HUNK

She nudged Vivian in front of her, setting both hands on her shoulders.

"Figured if you were sick-sick, you'd be bored out of your mind stuck in bed. I think that boredom would probably kill you before the sickness does. This one still has a couple weeks 'til fall break, so she's virtual learning."

"We're on ratios in math," Vivi chirps, "Language arts we're reading 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, and social studies we're learning about Mesopotamia... oh, and science we have the six simple machines."

"So, there's plenty for both of you to do," Izzy concludes, "I'm giving mom a little bit of a break."

She pat Vivian's shoulder, and let her go to her grandfather's side, occupying herself with pestering the squarish orange tabby on Hunk's lap.

"Bored. Sure. I'm bored."

Bored and feeling like hell. There was a constant feeling of pins and needles in his fingers that brought an itch to his knuckles, and he cursed the T-Virus for all it was worth- and it was worth a lot.

His grand-daughter took center stage, ignoring the current condition of his body out of either politeness or just an eagerness to share everything about... Mesopotamia, and ratios. And machines. Six simple machines. His brain, feverish, conjured up garbled pictures of the "Six Simple Machines" in question. Some things didn't change from schooling.

So he was going to be a static babysitter? Brick made lazy trilling sounds, unwilling to move from the dead lay on his lap.

"Mara was fine with that?"

And Vivi seemed more than thrilled to be back.

"Alright. We'll talk about all of the machines," he said, tapping his palm on the chair arm and physically moving the cat off his legs by picking him up. The cat dangled, limp, and Hunk put it down beside him with a grunt.

Luke's sick. Not doing so hot. You should probably bring Vivi up with you.

Izzy didn't know what she expected when Raul called, but it wasn't news that her father was possibly on his deathbed. Like most people, she had this impression of the man as being virtually unstoppable, even though she knew that her father- despite everything to do with Umbrella, and the monsters he fought- was still human. The Unit Never Killed.

Funny how things could shift perspective. Izzy didn't waste any time to book a flight, and drive down from the Arklay Mountain Reservation to Stoneville Middle School and retrieve her daughter.

"Family emergency," was the reason given to the front-desk secretary to withdraw Vivian from her classes before the Fall Break, but with the full permission to assign virtual lessons to keep up with the courses and workload. This wasn't a vacation, but there wasn't a prospective end that she could provide, either.

And of course, everyone was nosy. It was one of the drawbacks of living in and around small towns. Everyone was aware that she was an Army Brat that followed her father's example, and had odd periods of being away, and seemed to end up around outbreaks. Most assumed it was work with the BSAA.

Izzy wasn't correcting them, but she did steer Vivi away from far-too-prying eyes.

"Grandpa's sick," was Izzy's explanation when they packed up the Jeep.

"Zombie sick? Or regular sick?" Vivi asked, tossing her braids over her shoulder.

"Don't know," Izzy confided, "Whatever it was, Raul couldn't say it over the phone."

--- "Welcome back, Lady Death," the gate guard nodded to her after confirming her credentials, and handing back her ID.

The Lodge was imbalanced, Izzy could tell that much. More traffic coming in than leaving, and the Quarantine Zone much more active than usual. Was there an outbreak? It didn't seem like it- none of the protocols for an outbreak were in effect.

Eventually, she was led to where her father was resting, and briefed on what they knew: Raccoon City Syndrome- and a lot of the older members of the Guild were showing the same symptoms. Black splotches around old wounds and spreading, fatigue, coughing... Izzy nodded along, brow furrowing when she had gotten the news that one of them had already died of it. There wasn't any doubt how serious it was- even if it wasn't contagious.

She rapped her knuckles on the frame of the door to announce her presence, walking in to place herself in front of Hunk, looking at the older man's sickly markings and noting the orange Mouser General, Brick the Cat, resting on Hunk's lap; pawing, kneading, and purring against the old man.

Black marks had spread from his chest outwards, encasing him in a casket of his own rotting body. Black marks had traveled from his neck and spattered over his eyes, some of them being held together with soft bandaging so they didn't split and bleed everywhere.

All things considered, he thought he should feel worse. But he didn't. It was likely something in the IV bag that Ahab was constantly fussing over and switching out. She had a laundry list of different things she had been trying, and was happier than anyone in the entire Guild.

Hunk had been resting his eyes when the door rattled to the lodge's overlook lounge, and he cracked them open only to be blocked off by a familiar silhouette that he didn't remember sending for. Must've been Raul's decision. Brick, the very square orange tabby cat that had adopted itself, was attempting to provide medical relief to the old ghost.

"Izzy," he grunted, letting his head settle on his shoulders to look at her and his grandchild who, as far as he knew, had never seen him sick.

Hunk raised a hand to one hand sign to her back a stiff "Hi".

"Some kind of germ killing us thirty years later," he grumbled in response, "Why're you here?"

Probably a moot point to ask it. He took a look at the both of them, considering what she'd say. Probably here to help, because he's an old, tough son of a bitch that wasn't going to be dying tomorrow, or within the week.

@residentevilnet​ 2k celebration | day 3: Favourite Quotes

all their little quips & jabs bounce off him like a ball off the office wall, a repetitive, mind numbing exercise that nevertheless strengthens her resolve. he probably can't even smile with a face like that but ada won't give up until she knows for certain, & with the cast & crew surrounding him she isn't the first nor the last. they're all comedic foils but crowley is the only one to dress the part.

“ no way. ” an overtly dry, sarcastic response. there is no surprise, ada knows she judges too harshly. the guild is a mercenary outfit, not a league of supervillains, & if the BSAA is willing to hire her, why not other edge cases from umbrella's former payroll? the crow settles into the chair & reaches for their ceramic cup, grasping it from underneath in a claw-like motion as their other hand wraps around their beak. they turn away but even still, part of their jaw is visible from beneath the shadow of their cloak, blistered skin & melted lips, a creature on the edge of necrosis. the illusion doesn't break as they take a sip of tea before the bone settles back into its rightful place, holograms have come so far. she adds a new dimension to her character that couldn't exist before, unlike HUNK they wish to hide their war wounds.

their head turns back, their neck craning upwards. a test? can't imagine they'd drop her on rockfort to do target practice on umbrella's prisoners, there's not much of it left. if the bullet holes in sleipnir's skull weren't satisfactory enough, it means another mission with her doppelganger & as much as she wants to retort that ahab is one of hers, that would give the game away. “ i'm not picky. ” four years wasn't quite enough for carla's resurgence to settle in her gut, even seeing her in the flesh, it's broken stitches & bleeding bandages. as long as her daughter is safe, as long as carla's not up to her old tricks, it should've been easier to keep away, but she is here now. because one conversation wasn't enough, because uncertainty is a parasite burrowing beneath her skin, because she needs to know anything & everything & carla radames cannot persist as an unaccounted factor. not again.

"Nope. She's eusocial," he said, mulling over the shapes and steam floating off Arklay tea with a grunt and a sigh. It placed Crowley, in his mind, as some type of myrmidon. Ahab pulled that type. Between the enormous lake monster (it could not stay), the massive millipede (neither could that). She was drawing C12's and 13s from every continent. He'd already killed a yard full and Beltway was teetering on the list as he always was.

Plenty of conversation floated by the veranda, some passerbyers waving from across the room at him while they moved like blood cells through the veins of a larger organism.

"What do you use, specialize in, and what can you do reliably?"

And a good long list of other things that kept him from putting holes in bodies that happened to find their way up the mountain.

Another rumble from his phone and he plucked it up.

"-Yeah- mmhm. Yeah get Queenie up for tonight. I need to run the masked guy through her."

One sided conversation.

"- Uh huh. Call Ahab. Tell her to shoot up and get back here."

He grumbled when he talked, a steady stream of scratches. Maybe Ahab would've preferred learning from the salt-worn prior chanting eulogies for whale butchers, rather than an ancient Army expat, but he'd like to think the kid finds some kind of use in his religion of combat. By the way she stayed? She seemed to.

Then a crow showed up at the door... or was it an Albatross?

He had a bad feeling, but not for him.

Hunk's posture never changed from the frozen stiff hunch and grim lean, and he set the phone back in his pants pocket.

He poured more tea for himself.

“ never thought i'd make it. ” a retort more honest than playful, punctuated by heavy, distorted breaths as the modulator struggles with anything that isn't the melodic qualities of her voice. the crow leans downs, their gloved hands grasping at their knees in a half-crouch before raising themselves to full height, arching backwards with a fist at either side, releasing a pained groan.

a trek up a snowy mountain, not something she would consider in the midst of winter if not for the invitation & the guild piquing her interests. “ does that make me ishmael? ” an exile, rescued from drowning at sea, now breaking bread with the monster that sunk the tanker & all her little friends. there has to be something in all this herman merville about unreachable goals & the fools who die for vengeance. it's a good thing everything she knows about moby dick is from the back cover summary.

the guild's setup in the yukon reminds her of a cabin near the alps, an old safehouse from another life where she spent a winter by the fire, tending to the flames & to several lawsuits filed against novatris. ada smiles underneath her mask, a bitter irony to that memory, trekking back into the field of her volition. the crow perches on the seat opposite HUNK & takes very little notice of his mangled features, everyone's face is on file if you know where to look & the tea isn't a deterrent. she still has a few cards left to play & she'd rather keep crowley's relationship to ahab in her deck. can't go around playing a double act quite yet.

"BSAA's one of my top buyers. You'd be surprised."

Tea was important, regardless of the bloody business. With enough of his senses gone to enough injuries, taste wasn't taken lightly. The old man dashed a couple of scoops into the steaming water, watching it bubble and foam unusually.

"Sure. After a test."

That was a loaded statement. A test. He may be the last gatekeeper privy to Umbrella's most cruel and unusual ways to push a body. He'd trained enough people to know who he wanted, and who he didn't.

"You want to work with Ahab? You one of hers?"

The Captain was hunting bigger and bigger whales. Hunk's bad eye trained on the Crow and didn't let them go, the milky pupil settled on distinguishing the blobby features around the mask. There wasn't the characteristic gasps of her brood that he could hear, but this one's also not a stranger. Ahab didn't invest in strangers at all.

"Think her quarry's attacking one of her assets as we speak."

The old war table behind the screen was very, very interesting.

Both made good points. Ada didn't trouble herself thinking too deeply about her only means of escaping impending destruction. Of course, she anticipated it to injure her- but was pleasantly surprised when it glided her from point A to point B with what felt like a gentle tug.

She'd rationalized it as being a result of years of training in body discipline and her naturally small and light frame. But seeing the strange shapes inside, it became clear there were more things at work.

"I've no real idea how Wesker came into possession of it- other than the networks of the Organization he's in. And I doubt he'll tell. So, we'll just have to look into this on our own."

Simple as that.

"I'd like to meet this Vulture," she declares, "and thank them for the gift. If they're still around."

Ada taps Hunk on the shoulder twice, encouragingly, "And thank you, Mr. Ferreday, for agreeing to meet with me such short notice. I'm formally relinquishing the terminal copy to you. I hope this will be the start of a long and beneficial relationship for us both."

Luke stowed her highness away, sealing the briefcase she came in and with it, likely their next few carefully chosen steps. Dissent or desertion was something the company took like a religious offense, and for now, they could be Umbrella's and answer to only Umbrella.

"Thanks for the gift. We'll take good care of it."

The man set aside the carefully carved screws of the device, watching the wind back mechanism move and tense at the trigger pressure. It's an interesting piece of technology and furthermore, he absolutely couldn't explain it. Clockwork doesn't have the force by itself in such a tiny thing to actually function like a pneumatic. The physics should be completely different.

Ada Wong gave him two gifts, a step forward and a true puzzle.

"Sure. Rest easy."

Hunk cut the air with a quick Quiet sign to Raul. Let the lady sleep off the body blows she obviously took in the past few weeks. He wasn't in better shape.

Total height, shoulder width, bust, torso length, waist, hip, in-seam, shoe size... all of them in neat categories with Imperial measurements first, and the Metric conversions second.

She hands back the legal pad and pen, thinking about the request made.

"I can supply a respirator that's come in handy that I picked up a few years ago. If I get one request, then maybe a cowl to cover it."

As for her baseline assessment-

"You favor one side too much. We have to work on your switches if you're going solo. Vector would be a good match for you after we go through the fist round of drills. Though-"

He scratched the back of his neck. She's brought in some interesting outside contacts. They had worked with the DSO in the past five years, but the organization hadn't followed up on additional interest in their work past a point.

What exactly were they interested in? Weapons, of course, and friends in connected places perhaps.

"Got off a phone call with a woman named Ingrid Hunnigan. She's with Field Ops, DSO, in the States. The people you brought in, the same. These people are good for business. Thanks for the present."

Mr. Death's mangled lip twitched into a ruminating line.

She shadows Hunk over to the computer as he pulls up a form from document files. It's interesting. She'd never had to fill out any kind of application, nor fill out any forms on her own behalf. Ada was good at forging records, and with a little bit of research and digging, could make documents and IDs that could pass close scrutiny.

Paying taxes.

"Taxes... how novel," she puts her hand on her hip, "Is this a bad time to mention I've never done any taxes before?"

She's not too concerned- but it felt prudent to state her unfamiliarity.

He handed a pad of paper her direction that was half empty, and a pen that was bent from years of freezing and unfreezing ink. She was the type to have her size memorized. She was lucky that preference to precedence in this field. Hunk tapped numbers in for her, send a request to Bodrovski, and leaned back in the old rolling chair, bits of stuffing falling out of the arm.

"Put what you know in both down. Tape's over there if you need it."

A few prospective jobs for her came in mind immediately. Picking them up meant doing a little long term investment at a short term relationship cost. With Ahab picking up the dividends and strong-arming some naughty players in the business? The Guild would be picking up a fat, healthy check from Silo Sugar Industry in less than a week, he imagined. They'd need all hands on deck for cleanup.

She activates IRIS as a point of interest, curiously glancing over the material with her integrated multispectral camera, and her purely organic eye. The resulting images were conflicting into some blurry mass that couldn't let her focus, wouldn't register on even her tech.

"What a neat toy," she marvels, mentally deactivating IRIS to avoid the headache brewing.

She pushes her bangs back, thinking on the terms Hunk proposes, and nodding.

"I think that's my preference, solo operations. I can deal with an occasional team. As for teaching?"

The fabric was going to make cameras obsolete or need an evolutionary jump, that was for sure.

"No name for it yet. Guy's taken to call it "Ghostwear. Shipping it out end of week for gear. You know your measurements offhand?"

The bolt sat under an inspection light ready for some sharp edged shears while he straightened up and slowly crossed the workspace to a side office, tapping an old dinosaur of a computer to life and drawing new hire files up. This was about to cause a bit of chaos.

Ada Wong.

"Welcome back to paying taxes."