1: It's Alive
When the newly-created bioweapon first gained consciousness it took several moments to adjust itself to the barrage of sensations. There was something wrong… dizzying about the way its weight was distributed; when its fingers twitched, it felt the movement of cold fluid flowing between them, explaining right away the strange thickness that surrounded its form. Somewhat distorted, slightly muffled, it began to hear a conversation from close by, which it found it could understand:
"Eugh. Ugly fucker, isn't he?"
"Ugly is as ugly does, Carson. By the way, it can hear you."
"Shut up. You're not gonna scare me that way. Now, where's that Limiter?"
"It's all in that box over there. I'll start the drain."
There was a heavy clunk, then a pull from below as the liquid it was suspended in began being siphoned away. As its feet met the grate at the base of the chamber housing it, the bioweapon wavered in place as it finally felt its full weight settle with the force of gravity. There was a burble as the last of the fluid sucked through the drain-holes followed by relative silence, broken only by dripping from its fingertips, back, and down its chin. The chill of air beginning to dry its bare skin elicited another twitch, and it finally was motivated to open its eyes.
Through the curved warp of the glass tube its piercing vision first perceived the face of a researcher, brows scrunched up in concentration as he examined it right back. The man was young with scruffy stubble, and clad in a long white lab coat (though with many small stains of indeterminate color). The bioweapon's gaze slowly slid to the side, watching as the second researcher bent over a bank of controls attached to the cylinder containing it. There was another clunk, a hiss of pneumatics and a hum of electricity as the tube raised up into a housing in the dark ceiling. A new sensory capacity—scent—washed over the newly-awoken being as the stark, sterilized air of the laboratory was introduced to it. The creature blinked out of the unfamiliarity, metal grate floor creaking underneath it as it shifted its weight.
"Tyrant T-103, designated T-00," the second researcher said as she straightened up and took a pace over towards it, snapping its attention back to the humans over the environment. It focused on her, examining the much cleaner lab coat, the tight bun of hair, the red and white insignia over the breast pocket; humans were very small, very frail-looking, far smaller than itself and upon that nonplussed realization it had the first thought of what it was. The researcher's voice stalled that thought with a sharp order, "Step out T-00."
The Tyrant designated T-00—absorbing what the woman had called it—obeyed with its first two heavy steps. Internally it was intrigued and alarmed as it felt the tiled floor shake beneath it. It must be several magnitudes larger than it had first supposed; the creature stole a moment to crane its neck further down, trying to look at itself as best it could. Its own massive chest blocked much of its view, though it could also see its own huge, stout forearms. Thick, leathery gray skin permanently marred with tightly-packed, curving striations covered every visible inch, though it was much thinner and less wrinkled towards the center of its chest—as if strained and bulging outwards from sheer mass contained within. Pulsating movement on each side of the sternum caused it to look closer. The skin there was bulging outwards; lacing through gaps in the underlying bone and muscle were twin oversized aortas, presumably issuing from twin oversized hearts, shifting visibly just under the surface as thick blood was rapidly shunted through its gigantic frame. This was… not something typical to humans, and it knew that instinctively.
"Here. Put these on yourself." As a bulky armful of heavy black Kevlar and leather was pushed towards it, the Tyrant's eye snapped back to the man, who struggled to manage the whole bundle of immense boots and trousers and buckled straps until the bioweapon grasped them with the tiniest fraction of its strength. After a curious pause, it very gingerly tested its movements to crouch and set down the boots, sliding into the lower half of the sleek black covering one leg at a time. Then, into the boots one foot at a time—fumbling with the straps and buckles but then learning quickly how to make finessed motions with its new fingers.
"This too," And a matching trenchcoat of similar scale and material was pushed into its hands as it stood back upright. The Tyrant obeyed, carefully tightening each of the straps until the tough inner lining conformed snugly around its torso, wrists and neck. Something felt immediately correct about this. Not exactly pleasant but the presence of this outer covering was reassuring, and the bioweapon squared itself up in a more at-ease posture as it made a final few adjustments to its gloves.
"That went well," the male researcher muttered over to his cohort, who was piecing together notations in a sheaf of files on her clipboard. The bioweapon overheard it all with a stoic stare out over the darkened lab, aware it was being ignored. "So, this one's finished and ready to roll out?"
"Not quite. It still needs an implant. After that it needs to go to QA for a few days to be sure it isn't faulty."
"I—I thought they came out with the implant?" He was quite suddenly doing anything but ignore the casually waiting Tyrant, stepping back and locking eyes with it before whispering over to the woman, "Um. Um… How well do these things follow orders without the controller again?"
"Stop pissing yourself, Carson. The 103s are perfectly loyal to Umbrella staff. They'll take any commands in-person, but to have a mission they deploy for they need the implant to keep them in contact with command servers." She scoffed at his ugly expression towards her and stepped up a mere foot from the T-103, "Without a mission, this thing should be pretty docile. Proto-Tyrants were like wild beasts—these guys are domesticated," She had reached up with a balled-up fist, thumping solidly against its shoulder as high as she could reach. The Tyrant could barely feel it through the Limiter, "Well, I wouldn't try to attack it or insult it, but otherwise this big boy is currently harmless. To us, at least."
The bioweapon eyed the woman quizzically as she continued past it and to a flat, sterilized slab on the other side of the row of growth tubes. The creature did not understand the purpose of the gesture, though it had concluded it was neither intended as aggression, nor was this pencil-thin figure at all capable of doing any damage to it.
"Here it is," she returned, hands now sheathed in latex, one index finger and thumb pinched around a tiny silvery cylinder. In her other hand was a surgical drill, which piqued the creature's interest. The male researcher's skin turned a shade paler.
"Jesus, you're just gonna—?"
"Yes, it's fine. Just pass me the screw when I need it."
"…Alright. It's your funeral…" The creature broke eye contact with the point of the drill to meet her expression—a reserved, customer-service-type smile—as she spoke its designation again:
"T-00, please bend down this way and hold still for a moment."
It did so, making a pointed glance again to the drill. She didn't miss the wary observation it was making of the tool even while it was putting its head within easy reach of it, and the false smile half-faded.
"Yes, this is going to involve some pain and minor tissue damage. It will be brief. Stay completely still."
The creature did nothing to acknowledge that it had understood the researcher's explanation, aside from fixing its attentions to the floor between them and going rigidly still as instructed. The male researcher drew back further as the drill turned on with a high-pitched whine.
Only seconds later, the new Tyrant learned in practice what "pain" even was as the tip of the drill bit into its temple. A fiery searing lit up across its entire scalp and traveled in a shock down through its body, but aside from a startled blink it obeyed. Even as a sickening grinding slowed the drill's progress, sinking a deep pinhole into its skull. Its hearts pounded harder, faster, in an automatic process to kick-start its healing factor. Its gigantic lungs huffed in and out without any conscious decision. …Ow.
Before the flesh could close over the portal into its brain cavity, the researcher jammed the open circuit side of the metal cylinder inside, giving a pronounced twist to ensure the active component was fully inside the entity's cranium. With an urgent gesture, she summoned the cowering researcher back over to pass off a long, thin screw to her, which she wasted no time in inserting into its place and drilling again to push its point deep in until the top was flush with the protruding receiver. Firmly anchoring the device into the already-regenerating bone.
"There. Done." She stepped back, discarding the soiled drill onto a tray and peeling off her gloves before similarly ditching them. The bioweapon stood back up to its full height, letting go a deep exhale from its cavernous chest as the throbbing echoes of that new, awful sensation faded. One of its hands wandered up to the scene of the split-second surgery, trying to explore the wet trickle starting to run down through the deep grooves of its face. The tip of one finger had just made contact with its temple—and the sticky, deep-red blood—when a far worse jolt ripped through it, as if its spine had caught fire while being simultaneously frozen solid. The creature wasn't ready for anything like this—caught off-guard, it jerked its hand away and visibly staggered, surprising itself further as something unknown happened in its throat by reflex. A strange tightening as air rushed out, and its own breathing made a noise, a sort of deep croak, vocal cords coarse and clunky and unused. This alone triggered another stiff flinch.
"T-00, don't attempt to touch the implant, or the deterrent will activate." The researcher said, crossly striding away and beginning to make further notes on her clipboard. The Tyrant turned and gazed at her despite her now completely paying no attention to the nearly eight-foot bioweapon standing stunned after its brain had been cattle-prodded. "Carson, I've got to finish up here. You'll be sure to take that to the holding area so QA can get to work, alright?"
"Ugh. Fine." The Tyrant was presently aware of the other researcher taking a few timid steps towards it, snapping it out of the brain fog that the jolt had punished it with, "Come on, you heard the lady. Follow me."