Room 7: Damian's Room

Damian quickly makes his way into the room and closes the door behind him. The room is rather plain at first glance, and to be honest Damian likes it just like that; simple and practical. He sets his suitcase upon the bed and pauses. He feels a wave of emotions rush through him that he's not willing to feel right now...and his need to leave and get some fresh air is rising; causing his throat to dry and crack and his lungs to flare up and causes him to cough. He backs away from the bed and holds his aching head. "Grah...I can unpack tomorrow..." he says to himself. He opens the door without looking back and locks it behind him as he leaves.

Darkstorm Zero wrote:

A standard appartment, well cleaned and furnished neately. A single bed sat in the middle of the bedroom and alongside it, a single bedside table with a small lamp and digital clock atop it and 2 drawers. The beds furnished with standard black doonas and blankes, and white pillows. Towels lined the rack in the combined bathroom and toilet, fresh soap shampoo and hair conditioner inside the holders in the shower/bathtub.

Unusually, a single silver chromed and carbon black footlocker like chest sat at the foot of the bed, and clearly marked by name of the next occupant. Damien Handy...

Damian had stumbled into the room, the cigar in his mouth dwindled down to a smoldering stub. He stands there in the apartment for a moment. His pain filled head and weakened body and battered soul made him really disoriented and for a moment he could not even see his briefcase upon the bed...or the bed or even the room to be honest. It was all...shades of dark blue and black...the colors of the shadows and darkness that had prevailed in the unlit room. He takes the cigar and puffs out one last cloud of acrid smoke before coughing hoarsely. He tosses the useless death stick into an empty stainless wastebasket that is beside the drawer.

He does not pay heed to the dim glow that was slowly snuffing itself out in the basket while he advances to the heavy suitcase on his bed. He stumbles upon it, breaking the dual locks with a quick slide of a button, and lifts the lid of the case high. Inside were mostly clothes, all but a pair of jeans and a bland white t-shirt were the same suit he was wearing right now, a few odds and ends here and there, some empty handgun mags for a Beretta M9, some boxes of 9mm luger, a couple boxes of 12 gauge buckshot, a single box of 12 gauge slugs, a flashlight and finally...a medium sized bottle of Jack Daniels no. 7.

He takes the bottle and cracks open the top and pushes the suitcase off the bed. He winces as he sits, the wounded leg wasn't as numb as before, but it wouldn't be a problem soon enough. He looks at it and breathes heavily.

"It taste's better in good company..."

"I think you'll enjoy America..."

"We'll be fine...I've got you..."

"I'm going to protect you...there is no need to worry."

Those voices...words he'd spoken on that dreadful night...he quickly absolves them with a long and airless swig that makes him cough when he finally pulls the bottle away from his mouth. "They are never fully absolved...only dissolved...and then come back with a vengeance." he mutters softly.

Her face...her face was still in his mind. He never had a photographic memory...but he could see her just as clear as day in his mind.

"Her dark hair...brown eyes...her gentle voice..." he mutters, his eyes wide and cracked with deep red veins.

"You failed..." came a dark voice.

"Useless"

"Unneeded"

"Worthless"

"Failure"

He takes a longer swig than before, stinging alcohol runs down the sides of his face and onto his jacket. He continues to literally drown himself in the stinging amber liquid. His sense of taste, touch were gone by this point. He could tear his stitches out and he wouldn't notice. He leans back then rocks forward, standing awkwardly. He raises the bottle high above his head. "Forget it...forget all of it..." he tells himself, finishing the entire bottle off in a shower. He blinks, dropping the bottle onto the semi-damp carpeted floor, thankfully the heavy glass did not shatter. He stumbles around, tearing off his jacket and dress shirt, tossing the useless garments aside. He feels the metal of his SWAT dogtags hit his chest.

He looks down at them, alcohol drips down his saturated face. The tags looked like a butterfly in his vision...but he didn't like its steely color...the color of a swords sharpened blade. He pulls the tags off, throwing them across the room before falling onto his bed, daftly looking up at the ceiling.

His blurred vision blackens, and soon he is passed out...
---

Damian opens his eyes.... he's in a white world...soon shapes form, the ruins of a building...Everon Industries to be exact... and the world is white, and beautiful with snow falling in a whirlwind. A blizzard.
"Not a single flake of snow fell that year..."
He presses onward, getting out of the pure blinding white and enters the building. Slowly pressing his way into the building, sliding between cracks and crevices. He's at the reception area when he hears a voice calling 'Damian'.
"No..."
He pauses, looking for the direction of the voice. He hears the sweet young voice call from his left, up the main stairwell. The door slowly opens to reveal the endless staircase.
"Don't..."
He begins to approach it.
"Don't do this..."
But he presses on despite his own pleading. He begins to climb the stairway and climbs further and further, up the nearly endless amount of stairs.
"Turn back now! I beg of you please, don't enter the roof!"
But that is exactly what he does...and soon the door opens and he is filled with white again...and then he's standing on the open roof. No...he was on the ground floor...a courtyard that was normally passed the lobby, but open to the skies from the damage caused years prior...
"I...Don't want to see this..." came his pleading voice...
And Damian takes a step forward. Another. Soon he's standing in the center of the courtyard, and he sees...her.
A young woman, long blackish hair that flowed in the snowy wind. She has it up in a pony tail, and her back is facing him. It's too late to back down, and all he can do is watch. She turns around, looking at him with her big brown Asian eyes.
He gulps, feeling his eyes widen. "Yu...ki." he calls...but like it is only a whisper.
She then frowns, tears flowing from her eyes. "It's your fault." she says in a spiteful manner. She shakes. "you killed her!" she screams, and there is a sound of metal grinding upon squishy flesh. The snow immediately paused-hovering in place as Yuki's tears became red and she stepped towards Damian. Damian backs away, his back hitting against the wall and he proceeds to slide down it. His mouth is agape and he is trembling. Unable to speak he closes his eyes tightly in time to hear the metal slicing through meat-the snow fell again, but this time it was harder than before, and no longer white but deep red.
He feels something brush against his leg, and he shakily turns his attention to what had touched him and gains the courage to open his starry eyes. He freezes. Looking back at him, with those distant chocolate brown eyes and blackish hair splayed out like an octopus was Yuki's severed head. The bloody tears kept flowing out and he is horrified when the mouth opens. "YOU KILLED HER!!" came from the mouth. He crawls away from the head, looking up to see a heavy cleaving blade swing into his face-cleaving his vision and returning to the dark.

---
He screams, lunging up from his pillow, his Samurai Edge drawn from under his pillow and pointed at the wall ahead of him-

Click-click-click-click-click...!

He is sweating, saturated from head to toe in shiny dripping sweat. He is wide eyed and his heart is racing, tears continue to stream down his face and he continues to pull back the trigger of his prized handgun, a handgun that's safety is still on...keeping whoever is in the next room alive. He shutters, dropping the gun in his lap. He curls into a ball and grips his head tightly shaking and trembling. The nightmare...it would always return if he remotely thought of her or that doomed mission.
He closes his eyes tightly and places a pillow over his head, trying to calm himself down again...and soon enough he was asleep again.

Damian continues to sleep, he didn't stir much again. With the alcohol finally numbing his pain, forcing him into a deeper sleep. The room was quite silent now, and let us pretend we the viewers are a camera. We first look to the fallen bottle, which still lay on the floor, a few millimeters of liquid remained in the glass. We move up to the bed, where Damian lays silently, from this angle he almost appears to be dead (but I assure you, he isn't). We see the the stainless chromed weapon laying in his lap yet. A rare custom job, perhaps the only one left in it's line. A weapon that was built exclusively for the members of the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. In fact on it's slide it is engraved with the manufacturer's mark: "Custom Kendo Shop", on the other side of the stainless slide is written: "S.T.A.R.S. R.P.D. Special Team" The weapon was made exclusively for the Special Tactics and Rescue Service, but one of the STARS members...Barry Burton, had a replica made for him as a favor, and both had known each other due to the fact they were both card carrying members of the N.R.A.
But over the years, the weapon has been modified countless times, threaded barrel for a high grade suppressor, a cherry wood checkered grip with a blue insignia of the STARS logo.
There is a laser sight and flashlight attached to the weapon as of late. A blue laser light radiated from this device and the batteries were charged to maximum. It was kept well, the only thing that really had not changed over the years.

We pan to the window, outside the street is silent, save for a few who were walking to get home. Down the line of windows we could enter many other occupants rooms, like that Reporter who we know was an assassin, a room to the University Student, a room of an unknown occupant, the room of the tall man who we know was not a man, and that of the room occupied by that FBI Agent... but we do not enter. We instead turn to the other end of town where the park was. We followed the Assassin earlier to this place, but we were cut off abruptly by an unseen force. We drift back to the room of our subject Handy.

We sit in the corner and wait, for there is nothing else we can do at the present time.

Darkstorm Zero wrote:

Damien's cellphone started ringing loudly, indicating an incoming call. the ringing was incessant, and it bypassed the voicemail system to continue ringing... the tune of Moonlight Sonata wailed from Damien's discarded jacket pocket.

While the music wailed and the rain continued to pour outside, Damian was still inside another 'dreamscape'.




He was sitting at a bar, a large glass containing bourbon swiveled in his hand, and his dead eyes lay upon the ice that was swimming inside the hard drink. There is a rumble of patrons, not really being loud and or obnoxious, but they are simply idly talking to each other in indistinct tones and voices. Damian simply remains there, sitting and drinking when he feels another presence.

"How long are you going to keep this up, Lieutenant?" responded the deep voice. It was a familiar voice...the voice of his long since dead Captain in the R.P.D. S.W.A.T., Captain Cahil. Damian doesn't dare to look at the spectre, but he can see his blood stained uniform swing its hulky frame into view. "Pff...You didn't listen to me back in Raccoon either..but you know, if you had you would have surely died...just like me." he then pats a rotten hand upon Damian's right shoulder and then quickly shambles away.

Damian, still silent, can hear the faint sound of 'Moonlight Sonata' being played, and remembers as a kid, how much he had dreaded that piece. Several summers of childish fun wasted at the keys of a baby grand piano that his mother had purchased for them to play on. He shrugged, taking another sip of his alcohol...it was beginning to already stale.

Another presence walks up, and this time, Damian turns to look at him. Leland Irvine smiles back at him, looking as young and handsome as he had been before he had died 13 long years ago....but how did he die again? Damian couldn't remember.

"Hello, Leland," Damian said almost in a harsh whisper back to his friend. He didn't get to know the man long enough, but they were indeed friends by the time Leland gotten himself killed...he believed it was a sacrifice...a self-sacrifice...but for what, for who? "...how are the times treating ya?" he asked the ghost.

Leland took a seat beside him, and laughed his annoying, (Yet Damian appreciated it) high pitched laugh. "Oh, you know, traveling the realms of life and death; falling in love with a Goddess of the Moon; and I tell ya, she's got a rocking body and a great pair of bre-" but as Leland brought up his hand towards his upper chest making groping motions, Damian simply chuckles and turns away to take another stale sip.

Leland frowned. "Hey, don't blow me off man! Honest as pie, Scout's honor!" he says raising his hand and then grinned. "I see you had taken over my business once I was gone. That was mighty kind of ya, but still...you could've avoided those Arms Dealer charges if you didn't." Leland continued.

What he said was true. Back in '05, Damian had been arrested by the Department of Homeland Security, but was then transferred to the Federal Biohazard Commission as an asset in. Soon after, he had been scouted by the B.S.A.A....

Damian remains silent, but Leland leans closer: "I see you still don't remember my death...or Eva's, The Goth, the others in our lot." he says with a mischievous grin.

Damian turns to him, wide eyed. "What? What have I forgotten? You know something, don't you?!" he immediately bursts. The room is silent, with the exception of 'Moonlight Sonata' being played upon a baby grand.

Leland's fox like grin intensifies and he pulls away from Handy. "Well, when your dead you become aware of a great deal of things, like the natural order of life, how the universe was created, where they burried Jimmy Hoffa...but yes. And to answer your follow up, no. I will not disclose anything Lieutenant. You'll have to remember on your own." He turns to look away briefly, staring at the back of the pub before he continues. "If I told you now, your mind would go into shock...and you'll be as useful as a cripple in 'your world'." he says, his face becoming more stern now.

The word 'cripple' reminded Damian of his father, Jack Handy. The old Irishman who grew up in Belfast had spent the latter of his life tied down in a wheel chair, living out the rest of his days as a Historian for the small town in which Damian had grown up in. His father...always looked like he was holding back a grudge. Always...remorseful.

He blinks, looking up at Leland who stares back at him smiling. "Well friend, it's about time for me to clock off." he says with a grunt, getting up from his seat. He begins to walk to the entrance. "I'd like to stay, but my 'bunny' doesn't like it when I'm away for too long...and I tell you, she's a real fox for a rabbit." he says turning back to Damian with a wink before he laughed. "Try not to kill yourself now, Officer." he says pointing at him before walking out. Damian would notice the door opened to a thick sheet of black. Leland seemed to simply be swallowed by it and then the door closed on its own.

Alone again, Damian slumps in his seat and returns to his glass. Taking another sip, the alcohol tasted even worse now. He ponders about Lelands words for a moment when he heard a VERY FAMILIAR voice call out: "I'll have what he's having."

To Damian's left the voice had appeared. It was a voice Damian knew more than anyone else, for it was his very own. An identical glass was set before the younger man. Handsome, wrinkle free, bright eyed and giving off a strong and powerful aura. An Aura that made others feel powerful. He wears a debris ridden R.P.D. S.W.A.T. Uniform, and has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair is a healthier redish brown, and his face was clean and shaven. The younger Handy turns to Damian after taking his glass, swivels around in his chair and lays his back against the bar table. His eyes seemed to always be in shadow however...as if he had no eyes. The younger smiles and then states: "You should really just drop the act bud. It doesn't suit a man like you."

Damian, currently robbed of his voice and glass is only able to stare upon the eyeless version of his younger self. The younger Handy takes a full swig, cringes, and then exhales heartily. "You've lost sight of a lot of things mate. Your job, your woman..." he swivels the glass a bit. "Your honor." he then turns his eyeless gaze upon him, and Damian shrinks back into his seat, his vision blurry in a red haze.

The younger turns away, and the freaky sensation fades away partially. Damian, grasping his own eyes, looks back at the empty pits of his former self again.

"Your not only forgetting people, your forgetting who you are man." He hands the glass over to Damian, who takes it, and turns away facing the bar. He sighs heavily and takes a swig; then chokes-spitting out a fine red mist from his mouth. Gasping, he looks down and is horrified to see a glass that was now thick red and filled with blood. His shaky eyes glance at the glass which he forces away onto the counter like a gross insect...

"Your choking on your own blood...drinking it does nothing but taste bitter and gross," came his younger voice again. "Your self-piteous nature you've been developing has become way too dangerous...its making your enemies stronger." the voice finished.

A large blood drenched centipede crawls out from Damian's glass; multiple hair thin legs bristled out and onto the counter, and caused Damian's stomach to turn in on itself. Wide eyed, he turns back to his ghastly presence. "My what?" he finally is able to ask, but when he had turned to his left there was no one there.

'Moonlight Sonata' began to play painfully now, and he clamps his ears tightly.

"Look around you man...your enemies booked this pub for you...they just couldn't wait for this 'reunion'." his younger voice cackles like a radio call. Damian does turn and look about, and is horrified to see who had been talking in the background this entire time...all the while 'Moonlight Sonata' continued to play...

In several booths, there were simply shadows of familiar looking people. The Russian Brothers sneered at him, each tall and brooding behind there booth's table. At another table a man in leather with a gasmask cackles and points at him. Raymond Taylor's tell-tale shape laughs a shrill almost woman like laughter. He notices there WAS a baby grand piano in the back being played. The pianist, Ozwell E. Spencer in his evening attire was playing like a crazed and spiteful loon. He half turns to Damian and gives him a wide sharp toothed sneer. Then he spots Wesker's shades from one of the other tables. Wesker himself, his eyes glowing red, raises a glass of blood before grinning then swallowed the glass's contents in a single swig. Blood dripped down the corners of his lips. Masami's bodacious shape is curled around him; part snake, part woman. Wesker turns to Masami and gives her an opened mouth kiss-blood now trickled down her cheeks as well.

Damian, standing up from his seat reaches for his gun-but all he touches is an empty holster. The familiar click of the safety is heard, and Damian turns towards his left again to see the threaded barrel of his gun pointed into his right eye. The one holding the gun, was a teary eyed Yuki. "You killed me..." she then goes wide eyed-her beautiful chocolate brown eyes pale and her skin becomes green. Her long black hair that was in a ponytail is cleaved from the lower neck, falling upon the floor in hearty clumps. Her rotting head rolls off her body and splats to the floor in a pool of six month old, gooey, brackish blood. The headless corpse suddenly twitches and a new head appears upon the young woman's body. Another Asian looking woman, her skin covered in thick red blood, her hair in a short black ponytail. She smiles like a shark. "I killed her too!" Kiyomi Yuri excitedly shrieks in an aggressive manner, pulling the trigger of his gun. The bullet pierces his right eye, causing it to explode.

Simply standing there, he reaches up and then lets out a horrified shriek of pain and fear as centipedes crawl out from his wound. He digs crazily at his hallowed out eye, and briefly notices everyone standing up and approaching him; even Spencer who now holds a record player that still played 'Moonlight Sonata'. The song is so powerful, Damian can feel it painfully pushing against his left eye. He turns around, remembering the exit and sprints towards it. Screaming and cursing, he finally makes it to the door and thrusts it open-
-a brick wall. Literally. A fucking brick wall had formed where the darkness previously was. He pounds hard on it, causing his knuckles to bleed, but it wouldn't give. He wheezes, turning around with his back against the wall, now all of them were zombies. Horrified, they all clawed onto him, he screamed as their rotting mouths made contact with his flesh, pulling him down to the ground where they would continue to eat him alive!

"Kyoufu wo oshiete yarou!"

Behind the crowd of enemies, a dying Damian could see a semi-familiar tall man. He stood nearly seven foot, and wore a heavy duster. This tall man casually reaches out for him, and at this moment the world becomes silent save for the ending of 'Moonlight Sonata'. Damian brings up one bloody arm up as he's about to go under; to drown in his enemies feasting party. His vision blackens first, but then he can feel the warmth of the larger man's hand...

The darkness brightens, and Damian sits up in bed. He turns to hear the less regal, and more Nintendo like 8-bit tone of his phone ringing and vibrating before it finally stopped. It was raining outside, and the distant sound of thunder sounded like gunshots. He closes his eyes and palms his face. "It...was a dream..." he says, but his knuckles burn. Pulling them away, he turns them over and physically pales to see bruises forming from the swelled humps of his knuckles.

He shrugs, turning to the phone and picks it up. He slides it open and then presses a series of buttons to listen to the voice mail of the unlisted missed call. "Who the hell could that be?" he had thought once he looked upon the caller ID not a second or two earlier.

A trickle of sweat runs down the worn features of his face. He was still recovering from his second nightmare while the cellular phone continued to vibrate in his right hand. The otherwise harmless and super-cheesy 8-bit ringtone of 'Moonlight Sonata' was beginning to creep into his mind like a jagged claw digging out from a shallow grave. He immediately put the phone to silent and sat there, staring at the red and black near paper thin device. Once it stopped ringing, Damian let out a sigh of relief; but it immediately began to ring again, like in some twisted loop.

Wide eyed and trembling, an old part of himself slowly but surely made it's way back to the 'surface' again. He stopped trembling for a moment, and gathered his courage before sliding the phone open again and brought it to his right eat. His face became suspicious, albeit intertwined with paranoia and fear. Outside another big clash of lightning and thunder danced amid a torrential downpour. He cleared his throat, and then answered:

"United Nations: BSAA Investigation Unit; Agent Handy speaking." Damian gruffly answers formally. He wondered yet how the phone call could be listed as 'an old friend' yet, but what ever the outcome he was sure he was going to handle it with extreme caution. "They never did catch that woman..." his mind trailed off for a moment, but he shook his conscience free and answered the silence again: "Hello? Anyone there?"

And that's when a that familiar voice spoke back to him, like an old looming nightmare.

"Damien.... it has been a long time...."

Immediately, with the memory of New York fresh in his mind, and the horrifying nightmare just now, besides the demonic distortion, Damien might recall, the voice that spoke to him at the end of the nightmare.

'Kyoufu wo oshiete yarou!'

The last time the two men had seen eachother was 13 years ago, the Rockfort incident. Edgar had disappeared for over a decade after that event. And although Edgar never seemed to reappear after what happened on the island, Edgar's reputation as a monsterous terrorist forever tarnished him in thee wake of the Psionic Decimator disaster.

However, was it possible Edgar was there on that fated night in Manhattan?

Darkstorm Zero wrote:

And that's when a that familiar voice spoke back to him, like an old looming nightmare.

"Damien.... it has been a long time...."

Immediately, with the memory of New York fresh in his mind, and the horrifying nightmare just now, besides the demonic distortion, Damien might recall, the voice that spoke to him at the end of the nightmare.

'Kyoufu wo oshiete yarou!'

The last time the two men had seen eachother was 13 years ago, the Rockfort incident. Edgar had disappeared for over a decade after that event. And although Edgar never seemed to reappear after what happened on the island, Edgar's reputation as a monsterous terrorist forever tarnished him in thee wake of the Psionic Decimator disaster.

However, was it possible Edgar was there on that fated night in Manhattan?

Damian's eyes widened and he felt the sweat glazing his scalp. He opened his mouth to say the name, but nothing came out. It was almost as if the name was on the tip of his tongue, yet just as easily it dissipated. He grumbles and shakes his head before replying with: "Who is this? And how did you get a hold of my number?" He asked aggressively. The mans deep voice on the other end seemed familiar to him...it was like the voice in his dream...the voice had also been there in New York six months ago...

He was physically paling, and he felt a buzzing in his head that was hurting his eyes.

The voice became slightly morose at that. "Hrmm... I guess that device did more damage to you than I thought... Damien, it's me, Edgar Holden... The man who was once your best friend and fellow Raccoon survivor... The one who managed to keep your W....." Edgar cut himself off quickly.

"Never mind about that... There are some serious problems, both on your end and mine... Unfortunately, I may not make it to Tall Oaks in time to deal with the problems no doubt festering there... I have a situation down here..."

Darkstorm Zero wrote:

The voice became slightly morose at that. "Hrmm... I guess that device did more damage to you than I thought... Damien, it's me, Edgar Holden... The man who was once your best friend and fellow Raccoon survivor... The one who managed to keep your W....." Edgar cut himself off quickly.

"Never mind about that... There are some serious problems, both on your end and mine... Unfortunately, I may not make it to Tall Oaks in time to deal with the problems no doubt festering there... I have a situation down here..."

Edgar Holden...Edgar....Ed...

The name sounded familiar, but he was still unsure about the man's relationship to him. "Ed huh? Sorry...but it doesn't really ring any bells. I would recognize an old friend straight away but...again, your story seems to be off." He then sighs. "If you have a situation sir, you should properly contact the local authorities." he then blinks then stands up from his bed erratically his bed sheets falling and he stood there in his boxers with an enraged face. "Wait a minute! Where the hell are you calling from? I better not be getting charged extra for this, damn it!" he rages unexpectedly.

Edgar's response only came after Damien blurted out about the phone bill.

"Oh yes, because Antarctica has local authorities. Brilliant plan... And don't be so pedantic, I'm not some charity that calls collect. As for your memory of me, I do believe it basically amounts to the Rockfort incident, and... one phrase you may remember of me... 'Kyoufu wo oshiete yarou' or in your language: 'I will teach you the meaning of fear'. You know who I am, and you know what I do... And before you ask; Yes, I was there on that day, I just never made it in time..."

Darkstorm Zero wrote:

Edgar's response only came after Damien blurted out about the phone bill.

"Oh yes, because Antarctica has local authorities. Brilliant plan... And don't be so pedantic, I'm not some charity that calls collect. As for your memory of me, I do believe it basically amounts to the Rockfort incident, and... one phrase you may remember of me... 'Kyoufu wo oshiete yarou' or in your language: 'I will teach you the meaning of fear'. You know who I am, and you know what I do... And before you ask; Yes, I was there on that day, I just never made it in time..."

Darkstorm Zero wrote:

Edgar's response only came after Damien blurted out about the phone bill.

"Oh yes, because Antarctica has local authorities. Brilliant plan... And don't be so pedantic, I'm not some charity that calls collect. As for your memory of me, I do believe it basically amounts to the Rockfort incident, and... one phrase you may remember of me... 'Kyoufu wo oshiete yarou' or in your language: 'I will teach you the meaning of fear'. You know who I am, and you know what I do..."

Damian was about to laugh at the mention of Antarctica and hang up, but something deep down kept him on the line. He gets fuzzy images of a tall figure- once through a steel hallway under Raccoon University, both had magnums in hand and were firing at Alpha's; another time they were in Mayland City California; and lastly on Rockfort Island...at the time it had been renovated by the company to be used as a prison again. Though each memory the man he was trying to picture is shrouded in a dark shadow; each time his image came up he was too fuzzy to look at directly or discern details. But when he brought up that Japanese sounding phrase his blood turned cold. He grimaced, as if punched in the stomach, but it was his throat that was throbbing. He couldn't...couldn't put himself through those memories again...not yet...he wasn't ready for those yet his body warned.

He stood tall and bowed his head a little. "You...were there. In New York..." he suddenly admits. He paused for a moment, and felt something well up inside. It was not discernible by nature, but it felt like a close match between rage and sorrow. He remained silent for a moment before repeating himself: "You were in New York City...Six months ago." his fists clenched tightly. "It...was you. You stopped her from finishing the job...."

**Flashback**

Damian feels blood pour from the wounds across his chest. His back is against a wall...his vision is blurry due to a mix of his own blood and Yuki's splattered across his face. He is breathing shallowly, the handgun in his lap but he does not look at this. His eyes are not even fixated upon the sword clad woman who was ready to kill him. The woman who resembled the other...the woman Yuki had killed in the Bar with his own handgun. No; his eyes fixated upon the beautiful face of a woman who would never experience America in the way she had hoped for. Her wide eyed and distant stare was fixed upon his face, her head had rolled and turned over in this position at one point after it had fallen from the shoulders of her slumped over body.

He heard the clang of metal and then the phrase: "You killed her! You KILLLED HER! YOU SON OF A BITCH, YOU KILLED MY ONLY SISTER!!" Screamed the woman with the sword, her black coat waved and she charged, stabbing Damian deep in the shoulder. Pain rocketed through his right shoulder socket, the woman wiggled the blade constantly. "Oh, I'm going to make you suffer you bastard!" the woman had screamed. "Lets begin by removing the flesh from your face!" she had added, though despite all of this, Damian's eyes were still fixated upon the creamy brown eyes of a decapitated beauty. He didn't want to live, he failed her, no all five of her allies. He casually glances upon the other assassin, his face twitching as he watches her raise her bloody blade...

Then...he heard the voice...

"Kyoufu wo oshiete yarou!"

*End of Flashback*

The rest of the memory is still a bit hazy...he forced himself not to remember so much at once and he was already on his knees now grabbing his head with his free hand and yanked his hair. "You shouldn't...what ever you did, you just SHOULD HAVE LET IT HAPPEN!" he rages. He sets his head upon his knees and he feels sick to his stomach. In a moment after registering this, his cracked red eyes widen and he turns towards his waste bin and hurls everything up. In his rush for something to puke into, he had dropped the phone. Both hands on the waste bin he pukes for about a minute and a half. By the time he was finished, saliva was dripping off his lower lip and he falls to his side upon the floor in a huddled position. It is then he realized the phone somehow activated to speaker when it hit the floor. He remains silent for now, his world was breathing-the room was stretching and contracting like the walls of the lungs. His own breath was far more shallow; his wide gaze set upon the phone-which at times was a phone, but was then quickly an image of Yuki's severed head-before returning to a normal phone again.

Damian Handy wrote:

Damian was about to laugh at the mention of Antarctica and hang up, but something deep down kept him on the line. He gets fuzzy images of a tall figure- once through a steel hallway under Raccoon University, both had magnums in hand and were firing at Alpha's; another time they were in Mayland City California; and lastly on Rockfort Island...at the time it had been renovated by the company to be used as a prison again. Though each memory the man he was trying to picture is shrouded in a dark shadow; each time his image came up he was too fuzzy to look at directly or discern details. But when he brought up that Japanese sounding phrase his blood turned cold. He grimaced, as if punched in the stomach, but it was his throat that was throbbing. He couldn't...couldn't put himself through those memories again...not yet...he wasn't ready for those yet his body warned.

He stood tall and bowed his head a little. "You...were there. In New York..." he suddenly admits. He paused for a moment, and felt something well up inside. It was not discernible by nature, but it felt like a close match between rage and sorrow. He remained silent for a moment before repeating himself: "You were in New York City...Six months ago." his fists clenched tightly. "It...was you. You stopped her from finishing the job...."

The rest of the memory is still a bit hazy...he forced himself not to remember so much at once and he was already on his knees now grabbing his head with his free hand and yanked his hair. "You shouldn't...what ever you did, you just SHOULD HAVE LET IT HAPPEN!" he rages. He sets his head upon his knees and he feels sick to his stomach. In a moment after registering this, his cracked red eyes widen and he turns towards his waste bin and hurls everything up. In his rush for something to puke into, he had dropped the phone. Both hands on the waste bin he pukes for about a minute and a half. By the time he was finished, saliva was dripping off his lower lip and he falls to his side upon the floor in a huddled position. It is then he realized the phone somehow activated to speaker when it hit the floor. He remains silent for now, his world was breathing-the room was stretching and contracting like the walls of the lungs. His own breath was far more shallow; his wide gaze set upon the phone-which at times was a phone, but was then quickly an image of Yuki's severed head-before returning to a normal phone again.

Edgar's voice became stoic. Almost melancholic.

"'Do not fight with monsters, lest you become a monster, and when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back into you...' Never has father been more right than when he spoke those words. Do you think death is the answer to your riddle? Do you think you have no more value to anyone? You seemed to place little value on Takako, and decided to replace her with Yuki, only to watch her fall the day she arrives in America... For you, it was just like failing Jade all over again, but worse. This time it was permanent, and there was no chance of saving her. Even so, Damien, You are ALIVE, and while you are alive, you can still do something about it. Or do you want the rest of the planet to know your pain? Even your son?"

Edgar waited a moment for those thoughts to sink in, before he continued.

"You once asked me, back in Raccoon, you asked me why I had planned to sacrifice myself in Raccoon's destruction, my answer then was that I felt I was too grave a threat to be allowed to continue. Nearly 2 years later, I was proven correct, although in a very different way than I had imagined. You then asked me, back in Mayland, when we had met again, and fought Jade, you then asked me why I continued to fight. My answer was that I had survived, even nuclear detonation at ground zero... I knew then that if I had not continued to fight, nobody would. I suppose now, I must ask you both these questions..."

Darkstorm Zero wrote:

Edgar's voice became stoic. Almost melancholic.

"'Do not fight with monsters, lest you become a monster, and when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back into you...' Never has father been more right than when he spoke those words. Do you think death is the answer to your riddle? Do you think you have no more value to anyone? You seemed to place little value on Takako, and decided to replace her with Yuki, only to watch her fall the day she arrives in America... For you, it was just like failing Jade all over again, but worse. This time it was permanent, and there was no chance of saving her. Even so, Damien, You are ALIVE, and while you are alive, you can still do something about it. Or do you want the rest of the planet to know your pain? Even your son?"

Edgar waited a moment for those thoughts to sink in, before he continued.

"You once asked me, back in Raccoon, you asked me why I had planned to sacrifice myself in Raccoon's destruction, my answer then  was that I felt I was too grave a threat to be allowed to continue. Nearly 2 years later, I was proven correct, although in a very different way than I had imagined. You then asked me, back in Mayland, when we had met again, and fought Jade, you then asked me why I continued to fight. My answer was that I had survived, even nuclear detonation at ground zero... I knew then that if I had not continued to fight, nobody would. I suppose now, I must ask you both these questions..."

The mention of Yuki and his former Wife snapped him back into reality. He clutched the phone in a death grip and brought up the phone despite the fact it was still on speaker. "Never, NEVER compare Yuki to that vile woman!" he started. He breathed uneasily and his chest heaved with each furious breath. He held his breath for a moment for he could calm down enough to reply again. "Just never put someone like Yuki Togawa in the same league as my ex wife. And as for my son, you can count him out of this as well." he says albeit more clearly, but still tension was in his voice. He then turned towards the window and walked towards it. "Clearly, who ever you thought I once was is'nt here anymore ''Ed''. I have to bear this curse thanks to you. Enough questions, I think were done chatting for the day." he then chuckles a little maddeningly before adding: "But just so we are 'clear'. I'm going to find out what exactly President Benford is hiding. Yuki's death...she was about to reveal something rather important about her team's mission before she was unjustly killed. After that, you can count on me finding you. You and that fucker who killed her...and I will show YOU BOTH the true meaning of 'fear'." he says ready to hang up now.

Damian Handy wrote:

The mention of Yuki and his former Wife snapped him back into reality. He clutched the phone in a death grip and brought up the phone despite the fact it was still on speaker. "Never, NEVER compare Yuki to that vile woman!" he started. He breathed uneasily and his chest heaved with each furious breath. He held his breath for a moment for he could calm down enough to reply again. "Just never put someone like Yuki Togawa in the same league as my ex wife. And as for my son, you can count him out of this as well." he says albeit more clearly, but still tension was in his voice. He then turned towards the window and walked towards it. "Clearly, who ever you thought I once was is'nt here anymore ''Ed''. I have to bear this curse thanks to you. Enough questions, I think were done chatting for the day." he then chuckles a little maddeningly before adding: "But just so we are 'clear'. I'm going to find out what exactly President Benford is hiding. Yuki's death...she was about to reveal something rather important about her team's mission before she was unjustly killed. After that, you can count on me finding you. You and that fucker who killed her...and I will show YOU BOTH the true meaning of 'fear'." he says ready to hang up now.

 
"You want to know why, don't you..." It was not a question.
 
"You want to know many things. Like how such a woman as Jade became so vile in such a short amount of time, she was not like that before the Rockfort Incident, was she? You want to know why those two Japanese killers attacked Yuki and her team, and you want to know who I really am... I can give you all the keys to all the answers, BUT, you will not like what I have to show you. For example, I happen to know that the next bio outbreak is going to occur right beneath your feet. After I have finished assisting Catherine Miller with her.... battleship problem, I will return to Tall Oaks, and I will force open those doors for you, personally. At the foot of your bed, there is a trunk, open it, and some keys to your past, and your future are there."
 
With that, the phone went silent, awaiting Damien's response.
 
On the other end however, Edgar was disturbed by how concentrated the effect of the Psionic Decimator was on Damien. the effect was far more acute with him than the average individual, and although far from being as acute as it was with Jade, the effect seemed to be focused on erasing him from Damien's memory almost on purpose.
 
Then, in an absent minded moment, Edgar gave voice to his last thought, a relic from spending 13 years almost completely alone.
 
"... She erased your memories of me specifically... intentionally and deliberately... as a means of isolating me..." he almost whispered.

Darkstorm Zero wrote:

 
"You want to know why, don't you..." It was not a question.
 
"You want to know many things. Like how such a woman as Jade became so vile in such a short amount of time, she was not like that before the Rockfort Incident, was she? You want to know why those two Japanese killers attacked Yuki and her team, and you want to know who I really am... I can give you all the keys to all the answers, BUT, you will not like what I have to show you. For example, I happen to know that the next bio outbreak is going to occur right beneath your feet. After I have finished assisting Catherine Miller with her.... battleship problem, I will return to Tall Oaks, and I will force open those doors for you, personally. At the foot of your bed, there is a trunk, open it, and some keys to your past, and your future are there."
 
With that, the phone went silent, awaiting Damien's response.

Damian's eyes went narrow. "No, and quite frankly, I don't give a damn. Good day to you Sir." and with that he hung up. He tossed the phone aside, and leaned over the bed. He looked into his shaky palms and then sighed heavily before palming his eyes again. "When can all this craziness end already?" he wipes his hands away from his eyes; the scent of alcohol radiated from his sticky hands and from the sheets of his bed. He grumbles, pulling the sheets off his bed he bundles them into a bunch before walking over to the chute and sent them flying down. He turns to the bathroom, and heads over to it. He didn't have a very good sight about the town; only a cut leg and a earful from a FBI chick who seemed to look up to him... "Though, despite her pallid complexion, she had a nice set of hazel eyes..." he shrugged. He thought about the probability of apologizing to her if he got the chance again, but for now he was going to take a shower. A quick one though, he still needed to head up to the University later and check the place out, ever since Raccoon he knew that being paranoid can have it's benefits.

He walks into the bathroom with his Samurai Edge and locks the door behind him. After taking a hot, yet pleasant shower (with his handgun readily cocked and loaded by the sink), he steps out, towels himself off and turns towards the mirror. For a moment he almost thinks to grab his gun and shoot what was looking back from the mirror-for it resembled a 'clean zombie', a zombie of a recently deceased human that hadn't bitten anyone yet so they were not yet bloody in appearance...but knowing that this was his own reflection in the mirror made him a little nervous about the nightmares he had been plagued with hours before. He unlocks the door and steps back out into the bedroom with his clean boxers on while outside it still continues to rain and thunder. A few flashes of distant lightning shown through the cracks of the blinds that were upon his window, and had illuminated his clothes he wore the night before. He picks up the clothes, a cheap suit he had bought at a bargain outlet two weeks before. He grimaces, and instead of throwing them down the chute, he tosses them into the very vomit filled waste basket.

He turns to his suitcase, and grabs it by the handle before dragging it over to the bare mattress. Opening it up upon the bed, he takes out a matching dark suit a brown leather shoulder holster and dress jacket. Since he had planned to be dressed formally for the event, he decided to pack all his clothes in a more formal light. He did have a pair of jeans and a white polo but he didn't feel the need to wear them. He first applies a new bandage for his leg and chest (the chest had bled again when he was in the shower), and then he ironed his clothes with the apartment's ironing board that was under the bed. He then slipped his arms into the crisp white sleeves of his dress shirt, buttoning himself up from the bottom hem to about a button less to the neck. He then buttoned his cuffs, and then grabbed the black tie that was leaning over the chair. He remembers how he dreaded wearing these 'Windsor ties', and in his young adulthood, he could never figure how one could wear these annoying things. He ties the knot too tightly, and it feels almost as if he had decided to wrap a noose around his neck. He pulls the knot down a little, allowing for the tie to feel more relaxed. He slips on his pants and tucks in his shirt before fitting the belt around his waist, zipping up and then sliding his Samurai Edge through his holster and snapped it snugly inside. The holster itself had a separate pouch to hold the suppressor he had for the 9mm handgun down stairs in the trunk of his vehicle. He sits down and slips on a pair of black dress socks, and a pair of expensive brown leather shoes. He ties those and then slips on the black dress jacket and turns to the bathroom mirror again.

To his own eyes, he still saw a zombie with unkempt hair, a reddened almost drunken face that stuck out from a $2000 suit. He sighs, shaking his head when another boom of thunder outside reminds him of the rain. He walks back into the bedroom and then opened the blinds. Outside it was wet and it honestly looked cold. Weather up in these part of the states were always cold, he knew of course because he was from back woods New York. He steps away from the window and sighs. He slowly turns to the suitcase which seems to beckon him again. He slips the black dress jacket from his shoulders and folds it behind the spine of the chair which held it not ten minutes ago (around this time nearby Ben Winters would have made his run in with Samantha). He walks over to the case and crouches down on one knee. He reaches inside the case, feeling around for a set of buttons that clicked loudly when he pressed them. The clothes and ammo that were on top sank in a little. Damian reaches under the false bottom and pulls up the original contents and sets it beside the bed.

What greeted him was a shiny black marbled case that was about ten inches wide and about a foot long in length, and was 3 inches thick. The edges of this elegant and shiny obsidian case were made of a polished silver. A handle jutted out was hand carved and polished sandal wood, and Damian tugs it gently out of the suitcase's secret compartment. The case was pretty hefty, due to the materials the case itself was made up of, and what lied within it. Upon the lid of this fine crafted box was a gold plaque with enscrolled words etched deeply upon it's polished plate:



He looks at the plate, tracing the lines of that made up the word's "No Guts, No Glory". He looks at the platinum plate that folded over the bottom and top lid and the keyhole that made up it's simple lock. He could easily pick it, but he wasn't after the case's contents. He walks over to the desk and sets it carefully upon it's surface. Looking at it's elegance he shrugs a little. He never really admitted it to anyone, but his family wasn't exactly a poor one. Through his father's service as an agent of MI6, and the eventual suit due to his accident, the Handy family had a pretty decent fortune on their hands; no where the lines of Rockefeller, but still a modest fortune that such cases and suits could be purchased.

However, as previously stated, this wasn't what he was after. He returns to the open suitcase and looks down at an olive drab military field jacket. He feels the hairs on his flesh rise, and his skin feels cold. He kneels beside the bed again, and carefully pulls out the large folded jacket. It begins to unfold, and upon the dangling upper left sleeve was a patch; an emblem of the B.S.A.A.. Damian holds it out before him as if it were a dirtied diaper, yet carefully as if it were a new born infant. He stands up and turns his back from his door before taking a seat upon the bare mattress. Looking at it, he recalls his military career...and can finally pin point the day when things had started to go south for him...

It was in 2009, and he can still remember when the Major came to see him in the hospital...to relieve him of his duties...

**start of memory and internal monologue**
"My fall from Grace likely started when I was pulled out from the B.S.A.A. After the events of New Haven were blown over, and with the FBC's disintegration. Apparently, the B.S.A.A. liked my work, and rather than still serve out a petty sentence time I decided to 'pay my respects to the community' by working with professional B.O.W. killers. Soldiers trained to destroy the ever constant threat created by Bio-Terrorism and Biohazards occurring all around the world. Though I was a grunt despite my personal experiences. I worked for the North American Branch till Takako landed a Pharmaceuticals job in Europe. Since the BSAA is a worldwide special forces military, I was able to be transferred to the European Branch.
Yeah, I remember the minor hassling I got because I was a literal 'Yank'. Simple teasing that I honestly paid no mind to (but I kinda made it a nickname). Though there was one who recognized me because of my father...and that was the Major.
The Major had known my father, had met him when she was younger, but she was probably only 17 at the time. She said that she could tell I was his son by a single glance. And she had high hopes for me. Well, to be honest, she had high hopes for everyone in the unit. However... I think the day everything started to go to hell began with our mission in February...

We had countless reports of an Illegal Bio-Weapons deal in an abandoned factory on the Thames. The Major set us up into a 8 man unit and were to investigate the deal and arrest those dealers. When we arrived, we had happened upon one of the most wanted Bio-terrorists on the planet: Ricardo Irving. We had him, we fucking had this bastard and we were finally able to apprehend him!...though it turned out he had expected this. The sly lazy-eyed bastard had hired pros...these guys were Ex-Umbrella...I was sure of it. Everything from there weapons and armor, to their form and tactics...they had to be Ex-UBCS and Umbrella Secret Service agents. Three of the guys were already dead by the time Ricardo had been escorted out. They had pinned us down with gunfire, and apparently Irving left us with a 'parting gift'.

It seemed to have happened all at once...the explosion caused the building to come down on us. We...didn't stand a chance. I woke up several hours later, banged up pretty bad. I was pinned under layers of debris, unable to move, unable to free myself. Through a hole that was barely the size of a fist, I could see the sky, the stars and the pale moon. There was no sounds, with the exception of my own breath. Blood...the scent of blood was everywhere.
For three long days I was trapped under that rubble, watching rescue teams walk past the hole, while I lay there immobile screaming my lungs off to try and get their attention. I would think of my wife, Takako being handed a folded flag and to Trent a single dogtag with my name engraved on it. I imagined my boy growing up without a father. Those 72 hours....were truly hell for me. For the first time in my life since Raccoon City...I was scared to die. When they finally happened upon my pallid and weakened form, I was unable to give voice to my gratitude...then again I was hardly conscious. The rest of the unit were not as fortunate...overall there were four dead, two that were moved to critical and one body was never accounted for. They had moved me to a BSAA Military Hospital on the far east side of London with the other two. Later that night, I was informed one of the 2 in critical had suffered to greatly from his wounds and had passed away. I was angry...I wanted blood. I wanted vengeance...

I woke up one evening, it was perhaps about a week or so since I was found. I was feeling a whole lot better than I had then and really wanted to get out and continue the search for that dirty playing bastard Irving. And as luck should have it, the Major had came to visit me:"

---
February 2009
BSAA Military Hospital, London
Damian's Room
1839 hours

The Major had walked in about the time Damian was waking up. She had a couple of papers in her hand, and she pauses by the door.

Major: "How are you holding up, Corporal?"

Damian blinks and stares blankly at his commanding officer before shaking his head and sits up in bed, saluting with his bad hand which causes him to wince slightly.

Damian: "Major, I'm better than I was a week ago. I've been through worse. Heh, I only wish that they can release me already. I'm ready to redeploy Mam, we're gonna find that rat-faced bastard!"

He smiled as did his CO, but just as quick her smile began to fade. She organised the papers neatly in her hand and looked back to him.

Major: "Well that is splendid news. As a matter of fact, I have your discharge notes right here."

Again, her eyes seemed to look disheartened. This made Damian look towards her in a suspicious manner, and from her tone something seemed amiss.

Damian: "There's more to it than that...isn't there?"

She looked at him and then sighed, looking to the papers before handing them to the Corporal.

Major: "You always did have a good perception. I always admired that,"

Damian took the papers and looked at them carefully.

Major: "These are your discharge papers for the hospital...and for your Service in the B.S.A.A."

With that note, Damian quickly rummages through the papers, then checks his arms and hands before lifting the blanket to look down at his legs and feet. With the exception of a few scrapes his feet were still there, and he wiggled his toes to be sure he wasn't paralyzed like his father. Dropping the blanket he looks back to his CO and is stunned.

Damian: "Major..this must be some mistake-"

Major: "-This is not a mistake. You are hereby honorably discharged from the BSAA. You have 48 hours to report to Head Quarters where you will retrieve your personal affects and then board a bus that will take you back to your flat."

Damian: "But Major! Wh-"

She closed her eyes, looking rather irritated.

Major: "-Do not make this harder than it already is. I...am no longer your Commanding Officer, Handy."

She reopened her eyes and looked at him with a disheartened look again.

Major: "The results of your psychological evaluation arrived earlier today. You failed. It is believed that your reoccurring nightmares have played a negative effect on your physical performance. So the head office has decided to relieve you of your duties. You are still covered by the BSAA's benefits...but you are no longer a member of the BSAA. I...am sorry. This is completely out of my hands."

She stood up from her seat and gave Damian a salute before turning around and leaving Damian in the eerie silence.
---

"When I failed that evaluation test, that was my first failure that would lead me to a series of others. After I had collected my things from the barracks and was sent home, I went into a dark place...I became distant, emotionless. Takako could no longer look at me and I alienated everyone. It wasn't even six months when she left me and took Trent along with her. It was another six months when I was delivered the divorce papers. She had gone and married herself to some Cybernetic Company's 'Head Wig'; the new husband had even sent me an 'invitation' for the wedding ceremony. I passed, out of better judgement. If I had gone...I'd likely would have stuck the bottle of Macallan right up his two faced bureaucratic ass.

It was lonely. It was a dark hole that never seemed to end...till I decided to go to the U.N. Adviser for the B.S.A.A. I pleaded for months to have my job back. I didn't care what it took, just that I needed something to live for, look forward to than this endless night. The Adviser had called me up one night. He promised a job, a different kind of job; but this 'job' required a test in physical and mental ability. I didn't care, I happily took the offer.

In Spring of 2011, there was a Biohazard Outbreak that took place in Tokonosu, Japan. This tragedy would be simply called the "Tokonosu Outbreak", but I was sent with a team of joint operations held there by both the Far East and North American branch of the BSAA to help aid their rescue efforts. Throughout that mission, I had also uncovered that there was BSAA corruption, and that the missing member of the European team two years prior had somehow played a part in this outbreak. I reported my findings to the U.N. and was then presented my reward. I now work for the United Nations under their B.S.A.A. Investigations Unit as a Special Agent. My position keeps me affiliated with the B.S.A.A. but my responsibilities are more on the internal investigation side, and as the eyes and ears for the U.N. who sponsor the BSAA's efforts. So, I'm essentially the United Nation's quote: 'lapdog'. Also, unlike the DSO, I don't receive orders from the President, but the UN Adviser. With the UN backing my involvement, it was one of these reasons why I was sent to retrieve those Japanese informants...and for my next set of failures. Yuki...I gave you too much hope...both you and your team. They're all dead because of me...I should have just driven you to D.C..You...you said that something was going to involve the President in at least six months...dammit I'm here, but what's supposed to happen?!"  
**end of memory and internal monologue**

Damian shook, startled out of his daydream by a clash of thunder. For a moment, he had forgotten where he was and what exactly he was doing, but looking back at his olive drab jacket he received in BSAA boot camp made him feel a little easier. "Glad I decided to bring this musty old thing. It's perfect for the current weather we're having..." he thinks to himself, and cant help but smile a little as he slips his arms through it's sleeves. "Still fits like a glove." he says aloud, still grinning. He slips false bottom back into the suitcase, locking it in place and then takes the suitcase and slides it beside the desk again. As he walks towards the door, his right toe hits the heavy glass bottle of Jack Daniels that lays on the ground. Almost forgetting the embarrassing binge from the night before, he reaches down to pick it up and toss it out in the bin with his soiled suit and vomit.

That is when something else catches his eye, The silver footlocker that the man had told him to look into. Upon it were his RPD dogtags, which he had thrown at some point last night. He grabs the tags, looking at them solemnly-as if he had wrecked a religious artifact. He then looks to the silver foot locker, reaches for it...then backs off. He stands up, thinking that he'll take a look at it later. He had already spent about fifteen minutes in this room looking back into his past, and that was enough for now. Slipping the dogtags around his neck again, they fall just over his dark tie. He tossed the bottle into the waste bin, and grabs his wallet, ID and keys before exiting the room and then closing the door behind him with a heavy 'thud', locking it. In the hallway he sees a young woman in a striped shirt heading downstairs. He follows after, and descends them by the time she hits the street.

By the time TBQ entered Damian's room she was bone dry not a drop of water remained on her nor was there any mud on her shoes, all evidence of her walk through the rain was gone. She walked around the room checking the en-suite and stopping at the window to survey the surrounding area for threats, satisfied she was safe she turned her attention to her companions. Recalling a part of a conversation she had over heard as she approached the car.

"I have detailed files concerning all know assassins. They will become available in approximately fifty four minutes and twenty eight seconds" She spoke in a flat emotionless voice as her gaze moved from Damian to Edgar.

>I Do Not Understand...<
>Locate And Extract Erroneous Data?<

For a moment her expression was one of puzzled confusion, but it quickly passed.

>Erroneous Data Increases Risk Of Data Errors!<

She recoiled physically as a memory file of her defeat at Everon flashed open. She saw the room saw her target a driven sense of purpose of doing the right thing filled her memories and then the electro-magnetic pulse device was activated and everything went black.

Damian turned from the woman to Ed, to the woman again. "OK..." he says taking off his wet jacket and placed it upon a hanger. He went for his suitcase when he noticed that she was no longer wet or muddy. Not so much as single drop or print came from her shoes. "How-how did, when did you get dry?" he asked the woman, he himself was still dripping wet and tracking mud.

She looked at Damian and quizzically tilted her head to one side as though his question confused her.
"How could I get dry when I was never wet?" she asked pausing before she continued.
"My nanite construction is impervious to water I simply repel it at a molecular level the moisture you perceived on me was a simulation program designed to help increase my ability to blend in"

>Initiate Moisture Replication<

And she was suddenly wet through again "If you prefer I can maintain this simulation?" As Handy looked to the carpet where she stood he would notice it was bone dry in spite her apparent condition.

Damian chuckled slightly. "Uh...no, that's fine...ahem.." he says as he looked from her drenched form again to the carpet where she stood, before suddenly realizing what was happening. "W-wait a minute, what the hell?" he then looks up at her face again. This time, he was the one who looked confused. "Nanites? So...when Ed had said you were like a computer...he wasn't being hypothetical, huh?" he blinked still amazed by this strange yet intriguing skill.

She looked from Edgar to Damian and back before her clear blue eyes settled on Handy.
"My father says you are to be trusted, so I will trust you"

>Deactivate Infiltration Mode<

>Deactivating<

>Revert To Default<

With that her eyes turned black the pupils seeming to expand outwards consuming her iris and the whites, the shape of her face changed subtly, her hair grew, her clothes seemed to morph to an intransigent black mass before settling into a skin tight lycra cat suit.

"I am The Black Queen, I was made by Umbrella to run The Hive, and now I am free. I will develop a new set of operating protocols my father will help me"

Damian went pale for a moment. What the hell just happened...this was way too freaky. When he finally managed to speak again, he gulped at first. "So...not only textures; your clothes, and bodyshape can change as well..." he half turned to Ed and trying to picture what he meant by 'daughter' again. He looks back to the Black Queen and gulps once more.

"Yeah...FUBAR...." he thinks again. He thought for a moment, and then his mouth was agape. "Your...the creature from the woods..." he says in a matter of fact kind of way.