VOICEMAIL

[siteboss]

Commander Sylvester Terrell Jones












Objective: NOT GIVEN




POD E

This is Commander Jones. Leave a message.

[ End of recording. ]

Comments

[files_souls_like_taxes]

Commander Jones, This is William T. Spears- or at least the Akademi built after his D.N.A. and I have a few questions that I would like to have answered as soon as possible. The first question that I would like to have answered would have to be: How were you able to gather the needed materials to recreate an almost replica of a Death God and then the next question would be what purpose is there in modifying something that is already more powerful then then even life itself?

[siteboss]

[ The commander returns his call promptly. ]

I understand that you have questions, Mr. Spears. I have arranged for an escort to bring you to my office.

[ And that's it. Click. Jones will come through on his offer immediately; it is only five seconds later that the guards will appear to supervise his walk to the new compound. ]

[files_souls_like_taxes]

[Unlike most placed in his situation, William really did not care about his follow Akademi or even the other citizens on the island. There was only one thing on his mind and that was to find the answers to his questions. Why would they say that he was one of the best when it was glaring obvious that he was far from it? With that question as well as a few others, there was a little resistance as he followed his escorts.]

[siteboss]

[ Much of the new compound is under construction. William must endure the hardships of ducking under beams and walking on sawdust, of all things.

But inside Commander Jones's office, there is another story to be told. Everything is a product of an eye on great design, though the room is very cold on account of this. There are tribal masks, modular furniture, an accent wall -- everything.

And no dust or clutter. These have all been outlawed.

Commander Jones stands when William is escorted inside. Though his meticulously clipped hair is dark and his skin is an intensely exotic shade of cordovan, his eyes are startlingly green. William should enjoy the ornaments on his jacket, which are perfectly aligned and spaced and have not a crinkle nor crease between them. ]

Sit. Please. Have a drink, if you would like.

[files_souls_like_taxes]

[Ah... A leader that understands how necessary it is to not only look presentable in public but just as neat and tidy inside his private office as well. There was a flicker of what could only be considered as appreciation within William's odd green and yellow colored eyes as he cast a simple look around his office.]

Thank you for your offer but at the moment I am not particularly thirsty, and I will only be here for a short amount of time.

[Even as he answered his boss, William stood ramrod straight with his hands tucked behind his back.]

[siteboss]

Of course.

[ The commander opens up a packet of papers on his desk and reads from them: ]

E-78, William T. Spears. You were questioning your genesis.

[files_souls_like_taxes]

I was not questioning my genesis to be precise but as to what was the purpose was there in creating something flawed? From what I understand what is the reason of creating something more flawed then the original?

[As William spoke he readjusted his glasses just a bit before tucking his arms behind his back.]

[Day 010 after Integration Day]

[underthesurface]

Commander Jones? Miss Ueta suggested that questions about training should be brought to you. What will we be doing on Wednesday?

[PHONE TAG]

[siteboss]

[ Machete don't text, and neither does Sylvester. Pyunma receives an incoming call instead. ]

[underthesurface]

[It's a prompt response, so there's only one person he can assume it is. He doesn't hesitate in picking up. He's still doing his best to make a good impression, even after that answer from Lady.]

Yes?

[siteboss]

This is Commander Jones.

[ Pyunma can make out papers shuffling in the background. ]

I am not much for little buttons, I'm afraid. You would like to talk about the program?

[underthesurface]

I would. I'm curious what we're being prepared to do, sir.

[The "sir" sits heavy on his tongue, but in the midst of asking a question that amounted to "what are your plans for us," a little respect might ease the way.

He'd hoped to do this through text. He's no actor who can hide his every last reaction. He'll just have to do the best he can.]

[siteboss]

[ That might have been just the plan. ]

Five years ago, a tragic pandemic left this as the last standing civilization in the world. The Foundation created you with an immunity to the disease in an effort to restore order to the nations. You will be trained accordingly.

[ Here's the unmistakable sound of ice stirring around a glass. ]

Of course, as I've said, the situation is dire. You must be prepared for anything.

[killsyouquickly]

Commander, this is Albert Wesker. I have a few questions about the memories I've retained, specifically the ones regarding certain abilities that would benefit me in combat. Any information you can give me will be appreciated.

[siteboss]

[ By now, the commander is used to people using him like Google. His reply is prompt and frank: ]

I will answer to the best of my ability.

[killsyouquickly]

Many of the abilities I recall having would give an excellent edge to any operative. I wondered if there might be a way to replicate them.

[siteboss]

Replicate?

[ See, this is the most amusing thing that has happened all day. A lot of people don't get to hear Jones ask an honest question. ]

As it stands, we have no data on the abilities that you are born with. You will have to enlighten me, I'm afraid.

[killsyouquickly]

I was stronger and more agile. These things alone would be useful in combat. I was also able to heal almost instantly and move faster than the human eye could follow. These abilities were the result of a virus I carried. I may be able to create a version of it if I can find the resources.

[siteboss]

And you would be able to do this?

[ Jones always has his eye on the next opportunity. He is not without caution, though; he makes it clear that this is only allowed because it has a place in his design. ]

We have a work study program in place. Currently, we have only one resident in the program; his partner was regretfully reassigned.

If you truly believe that your project will assist the program in any way, I can put in a good word for you with Dr. Stevenson.

[trilluminati]

There is a part of the tower where even the merciless metal siding has sludged away, as susceptible to the Haze as all of its sister elements. All that’s left is its stalwart framework, building a ladder into the stars with its refusal to topple as every other component of this wing is wont to do.

It has been a five minute climb, but even his satellites cannot afford him this view. The plagued fields spread out for an eternity that is bookended by the horizon. He sees a red fog rolling over the sleeping valley.

He’s been toying with this dutch forever, peeling at the leaf and distracting himself with his own thoughts. He’s almost glad when someone else shows up to distract him instead.

[siteboss]

The first thing Jones says is, “This is so straight-forward of you.”

[trilluminati]

Q rolls the dutch over in his fingers, silently staring off the drop.

[siteboss]

Jones stands at an exact angle, breathing stiffly. He opens his mouth to speak--

[trilluminati]

“Napoleon Hill.” Q fumbles with the cigar. “I know it was you. You didn’t have to bring Felix into it.”

[siteboss]

“I do my brother’s bidding.” Jones straightens out his jacket, hesitant.

He sits beside Q anyway, dusting rust off his hands. He clears his throat.

“I learned quickly never to swim against the current of his affairs. You are out here in plain sight. Inviting trouble.” Jones’s eyes narrow. “I know that you are not my brother.”