Revival

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

The gunslinger lay upon the exam table, mind swimming as he tried to puzzle out how he had arrived in the dimly-lit medical dungeon in which he had found himself. As he lay, staring at the ceiling, he ran through a list of possibilities while his body warmed itself, his limbs now beginning to feel less like blocks of ice.

The Prime hadn’t been in the Omniverse long enough to make too many enemies, that was certain. Judging by the means by which he had been subdued, however, Vincent doubted the attack had anything to do with his actions. He briefly humored the thought of a fellow Abyss participant with a grudge, though he quickly dismissed it. The security in the facility was airtight, Karl Jak would never allow commotion outside of the island. Bearing this in mind, the ex-Turk had to consider the possibility that his predicament was the handiwork of none other than the master of the Abyss himself. Either that, or someone capable of pulling the wool over old Jak’s eyes.

A few moments of introspection later, the numbness and subsequent pain that followed his awakening had finally reached a low point, leveling out at a dull ache. Though he was not at full strength, Vincent was glad to feel that he was capable of moving his limbs once more. He moved to reach a sitting position, tugging against the soft restraints that pinned his limbs to the table. With a grunt he pulled against the leathers, tearing them from their anchors. Now free of the leather bands, he swung his legs over the edge and got to his feet. The dropcloth slid from his skin as he did so, crumpling at his feet. For the sake of his dignity, he donned a lab coat he had found atop a nearby office chair and began his investigation of the room.

Reminds me of Shinra… Vincent mused, noting the set of high-tech terminals perched on the counter adjacent a well-stocked bin of medical supplies. The first of the terminals appeared to be off, though the other he found to have power, greeting him with a login screen. Pausing for a moment, he glanced around the room for a stray clipboard or stack of notes that could provide some clue of how to access the terminal. A smile crept across his face as he heard the slight crinkle of paper from within the pocket of his coat. The ex-Turk quickly drew the paper from his pocket, unfolding the small, index card-sized paper slip.

Username: dhopkins
Password: summer1

Rolling his eyes, the gunslinger typed in the login information and brought up the only open program. It appeared to be a sort of database, though it contained a single file, labeled ‘Divus’. As he double-clicked the file, his attention was suddenly drawn toward room’s exit. From somewhere beyond the nondescript doorway, he could make out the sound of distant speech. And then, footsteps.

Vincent reflexively reached for his sidearm, grasping nothing but a handful of lab coat. His armaments had been taken, likely to the same place his clothes had been stowed. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as the sound of footsteps neared. Glancing at the bin on the counter beside him, the ex-Turk grabbed the most dangerous-looking implement available: a scalpel. The tiny blade gave him little comfort, though it was a good deal more formidable than attacking someone with a pair of forceps. As he prepared to square off with his captors, a thought flitted through his head: Omnillium. Summoning!

Gripping the handle of the medical instrument tightly, Vincent concentrated on the weapon he would require. Summoning Cerberus in all her glory would take too long; what was more, the pale Prime had to acknowledge the possibility that his captors were armed themselves. No, he would need something to cover all bases. Just such a tool came readily to mind and the gunslinger set to concentrating on making the concept concrete. Vincent watched as the scalpel began to extend slowly in his hand, the tool glowing brightly as his omnillium swallowed it up. As he worked he could hear the voices approaching, their footsteps echoing as they neared. By the sound of it, the Prime would not have enough time to complete the summoning process before his guests arrived in the exam room. Thinking quickly, he darted across the room, obscuring himself behind the exam table. He squatted low, concentrating on his summoning as the door’s lock began to turn.

“...He requires the daily observation report.”

“I do not understand his reasoning. This individual has been deceased for months.”

The raven-haired Prime peeked over the table, watching as a pair of men in black suits entered the room. They looked to be in their thirties, both with dark hair immaculately styled in a standard side part. Each men’s accoutrements were identical, from their polished Oxford shoes to their dark sunglasses. They moved with military precision, their movements almost robotic.

“Correct,” one man said to the other, making a beeline for the terminal. Vincent hadn’t caught sight of his face, though he noted the presence of a red necktie, in contrast to the dull blue that his partner wore. “However, the status of X-3 does not matter. We are tasked with reporting data, that is all,” Red-tie finished.

Blue-tie nodded, following his peer to the terminal. “True,” he responded, no sign of emotion apparent in his voice.

Vincent watched as the duo reached the terminal, freezing as they looked upon the screen. The ex-Turk cursed silently as Red and Blue apparently noted the fact that the previous user hadn’t bothered to log off before their arrived. Careless.

As if on queue, the suited men turned toward the exam table, instantly recognizing that the occupant that had once been shackled to it was now squatting behind it, brandishing a freshly-summoned machete. Blue reacted first, making it a single step before Vincent raised his weapon and squeezed the trigger, the gunblade expelling its high-caliber payload into the man’s chest.