Chapter Text
036 came into the world screaming.
This in and of itself wasn’t noteworthy. A dozen of its predecessors had done the same. But what made 036 memorable was that it came in screaming and was heard . It had the presence of mind–right after achieving consciousness and receiving a ludicrous amount of sensory input–to move its hands and grip the sides of the birthing pod. Then it leveraged itself upward until its head and shoulders breached the surface of the conductive gel, and suddenly its incoherent, terrified shrieking was audible to all.
Doctor Marsha Marigold watched all this unfold from behind the one-way observation window with interest. “Don’t move a muscle,” she ordered, and the two burly orderlies who were about to enter the chamber went still. “I want to see how this plays out.”
“Ma’am, all due respect,” one of them began, cowering slightly when she turned her steely glare in his direction. Her eyes were a startling shade of green, like a freshly cut lime. “Its vitals are off the charts. The chances that it lives through the next five minutes are–”
“About as high as yours, if you keep trying to tell me how to do my job,” Dr. Marigold snapped, having to raise her voice slightly to be heard even with the audio feed from the testing chamber muted–that was how loud 036 was. “Stay put until I tell you otherwise.” When they backed away from the door she returned her attention to the observation window. She picked up her tablet at the same time, flipping back through her notes and starting a voice memo. “036 has been active for two minutes and thirty-three seconds as of this recording,” she began, double-checking her watch for the time. “Subject is able to sit up unassisted and has raised its head enough to express vocal displeasure.”
When Dr. Marigold saw 036’s mouth snap closed, she paused her recording and turned the audio feed for the chamber back on to find that its frantic, raspy breathing matched the way its chest heaved. It was thinner than its predecessors and the base model, with lean muscle stretched tight over prominent bones–not a problem, but something to keep an eye on if it stayed alive. Other than that, its appearance was as expected: the base model at the age of 21, but with no scars or belly button and all of its advanced combat training from later in life loaded in as muscle memory. It had been… modified below the waist according to certain specifications given by her superior, but that particular feature wasn’t consequential to Dr. Marigold. She was a scientist, not a sadist, and there would be no fucking around with her experiment as long as she was in charge–literal or otherwise.
036 spat out a torrent of conductive gel, piercing blue eyes watering with the force of its retching. Evidently all that screaming had caused its pipes to back up, so to speak, but mercifully Dr. Marigold didn’t have to watch it throw up on itself. Once it caught its breath, its gaze darted around the chamber, and Dr. Marigold leaned forward a bit with interest. This was the moment when she would find out if this one had a brain in its head, or if the initial memory transfer had been a bust like the last time–or, god forbid, if it was like 015 and just wanted to be screwed to death by the first thing it saw with a pulse.
“Hello?” 036’s voice was a tremulous thing, matching its shaking lower lip. “Is… am I alone?”
Dr. Marigold took a moment to compose herself, giving one of the orderlies a stiff nod when they reached for a prepared syringe. Then she hit the button that turned on her speaker and said, “Subject Zero-Three-Six, welcome to the world. Do you know who you are?”
“What?” 036’s brow creased with confusion. “I’m–who are you ?”
Dr. Marigold sighed. “Go,” she told the orderlies, and muted the audio from the chamber.
That way she didn’t have to hear the screaming when it started up again, as one orderly pinned 036 down in the tub and the other slid the needle into its arm. It stopped struggling almost instantly, eyes rolling back in its head as it slipped into a drug-induced haze.
This was progress, she reminded herself.
~***~
036 was not designed to have a mind of its own.
Instead, it was meant to be like a sponge. Soaking up whatever surrounded it until it changed color and shape, became soft and squishy and malleable in all the right ways but not so much like its predecessor that it developed agency. The instructions passed down from on high had been clear about that–if the time, money, and effort sacrificed to create the perfect iteration of the DSO’s top agent was to be worth it, he had to be completely controllable.
036 was not designed to have a mind of its own… and yet…
~***~
The device they put on 036’s head made it hurt.
It was a constant, aching pressure, squeezing at his (he was a he , according to Dr. Marigold) temples and the soft spot at the base of his skull. Eventually, as they let him go longer between sedatives and he was exposed to what real pain felt like through torture and training, he got good at ignoring it. It was explained to him that in order to feed impulses through his nervous system, the device had to remain on and active at all times, even when they wanted him to sleep.
Sleep, the doctor told him, was the optimal time for memory absorption.
The man that 036 was supposed to become–referred to internally as 001–had led a truly unsettling and unforgiving life before he was placed into a coma. But in between all the carnage and pain, it also had some bright spots. There was a woman named Claire that he thought of as his best friend, even if they’d had disagreements in the past, and another woman named Sherry, whom he viewed as a daughter, though they didn’t share blood. Others came and went in flashes, and 036 could only hang on to their names–Ada, Jill, Buddy, Rebecca, Carlos, Ingrid, Piers. All important, and all still alive. Many more were dead, and most of them 001 believed were that way because of his own shortcomings.
Then there was Chris.
Chris was… special . While 001 had several romantic entanglements with people over the years, including some of the ones he still regarded as friends, they didn’t hold a candle to Chris. He’d longed for something beyond their friendship since its inception, but was too afraid of losing the respect and trust they’d built to ever breathe a word of his attraction. And it was a strong pull, desire constantly present in the pit of 001’s stomach whenever Chris was around, making him feel awkward and wrong-footed like a teenager even if the other man was oblivious. In fact, 001’s very last thought before he was pushed down into the darkened void of forced slumber had been that if he could count on anyone to save him, it would be Chris.
Logically, it was clear that 036 was running out of time to act. He had been born a few months ago now, and had already demonstrated by Dr. Marigold’s own admission that he was a near-perfect replica of 001. If he didn’t do something soon, 001 would be terminated for real and 036 would be forced to take his place. He’d overheard plenty of gossip from the orderlies, who said he was set to become a “lap dog” for someone. And 036 knew instinctively that he would rather die than live like that.
So, in order to save himself and 001, 036 would have to do more than simply walk and talk and fight like his predecessor.
He needed to think like Leon S. Kennedy, too.