Revival

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

The gunslinger hastily fastened the buttons on his sullied coat as he exited the exam room, casting a cursory glance down the long hallway in which he stood. His room was located, it turned out, at the end of said hallway. The passage was lit in a similar fashion to that of the room in which he had so recently awoken: barely at all. What meager illumination offered was in the form of fluorescent bulbs, giving the scene an eerie glow. Vincent noted a conspicuous lack of decor in the hallway, the occasional door being the only thing breaking up the otherwise monotonous span of off-white wall. The facility was silent, save for the hum of the aforementioned lights, and smelled faintly of disinfectant and floor wax. 

Where am I? The pale prime wondered, his grip tightening around the handle of his newly-crafted gunblade. The Turk had been awake for less than an hour now and he had already had his life threatened. Not a great way to wake up. He stood still for a moment, blinking away what remained of his fatigue, before beginning his investigation.

Vincent walked slowly and cautiously down the corridor, focusing on summoning a handful of ammunition during the present respite. He kept the blade at the ready as he walked, peering through the small square panes embedded in every identical door. Each room greatly resembled the first with little deviation: a shiny metal exam table in the middle of a room cluttered with innumerable medical devices and terminals. The pale gunslinger was surprised to find no less than a dozen of such rooms dotting either side of the long corridor. What surprised Vincent more was not the presence of such examination space but the fact that each and every one was completely empty.

“Strange,” the Turk muttered, opening the break-loading mechanism on his gunblade and dropping a freshly conjured round into the chamber. He deposited the rest of the summoned ammunition into his pocket, alongside the strange earpiece he had swiped from the now-dead attackers. Vincent was curious as to with whom his attackers had been communicating, though after watching the men essentially deflate upon removal of the device, he was in no hurry to try it on. 

The moments slowly ticked by until the raven-haired man finally reached the end of the corridor, turning the corner and spying a set of brick-colored double doors on his immediate left and a pair of polished doors to what Vincent could only assume was an elevator some twenty feet before him. He crept stealthily past the doors, peering through one of the panes to see a group of a half-dozen men adorn in similar garb to the duo he had just recently dispatched. They stood around a large, circular table, examining what looked to be a collection of various documents spread across the table’s surface. The gunslinger quickly ducked out of sight after a few seconds, mentally willing his body to become transparent. Seconds later, the door slowly swung open.

“Agents Williams and Miller,” a man in black deadpanned, a finger touched to his earpiece. “Status.” He did not await a reply, quickly marching around the corner.

The unseen gunslinger crept stealthily around the oblivious operative as he passed, slipping nimbly into the meeting room as the door snapped shut behind him. The gathered individuals paid no mind to their cloaked visitor, their eyes unable to perceive the pale Prime as he reached the table. Vincent stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with the group, staring down at the collection of documents. He scanned the collection quickly, noting countless pages of instructions for how ‘specimens’ were to be cared. 

“What will we report of Subject X-3? Deus will want to know.”

The gunslinger turned to note the face of the speaker, a blonde man with a distinct widow’s peak. His emotionless face was turned toward a fellow, a stack of papers in hand. Vincent took the opportunity to lean closer to the man and inspect his documents, noting the heading 'Subject X-3'. Below the heading was a familiar face staring back at him, confident and youthful. The man wore a dark blue suit with a matching tie, his dark bangs parted over a fair face. The ShinRa insignia was stamped in his lapel, recognizable immediately by the ex-Turk even after many years. Vincent’s breath caught in his throat as he stared down at his own face.

Inches from the blonde agent's earpiece, the gunslinger listened as transmission came through. “All operatives: Subject X-3 has escaped.”