I was occupied with an incredibly important task—cleaning my Eagles. What else was I supposed to do when, out of all the pleasures familiar to the combined consciousness of my three personalities, very few were actually available to me? I couldn't even get drunk. Either I wasn't alive enough to perceive alcohol properly, or it simply broke down faster than I could even begin to feel tipsy.
Alongside cleaning my weapons—an absolute must for any mercenary, because only in games can you grab a broken shotgun off the floor, pull mismatched shells out of a trash can, and wipe out everyone with it—real weapons require care. But I digress. While performing this sacred ritual, I was also thinking. And there was plenty to think about.
In the couple of days since our ambiguously concluded mission, I still hadn't found answers to several questions—yet many more had appeared. For example: why release new Hunters in the city? Sure, one could assume that the corporation's leadership had once again lost its collective mind and released them for the same reason they unleashed Nemesis and the Tyrant in Raccoon City. But if that were the case, these creatures should either have been programmed at least as well as those two giants—or controlled in some other way. And with Hunters, that's barely possible. I'd even say impossible.
What else? Let's assume they managed to reach through underground routes—which, in Montreal, is actually quite easy to do unnoticed. Then the corporation, reasonably deciding it shouldn't lose more professional human operatives, might indeed have sent its new development to carry out the operation while simultaneously testing the prototypes. Considering the corporation's overall direction and its attitude toward both employees and test subjects, that would fit.
Or perhaps it was some other elaborate multi-stage scheme that I disrupted simply by showing up—or by virtue of my combat capabilities, since the MA-125 models are far stronger than previously known Hunter variants and much better adapted for battle. It was a pity, but I never did find out. If there were any answers to that question, they lay only with the corporation's top chiefs; everything ranked lower was monitored by Yamata, yet even there not a single hint toward the question of 'why' could be found.
Then Yoko threw me a surprise. On one hand it was positive. On the other… well, that depended on how you looked at it. Yamata had uncovered some interesting information about the girl—just a little too late, after it had already come back to bite us.
What do I mean?
For starters, this Japanese girl had been a small cog in Birkin's laboratory. Essentially a lab assistant. And when she was finally allowed to participate in experiments with the T-virus, the experience impressed her so much that—first—she managed to escape from the research center. Quite successfully, too, since she wasn't locked in some corporate dungeon but walking free. And second—she damaged her own psyche.
Well, not exactly. To put it simply, the human mind—yes, I mean humans—is incredibly flexible. And as a form of self-defense, the girl simply forgot an entire portion of her life as an Umbrella scientist.
That's how the cookie crumbles.
Another thing is that the mind of our kind—now I'm speaking about creatures like me—is even more flexible, and it calmly accepted and processed everything that the human psyche had rejected. In other words, the girl remembered everything she had so desperately wanted to forget.
On one hand, that was very good, as I had mentioned before. Why? Well, if only because some of the knowledge possessed by a certified specialist appealed greatly to the Four Eyes, and now she had gained an assistant not only in programming matters but also in scientific research.
The other side of the coin was Yoko's humanity.
When you've become a monster that no longer needs sleep, it's hard to escape your thoughts during free time. And what would a girl think about—one who had struggled so hard (and succeeded!) in forgetting part of her life, only to suddenly remember it again? The answer is obvious. Whether she wanted to or not, her mind would keep returning to the very subject she tried to avoid.
It's like trying not to think about a white monkey.
Now let's play a guessing game! To whom did the girl go in search of support and psychological relief so desperately needed by an exhausted mind?
To a friend who was even further removed from this world they'd fallen into than Yoko herself? Unlikely.
Or perhaps to a girl she had met for the first time, who was supposedly going to become her direct superior for a long time? Considering the Japanese fixation on hierarchy, we can eliminate that option immediately.
So perhaps to what looked like a monster—but one who had already saved her twice. And, importantly, a man. From a woman's point of view, men instinctively provide a sense of protection—assuming, of course, they're not spineless amoebas. And this particular individual clearly wasn't: he had protected her and looked like something straight out of an epic tale.
How that fits into psychological theory, I sincerely have no idea. But the day I fully understand female logic, I'll erect a monument to myself!
Whatever the case, I had to suffer a little in the role of a psychologist. Too bad none of my origins had the proper education for it. Well, Vector had an interrogation-oriented version, focused on influencing the mind and extracting information more effectively, but that definitely wasn't the right situation. And, most frustrating of all, I couldn't resort to the traditional method by which men calm women. No, the organ's functionality had long since been restored. But if I ever find a woman who can actually be aroused by my appearance, it will be nothing short of a miracle. And even with her, things still wouldn't go anywhere.
Why do I think that?
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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