deerington/deercountry Inbox - UN:A_Wesker013

[subject_013]

”Greetings. You’ve reached the voice mail of Albert Wesker. I can’t come to the phone right now, as I’m either at work in the laboratory or chasing some Beast off my roof. At the sound of the tone, please leave your name and number and a suitably short message and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.

“However, if you’re Chris Redfield, stay on the line….”

LUMENWOOD BLOOD MINISTER BUSINESS INBOX | HUNTER INBOX

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[subject_013]

[With a dry sound like a closed-mouthed laugh in his throat, he responds.]

Simmons. A clever individual, but too caught up in politics and personal affairs. I don't doubt some emotional entanglement will trigger the end of him, but I could be wrong in my prognostication.

[The barkeep returns with a bottle of red wine and a glass, which she sets before Wesker.]

A second glass for my companion? [She obliges.] It's a local vintage: part grape, part mushroom*, nowhere as strange-tasting as it sounds. [He fills one glass, then makes a move as if to fill the other.]

The Pthumerians may seem the stuff of nightmares or the object of awe, but they serve as the guardians or gods of this place. Why they have so genuine an interest in us remains to be seen, but their influence on this place and those who dwell within it touches every fibre and facet.

[He takes a sip from his glass, then pauses, as if weighing his words or bracing for the revelation to come.]

She is. And yet, she is something more. She was the daughter of Roderick Sodder, the mayor of a small town in Maine, and a woman known as Cynthia, the human mask of the daughter of the Pthumerian Queen. She had the reality-shaping skills of her mother's people, and the infinite creativity of her father's kind. Unfortunately, her powers ran out of control, frightening the townspeople, and her parents tried shutting her away in a laboratory where she was put into a medically-induced coma. But to little avail. She started reaching out to the multi-verse, summoning people into her dream. But she was doing more than that: within the dream, she was shaping a world of her own. On her death, that world was born, the world we see around us.

I was plucked from our world and into that dream, from the rocks under the window of Spencer's estate. Why she summoned me still remains a mystery. She didn't exactly win my approval.
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((*This is a thing.))