#verse; domhan ionfhabhtaithe

[iobartach]

pssst have some r.esidentevil!mig plot bites for your eyeballs 👀, since it's been months and i've realised i haven't mentioned anything on here ftghy ( pssst @ascendedpath bleu, keep me honest if i am misremembering any of this 😂 )

slapping a large disclaimer of WIP as i'm continuously adding to this!

i wanna lead with saying the times and dates of when the following happens can slide around, as needed!

alchem.ax is a biopharma / biotechnology corpo in this version, the status and reach of which is.... complicated tm in this au (hiii, umbrell.a 👋)

miguel's work leans into / crosses over into virology - alchema.x acquires 'samples' of viruses, and miguel conducts research on it

stepping a toe more into worldbuilding here, but the corporate raider programme takes on a different name and purpose, alchema.x markets it as a means of 'immunising america's finest against [the most prevalent RE virus strains]', with miguel's research contributing to this effort still

george o'hara, still an asshole, died young, nobody cared, blah blahhhh. unlike canon though , george was more of an absentee father figure, was distant with miguel

miguel knows that tyler is his biological father, and they work together as always. what's different about it though , is that here miguel tries, foolishly or not to strike up a father-son relationship with stone, but ty is the one that shuts it down this time. kind of an inversion of canon. ( me @ myself; rewatch that one scene in netflix's eric that gave me vibes for this )

miguel is a mutate, but not a known / declared BOW yet (plot dependent). remains human-passing. future potential there for him to join a task force --

infected with t-virus , t-02 strain along with a cocktail of other unpleasantness (read: even he doesn't know what else was mixed in)

caused by jealous colleague still (either delgato or someone else, wink winkkk), who ambushed miguel by sticking a needle in his neck after an argument, rather than by accident

talons are the usual, retractable -- probably stronger and more... claw-like, as opposed to micro-barbs

fangs, this time, potentially retractable or at least more hideable, with a deadlier venom yield

can't spread his infection with a bite though (?) -- blood, maybe. still thinking this one over

both webbing production and venom are more susceptible to his dietary choices than ever.

carnivorous, as in my main verse

eyes remain brown. the red hue appears only when his mutation is active, and can get worse from there if he loses control, or is otherwise worked up to an extreme degree (i.e. sclera turning fully red / scarlet)

addition to the above, veins appear more pronounced along his temples when he uses his powers, just for an extra bit of spookiness / showing there's something definitely not right with him. it's kind of like what happens with byakugan users, when i picture it in my head

still has the enhanced vision, and need for special sunglasses <3

g.abriel o'hara's status is .... : )

other 2099 chars, haven't given much thought to

lots of connected plots with @ascendedpath 's samara (without whom none of this AU would've happened, so i cannot thank you enough <3 )

more to be added ... eventually!!!

[iobartach]

"That was never--" The start of a response gathers in his throat, stoking a temptation to yell and put this townie in his proper place. But further conflict wasn't going to help an already deplorable situation, for no matter how Miguel sliced it, the stranger had every right to give him an earful. Thanks to a derailment during transit, Alchemax was completely to blame for the outbreak that swept through this once unassuming settlement, infecting its inhabitants with the quickness of a wildfire. For those that it didn't immediately kill, the spreading illness transformed its remaining hosts, turning every man and woman against each other in the process.

"Fine, but at least hear this; I can make the arrangements that you desire, as soon as you stop implicating me in this." Brown hues fixed the other male with a piercing glare as he spoke, unflinching. Being held hostage was a matter that he had thought about with a certain amount of frequency, but never imagined experiencing first hand. More than that, he had no reason to lie, for as soon as he examined a sample of an infected subject's work, he'll be able to determine which of his colleagues was responsible for combining a sample of T-virus with a few unpleasant strains of flus and other transmittable contagions, and promptly shift the blame in their direction. "Name your price."

"The world needs bad men. We keep the other bad men from the door." @iobartach (based on your RE verse <3 )

“right.. that’s why you’re here? to keep what your own company made at control?” he can’t believe the man at all, they were a happy town until the virus shipping nearby their place had an ‘accident’ and started to spread, based on what John could find. He was just lucky he could find a small group of survivors and they successfully abducted one of important members of the company’s force. John still isn’t sure if it helps but least they can get a guarantee that they will walk out of this cursed town they once called ‘home’ without being experienced on.. “well, spare me your useless speech. We got women and children here! and innocent men who just wants to get out of this place and are done with all this- this disaster you and your kinds did! I want something out of this, and I’m not hearing your reasoning!”

[iobartach]

@wristapled asked; "Woah what the fuck-- what's your deal man?"

The temptation to answer truthfully roiled with an astonishing about of force within Miguel. It pressed against barriers that had been assembled rapidly, without any considerations paid towards longevity, threatening to burst through with every passing moment. How much longer could he keep quiet? To march on with his well-crafted front of wellness firmly in place, until the day that he couldn't. Thanks to the virus running rampant in his system, his demise was guaranteed to be brutal -- fitting, then, that he hadn't intended to survive the weekend that followed his infection, let alone the year that had elapsed since.

Was this his chance to get the word out? Divulge to a complete stranger, met entirely at random, what sensitive Alchemax secrets he was privy to? Whilst he could still think rationally? On this, the geneticist wasn't certain, an indecisive feeling that saw the corners of his mouth turn downwards, less inclined than ever before to share an unbridled account of the contemplations currently making the rounds inside his head.

"Easy, I didn't mean to startle you." Leading an attempt to calm rattled nerves, a sweep of sun-kissed arm accompanies the gesture, shuffling closer by the second. Wrapped in what appeared to be an old blanket, thrown haphazardly around a tall frame, its faded hues and moth-eaten holes hinted that the brown-haired male had acquired the garment quite recently, pilfered out of need. "Not gonna hurt you, either." Sensing a need to make that clear, as he drew closer, it could be observed that he moved with a limping gait, coupled with a notable rounding of shoulders that, together with the blanket, suggested he had either fallen on hard times (Not completely untrue). Or, had been the cause of them, for another unfortunate soul.

The blood that could be seen streaking the sides of his mouth certainly encouraged terrible speculation, regardless.

"I'm... I'm not sure where I am right now."

[iobartach]

Infected World

universe: resident evil

verse name: domhan ionfhabhtaithe

Description: Tba'd but lots of lore details here!!!

"Somewhere in the world, the wrong pig met up with the wrong bat."

[iobartach]

@hcrlastescape asked; ❛ There’s no such thing as a step back. You go forward. If you hit a brick wall, you don’t go back, you go through. ❜

the fall of the house of usher sentence prompts

There was something to be said for the assurance of motion, of never staying idle for long. It had been the fuel that enabled him to keep ahead of his nearest rivals, in a time when the few surviving corporations that had managed to avoid being swallowed up by Umbrella's far-reaching influence squabbled over the scraps that remained. Innovating and experimenting for profit, rather than aid humanity.

Confronted with a moral quandary, Miguel's trembling hand instinctively seeks the support of his heavy head, as he sits alone at a bar. A need for a change of scenery had pushed him out the door of Alchemax's laboratory and straight into a hovel of a tavern, lured in by the stench of stale beer and desperation. Deserted by all except other stragglers, who'd found relief at the bottom of a bottle faster than he had. Somewhat envious of their luck, fingers tighten around his own choice of poison, until a cracking of glass caused him to stop.

"There's got to be something that I..." Murmuring to himself, his words trail off into a whisper, that brought hidden regrets to the surface. In the background, a nearby television had been attuned to the latest report of trouble, with the presenter mentioning a location that felt a little too close for comfort to be kept entirely out of his mind.

"That I can..." Opting to repeat himself, brows kit together as lips part in an open-mouthed frown, doomed to remain in the same, sagging posture until another opinion is unexpectantly voiced. Calling for action, the kind of reception that is garnered instead is that of a man jumping in his own skin, reflexes responding before conscious thought could catch up, more alert than he'd like to admit. The effects of his alcohol consumption were already being taken care of by his regenerative abilities, there to offer cold reminder that he had more matters than jumbled morality to contend with.

"Who said--?" Hoisting both empty and bottle-holding hand aloft, a quick glance on each side finds no one, eyes flickering. Shifting from their usual brown to a startling crimson for a fleeting moment, before he closed them completely.

"Please, I just-- I don't want any trouble, today?"

For the world was experiencing more than enough turmoil at present.

[iobartach]

In the course of seeking aid, he remembered a valuable lesson, taught to him by his father; more often than not, first impressions mattered. From the looks of it, he's already botched that crucial step, sowed seeds of mistrust and caution, if this stranger's measured retreat was anything to go by. Living with this fumble, for his own part, he remains stationary, hiding little as he feels the man's gaze study him. Pointing out details that had escaped his own notice.

"...I am?" Voice wavering, an unsettled look takes hold of his visage upon hearing that revelation, palm already in the process of covering his stained mouth as he checks for himself. Sure enough, to his own horror, his hand comes away stained, the stench of iron too prevalent to disregard the redness as anything other than the obvious. "...What?!" The exclamation rockets its way up his throat, a species of disbelief that twists into something raw and appealing as his eyes widen in shock.

"No!!! .... N-no...." Something hidden fractures unseen, enabling panic to claw its way up his chest as he backs away himself. Unable to fathom what course of events had brought him to this point, he pinches his eyes shut with a forced effort, scouring his memories for answers. "I... I was attacked, I think? Not bitten, though! See?!" Tacking on an important clarification, he lets the robe slip free enough to expose a shoulder, free of marks.

Or cuts. Or bruises for that matter. In spite of his words, he fit the billing of hunter rather than prey.

"...Don't call. Not yet." Who knows what that would lead to, even if the stranger's intentions stemmed from a caring place. "How about we find a... a place to rest, first?"

With every step forward the stranger takes, Ethan matches it by a shuffle backwards. Never taking his eyes off him, never letting his guard down, never offering the upper hand. He was almost ashamed of his unwillingness to trust, and yet-- the last time he had.... Uneasy already on a good day, he wasn't exactly ready to leap into more trouble. He'd had enough of that to last fifty lifetimes.

Blinking, however, at the way he moves, talks, Ethan's able to get a decent look. Crimson stains his face, though there's no indication if it's his or someone else's. Injured, or good at faking it. At least willing to talk. Maybe he wasn't a threat at all?

"...You're bleeding."

Said matter-of-factly, almost as if he wasn't sure the stranger had noticed it himself. The blonde squinted, unsure what he should believe. His instincts, telling him to run, forget about it, leave this whole probably-mess in his dust... or stop to help. Ethan could at least tell the guy where they were. He could at least tell him that, though how the man had no clue what city they were in was odd enough. Questions upon questions mounted, and Winters regretted leaving his shotgun at home. Something wasn't right here...

"What-- What happened to you? Do you-- Do you need me to call someone, or..?"