strength and durability. However, it also requires an enormous amount of energy, far more than the human body can possibly provide. After three to five hours when its needs inevitably aren't met, the virus enters Stage III and begins to consume the body's own cells, which, while providing enough energy for the virus to continue functioning, only leaves enough energy left over to power the motor neurons and the most basic of lower brain functions.

"This causes the Stage III infected to become little more than mindless creatures driven only by an intense need to feed. This stage lasts the longest by far. While I was still with Umbrella, we had postulated that as long as an infected host has even semi-regular access to a source of non-infected meat, they could exist in such a state for up to several years. Eventually though, the cellular degeneration becomes too great and the virus enters it's fourth and final stage. In Stage IV, the virus rapidly consumes the rest of the host's body, resulting in rapid decomposition and final death.

"However, in a few rare cases we noticed that occasionally the virus would follow a different path in its host, resulting in creatures we called Tyrants. Most of the time, the abnormal mutations followed a general pattern, usually including massive increases in size, strength, agility, and durability. Regardless of the outcome, with a single exception, these Tyrants were all monstrous nightmares – nearly unstoppable and possessed of an insatiable drive to destroy.

"Oh how they celebrated," the doctor reminisced, reprehension heavy in his voice. "We were one step closer to the perfect weapon. Regardless of the fact that we had created these abominations. Regardless of the fact that..."

John motioned sharply with the knife, cutting him off."What does any of this have to do with Lisa?"

"It's simple. Lisa was the original Tyrant as well as the sole exception to the rule. Their mother, if you will. Umbrella's Pandora's Box and their most valued subject. While the majority of the Tyrants were just as mindless as the other base infected while Lisa had somehow managed to maintain her sentience."

Dr. Matthews sighed. "As retaining cognition in these creatures was the final goal in the T-virus project, we continued testing on Lisa, continuously infecting her with newly developed strands in hopes of eventually finding one that would allow the subject to receive all the benefits of the virus while retaining such cognition. And as part of the original research team, I was among those that continued work on Lisa. "

John's fists clenched further, his nails beginning to draw blood. "You were one of the ones who hurt Lisa?" he hissed. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you now."

"No, I stayed only so I could try and help her," the doctor backpedaled quickly. "They were going to run their experiments no matter what I did but I wanted to at least try and minimize her pain as much as possible. But I was just one man against a ruthless organization willing to do anything to get what it wanted. I could only do so much. In the end, even my best wasn't enough to overcome my guilt and I quietly resigned.

"The Umbrella execs considered me unimportant enough to allow me to leave under a strict set of conditions, not the least of which was complete silence on the testing that Umbrella was conducting. I knew if they even suspected I had broken the agreement, they'd kill me in a heartbeat so I said nothing and simply lived with the guilt.

"Now this was all the way back in '83. After leaving the lab in the Arklay mountains, I moved to the nearby Raccoon City where I began teaching Biology at a Community College there. This continued on until a few months before your escape back in '95.

"When you arrived on my doorstep, you were almost completely incoherent. All I was able to get out of you was Lisa's name and something about how she said I could help. It was for her sake and my guilt over what I had helped do to her that originally caused me to take you in despite the obvious risk." The Doctor's expression turned grim. "All it took was one look at you and I knew immediately you were her son in all ways that mattered."

John narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying I'm one of these Tyrants things as well."

The man nodded. "I'm convinced that finding Lisa was a one in a billion chance for Umbrella. To find a second subject able to survive continued experimentation while retaining his mind had to have been a miracle to them. I don't doubt you and she are the only ones of your kind."

"Thinking Tyrants, you mean."

He nodded again before continuing his story. "My primary concern at the time was the extent of your infection. While I knew you were atypical for a Tyrant, I didn't know just how stable your virus was and didn't want you suddenly reverting to the norm and one of those behemoths suddenly appearing in my bedroom in the middle of the night. After determining that you were safe for the time being, I immediately began preparations to run. From which point on you know the rest of the story."

"And so all these tests you've been running have just been experiments on my virus?"

"Originally," the doctor admitted. "But the infection stabilized in our first couple of weeks on the run. The original T-virus had progressed to Stage II likely within days of your initial capture and exposure but all the tests Umbrella had been running on you had kept it constantly mutating, forcing your body to continue adapting and keeping the virus from actively mutating your body."

"So you could have healed me then?" John asked, outraged.

Dr. Matthews shook his head. "No. Once you had reached Stage II, you were completely infected. The virus had become a part of each new cell your body produced. It's now as much a part of you as your heart or your lungs. I'm sorry John, but there was simply nothing I or anybody else could have done."

John kept silent, unable to absorb everything the doc was saying. Oblivious to the young Tyrant's dilemma, the elder man continued on somberly, . "So for the past year I've just been monitoring it for changes. It's strange but the virus appears to have entered an inactive latency period. Almost like its waiting for something, though for what I can only hypothesize. So it seems while you are currently experiencing a few of the benefits of the infection, I suspect that they are likely just a fraction of what they'll be when the virus becomes active."

He hesitated. "Once that happens I have no way of knowing what course the virus will take. While my observations lead me to believe that you have a fair chance at retaining your cognition, there's still the chance that at that point the virus will revert back to the normal path of progression and your body will begin to break down just like the other test subjects. Without knowing why your virus mutated the way it did, there's just no real way of knowing outside of it actually occurring."

At that point John sagged back against the table he was leaning on, dropping the scalpel. The doctor's pity laden voice seemed to come from a great distance as his mind continued struggling to understand just what he was hearing. "I'm truly sorry John. I've done my best to try to figure your virus out, but without knowing more about what exactly they did to you, I've done just about all I can. Other than that, I can only continue to monitor the progression of the virus and hope that some new information comes up that allows me to help you out."

John said nothing. He didn't know what he could say; his all but felt his mind shut down as his entire world came crashing down around him. Suddenly, the room begin to spin rapidly around him, barely leaving him enough time to lunge blindly towards a nearby trash can and begin hurling up the entire contents of his stomach. The scalpel lay forgotten on the floor as he continued to dry heave into the bin. He felt the Doc crouch down beside him, rubbing his back and whispering comforting words.

He wanted to be angry at the man, wanted to hate him, but couldn't find it in him. He didn't know why he trusted the man's story – perhaps because of all he'd seen the man do to help him – but he honestly believed that Doc had tried to help Lisa in his own way. It would be stupid to fault the man for not being able to accomplish the impossible.

He finally finished heaving and sat back, wiping the vomit off on his sleeve. He supposed he should probably tie up the trash bag and dispose of it somehow. If what Doc said was true, than he was a walking biohazard. He'd have to ask Doc what the best way to deal with his infectious material was.

But later. He staggered back over to the lab table and collapsed on top of it. With his current condition, he was simply in no state to deal with all these revelations.

The Doctor respected his obvious desire for silence and instead of pressing the issue, puttered around the lab checking on all of his machines. After a while, he broke the quiet, "I'm not entirely sure if this is good news or bad news, but it seems that your virus has rather impressively defended your body against this latest infection. However, it appears to have mutated slightly in order to accomplish this. If I had to guess, I'd wager you might see a slight increase in your senses and your physical capabilities over the next few days but you shouldn't experience anything more than that."

John sighed. "At least that's something." Cautiously testing out his side, he was rather surprised to find out how much better it felt. Carefully unwrapping the bandages from around his chest, he was gratified to find that not only had the inflammation completely disappeared, but the gouges themselves were barely visible anymore as well. With that realization came the epiphany that he was absolutely ravenous.

Considering he'd just been throwing up, he didn't know how he felt about that.

He left the lab without another word and headed back to his bathroom to brush his teeth and rinse out his mouth. All of the sudden, all the Doc's strict rules about hygiene and sanitation became much clearer. He'd originally thought the man was just OCD or something; apparently he just didn't want to get turned into some half-rotted freak.

Once finished, he headed to the kitchen where he immediately tossed several rashers of bacon onto a frying pan before pulling a large steak out of the freezer. He briefly considered searing the outside before simply tossing it in the microwave to defrost; while he usually at least cooked them before he ate them, right now he had a strong desire for something bloody.

After he had eaten he finally started to feel more like his old self and decided to go about his studies as normal. With no idea of whether or not that wolf thing was still out there, he wasn't about to take any further jaunts outside and he desperately needed to keep his mind occupied at the moment and off the day's revelations. There was no way he could handle something of that magnitude right now.

He threw himself into the books with a desperation he hadn't felt since he'd first began his schooling a year and a half ago. So involved was he that he was completely startled when sometime later a knock came at the door. His head snapped up and stared blankly at the unassuming oak door across the kitchen, a single thought echoing through his mind. Nobody should be knocking at their door.

The quiet sound of a twig snapping outside galvanized him into action. He moved through the kitchen as quickly and quietly as he could, taking great care to avoid the windows, and grabbed a large cutting knife from the knife rack and slipped it into the back of his pants. From the direction of the lab, he heard the sound of shells chambering in the shotgun Doc kept at hand in the lab. John gave a grim grin at this. They might have had their differences this morning but in this they were most definitely united.

Though now that he thought about it, the morning's revelations also explained why the doctor had always kept the gun out and within easy reach while they were in the lab. He'd always thought it was just in case they were found. He gave a dark chuckle. Instead it was just in case he needed to be put down like some rabid dog. Wasn't that a comforting thought?

He meet the Doc in the foyer in front of the front door. Doc looked at him somberly. "How many are there?"

John concentrated on listening, his powerful ears picking up sounds far too quiet for the Doc's. "There's two in front of the door." He paused, listening harder. "And I think there's at least two more moving around in the woods outside. They're obviously not professionals. Not with the amount of noise they're making."

Doc thought for a moment. "If I can keep the two at the door involved, do you think you can take care of the other two outside and then circle around behind them?"

John considered that for a moment before nodding. "Shouldn't be a problem. I can slip out the back window in your room."

Doc nodded. John moved swiftly and silently through the cabin and back to the window just as a third knock came at the door. He could hear the Doctor opening the door as he quietly slipped out the opening and into the foliage outside before concentrating his attention on his prey.

He circled around to the right side of the house first. Target number one turned out to be a young woman, in her early twenties if he'd had to take a guess. She was quite petite and obviously unused to the woods, if her constant shifting was anything to go by. Even more surprising was the fact that she had bright pick hair, wore some unsightly looking dress, and was holding a thin wooden stick pointed at the door.

If he'd had any doubts about their professionalism before, they'd just completely disappeared. It was appallingly easy to sneak up behind her and slam her head into the side of the tree next to her, knocking her out cold. He began a brief search of her dress as soon as she had collapsed, but found nothing on her other than her stick. He picked up and slipped it in his back pocket, noting a slight tingle as he did so. The sensation was soon forgotten though as he focused his attention on the next target.

Target number two was much better hidden, the lack of pink hair helping tremendously. But all his shifting around in the brush was making a ridiculous amount of noise, which made it child's play for John to find him as well. He was concealed on the left side of the house so John circled back around, not wanting to get caught out in the open crossing the gravel road.

It took a moment to actually spot him in the brush but the rustling of a nearby bush gave him away. John had to stop himself from audibly scoffing as soon as he laid eyes on the man. Target two was also wearing that ridiculous dress of Target One – despite the fact he was a large African man, obviously not female at all. He couldn't believe it – ruthless Umbrella was sending transvestites after him. He was almost insulted.

It was just as easy to sneak up behind the man and take him out the same way he'd dispatched Target One, though he slammed Target Two's head into the tree a second time just to make sure. A quick search of the man's dress revealed nothing more than another stick, just like the one he'd gotten off of Target One. This John pocketed as well.

Satisfied the two were out of it for the moment, John turned his attention back to his surroundings. He couldn't hear or smell anyone else outside of the two men at the door so he moved closer, taking another position that would make it easier for him to attack. Quietly, John listened in. It seemed the strangers, an old man with a large white beard and a sallow-faced man with a greasy complexion, had been inquiring about an attack the night before, apparently offering to lend their services with any injuries that had resulted.

The old one was good, John had to give him that. He actually seemed to genuinely want to help and John might have believed him had he not just dispatched the man's two cronies waiting in the bushes. The failed ambush certainly hadn't done anything to help the man's authenticity. Though it was obvious to John that the Doc wouldn't have bought the man's story even without the extra evidence.

"I'm afraid you must be mistaken," Doc said through the small crack in the open front door. "Nobody here has been attacked recently and so we have no need of your assistance."

"Nonsense," the old man replied with a striking British accent completely out of place in their part of France. "I simply must insist. It's really no trouble at all."

John could see Doc straighten up, evidently having had enough. "I'm afraid that if you don't want any trouble that I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

The two visitors seemed to come to the simultaneous conclusion that the Doc wasn't going to let them in, though John could have easily told them that beforehand. At that point both men raised their own sticks and the young Tyrant suddenly realized that they must actually be some sort of weapon. He moved immediately, pulling the cutting knife back and coming up behind the greasy man's back. He drove the long knife straight through the bone and cartilage of the shoulder joint of his right arm, causing it collapse limply at his side, the stick falling out of unresponsive fingers. The man started to turn, but John pushed the knife deeper into his wounded shoulder, forcing his shoulder forward and causing him to turn and face the hard stone wall of the lodge, which John proceeded to drive him face first into.

As the man slid down the wall unconscious, his large, broken nose tracing a bloody trail across its surface, John yanked the knife out of the man's shoulder and turned to face the old guy right as Doc leveled the shotgun at him as well. The man took it with complete aplomb, and lowered his stick, causally ignoring both their threatening positions. He turned to John and smiled serenely. "Hello, Harry."

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Author's Note:

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Published: 04.13.10

Updated: