Join the Hivemind.

The sound he produces is not human by any stretch, though it rumbles loudly as he bounds directly behind his target, feeling the rush of heat that washes over him as the two exchange those unusual insults back and fourth - having never spoken them out loud.

Uroboros stirs in his veins - attentive, and well aware of the Las Plagas that hums constantly in their current company.

"You're going to wish you never came here." his thoughts are ominous. Surging through him like pins and needles as he bounds in quick pursuit, enraged by the way this one has both invaded the realm he held such a vice-like hold over and upturned his peace simply by existing so close to him. Wesker has always been selfish in that regards. Offended - or so it would seem - by the mere thought that anyone would think of slighting him and actually getting away with it.

He fully acknowledges that he can't run forever, that Wesker is a part of his daily life now and that this whole thing is terribly futile. But it's the newfound thrill of the chase that makes it worth it. The thought of hunting down others with Las Plagas guiding him is horrific, but using it to run like this is invigorating. And he gets to piss off Wesker in the meantime, a treat in its own right. Those feral growls that sound behind him are music to his ears.

It seems like he's heading for Iron's office now, passing the threshold and already out into the hallway behind it when an idea hits him. He's got some distance on Wesker here, and a broken line of sight. Leon hops up onto the ceiling, balling up in the upper corner of the hall right beside the office entrance and goes quiet. His heartbeat is loud in his ears and this is a ballsy move, but the satisfaction would be immense.

You're stuck with me, Wesker. There's nothing you can do about it. And for as long as I'm here, I'll make that your problem.

Jake thought he was getting used to going up against monsters. Especially lately, what with the inclusion of literal aliens and creatures like whatever the hell the Dredge was. Still, it was hard to get used to the newer killers.

Especially newer killers that looked familiar.

He was walking down a hall in RPD at the start of a trial, knife drawn and eyes open for any sign of movement, when he noticed someone standing in the library. All he saw at first was the vaguely-police uniform and blond hair.

“Leon?”

A voice calls his name, an attempt to pull his attention forwards. But he doesn't recognize it, and so he doesn't rouse himself from his dazed state and instead the body follows the voice with a soft chitter and hiss.

The grip lessens into something less forceful and more sensitive, Leon's visage frowning as a clawed thumb goes to stroke his cheek. A soft chitter follows, an attempt to make the horrific scenario a little more warm and welcoming. Isn't this nice? It hurts so much. I know. But... It gets better, I promise. It's almost like a bit of genuine hurt comes through, not just the soft lulling voice of the Hivemind but a plea from something within.

The gentle tugging sensation in Jake's mind persists, the warmth calling to him and so too the eager person wanting Jake to just relax. The knife, meanwhile, is kicked off and away for safety. It's just them now.

There is a slight glow from behind his dark frames. An almost haunting shade of red intensifies as he listens to the chittering hisses from above him.

"Do not throw them!" He warns. Tucking the heavy tome under one arm once he is satisfied it has not been damaged at all in the process of reaching him.

"The archives are the one thing in this entire realm that is keeping me even-tempered and if you start destroying them, there's going to be more than just a tiger mounted in Irons's old office."

It is hard to tell if Leon can be reasoned with in the way he might have been before. The man that Wesker is familiar with is far removed from the version that hisses and crawls along the top of the bookcases. Las Plagas was a parasite he was more than just a little familiar with. Its uncanny effects on the rookie's mind are more than evident. Still, he is able to at least comprehend some instructions. So there is that.

Something feral in him stirs as he looks up. A creeping, primal sensation that makes Uroboros squirm and writhe inside his body like it wants to burst out and attack the other. He lets out a low hiss - a retaliation for having had the book thrown at him.

But it is funny that out of all the places Leon chose to set up a space to sleep he picked the one place keeping Wesker tolerable.

"Don't mock me and maybe I'll be a half decent librarian, Albert." He rolls his shoulders, soft cracking sounds filling the air as his spines seem to readjust and the rookie gets on all fours. It's like a cat walking across a fence, how Leon moves back to his little nesting place and gets comfortable again. If Wesker wants to deal with him properly he'll have to climb his way all up top.

Leon is in the middle of trying to figure out a place to sleep for himself, having torn up a bunch of books he considered not important and used their pages as an almost bedding. The urge to nest can be blamed almost entirely on the Plagas, some primal instinct fueling the need to craft someplace comfortable to rest. It's... Embarrassing, almost. But luckily he doesn't care about how Wesker feels, knows the Nemesis can't feel, and Birkin is caught up in his feelings and hardly explores the building. And so he feels safe enough to do this unorthodox thing, getting comfortable...

When he hears a strange noise to his left.

It's the territorial instinct that gets him on edge, tensing as he pokes his head around and tries to locate the strange sounds. It's when he nudges over a pile of books that he spots it, this... Thing. This weird thing that's hurgling at him. The harsh spikes and tentacles flare up in response and Leon gets closer to the ground, tail lashing out and thumping around.

"Can you read buddy?" The question is asked just as it begins to split itself apart, Leon watching in horrified fascination as it shoves the book into itself and then returns to normal. The lack of indents showing a book even existed is... Interesting, but not too surprising considering this thing can just do what it wants apparently. Physics be damned.

... but when Wesker motioned for them to talk in Iron's office, he was puzzled, surprised enough to actually change his attack plans and reluctantly follow inside with a grumble. As the other tyrant continued on and made his proposition, it left Leon unsure how to feel exactly. On one hand, unfortunately, Wesker was right. Not many people here could comprehend the struggle that followed viral infection like this, let alone the Plagas parasite, besides maybe Birkin... But the man never seemed in the mood for civilized conversation.

But on the other hand, he didn't like the idea of being studied like some sort of insect under a microscope. Is that really all Wesker wants? Research? There's gotta be a catch... Even if getting this parasite under control sounds like a bit of a dream come true. If he can control it he can finally sort out his own thoughts, feel less clouded and fuzzy all the time. Maybe he can reduce the harm he does to others here. Maybe he can finally stop turning a blind eye to it.

"You are making quite a lot of assumptions." Wesker lets his eyes roll, though grateful for the glasses covering his eyes. To Leon - he just keeps the same impassive look. "In case you have neglected to notice, those of us collected here are from varying differing points in our timeline. Mine was more advanced than yours. Where I came from - you succeeded." It may come as a jab, though he does not intend it as such.

"I tasted failure." He puts it plainly. "I have had time to think about it. My life, my choices. However - none of you are going to be concerned with the why. All you'll care about is what I have done. Which is the narrow minded view I have come to expect of you." It's stated without a hint of emotion, rather simple fact.

"To study does not always require barbaric methods." He moves toward Iron's desk, seating himself on it. Perhaps an idle sign of sheer disrespect toward the other man. He never liked Irons. Never would.

"The irony between us, Kennedy, is that we have both done nothing more than what we were told to do. We inherited the values and flaws of those who raised us, taught us, and then we acted upon those teachings. It was all following orders. I hold no ill will toward anyone any longer - though Chris does still infuriate me at times." An admittance he can easily make.

"Study, as I see it, is simply observing. Perhaps asking questions and expecting honest answers from time to time. Testing endurance and strength. I have no need to dissect you to learn and understand you. Unless that is something you wish of me. Even then, I'd rather not consider it. Live subjects are much easier to learn from."

He zones back in and refocuses when Wesker begins to talk about the irony between the two, and it hits a little harder with the previous revelation. Right. A snort leaves him but he quickly tries to cover it with a cough when the tyrant speaks of no longer having grudges besides the obvious. "What happened to you to make you change your mind? You funnel all that hatred into Chris?"

The death of Albert Wesker was a foreign concept to Leon at this point. Most survivors didn't know about it, and the S.T.A.R.S members that were here had been here long enough not to poke at the topic. They were too preoccupied with the terror of seeing a former friend twisted into such a form to even think about Wesker. "Didn't realize this place was a palate cleanser for you."

Now to contend with the experiment aspect. It... Sounds more like police training back at home, even if the memory is a bit faded by now. Secret service training is a far more recent thought, and it was miserable. He missed back when he was getting ready to become an officer, the excitement of getting to play the role in something important. Something he's reminded of every time he sees that hanging banner, and knows he was too late to the party.

Jake thought he was getting used to going up against monsters. Especially lately, what with the inclusion of literal aliens and creatures like whatever the hell the Dredge was. Still, it was hard to get used to the newer killers.

Especially newer killers that looked familiar.

He was walking down a hall in RPD at the start of a trial, knife drawn and eyes open for any sign of movement, when he noticed someone standing in the library. All he saw at first was the vaguely-police uniform and blond hair.

“Leon?”

A voice calls his name, an attempt to pull his attention forwards. But he doesn't recognize it, and so he doesn't rouse himself from his dazed state and instead the body follows the voice with a soft chitter and hiss.

Leon hisses out and looks around the area, no longer paying Jake any mind as it tries to locate more survivors to turn towards the Hivemind. There. Stray blood pools at the bottom of the steps, circling around into the meeting room. A screech echoes throughout the space as he jumps forward onto the walls themselves, completely ignoring the stairs as he uses his back claw to whip into the room and seemingly aiming to crawl along the ceiling.

Still, he didn’t like the sound of what Leon was doing to the other survivors. He didn’t want to wait.

Jake started the slow, arduous process of unhooking himself, biting back cries of pain into frustrated grunts as he got almost all the way before sliding back onto the blood-slicked hook. The entire time the infection continued to spread, but the hot ache along his spine went unnoticed as he dealt with the more active strain on his body.

Eventually Jake got down, the effort bringing the hook clattering down behind him, and he took a moment to check his own injuries.

Something else.

A pause. Every now and then the whispers in the back of his mind coalesced into words. Warnings, usually. Sometimes more direct communication from Kel when he’d displeased her somehow. But this was… weird. Something else? What did that mean?

It's a faint whisper but it's Leon alright, layered over itself and echoing inside Jake's head.

You're bleeding. You're tired. But if you relax and let go then you can wake up out of this trial and it'll be all over.

A softer feeling overcomes Jake, a gentle tug at the chest that turns the burning warmth into more of a quiet heat. It's like being tugged back into bed by your sleeve, and a soft voice coaxing you. It's warm and it's calling out to him to let it happen. And then footsteps at the bottom of the stairway, the Hivemind stepping into view with bloody hands. They make eye contact.

There you are.

Despite the clear way and path to the game warden, Leon simply stands there, the full weight of his multi gaze coming down on the man above to see if the coaxing is working. You've worked so hard. You deserve a break. Come join me.

And then a soft ache in the head, another voice, more subdued and without words. Just a soft sigh as another survivor comes into view from the outside stumbling in. Zarina. Her voice is a soft mess of warbled nonsense as she wanders up to the central area near Leon and drops down in front of a hook. Waiting for Leon to hook her.

Jake thought he was getting used to going up against monsters. Especially lately, what with the inclusion of literal aliens and creatures like whatever the hell the Dredge was. Still, it was hard to get used to the newer killers.

Especially newer killers that looked familiar.

He was walking down a hall in RPD at the start of a trial, knife drawn and eyes open for any sign of movement, when he noticed someone standing in the library. All he saw at first was the vaguely-police uniform and blond hair.

“Leon?”

A voice calls his name, an attempt to pull his attention forwards. But he doesn't recognize it, and so he doesn't rouse himself from his dazed state and instead the body follows the voice with a soft chitter and hiss.

Leon hisses out and looks around the area, no longer paying Jake any mind as it tries to locate more survivors to turn towards the Hivemind. There. Stray blood pools at the bottom of the steps, circling around into the meeting room. A screech echoes throughout the space as he jumps forward onto the walls themselves, completely ignoring the stairs as he uses his back claw to whip into the room and seemingly aiming to crawl along the ceiling.

Leon is in the middle of trying to figure out a place to sleep for himself, having torn up a bunch of books he considered not important and used their pages as an almost bedding. The urge to nest can be blamed almost entirely on the Plagas, some primal instinct fueling the need to craft someplace comfortable to rest. It's... Embarrassing, almost. But luckily he doesn't care about how Wesker feels, knows the Nemesis can't feel, and Birkin is caught up in his feelings and hardly explores the building. And so he feels safe enough to do this unorthodox thing, getting comfortable...

When he hears a strange noise to his left.

It's the territorial instinct that gets him on edge, tensing as he pokes his head around and tries to locate the strange sounds. It's when he nudges over a pile of books that he spots it, this... Thing. This weird thing that's hurgling at him. The harsh spikes and tentacles flare up in response and Leon gets closer to the ground, tail lashing out and thumping around.

The Lil Guy frisks and skips from side to side on it's mismatched limbs- little bony legs skittering while meatier paws slapped heavily against the floor. A half dozen little noodly arms snake out from the skull of it's back, simultaneously helping to pull it along faster and reaching to take one of Leon's hands and shake it with three of it's own.

"Ghbragl!!" It gargles in introduction. "Rghjrkllghh!"

He twirls around comically, tail smacking into things and knocking over books as he tries to grab the dredgey thing to keep it from playing on him like a jungle gym. "Hey, little guy-" roll credits, "Stop that!" Eventually, and with enough floundering around, the large mismatched claw on his back managed to scoop up the Dredge and hold it at a "safe" distance while he gives it a little glare.

Head zoops in like a snail, wiggly arms and jabby legs follow after. The scythe arm and heavy paw squeeze in after with some impossible anatomical squish. It doesn't stop there as the skull itself seems to fold inwards into a pit of empty darkness that collapses upon itself with a puff of smoke.

The killer slowly moves over to watch as tiny Dredge hobbles around making its noises, inspecting the skull for cracks from a distance and once seeing that everything is alright he decides to be more of a passive observer than anything. Not too close, though. His eyes are still slowly blinking open and looking around.

The Xenomorph gives pause, looking down at the shorter creature before it. Not human. Not of its own kind either. Though seeing the other attempting communication - it seems mildly amused by @plagas-bound. It doesn't understand, knowing only its own kind. It eases itself lower, crouching in a resting position. It doesn't need to tower its full eight foot height, it often doesn't like to anyway.

Another low hiss passes it, though it's not aggressive. It's simply... communicative. It's elongated head tilts as it keeps attention on the other. Perhaps this is the closest it will get to its own kind, to filling that vacant space its kin filled before. It does want more - but with no Queen to serve, no hive to call home - it's quite alone.

It never considered the idea it wasn't comfortable with being alone until now. Until seeing something else so close yet so different from it. For once, a new emotion comes to it. Curiosity. This is no simple prey. The similarities are too there. It will not strike or hunt. Beyond that, the overwhelming force that took up the spot the Queen would have had in its head tells it to stay its murderous intention towards certain others. It is glad, in its own way, this one classifies as one it mustn't harm.

It moves calmly, taking to clambering up the nearby wall, before turning its head back to the other creature. The question is obvious in its actions - can you do this as well?

Leon watches with a head tilt as the Xenomorph takes to the wall, looking back expectantly like a dog picking up a ball. Not really play per say, but it's spiritually similar, and with a soft series of clicks leaving his throat the former rookie follows suit. He's not sure how this works exactly outside of just being able to do it whenever he wants, not even needing to consciously think about it too much. Like walking.

Now he's joined the other on the wall, tail swaying side to side as he chirps with slightly dilated eyes. Las Plagas seems to have a curiosity of its own regarding this thing, and has decided it's one of its own regardless of the clear differences. Just has an issue responding back, and although that's not good for the sake of the Hivemind, nothing to get too worked up about.

"So I was sensing another." Wesker leans back, arms crossed, as he takes a cursory glance at @plagas-bound. "I would recommend you keep your hackles down. I am not here to start a fight with you. Unlike certain other mindless Tyrants." A quip directed to Nemesis - it's clear some bad blood is there. Not that Wesker will elaborate.

"I assume you weren't taken long after infection, if my hunch on this... Entity is correct." He stays, standing calmly. As if he doesn't know of Her. He does - he just refuses acknowledgement. There's a deep hatred in his veins toward such a thing existing - but that's neither here nor there.

"I'll put this simply for you. There is only one person who knows exactly what you're going through and how to best deal with it." And you're looking at him. It goes unspoken, but in his tone. "I can feel your existence, though I doubt you feel mine." His arm raises, allowing the black tendrils to wiggle around his arm. "Seeing as your plaga infection was a basis, Uroboros does in a way connect to you." He lets them slip away. "Other than that, the innate sense a Tyrant comes with - I can sense that way as well."

"I am going to be rather... aware of your existence. I would prefer to make it amicable for the two of us rather than hostile. Beating back the Nemesis gets tiresome." He shifts slightly. "With that said - I simply offer my knowledge of the course of infection and mutation, how to control it and wield it effectively. In return - I have little to preoccupy my mind with. I would like to study you. It is a fair and simple trade for you to make, benefiting us both."

... but when Wesker motioned for them to talk in Iron's office, he was puzzled, surprised enough to actually change his attack plans and reluctantly follow inside with a grumble. As the other tyrant continued on and made his proposition, it left Leon unsure how to feel exactly. On one hand, unfortunately, Wesker was right. Not many people here could comprehend the struggle that followed viral infection like this, let alone the Plagas parasite, besides maybe Birkin... But the man never seemed in the mood for civilized conversation.

But on the other hand, he didn't like the idea of being studied like some sort of insect under a microscope. Is that really all Wesker wants? Research? There's gotta be a catch... Even if getting this parasite under control sounds like a bit of a dream come true. If he can control it he can finally sort out his own thoughts, feel less clouded and fuzzy all the time. Maybe he can reduce the harm he does to others here. Maybe he can finally stop turning a blind eye to it.

Jake thought he was getting used to going up against monsters. Especially lately, what with the inclusion of literal aliens and creatures like whatever the hell the Dredge was. Still, it was hard to get used to the newer killers.

Especially newer killers that looked familiar.

He was walking down a hall in RPD at the start of a trial, knife drawn and eyes open for any sign of movement, when he noticed someone standing in the library. All he saw at first was the vaguely-police uniform and blond hair.

“Leon?”

A voice calls his name, an attempt to pull his attention forwards. But he doesn't recognize it, and so he doesn't rouse himself from his dazed state and instead the body follows the voice with a soft chitter and hiss.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Jake immediately turned and ran without thinking, survival instincts momentarily superseding everything else even as questions raced through his mind.

Was that Leon? Another version of him? This had to be a killer, right? Everything about him screamed corrupted, from the strange sounds he made to the numerous eyes spread over his body. Not to mention the fucking tail, but that was almost an afterthought at this point.

Jake managed to duck into a side room and press himself against a wall, breathing fast and heavy and trying to bring his mind back into focus. Okay, new killer. Unfamiliar power set on a familiar face. He could figure this out…

Leon clears his throat and begins to speak in a deeper, almost layered voice. "Where'd you go?" More steps and he walks past the room Jake is in, tail trailing behind and gently clicking against the flooring. "I saw that knife. Is it for show?" The concept of a Game Warden wasn't familiar to him just yet, but equally as plausible all things considered. He was hit by a boot the other day, after all.

That did not sound like Leon. Or… it did. Too much like him with too much of not him in a way that made Jake’s skin crawl. Something was very, very wrong with this version of the survivor, and Jake didn’t like it at all.

Still, he had a job to do. Jake crept back out into the hall and followed the sound of the scream, knife ready to plunge into the Killer’s back the moment he got the chance.

Which was… hard to tell when, actually, given the number of fucking eyeballs staring directly at him when he rounded up behind the Killer.

Jake is slammed against the wall via Leon's shoulder, spines coming dangerously close to piercing into his face. It hisses and eyes the man before rolling its other shoulder and stabbing right into Knife with a large spine extending out from his arm. It's impossible to tell what happened from an outside point of view besides the obvious. But the point is left in Jake for a few seconds before releasing, Leon stumbling back and working on getting the knife out of himself.

Leon is in the middle of trying to figure out a place to sleep for himself, having torn up a bunch of books he considered not important and used their pages as an almost bedding. The urge to nest can be blamed almost entirely on the Plagas, some primal instinct fueling the need to craft someplace comfortable to rest. It's... Embarrassing, almost. But luckily he doesn't care about how Wesker feels, knows the Nemesis can't feel, and Birkin is caught up in his feelings and hardly explores the building. And so he feels safe enough to do this unorthodox thing, getting comfortable...

When he hears a strange noise to his left.

It's the territorial instinct that gets him on edge, tensing as he pokes his head around and tries to locate the strange sounds. It's when he nudges over a pile of books that he spots it, this... Thing. This weird thing that's hurgling at him. The harsh spikes and tentacles flare up in response and Leon gets closer to the ground, tail lashing out and thumping around.

The Lil Guy frisks and skips from side to side on it's mismatched limbs- little bony legs skittering while meatier paws slapped heavily against the floor. A half dozen little noodly arms snake out from the skull of it's back, simultaneously helping to pull it along faster and reaching to take one of Leon's hands and shake it with three of it's own.

"Ghbragl!!" It gargles in introduction. "Rghjrkllghh!"

He twirls around comically, tail smacking into things and knocking over books as he tries to grab the dredgey thing to keep it from playing on him like a jungle gym. "Hey, little guy-" roll credits, "Stop that!" Eventually, and with enough floundering around, the large mismatched claw on his back managed to scoop up the Dredge and hold it at a "safe" distance while he gives it a little glare.