"Don't vomit on me. You'll feel better in a few minutes." He muttered with a pat on your back as if attempting to dislodge something from your throat, though his expression was blank and his focus was on the bundle of pronounced veins that had begun to trail up your visible skin. He'd been informed of Wesker's other recruit for the mission mere hours before, he'd been pissed off but had held his tongue on all the complaints about changes to the mission parameters. What he found annoyed him more was that Saddler had only recently given you your dominant Plagas strain and thus you had yet to endure any of the changes that the Plagas made as it 'improved' and 'perfected' your body.

"Christ, you're like a sick dog." He stated with a huff as he took the beret from his head and began trying to fan you as he scanned the horizon again, the sun had yet to show itself, the environment coated in darkness as the town and it's inhabitants waited with baited breath for Agent Kennedy to show his face, though they were all almost sure he hadn't even gotten out of America yet. Your shaking form was leaning against him but he moved you to the cool concrete of the crumbling pillar beside him. Forcing you to sit up as he dug dirt out from under his nails with his gleaming knife "Just have to wait it out." He reminded you as he watched your chest rise and fall with a frantic pace, sweat coated you in a light sheen and dampened the collar of your shirt. The bundles of veins and nerves, pressed forward by the Plagas induced adrenaline rush, speeding heartbeat and paled skin, would've been concerning but the memory of the Plagas searing in his own veins told him that your almost fever like symptoms were normal. For him, the Plagas has spent hours remaking the missing portion of his left arm, feeling returning to the limb as well as molding his arm like putty into the organic blade-like appendage which had taken a similar amount of time and pain to recede and leave him with his normal arm. "Just a bit longer." He reassured again