BERTHA, ready to play

Hunter

3D render for Resident Evil Remake

Gas Station

Concept art for Resident Evil 2 Remake

Her brows furrow as she scans the fine print packed on a folded manual that opens to a size of a standard credit card — then a spark of recognition.

"There. Small box here at the end. 'Speak to your nearest Umbrella representative about how to inject…'. Mm. Still so much unimportant waffle in the limited space they have. Ah — 'Administer full dose into muscle over anterior thigh or gluteus then discard safely.'"

Miriel glances back up at Bertha, whose previously hopeful tone had dampened just a little. The surgeon didn't feel too apologetic. One of them had to be realistic.

Unless there are null results, but with how much Bertha had to pay for this medication she would not tolerate such an outcome. The thief who sold her the syringe would not live for much longer, but they would regret this trickery before their death.

Preliminary testing is promising. Bertha watches, holding her breath as the blood sample and the drops of medication meet. Miriel has the microscope and Bertha can only guess what she's seeing. She chews her lip behind her mask and leans a little closer, as if that might reveal what's going on.

"Well? Is this viable?" Or is she going to hunt down a salesman and beat him to death with her bare hands to calm her anger and disappointment?

"And where's the fun if he's gagged, Bertha? Might as well anaesthetise him. Then the theatre will be a tad too quiet."

The surgeon prepares a syringe of propofol anyway, and readies a few tools that would be needed: scalpels, skinhooks and drillbits laid out in neat rows on a sterile cloth. She keeps an eye on Bertha the whole time, the necessary prep work already second nature to her.

"They always are, aren't they?" Her tone is dismissive with a tinge of disgust, same way it always was when she spoke about certain men. Though, to Miriel anything other than her job or her main hobby was an interruption. Time that could be better spent in the theatre, cutting and cutting and cutting.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy a good steak. But nothing came close to the giddy power of having a scalpel or bipolar in hand for someone who couldn't do anything about it.

Starting with a fairly simple objective; Bertha knows what her preference is and is excited to do so. "I am happy to collect fingernails until he wakes. Then we will move on to toes unless you have other preferences."

Bertha hums softly, considering. She uses the scalpel pulled from her pouch to slice beneath the nail back and up to remove the first one. It is enough to wake the surgeon with a scream that has Bertha trying not to giggle. "That did not take long."

"Wha- you!" The captive surgeon does not get more than that before he screams again as Bertha repeats the swift removal of the next finger, then the next two from pinky to index. His hands spasm as he fights the restraints. "What the FUCK? Let me go, let me go!"