trans_9 | Get you Gone

Bandit is fidgeting at Leon's feet. There's a lot of nervous energy buzzing in the air, a lot of pent-up aggression. He licks his snout and tastes the air, then sniffs the floor a few times for good measure. He's stressed and unhappy, with ears drawn back and tail pressed downwards.

There's that uncertainty spinning over his head. He's not thinking about it. He's a dog, it's not in his nature to dwell.

He won't bring it up if you don't, Leon.

Leon kind of has to bring it up. Not that he wants to, but everyone has to do their part.

He knelt down, so he was more at Bandit's level, and petted his coat gently. It was easy to see how tense he was, and he wanted him to relax. He never thought he'd be talking to a dog, let alone that both he and the dog seemed to know this topic of conversation likely wouldn't be pleasant.

"Bandit... Stacy apparently left something in storage that belongs to you. Do you know what it is?"

COAT, says Bandit, will little hesitation. He doesn't know how to lie. BAD COAT. NO WANT B. 1 AGAIN. He affirms, then puts his head down. He knows it's the wrong answer; it's not so much guilt--guilt is beyond him--as what he fears Leon's reaction will be. He's being a bad dog.

Whatever Bandit expected, Leon's reaction was gentle. He simply gave Bandit a few scritches on his neck and his ears.

"The same 'coat' they made you wear when you were killing 'enemies of America'?"

That was the phrase bandit had mentioned a long time ago, and Leon certainly hadn't forgotten it.

Bandit leans up and licks Leon's hand, leaning into it.

YES.

Leon honestly couldn't imagine Bandit as a killing machine. Or the amount he had to suffer while all the mechanical parts were put in. Sadly, though, he could easily imagine people insane enough to turn such a sweet dog into a living weapon.

"I need you to do me a favor, boy." One that he really really did not want to ask, and he wouldn't ask if didn't think circumstances would eventually be that dire. He gently lifted Bandit's head up, so the dog was looking at him.

"I need you to help me protect everyone here... but for you to do that, I'll need you to put your coat back on.

"Will you do that? Will you help me?"

Bandit makes a little whining noise, pulls back his ears some, and licks his muzzle again. He doesn't want to look Leon in the eye and he doesn't want to do this. He's anxious and stressed.

But he does it, because that's his training and that's the proper response.

IS GUD DOG. BANDIT DO. PROTECT. SHERRY-BOSS. PROTECT. IS GUD.

"You are a good dog, Bandit. A very good dog." And Leon feels like a very bad boss for asking you to do this, but it really is necessary.

That's fine. It'll be unpleasant for him now, but trust me, Leon, you'll be the one feeling the horrible pangs of guilt down the road when Bandit will have moved on without a hitch. He doesn't hold grudges and he lives in the moment. He'll manage.

For now, though, he's pressing against Leon's legs, looking up at him expectantly.
COAT WHER?

Leon gave him a few more scritches before finally standing up.

"C'mon." Bandit could probably find his way to W&P easily enough, but Leon figured he'd walk him for the short trip. He also wanted to make sure Bandit didn't have any trouble getting back into his 'coat'.

Bandit had, in fact, been to W&P alone before--he'd gotten his red collar there--but having Leon to accompany him was more than wise.

The box was large, about the size of a pony. It opened with a hiss, revealing a large, stainless steel metal carapace. 'Carapace' was in fact the operative word here, as the suit was designed to resemble the natural shields of an insect. The chest was wide open, the armor essentially parted down the middle to allow Bandit to slip in. He would probably need aid getting his tail into the proper slot.

Next to it was a large airtight case, made of metal and resin, which Bandit would be unable to open on his own: inside were 30 vials of fluid and 30 corresponding syringes.

MED-SIN. Bandit explained, pointing to the case with his snout. NEED 4 COAT. NO MED-SIN GO BADSICK. Leon would find a sort of 'prescription' for the meds, along with a short description, chemical analysis and base effects: they had to be administered every 24 hour, with a 72-hour limit, in a (presumably painless) injection performed through an automated slot in the armour. They would keep the animals' organisms from rejecting the implants.

All you had to do was put the syringe in the dock. The only downside is the limited amount of medication; the ship's scientists would either have to produce more, or the armor would have to be dismantled right off of Bandit's body.

Leon only shook his head a little at the armor and the medication. Lord only knows how much R&D had to go into making a dog into a killing machine. All that knowledge and money wasted on finding new and creative ways to kill people.

If they ever got a chance to get to Bandit's homeworld, there were a number of people there he'd need to have a word with. And by 'word', I mean 'kill in a righteously violent fashion'. They were no better than Umbrella for this.

Putting those thoughts aside, he helped Bandit get all suited up, and gave him his first dose of medicine. The rest he'd have to give to Luis to hold on to for the moment.

"How do you feel?" He wanted to make sure Bandit was ok in that thing.

Bandit climbed into the suit, raising his hips so that Leon could slide his tail into the hind slot. Once each paw was properly laid into its dock, the machine responded to his weight and began to hum quietly as it started up. After a few seconds, there was a hiss: the entire thing snapped shut in one fell instant, plates sliding and locking into place. The dog yelped lightly as the suit released its neural receptors, which embedded themselves into his limbs and spine, allowing for direct response from body to armor.

He black out for a moment as the visor finally shut down over his head. It took a few seconds before the lights at the end of the armor's 'antenna' to flicker to life in a deep blue shade. A few minutes after Leon put in the first dose of medication, however, he came to, licking his muzzle anxiously as he raised the visor. At Leon's question, he performed a basic weapons check: the plates began to move, revealing a mess of guns. Notably, he was equipped with a canon for firing reduced-size surface-to-air missiles (they were still more than enough to take out an Apache longbow), lasers and gatling guns for arms. Yeah. He flexed the 'toes' of his 'hind legs', put out and retracted each claw.

1 READY, he replied, as each item slid neatly back into place. WAIT MISSION START. WAIT LEON-BOSS SAY.

Get you Gone

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