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Code: Project AURORA	By : DeadlyFriend Category: +M through R > Resident Evil Views: 2944 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil. I do not own the characters and I do not make any money or profit from this story.

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"I must say, doctor Bhandari. Your work is excellent."
That voice that spoke of the highest level of education and the facade of calm was one adhered to by many in many of the upper classes.

Etiquette.

That’s what it was.

A code of conduct on how to behave in public and avoid exposure to ridicule. The outward calm was the expression of a man’s inner character and courtesy was the most important one of all.

Courtesy was imperceptible until there was a stark absence of it. Then it became far more than poignant. It became about damage control. For every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction. Courtesy was simply another way to minimise consequences that arose from actions and words said in a poor light.

You could live in a man’s house for forty years. Share his meals and his property. Speak on every subject. Then tie him up, and hold him over the volcano's edge. And on that day, you will finally meet the man. Only Matiass can’t see the volcano for his psychosis. Gods.

Courtesy tempered with authenticity became powerful allies when a man found himself trapped with people such as Matiass. Good manners had been what stood between him and death under the very worst of circumstances. A death that, the brother of his patient would agree, he so justly deserved for his part in this latest act of bioterrorism.
"How you flatter me, doctor Matiass." Lakshan focused solely on the comatose woman in front of him. Used his thumb to flip through several pages of her chart, each change and shift in vitals mentally noted before he was satisfied. “You remain in excellent health, Miss Redfield. Fit as a fiddle is what we say in the U.K. You’ll be pleased to hear your hair is growing back nicely after your treatment while the cuticles still retain their wavy texture. The soft tissue damage has been repaired courtesy of the Countess. We’ll cross any bridges as and when we reach them. Continue to get some rest, Miss Redfield.”

He was aware, more than aware, of how intently Matiass took in the patient’s looks, and for one eternal moment, the doctor wondered if he would have to kill a man with his own bare hands.

Lakshan stayed where he sat, at the end of the bed, and hid his caution with encouragement. “Doctor”
“This is her metamorphosis. Her pupa. Her beauty will transcend all those who came before her. You agree with me, doctor Bhandari?” Aric Matiass looked on through a hooded gaze and lips emaciated enough to show a glimpse of putrefied teeth.

“Yes, we can both agree on that. Miss Redfield does have quite the flair about her.” He kept his gaze completely off of his employer.

“It will be interesting, I think. To see how well she’s taken to the Countess.” Matiass brushed skeletal fingers through the auburn strands of the patient’s hair. “If this works as you planned, I hope you’ll consider my offer more thoroughly.”
Lakshan covered his thick swallow with a scratch of his stubble. “I’m not a man who puts the cart before the horse. Disappointment isn’t something that suits me.”

“Humility.” Aric approved, and gods. The Kuru was so prevalent in every move the older man made.
Kuru was a condition Lakshan refused to treat. Especially a virus-tainted variant that he had no stomach to waste precious time and resources to treat it successfully. Kuru was a disease Matiass thoroughly deserved.

The IV drip.

That had to be adjusted now, didn’t it? A quick glance at his patient’s chart confirmed it was now time to increase the fluids in order to keep up with her heightened physiological needs. Her caloric intake would need to be increased, but that could be dealt with in time.

“Pardon me.” Lakshan eased the dose up and flicked the drip until he saw with his own two that it did what it should.

He could feel the eyes of his employer watch every move he made. Those eyes with nothing behind them, that he refused to make full contact with. He did not want to see what manner of evil festering silently inside Matiass. Not now, not ever.

Matiass wore his disease like a badge of honour and displayed all the mannerisms of a noble gentleman. "Not at all. I do not take precedence in this matter. Your attention to detail is such a rare commodity these days, doctor Bhandari. I will see to it you receive adequate compensation."

Lakshan’s blood crackled with iced heat deep in his veins. Good to know the only thing needed for a Christmas bonus was to infect a woman such as Claire Redfield with the very virus he had created.
Happy thought indeed.
"Really, doctor Matiass." Lakshan faced the man with a smile full of humour and thanked his gods his bedside manner was legendary. "There's no need to push the boat out, you know. This is my job, remember? That you already paid me for? I can well afford a bucket of KFC."
A white lab coat protected the $26,000 dollar Ermenegildo Zegna Bespoke suit, but they were just clothes. Clothes couldn’t change a monster into a man and Aric Matiass was a monster. A monster neatly wrapped with goals and matching pocket squares.

There was little in life more terrifying than a man like that.
"Ahh, yes. K.F.C. The true north of the great American peasant." Thinly veiled disdain dripped down like acid from the monster’s tongue.
Lakshan gripped his privileged upbringing with every bit of strength in his bones and he tried to tap into what passed for Matiass’ twisted form of pity. “And us bachelors.”
He should have kept his bloody gob well shut.

His employer looked at him, those eyes grew keen with an intrigue that lit up the maddened depths and Matiass head slid to one side. Those thin lips lost the soft edge of humour and became something else entirely.

“Unattached. Yes. Yes, you are.” Matiass murmured low and his gaze…

Gods, that gaze made his skin bloody crawl, and no. Shiva, no. Don’t let the man take the path that began to form.

“Perhaps…”

Lakshan couldn’t look away for love nor bloody money, and he knew. He bloody knew where this would go and he would be buggered if he allowed those thoughts to so much as manifest. Still, he had a role to play, and play it he must or earn an awful lot of suspicion in a short amount of time. “Perhaps…?”
His employer continued to regard him. “You could have the honour of her hand. Court Miss Redfield.”

Oh, hell’s bollocks.

“Marry Miss Redfield? Me?” Lakshan allowed good humour to shroud the revulsion that coiled in every nerve he owned. “I’m afraid I have to disappoint you on that. My parents are looking for my perfect match as we speak.”

Aric Matiass flushed a flush that turned his skin putrid, almost jaundice. It was clear the man felt the insult wound deep. “I see.”

“And in truth?” Lakshan turned on his unrequited love for Maggie Gyllenhaal. “I’m not worthy of The Countess. I’m not you, doctor Matiass. I’m just a 31-year-old man who orders far too much K.F.C. I wouldn’t dream of exposing The Countess to the life of a boy my age.”

Never did he pray as hard as he did right then. To smother the snub with self- flagellation and flattery. Eighteen months in this godforsaken place and he had offhand flattery down to a bloody T.

Matiass blinked himself out of whatever insane daydream he lived. “Oh. Oh, doctor Bhandari. You must forgive a foolish old man. I didn’t mean to suggest… I find such things vulgar. Of course your parents are looking for your bride.”

Lakshan waved the man off. “Think nothing of it. You were simply looking to further your vision. No harm done.”

Not to me and not to my patient. Now to change the subject. Forgive me, Miss Redfield.
“Speaking of our Sleeping Beauty.” Lakshan gave his beam everything he bloody had. "Patient 424 has shown remarkable progress since you were last here. She began to show evidence of dreaming which is, as you know, very important for neurological functionality."
"Dreaming." The man mused as he slipped his hands into his pockets. "What do you think a woman such as she dreams of, doctor? What do the Claire Redfields of the world dream about? Will she be worthy of The Countess, do you think? Tell me what you know of her. "
"What I know of her?" Lakshan blew out a breath and adjusted his position on the patient’s bed. "Not much if I’m honest. I did a handful of her amateur motorsport races not so long back. She did very well to gain a podium position. She has her brother's skill in many areas of combat, as proved by her ability to survive the outbreak in Raccoon City and surviving her imprisonment on Rockfort Island. Beyond that? I'm as in the dark as you are."
Luxury loafers made little noise as the man approached the sleeping woman and brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. "So, brave and resourceful. A risk taker who applies experience to opportunity. A woman. She will be remarkable. My vision and your prodigious skill will achieve a great many things, doctor Bhandari. Miss Redfield is merely the beginning for us and with The Countess on our side… Well, I don’t think I need to tell you how bright the future shines for us."
Matiass stroked one dewy cheek with a skeleton’s hand, each finger void of muscle tone and fat, every knuckle visible beneath decrepit flesh. “Delicious. So delicious.”

Nausea was unique in how it felt like a rubber balloon full of air that slipped and slid from gut to oesophagus in a single second. That balloon expanded and contracted and pressed down on the back of his throat, and Lakshan swallowed hard, but it did no good.

His patient was being assaulted in front of his own two eyes and he couldn’t do a bloody thing about. Not if he was going to get them both out of here alive. He was just so bloody grateful Miss Redfield slept deeply, blissfully unaware a monster

Pressed gently against the beautifully healthy face of Claire Redfield as she slept, blissfully unaware a monster touched her with all the reverence of a desperate supplicant.

It was only by the very grace of Shiva himself that Lakshan held himself together. He’d done many despicable things in his time working for Aric Matiass. All under subtle threat, of course, but that excuse had worn thin.
He would sooner add to the death toll under his name than allow Miss Redfield to fall being the Bio-Organic Eucharist Rite.

I think. No. I know it’s time to lea… Is that the electrocardiogram?
The fluctuations in the monitor alerts brushed every ounce of good manners into the lavatory and Lakshan was on his feet in seconds. “Bollocks… Pardon me, doctor Matiass. Non-verbal signs of pain. I must ask you to vacate while I tend to my patient.”

"Of course, doctor. I expect hourly updates on Miss Redfield’s condition."

Never in all his years had Lakshan heard a gait sound anything like the footsteps of Aric Matiass. The man had so little muscle tone in his legs that it was impossible to lift the feet. Where one took a step, the other dragged.

Step-drag, step-drag, step-dragggg.

It was enough to understand there was no time left. Matiass would need food soon and since the fellow’s stocks were reportedly low…
His fingers rasped over his stubble as he rubbed his mouth and waited for the electrocardiogram to give its results.

It was all perfectly normal. Not a single sign of the non-verbal pain signals from mere moments ago and so Lakshan turned to ABSTRACT.

There was nothing.

No tachycardia or bradycardia, hypotension or hypertension, arrhythmia, no signs of oedema, internal haemorrhaging.

Everything was perfect.

“I’ve seen a few hypochondriacs in my time, Miss Redfield.” Lakshan ruffled his hair. Panic over. “But you just about gave me a bloody heart attack.”

Unless…

Oh bollocks .

xxxx

A tsunami of adrenaline rushed through him, some senses dulled and others grew sharper, more focused. His heart rate increased two-fold and his brain went straight to mapping out an escape route. His breath turned shallow as charts slipped and floated out of shaking hands, and landed on the patient herself.

“A minute. Just a bloody minute.” Lakshan squeezed the bed rail until all knuckles turned white against his olive skin. He had to stop, had to take a breath and get a bloody grip . His chin dipped down to his chest, eyes tight shut as he slowly took control before he went into respiratory distress.

Okay. Okay. I’m alright. This is how it’s supposed to go, innit, mate? Induced coma, chemotherapy, transplants of Peripheral Blood Stem Cells and bone marrow from the donor Tyrant, give to patient, wake patient up, escape, get to the FBI. In that bloody order.

“You make a good table, Miss Redfield.” He tried to keep it light for both of their sakes and spread several pages worth of history out for an undeniable side-by-side comparison.

His shaking made it almost impossible to mark off key points and changes in her vitals. He clicked his dictator on and made a point to use her name. No more patient 424.
“The date it June 7th, 2009, and time is 10:59:00. Miss Redfield still retains elevated neurological activity. Pupillary responses are above average. All non-verbal signs of pain and distress dissipated as the threat of doctor Matiass was removed. This indicates Miss Redfield has a heightened degree of awareness and is able to process activities within her immediate surroundings.”

Lakshan pressed the recorder so hard against his head, the ache spread white-hot from one ear to the other. He continued.

“Before exposure to Paclitaxel and Doxorubicin, Miss Redfield displayed sleep spindles and K-complexes as she entered stage two Defined NREM sleep. Sleep spindles and K-complexes displayed again on entering stage four REM sleep. Patterns of sleep behaviour show no discernable elevation of vitals as those I have just witnessed. It is my belief that my patient is coming round. I will administer a high concentration of Zolpidem in order to assist her emerge from her induced comatose state. I have little time remaining to get both Miss Redfield and I to my bunker on Coney Island. I can’t afford to fail. I can’t afford to have my C-Veronica virus to fall into the wrong hands. May all the Gods be on our side. This is doctor Lakshan Bhandari, PhD. The date is June 7th 2009. The patient is Miss Claire Redfield.”

Time get a move on and get the hell out.
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Code: Project AURORA