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Unexpected Sentiment

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In the village of Kijuju, Chris Redfield had gotten separated from his partner. He and Sheva Alomar had been attacked by a mob of majini who were infected with a variation of the Las Plagas virus. The majini had basic human intelligence but lacked rationalization and follow the orders of the majini infected with the control Plagas form. Chris was surrounded by majini and there was no sign of his partner. The sheer number and degree of excitement of the infected around him told Chris he was in trouble. There were simply too many of them and things only got worse for him when he heard heavy lumbering footsteps. He lifted his eyes to stare up into the masked face of the executioner majini.

The big man lifted his enormous axe and swung its sharp side down towards where Chris stood. Chris rolled under the man to avoid the heavy blade and raised his gun to fire at two majini who were running at him with weapons raised above their heads. Their eyes were distant but hostile at the same time and murder was certainly their mission. Chris brought the two men down but was blindsided by a majini who came at him from the right. The wrench in the man's hand smashed against Chris's head and he stumbled off balance. A majini from the rear grabbed him by the forearms and yanked them behind his head. The native slammed him facedown to the dirt ground and straddled over his back. Chris grunted in discomfort as the infected man held his arms so that they were practically pressed against the back of his head, definitely in a position they were not meant to ever be in.

When Chris realized he couldn't break away, panic overtook him. He thrashed in the majini's strong grasp but the other majini were now standing around watching him. Before he could even begin to break free of his captor's hold, another majini stepped forward and restrained Chris's legs. He expressed his rage at being held down with a low growl and increased struggling.

“What have we got here?” a man spoke with a cocky air to it. “An American agent all the way out here? Tsk Tsk. And getting yourself trapped like this, not a good thing.”

“If it's not a good thing then why don't you just let me go?” Chris snarled, unable to see who was speaking to him from his current position.

“You misunderstand,” the man's gruff voice said to him. “It's not a good thing for you.”

A pair of boots appeared in Chris's eye line as the man crouched down so his face was closer to Chris. The man wore brown, green, and gray camouflage pants and a tight black shirt. He wore a belt equipped with multiple weapons, fingerless gloves, and had short blonde hair and blue eyes. Most noticeably about this man besides the enormous muscles, was his badly scarred face. Currently, the man wore a smirk on that face.

“What's your name, soldier?” the man asked him.

Chris only glared in reply which caused him to sigh with impatience.

“My name is Jack Krauser. Now yours...?”

Jack Krauser... Why did that name sound so familiar to him? Chris wondered to himself, frowning slightly. When Krauser could see his captive was not going to reply, he grabbed a fistful of Chris's hair and yanked his head up so that they made eye contact.

“I'm gonna lay out the situation for you. If you answer all of my questions truthfully, I will let you go. If you don't, then I will kill you.”

“You'll kill me no matter what I do.” Chris said to the man, narrowing his eyes.

“Don't tell me what I'll do, pretty boy. If you answer my questions, you will prolong your life. That's a certainty and I give you my word.” Krauser told him.

“Prolong my life?” Chris asked him, suspiciously. He didn't like the words the bigger man had chosen to say.

Krauser smirked knowingly. “Well it's not like you can escape your inevitable death, is it? None of us can.”

Chris stared silently at him for a moment before he finally voiced his obvious answer. “No.”

Krauser tilted his head as if trying to figure him out. “No?”

“No I will not tell you who I am or answer any questions, so you might as well kill me now.”

Chris didn't want to die. But he also wasn't going to betray Sheva..or Jill. Relaxed in the fact that he would at least die protecting them, Chris accepted his death and waited for it. But it didn't come. Chancing a glance at Krauser's face, he saw the man seemed pleased with Chris's answer.

“I suppose it wouldn't be much fun if you gave it up so easily.”

“What? I'm not giving you any information ever,” he informed the man.

“We'll see about that.” Chris heard Krauser say.

And then a heavy boot was coming toward his face and darkness swept all other thoughts away.

/

When Chris woke up, he was in a dimly lit room that appeared to be a storage place of some sort. His hands were bound with rope in front of him and his weapons were gone. He pulled himself to his feet and surveyed his new accommodations. Stone floors and walls and a few musty crates stacked here and there. The door itself was steel and a swift kick to it told him it was fairly sturdy.

“Feeling afraid?”

Chris jumped in surprise. Following the source of the voice he found that Krauser was standing in a darkened corner of the room, farthest from the door. He had been so quiet and still that Chris hadn't even noticed his presence. With a smooth laugh, the noticeably buff man drew away from the wall and folded his arms across his chest.

“I'll take that as a yes.” Krauser said.

Chris narrowed his eyes at the other man. “What do you want from me?”

“I would have started with something easy such as your name. But clearly you have no interest in telling me so we can start with something different. Such as what you're doing out here in this part of Africa.”

“Is there a question in that?” Chris asked brazenly.

Krauser stared at him with complete seriousness now. “What are you doing in Africa? Who sent you and what is your mission? These are the things I want to know.”

“Oh is that all?” Chris retorted. “No thanks. I have to keep some secrets or the ladies might get bored.”

Krauser came closer to Chris and he backed away until his back hit the wall. Something shiny flashed in the dim light and he saw the taller man now held a knife in his hand.

“Hm..humor as a defense mechanism.”

“It's not-” he began to protest, but a knife pressed against the skin of his throat caused him to fall silent.

Chris swallowed nervously. How did he always get himself in these situations?

/

Approximately two weeks later...

Albert Wesker prided himself on always being in control. He was the manipulator and the schemer. He was the one in command and got whatever he desired. Sometimes he didn't get what he wanted right away but in the end, he always did get it. So it was only natural for him to be extremely irritated when he learned his plans to spread Uroboros had failed. And it had been Jill Valentine who was the one to undo all his hard work. It had to have been her because she was the only one who could have the information Chris Redfield and his new partner used to destroy his precious virus. Wesker remembered arriving at his airplane only to find Uroboros destroyed and he clenched his fists in frustration. This was the first time he ever felt truly outdone by Chris. His subordinate had finally succeeded in completely ruining his plans and it angered him to no end.

Wesker knew it was time to pack it in when the BSAA squads began showing up. It had taken them a few weeks, probably waiting for their agents to finish their reports before coming. They were clearly there with one mission: To erase any trace of viruses from the village and nearby areas. It was when one of the infected villagers came to inform him of the BSAA teams arrival that he first learned of their captive.

“Six teams have arrived so far,” the African American villager infected with the control Plagas informed him.

He stood before his master completely emotionless and staring blankly ahead.

“Very well.” Wesker said. “You're dismissed.”

“Should the prisoner be eliminated?” the Majini asked.

Wesker turned to look at the infected man, sharply. “What?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“The American agent,” the Majini answered, seemingly still unaware that he was uninformed.

“Where?”

/

Wesker arrived at the storage room within minutes of his conversation with the Majini. He frowned and knew immediately who had kept him uninformed. The man he had working for him was leaning against the wall near the room silently.

“Krauser. You failed to inform me of a captured American agent.”

The man lifted his head and their eyes met. Krauser was one of the few men who never regarded Wesker with fear even though he was well aware of his capabilities. Perhaps it was because the former soldier himself was infected, or maybe it was because the man's enlarged ego had something to do with it. Wesker couldn't be sure. However, he wasn't too bothered by his lack of fear since the soldier had proven to be loyal and obviously respected him and his plans.

“You were busy with your own plans. I didn't want some American runt to...distract you.”

Wesker raised an eyebrow at the other man. “And after the plan failed...?”

Krauser paused, and before he could answer, Wesker did for him.

“You were having fun with the American, weren't you? Thought I might hand down a kill order so you decided not to mention the agent for awhile, hm?”

Silence confirmed his suspicions.

“What information did you get from the agent? Did you get an identity?” Wesker asked him.

“Nah, he wouldn't even give up his name.”

Wesker glowered at his subordinate. The man couldn't even get information out of a prisoner? He was either far more lacking in skill than Wesker had first thought, or the agent was a very tough son of a bitch. Annoyed with Krauser in every possible respect, he waved the soldier away.

“Get out of my sight, Krauser.”

With a grunt of discontentment, the man pushed himself off of the wall and strolled past.

“Oh and Krauser,” Wesker started.

The ex-American agent glanced back at Wesker, waiting for him to continue.

“If you ever keep me in the dark about anything like this again...” he trailed off, leaving the threat open so Krauser could interpret it any way he chose to.

“It won't happen again.” Krauser told Wesker and walked away.

Once the footsteps faded into the distance, Wesker turned to face the storage room door. With a solid kick, the door flew off its hinges and hit the opposite wall. He entered the room a bit eager to find the one who had managed to survive Krauser's torture without giving up any information. In the corner farthest from the door laid a man with his back to him. The man was completely naked with his hands bound in front of him and his entire body was marred with dozens of cuts and bruises, definitely Krauser's work.

Upon hearing Wesker's footsteps, the man slowly dragged himself into the corner. He pressed himself against the wall, his face still hidden in the shadows. He seemed to be attempting to stay as far from the owner of the footsteps as possible. Wesker stopped beside the cowering form and reached a hand down to turn the face toward him. He paused when the man flinched away from his touch.

“Please...don't. Don't hurt me anymore...” the man whimpered.

So it seemed Krauser had succeeded in breaking the man after all. A shame the soldier never got to see his work pay off. But wait...that voice. The prisoner's voice sounded far too familiar. Wesker gripped the man gently by the chin and turned his face into the light. Wesker was shocked when he saw the identity of the prisoner.

“Chris?”

Chris's face was as bruised and bloody as the rest of his body. Both of his eyes were black and blue and one of the eyes was swollen shut. His lip was cut and bleeding in several places and his one usable eye was bloodshot. For some reason, seeing Chris like this didn't make him feel good. Wesker had always thought he wanted to see his nemesis bloodied and broken on the floor like this. But now that he was, it felt quite different.

“No...” Chris moaned in terror when he saw Wesker.

The beaten man lifted his bound hands and pushed Wesker's hand away from him, trying to crawl to the other corner of the room. Chris moved slowly and it was clear he was very weak and exhausted. That was when he noticed something else. The BSAA agent had blood trailing down the inside of his thighs. Instant rage tore through him at the thought of Krauser touching Chris in such a way. He bent down and grabbed hold of Chris's shoulders, placing him onto his feet. At the touch, he whimpered again and tried to get away. The younger man kept his head down and refused to meet Wesker's eyes.

“Chris, I'm not trying to hurt you!” he exclaimed with frustration. “I'm trying to help you.”

Chris went still at those words, his head remained lowered, eyes rooted to the ground. Slowly, the man lifted his head and with his one good eye he stared at Wesker.

“Why?”

Wesker paused at the question. Why? Why what? Why was he helping him? He didn't know the answer to that question himself. He just knew he didn't want to see him like this. Wesker admired the strong, defiant Redfield who never abandoned his beliefs or gave up hope. Chris was definitely someone who didn't deserve to have such horrible things done to him but they had been done to him anyway. Clearly no one was looking out for him, so Wesker would just have to be the one to do it. He had no idea where this was all coming from but he felt it best to follow these instincts of his.

“Because this wasn't supposed to happen.” Wesker finally said.

Chris started to say something but then he started frowning. His eye rolled back in his head and he fainted. Before he could hit the floor, Wesker swiftly caught him. He untied his wrist bindings and then removed his own jacket to wrap around the naked form. Lifting the limp form in his arms, he carried him out of the storage room to take him somewhere to rest.

Chapter Text

When Chris woke, he was confused to find himself lying on a soft mattress instead of hard concrete floor. But it didn't take long for him to remember what had happened. Wesker had shown up and claimed he was there to help him. Chris must have passed out soon after that because he couldn't remember much else. He took in the fact that he was still naked but someone had washed him. His body was no longer covered in blood and dirt. His eye also felt considerably less swollen. Blinking a few times, he discovered both of his eyes were at least able to open and close. He wondered how long he had been asleep. Drifting off again, he welcomed the much needed rest. It was easier for him to close his eyes when he knew there wasn't going to be the possibility of Krauser being there when he woke up.

/

“Shh, shh. Don't cry. I'll be more gentle this time,” came the hot whisper against his cheek.

“No...please. Not again, please...” Chris begged helplessly, knowing the man was lying. He was always rough.

But it was no use. Krauser's weight pinned him to the floor and with his hands bound, he had no way to defend himself or prevent what was to come. Then Krauser was forcing himself inside of his already bruised and torn entrance. Chris had long ago lost count of how many times the bigger man had raped him, but each time it left him feeling emptier and emptier inside. Why wouldn't the man just put him out of his misery? Why couldn't Krauser just let him die?

Chris knew the answer but he didn't want to. He could tell when a man enjoyed inflicting pain and when a man just did it out of necessity. Krauser was without a doubt the former kind of person. Krauser roughly thrust again and again and Chris bit his lip to keep from screaming. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks and finally he couldn't keep it in any longer, the burning pain was just too much for him. He let out a scream of pain and anguish which produced a chuckle from his tormentor.

“That's what I like to hear. That's it, pretty boy. Come on, give me another scream.”

/

He jolted upright from his restless sleep with a sharp intake of breath. His eyes were wide and frightened as he searched for his attacker, only to realize it had been a dream and he was all alone. No, that wasn't quite right. Wesker was standing in the doorway of the room watching him. He must have just walked in because the door slid shut behind him electronically as he came farther into the room.

“A nightmare?” Wesker asked him in his usual cold voice.

Chris chose not to answer him. Instead he focused on calming his racing heartbeat and relaxing his breath. He closed his eyes but tiredly opened them when Wesker spoke again. “Chris?”

“A memory,” he finally answered the other man, who now stood beside the bed which he was sitting upright in.

He was still unable to bring his eyes to meet the older man's, even when Wesker removed his sunglasses and knelt beside the bed.

“The things that were done to you...” Wesker started.

“I don't want to talk about it.” Chris snapped harshly.

Talking about the hell he had been put through the last two weeks was the last thing he wanted to do. Being in the same room as Wesker was the last thing he wanted. But Wesker was here and no one else was. His former captain had been the one to save him when Chris had nearly given up all hope. This fact was messing him up inside. His emotions were in constant turmoil now and he didn't like it. And because his emotions were in constant flux, most of the time he felt nothing. Chris just wanted to know how to feel so he could just feel something solid but that didn't seem to be happening for him.

“I never would have allowed...such treatment if I had known you were captured.” Wesker informed him rather matter-of-fact sounding.

“Don't pretend you care. You hate me, Wesker. I hate you. It's as simple as that. So don't pretend you're sorry for what happened to me. Why are you even bothering to care? Kill me and put me out of my misery. I know you want me dead so go on and finish me.” Chris bluntly said to the black-clad man, still averting his gaze.

“I wouldn't have saved you if I wanted you dead.”

Chris didn't know why he did it, but he just wanted to feel something. He didn't want this emptiness and if somehow maybe Wesker could make him feel some sort of emotion then he could feel better, start getting past what had been done to him. Completely out of his norm, Chris leaned forward and planted a light kiss on the tyrant's lips. Wesker's eyes widened in surprise and he pulled back, effectively breaking the kiss.

“Please...I need to feel something,” he pleaded vulnerably.

Wesker transformed his look back to the usual unreadable expression. “You're just confused, Chris. What happened to you was traumatic and-”

“Ugh. This isn't about then! This is the here and now! I don't need you to tell me what I am, I need you to make me whole again.” Chris yelled in frustration but then his voice got quieter. “Forget it, okay? Just go away.”

Tears began to leak from irritated eyes as he screamed at Wesker for no real reason. He rolled onto his side, facing away from Wesker so he wouldn't have to look at the man. Chris was angry because of what had been done to him. What he had let happen to himself and he didn't want to face it. He was so messed up that he couldn't think about anything. There was only one thing that he was sure about right now. Chris wanted Wesker to help him think straight and if he couldn't do that then he wanted to stop thinking completely.

After a few moments of silence, Chris heard the bed creak as weight was added to it and felt Wesker lie down beside him. The older man wrapped his arms around Chris and placed his head against the BSAA agent's smooth back. Chris relaxed into Wesker's embrace and tried to fall back asleep but he just couldn't. Chris reversed his direction so he faced Wesker and tried to kiss him again. This time Wesker let him and started kissing him back. He melted into the other man and they wrapped around each other as they meshed lips. Desperate for more contact, Chris moaned needily and tugged at Wesker's shirt, trying to remove it. Breathing heavily, the other broke the kiss and stared at him.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Wesker asked.

Nope. It wasn't. Not at all. Except it was at the same time. He would sooner shoot Wesker than do what he was seeking to let this man do now. How had he become reduced to this confused and needy mess?

“Don't stop.” Chris breathed and initiated another kiss.

As they continued to make out, Wesker worked on removing his own clothing. Once all of his clothes were off, Chris pressed his naked body against Wesker's nude form, consumed by lust. The blonde haired man was shocked by his forwardness as he hungrily nibbled and kissed Wesker's neck and chest, but was by no means put off by it. The constant touching and feeling as they tasted each other's bodies, continued for several minutes. As Chris continued to push his groin into Wesker's own, the tyrant grew even further aroused and moved to take this to the next level. Quickly dominating the kiss, Wesker rolled on top of him and let his hands trail down to Chris's hips. The younger man spread his thighs eagerly, wrapping his legs around Wesker's waist and staring up at him pleadingly. Wesker positioned himself in front of Chris's entrance and placed the tip of his erection against the tight hole.

He couldn't make a choice with Krauser, but he could now. This was him taking back his will power and strength.

“Fuck me.” Chris told him.

Only too glad to comply, Wesker shoved inside of the BSAA agent and received a grunt of pain. He continued to push his manhood deep until he was buried to the hilt inside of him. Chris's face was contorted in pain, unable to handle the man's impressive girth and the tyrant hesitated.

“We don't have to do this.” Wesker said, meeting Chris's eyes.

Oh, if his superiors in the organization could see him now...

“I want to.” the man beneath him insisted.

As if to prove his point, he ran his hands through Wesker's hair and delved his tongue into the blonde's mouth. The older man accepted his answer and gave him a few moments to adjust to his size before he began to thrust repeatedly into the thick heat. Chris's pained expression became mixed as his eyes filled with bliss and he moaned the other man's name again and again. Wesker pushed him down against the sheets as they roughly kissed and one hand groped his chest while the other lingered lower. He gripped Chris's manhood, forming a sort of funnel with his fist and moved his hand up and down along the length. The tyrant moved into a rhythm, sliding his hand up and down the shaft as he thrust in and out of Chris.

After this went on for awhile, Chris couldn't hold out any more and he came with a scream of pure ecstasy, his semen spilling onto them both. A few more thrusts into the ecstatic heat and Wesker followed soon after, his seed filling Chris's hole. He collapsed on top, head against his chest, resting. After a moment, he pulled out of the younger man and rolled on his back to lay beside Chris. Soaked with sweat and semen, he shifted his body to snuggle against Wesker, the source of heat. He buried his face into the man's neck, his eyes growing heavy with tiredness and it wasn't long before he allowed himself to drift into sleep.

/

“Why are you doing this?” Chris whimpered as he laid helplessly beneath the larger man.

“You'll have to be more specific, pretty boy.” Krauser muttered, digging his nails into the flesh of his back.

“I know who you are.”

“Is that so?” Krauser asked, thrusting particularly hard.

Chris gasped out in pain and clenched his jaw. He struggled to hold in the scream he so badly wanted to release, knowing it would only spur the other man on. Desperate to find some way to endure the burning pain, Chris tried to keep his tormentor talking.

“You're working for a man named Albert Wesker, aren't you?”

“I thought this was my interrogation. I want to talk about you, not me.”

On the word, 'me', Krauser pulled out except for the head of his member and thrust it back in. The motion felt to Chris like he had been impaled with a knife and a shout of agony escaped him, bringing a smile to the muscular man's lips.

“Much better.” Krauser murmured and forced his mouth against his.

Chris tried to turn his head away but a strong hand gripped his chin and a tongue moved between his lips. The agent struggled to break away which only caused Krauser to kiss him more violently. Only after the necessity to breathe reached the blonde soldier did he release his mouth. He greedily gulped in air and another push of Krauser's dick inside of him finally caused the soldier to reach climax, filling his seed into his captive. Chris grimaced in disgust as the wet fluid filled him. He tried to take his mind off of it.

“I was told you were a good man, a good soldier, once. So why do you work for someone like Wesker? He only seeks to accomplish his own selfish goals.” Chris said.

Krauser remained in him, most likely because he knew how much it sickened the other man and considered his words. Chris's heartbeat quickened when the other man reached for his knife and started playing with it, running it lightly along his captive's skin.

“We happen to share common interests, he and I.”

“And those would be?” Chris questioned skeptically.

He found it hard to believe Wesker could actually have someone that wanted the same insane things as he did. Chris had always assumed the inhuman tyrant was his own unique brand of evil. Apparently there were others just like him that actually agreed with his ideals and beliefs, Chris soon learned.

“To bring order and balance to this insane world of ours.”

The BSAA agent stared incredulously at the other man. “And you're going to unleash Uroboros into the world to do that?”

“Not exactly. Those plans have failed.” Krauser grinned as he traced the knife along Chris' s throat. “But I suspected that would be the case from the very beginning. Don't worry though. I think Wesker is on to something special. Something that could bring order and balance. Now enough about that. Tell me, does this hurt?”

Krauser sank the blade of the knife deep into the skin of Chris' s shoulder and he cried out in pain. The soldier chuckled to himself.

“Haha...you're just too much fun.”

Chapter Text

Excella Gionne was doing little to hide her impatience at waiting for Albert Wesker's return, and the vulgar American soldier wasn't helping matters. He was leaning against a nearby wall in the hangar, interminably tossing his combat knife and catching it as always. The repetitive action was proving to wear on her nerves. She gave Krauser a sharp glance, narrowing her eyes in warning for him to cut it out. The man noticed her look and grinned before continuing his habitual motion.

The noble female sniffed indignantly and sat down on the lone metal chair available. She crossed her legs elegantly and scrutinized the American. She didn't understand why Albert would work with such an inferior ally such as Jack Krauser. The man was nothing more than a hired gun who lived to fight and had nothing more to offer. Excella herself was invaluable to Albert as she had access to Tricell resources and far greater intelligence to contribute to their cause. As if reading her thoughts, Krauser looked appraisingly at her in return.

“I have more value than one might think, rich girl.”

Excella's face scrunched up with distaste for the label he'd created for her. She met his eyes, growing increasingly annoyed as Krauser added, “At least I'm not merely a pretty face along for the ride.”

She blinked. Merely a pretty face... Her cheeks flushed with heat and she huffed angrily. “I am far more essential to Albert than you will ever be!”

“Sure honey, keep telling yourself that.” Krauser retorted with a shrug.

Normally Excella would never let such trivial words bother her. But with her anxiety rising at Albert's prolonged absence, it was getting to the noble woman. She preferred to be aware of his whereabouts and business at all times. Well actually, Excella would much rather be by Albert's side all of the time but the man seemed to like his privacy much more than he liked spending time with her. She tried to ignore that he clearly had no romantic interest in her as she did with him, but the more bluntly he continued to use her, the harder it became to pretend. Angered as she thought of how Albert treated her, and having only Krauser to act out her frustrations on, she glared at him. Before Excella had a chance to express her disapproval for his assumptions, a smooth and confident female voice spoke out.

“Gee Krauser, you really know how to sweep the ladies off their feet.”

A woman wearing a deep red dress that ended just past her hips came walking into the hangar. She wore dark stockings over long legs, fingerless black gloves, and matching red heels. Over her dress she wore a black melee vest and a weapon belt equipped with a handgun, extra ammo, and a knife. The Chinese-American had short stylish black hair and carefully applied make up. A beautiful assassin and one who seemed to pride herself on remaining mysterious to those she met or worked with.

Krauser tilted his head in the direction of the woman's entrance into the building. “Hmph, if it isn't the bitch in the red dress.”

Ada Wong smiled falsely at the broad shouldered man. “What's the matter, Krauser? Still feeling sore about our last encounter?”

Krauser sneered. “I knew you were up to no good and I was right. You double-crossed Wesker as expected. I don't understand why he's allowing you to work for him again.”

Ada crossed her arms against her chest, continuing to smile calmly at Krauser. “As I told you before, I knew Wesker long before you did.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “That's not an answer.”

“You should know better, Krauser. It's the best you're going to get from me. A girl's gotta have her secrets.” Ada replied cunningly.

The soldier scoffed. “Secrets are all you seem to have.”

“Seems that way,” she said slyly.

Excella watched this interaction and released a furtive sigh of irritation. She didn't want to sit here and listen to these two converse hostilely. Once again she found herself glancing towards the entrance to the hangar where Ada entered, checking to see if Albert had arrived yet for what must have been the hundredth time. Sure enough, his black-clad form came striding purposefully through the doorway and she sprang up from her seat. Excella bent to retrieve the metal suitcase placed beside the chair and set it onto the seat before opening the case. She removed a syringe containing his serum, knowing the shot was what Albert had come for.

Ada and Krauser grew quiet and turned their attention onto their boss as he came over to Excella. Albert extended his forearm out, awaiting his injection. He wasn't wearing his long jacket so his sleeves were already rolled up to the elbows. Excella removed the cap and tapped the top of the needle, proceeding to inject the serum into a vein in his arm. She placed the empty syringe back into the case delicately and shifted her gaze to the meticulous appearance of the male she coveted.

“What kept you?” she asked.

Albert lowered his arm to his side before taking in her unhappy stare and pouty posture. “I had other matters to attend to. How are preparations on this end?”

“The BSAA destroyed what was left of Uroboros with the aid of Jill Valentine. It seems your experiment wasn't quite as successful as you hoped.” Excella informed him.

“There is nothing wrong with the chemical itself. We only need a better way to administer P30 to the subject.” Albert told her.

“So you wish to continue experimenting with the chemical..very well. The plane is prepared to leave whenever you are ready. The BSAA teams will find this hangar eventually so I suggest we depart in a timely manner,” she continued, finishing her update.

Albert nodded. “Good.” He turned his gaze towards Ada, shifting the dark shades he wore as he did. “Did you complete your objectives?”

Ada uncrossed her arms and smiled easily. “Of course. Samples of both P30 and Las Plagas so you may continue your work without delay.”

The woman in red reached for a small case attached to the back of her belt and walked over to hand it to Albert. Excella frowned, she hadn't been aware he sent the female agent on any missions. She was typically kept informed so this discovery didn't sit well with her. She watched him accept the case through narrowed eyes but brightened considerably when he passed them to her.

“Keep these safe.” Albert ordered and Excella eagerly accepted them into her care.

“I have someone to retrieve and then we will leave for our backup facility.” Albert established. “He is not to be harmed in any way unless I command it, is that understood?”

Excella noted he was staring pointedly at Krauser as he asked for their confirmation of his orders and she wondered who this someone was. More and more she found herself being left out of the loop and this struck her as very bad news for herself. No, he needs me. Or at least Tricell. My position at his side is secure. She convinced herself, feeling a little better.

Peering back and forth between Albert and Krauser as they locked eyes, she could tell the latter didn't understand. Apparently Albert was determined to make him understand. He moved with astonishing speed and was in front of Krauser almost as if he teleported there. He grabbed the muscular man up by the neck as if he were as light as a twig and shoved him against the wall. Surprise illuminated Krauser's features, and discomfort as his oxygen supply was cut off.

“What you did to him goes beyond acceptable, Krauser. When you are working for me I do not tolerate such insubordination. Now I said he is not to be harmed in any way, do you understand?” Albert asked him, red eyes glowing from behind his sunglasses.

Anger flashed probably when he realized who was being referred to, but Excella was left completely in the dark. Krauser could not speak because of the amount of pressure being applied to his throat and after a moment Albert eased up and he choked out his understanding. Satisfied, he released him and Krauser dropped to the floor. Quickly leaping back onto his feet, he rubbed his sore neck and glared at the other.

“You know him or something?” Krauser asked when he had collected enough air into his lungs to speak.

Excella thought Albert might strike out at the man again but instead he seemed to be quite calm. He glanced toward Krauser. “That's right. You happened to interfere with my very nemesis. He was to be mine to deal with as I saw fit. I will have to find new plans for him now. Remember your place, Krauser.”

With those words, Albert strode to the doors and left without another glance to any of them. Krauser made a grunt of discontentment but Excella could tell he would listen. No one disobeyed an order from him when he gave it in person, face to face. At least, she had never seen anyone foolish enough to do such a thing. She knew Ada had been at odds with Wesker at one time but the two seemingly worked out some sort of agreement once again. Excella didn't like it but she knew enough to keep from voicing her disagreements out loud if she wanted to remain in Albert's favor. As long as he remained with the promise of allowing her power, Excella would go along with his plans.

“Maybe you should have used your arm on him.” Ada suggested condescendingly, referring to his arm that was capable of mutating into a claw.

Krauser fixed her with an infuriated glare and she simply gave him that small smile of hers. Excella and her both knew that the big soldier was powerful because of the virus inside him, but certainly no match for Albert. She figured they wouldn't have to worry about him revolting for leadership. Krauser may have been a brute dog, but he was an obedient and loyal dog.

/

When his eyes opened again, it was to find he was alone. On a table beside the bed a tray of food sat out for him. His stomach rumbled noisily at the sight. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until looking at the food brought it to the forefront of his mind. He eagerly ate until every last bit was consumed and drank the bottled water to wash down the food. Chris had barely finished his meal when the sound of the electronic door caught his attention and Wesker came walking in. He strode over to retrieve his coat which was draped over the back of a wooden chair and put it on before regarding the man sitting in the bed. Determined to try and erase what had happened between the two of them in the very bed he sat upright in, Chris spoke first.

“This changes nothing, Wesker.”

A smile played across the man's lips. “I'm glad you see it that way. I feel the same.”

“Good, cause I still hate you and will do whatever it takes to stop you and your plans.”

“Well, I'm sure you will be pleased to hear your new partner worked with Jill and destroyed Uroboros. Not even a trace remains and you can imagine how upset that makes me.” Wesker said to him.

Chris felt relieved. “So Krauser was telling the truth. Your plans for Uroboros failed.”

Wesker cocked an eyebrow with interest. “You know Krauser?”

He nodded. “That's right. I recognized him from the photos provided in the Kennedy report. He used to be a government agent until his presumed death where he apparently went to work for you. Krauser wanted to revive Umbrella in hopes of bringing order to the world. I thought he was dead like everyone else but the guy seems to have the habit of coming back from the dead just like you. He's also as delusional as you.”

Wesker smirked. “Glad you think so highly of me.”

“I hate you.”

“You said that.”

“Can't hurt to remind you.”

Silence permeated the room which also happened to still smell like sweat and sex from their previous encounter the other night. A smell that seemed to tell the opposite of how they felt for each other, and it was beginning to make Chris feel sick. It came as a relief then, when Wesker produced the clothing that Krauser had taken away. The clothes seemed to have been laundered recently and grateful to be wearing clothes again, he dressed quickly without bothering to cover himself from Wesker. Why bother when the other man had already seen it all? Another wave of nausea swept through the BSAA agent at the thought of sleeping with his greatest enemy but he ignored it.

“How long have I been here?” he asked.

“Four days, and you've healed considerably since when I first found you. Your face has completely healed and your cuts as well, though those wounds will undoubtedly leave scars.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.” Chris murmured.

It hadn't escaped his attention that his body was now decorated with small and large scars. Some of them would possibly heal fully, but he knew most would be there permanently. A permanent reminder of his time imprisoned by Krauser. Chris could feel Wesker's eyes boring into him and he turned to face the older man.

“Uroboros is the past. We're leaving Africa.” Wesker told him.

“Good for you.”

“You're aware you are part of 'we', right?”

“What? Why would I ever go anywhere with you?” he demanded.

“You lost me one of my test subjects so now you will take Jill's place.”

“Hell no. I'd rather be dead.” Chris heatedly informed him.

“That could be arranged.” Wesker hissed, but almost immediately retained his calm. “I apologize if I made it seem as though you had a choice in the matter. You are going to be my captive. Now there are two options you can choose from. You can accompany me to the hangar willingly and walk on your own, or I will carry you there myself.”

“You wouldn't go through the effort.” Chris scoffed, and seeing the look on Wesker's face that spelled out the opposite, he added, “You wouldn't dare.”

Chapter Text

“I can't believe you made me carry you the entire way.” Wesker complained as he dropped Chris none-too-gently.

“Suck it up, Wesker. What else are you gonna use that super strength for?” he retorted from his spot on the ground.

The BSAA member's face was a bright shade of red from the embarrassment of actually being carried by the other man, but he also felt satisfaction in not making it easy on Wesker. If Chris was going to lose his freedom and be forced to become Wesker's newest puppet in his endless games, then he was at least going to give the tyrant hell while he was at it. He climbed to his feet and brushed off dirt from his pants. Glancing around, he observed the two of them were now standing next to an aircraft hangar. Another thought seemed to have occurred to him.

“So..uh, um...”

“Spit it out Redfield, I don't have all day.”

Normally this would have incited anger in him but at the moment he wasn't feeling like getting angry. Not with what he was thinking about. Chris was remembering those weeks of torment he endured at the hands of a certain soldier and he had just put together that his tormentor worked for Wesker which meant...

“Is he going to be in there?” he asked quietly, staring at the ground.

Wesker knew exactly who he meant and his look of annoyance vanished and once again became expressionless.

“Yes,” he answered simply.

Chris swallowed nervously but then he straightened his posture and hardened his expression to its normal tough exterior. “Let's get this over with.”

The older man regarded the BSAA member for a moment before he nodded and led the way into the large hangar where the others were awaiting him.

He followed Wesker into the building and peered around with slight interest as he was seeing the place for the very first time. Feeling several pairs of eyes on him he lowered his gaze to the people inhabiting the area. Surprisingly, Chris recognized all three of them. The one standing impatiently near a metal chair tapping her foot repeatedly was the CEO of Tricell, Excella Gionne. The wealthy woman was still wearing that incredibly over-revealing dress of hers and he couldn't understand how anyone could manage to walk around in something that tight.

“Seriously Excella, how the hell do you move wearing that thing?” Chris blurted out loud without meaning to.

The woman froze in her tapping and placed her hands on her hips, glaring. “How dare you!” she screeched, her voice rising in anger.

Krauser chuckled softly and Excella spun around to face the muscular soldier. “And just what are you laughing at? There is nothing wrong with what I am wearing!” She reversed her position to stare at Chris once again. “Besides, I'm a beautiful Italian and can't help it if men like you choose to stare at me.”

“Hey I'm not about to complain. I get a free peep show every day.” Krauser commented with a laugh.

The infuriated glare Excella cast at the scarred man...well basically if looks could kill, Krauser would be a very dead man.

The third and final individual in the room was also someone Chris recognized. Leon Kennedy had told him about her being there during the events of Raccoon City and she'd been there in Europe when Leon was sent in to find the President's missing daughter. Her name was Ada Wong and she seemed to have her hand in darker things than what Chris figured Leon realized. Here she was, working for Wesker. Again. The short-haired woman quietly observed his entrance and the exchange between Krauser and Excella before deciding to approach. Chris wasn't the only one stunned when the woman in the red dress extended her hand towards him.

“Chris? Chris Redfield, right? It is truly a pleasure to finally meet you.” Ada said to him with a soft smile.

He looked at her in his surprise but hesitantly shook her hand in greeting. The BSAA soldier couldn't understand what she was up to. What was she doing pretending to be friendly with him? Unless..she wasn't pretending. Leon had told Chris he could never quite figure the woman out because of how sometimes she would save his life, while successfully ensuring her mission was getting completed.

He didn't know what to think so he decided to be cautious over eagerness at finding a possible ally. “Uh, right. Pleasure meeting you while being held captive. This is definitely the highlight of my entire week.”

Excella sniffed, obviously unclear as to what Chris was doing there, especially alive. Krauser's lips upturned in a half smile at his sarcasm, Wesker remained expressionless as usual, and Ada took his retort in stride.

“Yes, well, you are alive. Alive to fight another day.” She released his hand and placed her hand to her hip. “I'm serious when I say it is an honor to meet such an infamous soldier. My name is-”

“Ada. Ada Wong. I know.” Chris interrupted. “Leon's told me about you. Says you shouldn't be trusted. Your priorities are yourself and your mission. Whichever mission is your real one anyway.”

It was difficult to gauge Ada's reaction to his words as she kept a fairly straight face. But for half a second, Chris could of sworn he'd seen hurt flicker briefly in her eyes. Then the moment was gone and she was smiling gently at him again.

“It's good that you know me. Then we've already been acquainted.”

Chris stared at her. Had he imagined things or was she trying to get a message through to him with those words? There was no way he could know for sure and then she was walking away. He glanced at Wesker and that was when he saw them out of the large overhead window. To a stranger of battles and weaponry, the multiple spots of orange light in the sky would have appeared to be just that. To a veteran like Chris though, he knew they were missiles likely fired from the cannons of several combat choppers.

“Uh..Wesker...” he started.

Wesker glanced over his shoulder and then was already moving. A black blur yanking Chris by the arm and dragging him in the direction of the plane which the other three were hurrying toward at the same time. The missiles reached the aircraft hanger and slammed through the roof, battering down into the concrete ground with the force of a speeding train. All five of them were thrown off their feet simultaneously.

The superhuman blonde was the first up and Chris saw him run into the plane, turning on the engine and preparing it for take off. Krauser was shoving Excella into the plane before she got herself killed by simply sitting on the ground as she had been and Ada was shouting something at Chris from where she crouched near the back of the plane. All he could hear was the ringing in his ears from a missile exploding so close to him.

Her shouting vaguely turned into fragments of sentences. Chris. Look. Run. Those were the only words he could manage to snag from her yelling. Ada was repeating the word 'look' the most often and so he peered around in front of him. There was nothing special to find so he proceeded to peer over his shoulder and his heart stopped. Three hunters were closing the distance between him through the wide open fourth wall where the plane would make its exit, and one of them paused to leap.

His first reaction was to be frozen in shock but he shook the fear away before it could paralyze him and instead threw himself as hard as he could sideways. The hunter landed directly on the spot he'd been lying moments before, a giant tear in the hard floor where the monster had swept its claw. If he hadn't been able to move, that tear would have been his entire backside split apart.

The hunter was turning its beady black eyes towards Chris. He ran for it, heading for the front of the plane. He was almost within touching distance of the aircraft when a fourth hunter appeared from around the nose of the craft. Chris had been running full speed and now being forced to try and turn, he started to slip on the ground as he twisted. He slid and fell onto his side and this slip up saved his life. The hunter chasing from behind had chosen to leap at the same moment and because of this, the momentum from its jump sent it crashing into the hunter in front of him, instead of onto Chris himself.

He scrambled to his feet and raced to board the plane, Ada staring wide-eyed in his direction as he made his desperate flee to safety. A glance over his shoulder told him why and made him wish he hadn't looked in the first place. The other two hunters were nearly upon him and he had no hope of outrunning them. The woman in red had her gun out but she couldn't fire without the risk of hitting him as well. As a soldier, Chris knew when he was dead. He stopped in his tracks and stared as one of the hunters passed the other and raised up a claw to swipe at him. He clenched his jaw and hardened his gaze, waiting for death to claim him.

But then Krauser suddenly appeared in front of him and quite literally punched the hunter in the head as though it were a mere nuisance. The creature squealed and stumbled back into the other one leaving them both vulnerable for attack, which Krauser used by twisting his body to sidekick the same hunter. The blow sent both monsters flying back several yards and Chris stared as this took place, impressed and stunned.

Krauser turned and grabbed him roughly by the back of the neck, shoving him in the direction of the open side door of the plane where Ada was standing.

“Move it, pretty boy. Or that skin won't be on you much longer.”

Chris didn't have to be told twice. He ignored the flinch he'd automatically done when his torturer touched his neck and ran with as much speed as he could muster. He climbed up onto the plane, Krauser close behind, and Ada immediately moved to close the door. As soon as they were all inside he could feel the plane visibly tremble as it started to move, heading out the open wall and out of the hangar.

“I thought Wesker could control those things.” Chris gasped out when he'd gulped enough oxygen for him to be able to speak. “Why the hell are they attacking us?”

Ada regarded him with a very serious expression but didn't answer him. Chris doubted she knew the answer either. He reluctantly turned to Krauser in hopes of an answer but then Excella spoke.

“Perhaps Wesker is not the only one who can control them. Is he the only one of his kind?”

Twice in such a short period, Chris felt like his heart had stopped. When he'd been inside the Spencer Estate two years ago, he had found documents. There had been a list with thirteen names. A list of the surviving Wesker Children.

The plane took off into the air with no more incident but he didn't feel anywhere near safe. There were twelve possibilities as to who attacked them if it was one of the survivors of the Wesker Project. Chris had a sinking feeling it would be just his luck that he would be meeting another evil bastard like Wesker. Because apparently, one person like Wesker wasn't enough.

Chapter Text

Expensive. That was the first word that came to his mind as he stared up at the tall Tricell building before him. Chris couldn't believe Excella Gionne would receive no repercussions for her massive failure of any productivity or valuable use of Tricell funding while in charge of the African division. Instead it was as though nothing ever happened as she was greeted like a VIP guest and ushered along the cold and uninviting hallways of the pharmaceutical corporation's building in Paris. Chris trailed behind her with Ada Wong.

The employee who'd welcomed the CEO of Tricell's African branch at the entrance, had barely registered the presence of him or Ada. Chris suspected it was either because they were nobodies in this building, or it was simply because Excella bore the looks and dress of a fashion model and like any man with raging hormones, he didn't want to take his eyes off of her.

He couldn't understand this desire to ogle Excella's..assets. Of course, that could easily be explained by her attempts to murder Chris on several occasions or the obvious disdain she held for the BSAA agent. Even if everything that happened in Africa hadn't happened, he would have been able to see through her facade immediately. The tall, pretty woman used her appearance to get what she wanted and used her respected lineage to have whatever her heart desired as well. Chris suspected the woman tended to use these things to get what her pocket desired rather than her heart, if it could even be said, that she had one.

“Wait in here. I have things that need attending to.” Excella informed them, her nose stuck up in the air as usual.

For a brief moment he pondered about how easy it would be to wipe the superior mentality she held, right out of existence. All he had to do was sock her in the mouth and point out his capability of ending her life right then and there. Chris would never murder someone outright and avoided killing even enemies when he could, because the job called for him to make arrests and gather information. But Excella wasn't likely privy to such information and the look of fear she'd hold in those eyes wouldn't leave his mind anytime soon.

But he didn't do any sort of violent act. He didn't do those things. No, he seemed to have those things done to him quite often though. The soldier was continuously beaten down again and again but he kept going. Why? Because it was his job and because he had to. If he didn't keep himself fighting and keep himself moving forward, what else was there?

Instead of beating the smug expression off Excella's face like his heart desired, he moved into the office she wanted them to wait in and took a seat on a comfy looking sofa. Ada followed his lead and sat at the other end of the sofa, appearing completely at ease. Chris was no fool. He knew this was what she wanted people around her to think. If everyone thought the woman in red was relaxed and off-guard, they would be the ones taken off-guard when she suddenly became alert and fully capable of taking care of herself.

He watched Excella's retreating form moving down the hall with the male employee who was currently lingering slightly behind the high-heel wearing woman, in order to get a better view of her backside. He had to smile at that but only on the inside. He couldn't seem to get himself to feel emotions enough for them to appear on the outside, except for fear and anger. Those emotions would appear quite readily on the surface. He leaned back against the cushions and rested his head on the soft fabric, closing his eyes as he did so.

“You okay?” he heard Ada ask and felt her watchful eyes on his face.

“What do you think?”

“That's not an answer.”

“Neither was yours.”

“I'm sorry you're in this situation.”

“Are you really?”

“Of course. You don't believe me?”

“Give me a reason to.”

Silence reigned for a good minute before Ada finally responded.

“If I thought you would be safer somewhere else, I'd help you escape.”

Okay, he had to admit, that response was unexpected and he wasn't sure what to make of it. Chris opened his eyes and raised his head to meet her intense gaze.

“I'm lost. You think I'm safer here as a captive rather than free and working for the BSAA?”

“Yes.”

When she didn't elaborate, he tried to help her along. “And..you believe this..because...?”

“Because I know you,” she said to him, “you're a lot like Leon.”

“Leon? Leon Kennedy? I'm like him, huh?”

“Yes, you are. A man who won't give up no matter how bleak the situation. You're going to run off and get yourself killed if you keep doing things the way you do.”

“Oh? And how's that?” Chris asked her, frowning at the insinuation that he wasn't capable of taking care of himself.

“Wesker.”

He'd been preparing himself for an argument until she'd lost him by stating a name out of the blue. A mention of Wesker to be precise. Chris sat forward and stared hard at the woman across from him at the other end of the sofa.

“Excuse me?”

“You can't kill him, Chris. And certainly not by yourself. He's going to be the death of you. You've got to stop fighting and start learning. The things that man knows can keep you alive and in good health too.”

“He's not a man. Not anymore.”

“You know what I mean and you are well aware of how evil other people can be too.”

When she'd said that she was busy staring at his still very bruised and cut up face. The swelling on his eye had gone down so that he was able to open it but there remained plenty of bruising around it so it didn't look a whole lot better. Chris bore the weight of what Ada had originally been trying to ask him before when she'd asked if he was okay. The female spy wanted to know if mentally he was the same or at least could be one day. He pretended he hadn't uncovered that genuine concern from the woman seated near him and instead returned to where their conversation had taken them. Albert fuckin' Wesker.

“That..freak..is a reject of Umbrella's and he deserves to die.” Chris informed Ada through clenched teeth.

“He's not the only one you know.”

The information he read about in Spencer's office at his estate rang through his head again. The Wesker Project. Thirteen survivors including Albert Wesker. There were most likely twelve others out there with abilities identical to the blonde tyrant he knew. Maybe he'd get lucky and they might have died at the hands of Umbrella? Or maybe they had no desire for complete and total world domination and the evolution of mankind like a certain tyrant he knew? Yeah right..and maybe he could pretend he wasn't sitting in a Tricell facility across from an untrustworthy female agent against his own free will.

/

“So there are twelve others like you? You simply must be toying with me Albert. How could you not tell me of this?”

Excella Gionne placed her delicate hands on her hips and regarded Wesker with the utmost curiosity and fascination. Albert Wesker had always been an object of her admiration since the day he'd come to her with a proposition for a little project he had in mind to do in Africa. Her interest in the man had only grown as time went on and she believed her position of power was growing because of their mutual interest to claim more. Albert was the same way. He desired power and although he was quite powerful all on his own, he recognized he still had limits. For even a man with superhuman abilities couldn't take on an entire army. Or at least, Excella knew the man wasn't willing to take the risk by attempting to do so.

She stood in front of a large monitor displaying thirteen images, headshots of all thirteen men and women who were survivors of the Wesker Project. A picture of Albert was on the top row, second down, and aforementioned man was standing right beside her in the flesh. The series of photos were in a total of three rows with names under each. The order went like this: Alex, Albert, Derek, Felicia. Hans, Hiro, Irma, Jonah. Ken, Laura, Marco, Miles, and William.

“Spencer informed me of being the only survivor.” Wesker mentioned, to answer Excella's surprised reaction of the photos displayed on the large screen.

“And what? You took that guy at face value?” Krauser questioned with a frown, moving from the doorway to where she and Albert were standing to get a better look at the images of the thirteen.

“I'm merely stating what I was informed. Whether I believe him or not is irrelevant.”

“On the contrary, it's very relevant.” Excella pointed out, hating that she was disproving what he had said, to say what she needed to. “Whether you believe Mr. Spencer is a pressing matter since it will determine our next step.”

“It needn't determine anything,” the intellectual leader said in reply as he turned away from the monitor and peered down at her over the rims of his dark sunglasses. “Should there happen to be any other project survivors out there, they are not a factor in what I am trying to accomplish.”

“What we are trying to accomplish,” she corrected him, letting her hands fall loosely off of her hips so she wasn't in her defensive position any more.

He shifted his stance away from her to give his attention to Krauser and she felt doubt creeping around inside once again. More and more she'd begun to feel this..doubt. Doubt that she was really all that important or even necessary to Albert. That maybe she was only a means to an end for the plotting man. Excella dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. No, no, no. She was needed. And even if that no longer became true, Albert wanted her to be there.

He liked her company, right? A quiet voice in the back of her mind told her she was being unreasonable, that a powerful, inhuman figure like Albert Wesker would never need her for anything. But as she always did, she shut the voice out, and smiled coyly at him even though he was speaking with Krauser at the moment. Yeah, Albert needed her. He did. It was true. It had to be.

/

“Mr. Redfield? Miss Wong?”

Chris and Ada both simultaneously jerked from their respective methods of pretending the other wasn't in the room. This was what they'd been occupying themselves with for the last five minutes, ever since their conversation ended on a rather displeasing note. The reminder there could possibly be a dozen others like Wesker out there running about in the world doing only God knows what. Anything from murdering innocents to plotting grand schemes of world domination. Chris thought bitterly to himself.

“Mr. Redfield?”

The quiet voice said again. Chris tore his eyes away from staring at the ceiling to find a pretty Asian woman, perhaps in her late 30's or early 40's, standing in the doorway. She wore small framed glasses perched on a small pointed nose and her soft, thin lips were upturned in a polite but uneasy smile. Altogether, her entire five foot frame appeared unsettled and he realized she was uncomfortable talking to him and Ada. The woman was wearing nice black dress pants and a dark blue blouse. Her black hair was pulled back in a short ponytail and a white lab coat down past her knees completed the look.

Chris realized he'd been staring and he glanced away before looking back at her, standing as he did this.

“Yeah, that's me. And you are?”

“I'm a scientist in the lab here. I've been sent by Miss Gionne to bring yourself and Miss Wong to her.”

Ada got to her feet as Chris had as he forced a smile to the newly arrived woman. The attempt probably came across as more of a wince than a smile of any kind.

“You got a name or am I just supposed to call you scientist?” Chris asked her.

The woman shook her head apologetically and adjusted her glasses so they were better fixed atop her nose. “Yes, of course. My name is Dr. Chen. Dr. Laura Chen.”

She flashed him a genuine smile this time, her eyes lighting up slightly. “But you can just call me Laura.”

Chapter Text

He abhorred Seattle. The weather was always gloomy and it had been raining constantly since he'd flown into Washington three days ago. The 6'2'' man stood alone in the room and hadn't bothered to turn on the lights. He preferred the dark. An outsider could probably come to this conclusion on their own because of the color choice of his clothing. He was dressed in combat pants, a tank top, an expensive jacket, steel-tipped boots. Completing the look was a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap that covered dark brown hair. All of his apparel entirely black.

Despite his distaste for the city, Lex Mason continued staring out the large window at the rain pounding against the glass. His business was nearly finished here and then he would move on to a warmer climate. Not that heat or cold mattered much to him, but he just seemed to approve of hotter areas for some reason. Perhaps it was because he found twisted amusement in watching the discomfort of people when they felt stifled by unbearable heat.

Thunder rumbled like a discontented lion and lightning flashed across the sky. Rain was a miserable thing, but a storm, now that he could enjoy. In a few hours, the rain would be inconsequential anyway. There were just a few loose ends to tie up before he would leave the city, and had yet to hear back from his men in Africa. As though his thoughts had been anticipated, a man in a black suit and tie walked into the conference room.

“Sir, the African compound was completely destroyed. All traces of Uroboros has been eradicated.”

“Any survivors?” Mason questioned without turning away from the window.

When his question was met with silence, he reluctantly inclined his head in the direction of the suited man.

“Well?”

“A plane was seen taking off a short distance from the main area of the compound. We believe the target was at least on board, if not the one piloting the aircraft.”

The man appeared uncomfortable passing this news on to Mason.

“Was the target alone?”

“We can't confirm that, sir,” came the nervous reply.

“Very well, anything else?”

The nicely dressed man visibly grew more relaxed at how well the report was received. “Hans Laumont has arrived and is waiting outside.”

“He's which one again?” Mason asked, turning around to fully face his employee.

“Number five of the Wesker Project, sir.”

“Very good, send him in,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the suited man answered before exciting the room quickly.

A tall, lanky man with close-shaven, pale white hair and red tinted sunglasses entered the conference room. He wore a tan three-piece suit, clearly expensive, and walked with a kind of swagger. It was clear he was an arrogant type looking down on the rest of the world. Mason allowed a slight smile to creep across his face. For feeling superior to everyone else, this Hans Laumont certainly hadn't realized he'd just been lured in like a fly to the spider's web. All Lex had to do was leave some bread crumbs of his identity and that he was searching for the Wesker children, and Hans had soon after contacted him. It was just too easy.

“Mr. Laumont, a pleasure to meet you.” Mason greeted.

He approached the man and extended a hand. The two men shook hands, brief but firm, before pulling back to size one another up.

“You are Mr. Mason, I presume?”

The man spoke with a clear English accent. The amused smile had yet to leave Lex's face and Hans appeared to be growing disturbed by the sight. He was now slightly frowning at the darkly clothed man, a crease forming between his two perfectly groomed eyebrows.

“Do you find something to be humorous, Mr. Mason? Something that escapes me, perhaps?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Mason told him, smile becoming positively shark-like.

He reached into his jacket to retrieve a particular object and stabbed it into Hans's chest, straight into the heart. The man made a choking noise, reaching up to pull the syringe out of his body, eyes bulging in total surprise. His body jerked back, red shades slipping off of his nose and clattering to the floor. Red-yellow eyes stared at his attacker.

The black-clad man snatched the syringe from Laumont's hand and wrapped his fingers around the shorter man's throat.

“One down, eleven to go.” Mason practically snarled at him.

He pocketed the empty syringe and took out another, imitating his previous action with the first needle. Hans only grunted in further pain and surprise before his mutated eyes fluttered closed and his body went limp. As soon as the body went slack in his grasp, Mason released Laumont's neck, letting him crumple to the floor. He pocketed the second empty syringe and shook his head slowly.

“I'm disappointed, number five. I expected a fight out of a Wesker child. I hope they're all not this easy. I'd like a challenge.. Kincaid!”

The man in the black suit and tie reappeared in the doorway. “Yes, sir?”

“Prepare the private jet. I'm flying out tonight.”

/

Chris walked alongside Laura as they headed to the facility's laboratory together. They reached the elevator at the end of the hall and the doctor swiped her card through a scanner, gaining access to the panel. The Asian woman stepped into the elevator and he followed her in, doors shutting automatically behind them. She pressed the button for the second basement level and the elevator began its descent.

Ada would have gone with them to meet Excella and the others but she'd excused herself when her cell phone made a noise. She said she'd catch up with them. He wasn't sure how exactly the woman planned to do that. She didn't even know where the lab was in this building. Of course, with Ada's past experiences, Chris wouldn't put it past the operative to swipe some guard's access card to use the elevator to make her own way down to the laboratory to meet them. She had a way of figuring things out for herself as far as he could tell.

When the elevator came to a halt, the doors opened and the two stepped out. Dr. Chen moved down the wide, brightly lit hallway at a brisk pace. He had to put a little effort into his walk to force his tired and still rather injured body to move, in order to keep pace with the woman. It was after they'd gone about ten yards along the empty corridor when he began to feel as though something was off.

It was very quiet and there was a familiar smell in the air. Everything felt..wrong. The silence that reigned reminded Chris of the underground labs when he'd been trapped in the mansion outside Raccoon City in 1998. The silence was one that sounded a warning in his heart. And the smell..the coppery smell coming from nearby. It was the smell of blood and by the strong scent of it, relatively fresh blood. On instinct, he lowered his hand to his gun holster on his right thigh, only to remember that Wesker hadn't given him any of his weapons or equipment back. It felt like his heart was pounding in his ears as panic threatened to take hold of him. He was unarmed and there was something deadly down there with him. With him and Laura. He'd forgotten about the doctor for a minute.

“Dr. Chen.”

The woman glanced over at him, completely oblivious to the imminent danger he could sense. She gave him a pretend annoyed look and then smiled gently.

“I told you, you can call me Laura.”

“Laura. Stop.”

She did stop. He could tell she could hear in his tone that he was dead serious.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Redfield?”

He started to respond to her when something caught his attention. She'd shoved her access card for the elevator back in her pocket but the top half of it was still sticking out a bit. He couldn't read anything on it but the picture was within his line of sight, and it was a picture of a white woman with blonde hair. It was only then he spotted the bulge in that same pocket of a familiar form, He internally scolded himself for not noticing sooner. The “doctor” was carrying a gun.

Chris raised his eyes to more closely examine Laura's face and that's when he saw it. He had been lucky and looked at just the right moment. He'd looked in time to spot a brown contact lens shifting lazily back into place over what he was fairly certain was a yellow iris rimmed with red.

“Mr. Redfield? Is something wrong?” Dr. Chen asked him, sounding genuinely concerned.

She was a good actress. He'd give her that much. The agent lunged forward and successfully snatched the weapon from her pocket, the access card slipping out and onto the floor. The gun was a 9mm and felt comfortable in Chris's hands. In the STARS organization, a 9mm Beretta had been standard issue. He leveled the gun at her, the weight of a loaded weapon had never felt so good.

“You're what's wrong, Laura. If that's even your name.”

The woman dropped the act immediately. “It's really too bad you didn't realize who I was until we came down to the basement. You would have stood a much higher chance of survival. Though, your odds were already quite bleak the moment I got you alone.”

“I think you mean what you are. I didn't realize what you are. But now that I know you're a monster, I can put you down.”

The pretty Asian woman gave him a small smile, though the smile never came close to reaching her eyes. She removed her prescription glasses and let them drop to the ground where they broke on impact.

“I heard you have encountered one of us before. I've heard you fought him three times and survived each encounter.” Laura told him, relaxing her stance into a fighting position. “Now, you will fight me. Come on, let's play.”

/

The screaming. He loved it when they screamed. Cries of pure agony and torment. Was it a sick and twisted perversion? Yes, probably. But he liked it that way. Krauser glanced briefly to where Wesker was staring at the thirteen images up on the screen, Excella practically hanging off his side as she pretended to share the same interest in the pictures. That woman would never allow herself to see the truth. Wesker didn't need her. He didn't need anyone nor did he want anyone.

Wesker was like Krauser in that respect. They cared nothing for human beings. And Krauser, well he liked to make people suffer. It was his favorite thing to do when he had some free time. After the military treated his life-long ambition and passion to do good in their service like it was nothing, he'd left anything good behind. This moved his thinking to the latest conquest, the relentless Christopher Redfield.

“Hm..humor as a defense mechanism.”

Krauser had seen it as clear as day. Chris Redfield kept his fear inside for as long as he possibly could. Using defiance on him was no good, however. With his superhuman capabilities, he could smell the very fear off of a man. This man was afraid whether he even realized it himself yet. Redfield tried to deny that he used humor to deflect the scared feelings fighting to emerge on the surface. This angered him and he brought his combat knife up and against the other man's throat in a heartbeat.

“Why don't we start off with something real simple. Your name.”

“No.”

“Your name.”

“Not-going-to-happen.”

Krauser lifted the knife from Chris's neck and the man appeared to relax, seeming to think immediate danger was gone for the time being. He brought the knife down at an angle, slashing his prey across the chest. His prisoner managed to hold in the shout that so clearly desired to emerge from his throat, keeping his lips tightly sealed to contain the outward signs of pain beneath his false bravado.

This captive had courage and a strong will. Well...Krauser would soon break him of that.

He clenched a hand around Redfield's neck, his grip gentle but unmistakably threatening. The other hand ran the knife slowly down the side of Chris's face. He had to hand it to him; the man didn't even flinch or balk as the two locked eyes.

“So tell me soldier, have you ever been caught by the enemy before?”

“Define caught.”

“That's a yes.” Krauser concluded with a smirk.

He let the smile drop from his face. “I can tell you this, pretty boy. You've never been captured by someone like me. And you and I, we're gonna have a hell of a time.”

With the conclusion of that sentence, he tightened his grasp around Chris's throat and stabbed the knife deep into the flesh of his thigh. A strangled cry escaped the man's mouth before he could stop it and this brought a smile to his lips.

“Now we're getting somewhere.”

Krauser became aware that Wesker was telling Excella Gionne that they were going to retrieve Chris and Ada before heading out of the facility. He must have missed what their next destination was going to be but it didn't matter. Wesker would directly give him his orders and he would follow them. He would do so because he was certain of one thing, that blonde tyrant was on the winning side of whatever he decided to go up against. The superhuman being aimed to transform the world into something much more glorious and Krauser was behind that a hundred percent. It's not like a freak like him had anywhere else to go anyway.

He followed silently behind Wesker and the Italian woman as they left the room and went down the hallway back to the waiting area where they'd left the other two. It only took them a minute to get there but when they did, only one of the two was still waiting for them. Ada Wong stood over by a sofa, arms crossed over her chest. Her head was slightly tilted to the side and she was biting anxiously on her bottom lip. When Krauser came into the room with Wesker and Excella, the woman in red seemed relieved.

“There you are. I thought I'd be able to find the labs but you need a keycard to use the elevator so I couldn't exactly get there on my own.” Ada told them.

Excella frowned at her. “The labs? You?”

It was obvious to the soldier that the rich woman didn't know what she was to think at the moment and apparently had opted to utter gibberish coated in snobbery.

“Where's Chris?” Wesker demanded of the Asian woman.

Ada gave the tyrant a confused look. “He went with that doctor to the lab. I had a call to take, said I'd find them when I was done.”

“What doctor?” Excella questioned, her tone suspicious.

“Dr. Chen. Um..Dr. Laura Chen. She said she was a scientist at the lab here. She told Chris and I that Excella sent her to take us to you guys. She was lying? Well then who is she?”

“Laura, Wesker child number ten.” Wesker stated.

Krauser found this turn of events to be obnoxious. “One of them here? What would they be doing here in one of Tricell's buildings?”

“I have a better question.” Ada pointed out. “What would a Wesker child want with Chris?”

Chapter Text

There was a certain thrill that came with every fight. There was a surge of adrenaline that coursed through one's body as they tapped into energy normally kept in reserve. When a person enters into a fight, the key to winning is to always remain at least two steps ahead of the opponent or opponents. In certain cases, the adversary is more adept, a higher caliber fighter. When this is the case, being even one step ahead of the opposition may be impossible and a very different fighting style must be adapted. This style of fighting was what Chris had selected to use at the moment.

The type of fighting basically consisted of trying to stay alive by running and shooting pointlessly, as 9mm bullets, even if they managed to hit the super fast form of Laura Chen, would be little more than an irritation to her. That was something Chris learned with Wesker. It was better not to piss off a being with, admittedly, exceptional abilities. When that happened, they tended to blame you for the failure of their original plans and hunt you down with a strong desire to cause you an agonizing death. Following that line of thinking made Chris wonder why Wesker had left him alive, when killing him would have been as simple as swatting a fly. Instead the tyrant had chosen to effectively mindfuck him, while literally fucking him as well, into confusing the hell out of him. It left the BSAA agent to flounder as he tried to figure out where to go from there.

He ducked as a large steel pipe that had once been attached to the ceiling came flying at his head. The chunk of metal missed him by only a few inches and embedded into the wall. He sank to one knee behind one of four steel containers in the hallway where the elevator resided, catching his breath. This Wesker child, Laura, really liked to throw whatever was handy. It reminded him of an ex-girlfriend actually. WHAM! A fist nailed the side of the container centimeters from where his face was.

"Come on, Chris." Laura taunted, standing directly in front of him and leering with a rather wicked smile and yellow-red eyes.

It seemed she shed the brown contacts sometime in the last few minutes while he'd ducked and dodged flying objects.

"Get your head in the game."

She snaked out a hand to latch it around his throat. Chris placed the muzzle of the handgun to her chest and pulled the trigger three times. The Asian woman cursed and backhanded him so hard against the face that he was knocked sideways off his feet.

While he was trying to figure out which direction was the ceiling and which way was the floor, Laura was frowning down at her blouse which was bloodstained and now contained holes. She gritted her teeth and glared at Chris.

"I-really-liked-this-shirt," she informed him, placing emphasis on every word.

He raised his eyebrows at the superhuman being and did what any muscular, relatively healthy, all-American man would do in this situation. As her eyes began to glow red, the virus on overdrive while she was healing, he ran the other way.

Chris rounded the wide corner and skidded to an abrupt halt. There were at least four bodies of scientists in white lab coats splayed across the floor in front of him, blood spray covering sections of the room near the corpses. There were also black counters with vials and beakers everywhere. It seemed he'd found the labs.

A door opened and closed in a hall branching off from the lab area. A man with short brownish-blonde hair, wearing a light blue v-necked t-shirt and dark blue jeans, was standing in the brightly lit corridor connected to the lab.

Upon seeing Chris standing at the opposite end of the lab, he smiled. The agent was curious to know if all the Wesker children somehow had the same creepy smirk, because although he couldn't clearly see the color of the man's eyes, Chris knew he was a product of the Wesker Project as well.

"Hello. Christopher Redfield, right? My name's Jonah. I'd watch out if I were you."

He glanced over his shoulder and did a double-take before diving for cover behind one of the counters. Bullets sprayed the countertop from a machine gun Laura had acquired sometime in the last thirty seconds. He heard glass shattering and Chris silently hoped there were no dangerous chemicals or viruses in any of the beakers or containers stored on the lab tables. Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse than facing down not one, but two Wesker children, he heard the sound of padded feet on the hard white floor. A quiet growl began to grow louder as it drew closer. A canine growl.

The bullet spray ceased for the moment so the agent used the opportunity to sneak a peek over the countertop. The man, Jonah, was holding the door he'd recently come from open, allowing three dogs out of the room and into the lab. Chris had no doubt that these creatures were infected with the deadly T-Virus and that they wouldn't hesitate to rip his throat out. He found himself wishing he hadn't wasted so many bullets on Laura. Checking the clip, he only had five rounds left. He would need perfect headshots to take them all out.

The agent raised his weapon and aimed to shoot the dog closest to him. The shot missed when he was forced to dive to the floor, scrambling to get behind the other counter. Laura was shooting at him again. The distraction was enough to give the dogs the time to reach the former S.T.A.R.S. member. One of them leaped at his throat and he was able to raise his arm up in time to deflect the canine, who bounced twice before sliding to a halt several yards away. Razor sharp teeth clamped down on his leg and yanked. Chris shouted out in pain as he was dragged a few feet by the T-Virus afflicted animal.

The third dog jumped onto his chest, barking and chomping at his throat. The agent brought the gun up to the side of the creature's head and pulled the trigger, blowing its skull apart. He then lifted a heavy boot from the leg not being assailed, and jammed it against the dog's gnashing teeth. The animal was temporarily knocked back and Chris used the opportunity to put a bullet square between its eyes.

It went down with a whimper and a thrash or two, ceasing to move after that. Two down, one to go. He got up and ran across the room as a spray of bullets hammered the ground where he'd been lying. The big weapon clicked empty and Laura tossed the gun to the side, narrowing her eyes.

"You're not paying attention!"

Using her superhuman speed, she crossed the room and lifted him up by the throat. It didn't seem fair. Chris was as buff as he'd been able to get over ten years of hardcore workouts, the workouts increasing for absurd durations after Jill had fallen through that window two years ago. Yet this female had the capability to send him soaring across the room with the flick of a single finger. Continuing to hold him up off of the ground, he could already tell the crushing grip would leave bruising on his neck. She stared at him until he met her gaze.

"Look at me!" she demanded of him, shaking him a little. "You're supposed to be something special. You have an excellent survival rate, unshakable beliefs, relentless desire to sacrifice your own well-being for the sake of others..the stuff heroes are made of."

Chris's eyes shifted to his left when he heard someone approach. It was Jonah and the remaining Doberman. The infected canine was sitting quietly beside the man like a dutiful pet dog.

"So come on, hero," the male Wesker child started with a smile. "Show us what you've got. Show us what a human is like."

Laura threw him to the ground and backed off, dropping a magnum at his feet. Chris checked the gun, it was loaded with a nine round clip. The BSAA agent looked from Jonah to Laura, neither saying a word until he got to his feet. Laura adjusted the lab coat, ensuring it was snugly around her shoulders and gave him a small smile.

"Time to play."

/

Wesker, Excella, Krauser, and Ada rounded the corner to the hall with the elevator at a brisk pace. Excella had notified security of the situation in the labs and ordered them to steer clear but guard the elevator for anyone who might try to leave. Therefore, Wesker fully anticipated the half dozen bodies they found strewn about the white-walled hallway. However, he did not expect the two people, a man and a woman, standing in front of the elevator doors. They wore nothing to conceal their eyes and it became immediately perceived they were both Wesker children.

The woman was of African-American descent with long black curls cascading down over her shoulders. She wore a dark brown shirt, a red leather jacket, tan pants, and a dark brown belt and heeled boots of a matching color. The other individual was a white male with a shaved beard and an angular appearance. He was tall and lanky, but still visibly muscular. This one was about six feet tall, wearing a black silk dress shirt, dark slacks, and a handsome face that bore a smug smile as he watched the four approach. They stopped a relatively safe distance away and the woman chose that moment to speak.

"Felicia, Miles,” she introduced. “We're in place as an intervention..of sorts. Jonah and Laura don't want any interruptions so we're here to entertain you."

Wesker gritted his teeth, the only sign of his irritation at the delay. "Not interested."

"I don't believe we asked if you were interested or not." Miles started, quick to be angry. He took a couple of menacing steps towards the four of them but stopped when Felicia held up a hand.

"Calm yourself, Miles. Wouldn't want to hurt one of our own now would we."

The Wesker child just grunted and ran a hand over his shaved skull, scuffing a shoe against the floor. "I wanna play with Mr. Hero. Why'd I get stuck up here while Jonah gets all the fun?"

"Shut up!" Felicia snarled, then took off at a super fast run down the hall toward them.

Krauser and Wesker glanced at one another, a silent message exchanged, and then the latter ran past the female Wesker child while he readied himself to face Felicia. Ada on the other hand, stood back, keeping Excella behind her. The secretive agent would have liked to join the fight but she knew right now they'd want her watching out for the Italian woman. She did, after all, have her uses.

Wesker smashed shoulder first into Miles, driving them both into the elevator doors. The metal dented inward slightly from the impact of their bodies. They fought brutally, neither of them relenting or showing signs of easing up anytime soon. Krauser was using more of a guerrilla tactic with his fight, attacking Felicia and then backing off or hiding around a corner. He was drawing her farther and farther away from the elevator hallway, but she either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Interesting." Felicia noted, ducking a punch from the muscular man and hitting him square in the chest with a spin kick. The big man stumbled back and the Wesker subject continued her thought.

"This isn't any virus I'm familiar with. Perhaps a parasite of some sort. You appear in control of your temper..so not Type 2. Perhaps your body has been modified with a version of Type 1 Las Plagas then?"

Krauser's answer was a right hook to her face before backflipping several times to put distance between them.

"Maybe I'm just good at appearing to be what I'm not."

The Wesker child's gaze lowered to his left arm where veins were beginning to bulge and the skin was darkening. A smile spread across her face as she observed this.

"Maybe," the woman commented, her eyes still on his arm, which was slowly returning to its regular skin tone.

It was as though simply by looking, she knew that arm could mutate if he was wounded or got angered enough. Krauser glowered at her, annoyed Felicia was trying to examine him while they fought.

"See, that's the trouble with you women." He raised both arms as though to signify he was harmless. He was anything but. "You ruin your appearance of beauty when you open those pretty mouths of yours and talk, talk, talk."

The woman stared down the corridor at him, her gaze stone cold.

"And then there are guys like you." Felicia mentioned, continuing to stare him dead in the eye. "People only have to take one look and they'll know what you're all about."

Krauser chuckled at the retort. "I'm hiding the pain, really."

"A man like you is simple to understand. Makes it all the more easy to exterminate your kind from the face of the planet. People like you have a one track mind that'll destroy you every time. I've seen plenty of people like you. So certain of your invincibility, so certain of your strengths and abilities. That one track mind though.."

She drew a magnum revolver that had been tucked in the back of her belt and tapped it against the side of her head. "Sounds your defeat without failure."

"What the hell you talking about, one track mind? Men and their obsession with sex? What does that have to do with the destruction of my type of people? I thought you Wesker project chosen ones were supposed to be of superior intellect."

Felicia didn't even blink. "Violence, Jack Krauser, not sex. You are a man of violence. You live and breathe it."

She leveled the heavy handgun to point at his head. Even with the relative distance between them, he had little doubt she could land a direct hit.

"You did great violence to Chris Redfield and yet he endures. This interests us greatly."

Krauser's breath caught. "What?"

A frown creased her cream-colored forehead. "I've said far more than I should have. Come now, let me introduce you to the darkness only true death can bring."

/

Wesker hit the wall back first but was gone by the time Mile's fist punched a hole into the concrete. The man managed to spin around in time to catch a roundhouse kick in the ribs. He grimaced as he straightened up, several broken ribs grinding against each other. His injuries did not deter him at all, however, and he began throwing fists, most likely hoping to wipe the smirk that had appeared on Wesker's face off. The tyrant flipped himself over his opponent, landing neatly on both feet in the direction of the other.

"You seem like a very angry man." Wesker observed, his tone conversational. "You should do what I do. Realize the full extent of your power and embrace it. Only then will you comprehend no one can stand in the way of your objectives."

"Godliness is your thing, Albert. Fury is my power trip."

"It's Wesker, and don't you forget it."

"Now that you mention about no one being able to stand in your way.." Miles began, a rather sly smile growing on his face. "If that's true, how come you haven't accomplished your own objectives? Why is it we have yet to see your new world?"

"You won't succeed in getting a rise out of me." Wesker said, pushing his sunglasses firmly to ensure they stayed on his face. "I know this is what you are trying to do. Don't. I won't say it again."

"You like being in control don't you, Wesker. You control the circumstances around you in order to get what you want and when you don't, you do get angry. You get really angry. Like at Redfield. You feel such enormous hatred toward Chris Redfield that you could snuff out his life in the blink of an eye. But you're such a heartless and cruel bastard, you allow him to live because you know that is a greater sufferance for the man than death could ever bring."

"You're right and you're wrong." Wesker both admitted and denied. "I view everyone and everything around me as insignificant so I kill without remorse and I'm sure you do the same. I believe it may be a minor side effect of the experimental virus we were given. Chris, well, he's not just anyone. He's managed to hold his own against me in a fight for the most part, time and time again, so yes, he interests me."

"Now that, I believe." Miles told the other superhuman with a grin. "We find Chris Redfield to be remarkable. It's why we chose him."

Wesker froze, becoming impossibly still. "Chose?"

Instead of answering, Miles threw himself at the other man as he continued the persistent attack.

Chapter Text

On July 22, 1998, Chris Redfield had had a very long day because apparently he lived to work. The recent gruesome murders of Raccoon City civilians found near or around the forest outside of the city kept him and the other S.T.A.R.S. members extremely busy searching for answers. Answers to victims found partially eaten, often by both animals and humans. He rarely had time for himself and barely time for things like dating. So when he did find himself a date, a second date, and then a third date with a woman who clerked for a judge, he jumped at the chance.

Chris had gotten lucky and knew it. Someone was willing to spend time with him when he actually had the time for her and that was a mercy to put up with a guy like that. Her name was Kara Hathaway and she was intelligent, beautiful, and attending law school as a third year while clerking to pay the bills. Better than all of that, she had a great laugh and she liked him.

He'd worked late at the STARS office which was housed in the Raccoon City police department, making a few phone calls to try and follow a lead concerning the bizarre murders only to end up with another dead end.

 

It was raining and he was already twenty minutes late to meet Kara. He found her waiting just inside the entrance of the restaurant.

"I'm sorry!" were the first words that spilled from his lips.

She stared him down sternly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"We said eight o'clock."

I know, I'm sorry. Time got away from me at work. Won't happen again."

"Like I haven't heard that one before," she glowered.

Chris was silent for a moment, unsure of the right thing to say.

"Kara.."

Her eyes lightened all of a sudden and Chris thought he saw the faintest twitch of her lips upturning. He looked closer at her.

"Wait, are you joking?"

A smile spread across her face then. She'd been leading him on. Kara laughed softly at his stunned expression.

"I'm learning to be a lawyer, Chris. Deception is often our game. I'm sure you've had that sort of trouble get in the way of your gungho ways, isn't that right?"

Her smile told him she was simply messing with him.

"Again with the jokes. Is this my punishment for being late?" he asked as he followed her into the restaurant and to where the two of them were to wait to be seated.

"Punishment? Consider this to be a treat."

They got the signal from the hostess and followed her to where they were seated at a small booth towards the back. Kara ordered wine and Chris stuck with water as the hostess left them to browse the items on the menu. Out of nowhere, she leaned slightly over the table and added to her previous sentence about treating him with her humor.

"Hey, I'm funny."

He smiled at that. When a lady's right, she's right.

 

He never had another date with Kara. In fact, he never saw the young woman again. She likely perished along with the other inhabitants of Raccoon City after the outbreak occurred and the government stepped in with their solution of a nuclear bomb. Sometimes he felt guilt for not saving her. Guilt for not even thinking about her. He'd been too distraught by the deaths of many of the members of Alpha and Bravo team. Too devastated by the betrayal of his superior officer, Captain Albert Wesker, and the deception of the pharmaceutical corporation Umbrella. No surprises there. Chris had failed another woman in his life, another person he cared about.

There were numerous times throughout his life, when Chris had felt trapped and certain his chances of survival were slim to none. The mansion incident where many of his comrades and friends died in the span of two nights, was one of those times. He'd come to accept after that night, after learning Umbrella was going to get away with being the cause of the deaths of his fellow STARS soldiers, as well as many of the Corporation's own employees, that there would be many more missions to come. When he learned months later that his former captain, Albert Wesker, was still alive and no longer human, he became more determined than ever to continue the fight against people who would use biological weapons against innocents.

Count yourself dead at the outset. That was what he had learned to do each time he was assigned to a mission by his organization, the BSAA. And so that was what he'd done when he had been assigned to the mission in Africa. To remain breathing even now was a miracle, or possibly God's idea of a sick joke. Either way, it didn't change anything. He was here in this Tricell facility fighting for his life. Fighting for his own life because even though it wasn't worth saving, to Chris, it was worth surviving as long as his living meant he would be able to continue fighting for others. For the ones who were worth saving.

The agent ducked behind one of the lab counters for what felt like the hundredth time. This running and hiding tactic was getting old. All he had managed to accomplish with it was that now he was exhausted, not to mention bleeding at a relatively constant rate from a recently acquired bullet wound, and the two Wesker children were getting bored. He knew this because they were openly voicing it to him.

“Come out, come out, where ever you are.” Laura called out in a singsong way.

He heard Jonah's voice next. “I've found you!”

“Gah!”

The noise escaped Chris's throat as he was lifted from the ground by his shirt collar, a finger poking into his chest in an accusing manner.

“He's not trying,” the man holding him a few inches off the floor proposed to his partner.

The woman only shrugged. “Perhaps he wants to die. Perhaps we should grant him his request.”

“Not an option.” Jonah said sharply. “Maybe we are too powerful for him. His true potential may yet reveal itself, but not here.”

Chris really wanted the red-yellow eyes of the man to quit staring into his.

“You wish to go to phase two? So early?” the Asian woman asked after hopping down from a metal box she'd been probably using to find his hiding spot.

“Yes. It is as we thought. He needs incentive.”

“Hey!” Chris shouted at the man whose face was mere inches from his own. “I'm right here! Stop talking about me like I'm not here. Oh, and for the record, I sure as hell am trying.”

As he finished his words, that was the moment Chris chose to jam the piece of shrapnel he'd picked up during the time he'd been playing a rabbit to his two hunters in the facility's basement, deep into the man's chest. Jonah released him immediately and stumbled back, blood pouring from his lips.

“Jonah!”

Laura ran forward and Chris staggered away from the fallen Wesker child, preparing to try and defend himself from the other. He was surprised when she ignored him completely and chose to kneel by her male companion's side. He didn't understand a Wesker child showing genuine care and concern for another being in the slightest but he didn't have time to be curious or surprised. He wasn't going to waste his chance for escape. Chris ran for the exit, taking inventory of the condition his body was in as soon as he made it into the elevator, the doors sliding closed behind him.

One of his pant-legs was torn, the leg bloodied from where the dog had clamped down on it. His throat ached and he could feel the bruises there, while his shoulder throbbed from where the bullet had gone through and through. Laura had managed to get hold of his own weapon minutes earlier, turn it on him, and fired it through his body at point blank range. Then there were also the ribs which hurt badly from being kicked around by the two superhuman beings, but he figured they were only bruised and not broken. That was something positive at least. He needed at least one thing positive since his face practically felt numb from the amount of bruising and swelling which was likely happening from the super strong blows he'd received. It didn't help his attempted optimism much that there was blood running from a deep gash on his forehead and into the one eye that didn't actually hurt, making it even more difficult to focus his sight.

The elevator made a musical sound as it reached the designated floor and the shiny metal doors slid open. He took a single step out and the first thing he saw, two blurs of motion locked in what he could only assume was combat by the violent nature of the lightning quick movements. Chris's eyes narrowed in on movement straight ahead down the hallway, at Krauser as he practically threw himself around the corner into the same hall, and low onto the floor.

Bullets that must have been packing quite a punch by the sizable holes left smoldering upon impact, slammed into the wall across from the blonde, muscular man. He watched as Krauser jumped up in time to block a kick from a woman with dark hair and somewhat dark skin, after she appeared in front of him moving at an inhuman speed. To Chris's right, all the way down the corridor, was Ada and Excella. Ada was backing away from the woman and Krauser as they became locked in hand-to-hand combat, pushing the Italian woman along with her.

The entire duration of this observation only took a second or two but it felt to him as though everything was moving in slow motion. He was just a tad stunned to find after getting himself out of one battle, he had somehow managed to walk straight into another.

As the doors slid shut behind him again, the elevator made a second brief musical sound before it began its descent. He didn't do a whole lot of thinking about how that meant someone had called the elevator down because this time the noise from the elevator was heard. The two blurry persons suddenly became clear and solid as both ceased fighting or motion of any kind. The woman fighting Krauser halted her assault to look towards the elevator and so the scarred man did the same. Ada and Excella peeked around the turn in the hallway on Chris's left, where they had been taking cover, and it would have been comical to him if he didn't feel like he was in intense danger.

He felt Wesker's eyes examine him up and down, taking in his poor condition, and he shifted uncomfortably. Everyone remained watching him without saying anything and it wasn't a pleasant thing. With the way Wesker was looking at him, if he didn't know any better, he'd say the blonde looked impressed. The tension in the air was palpable and he decided to be the first to say anything since nobody else was volunteering.

“Uh, hi.”

Really? That was the best you could come up with?

“Impossible. Where are Laura and Jonah?” the woman down the hallway from him demanded.

The one who had been moving as quickly as Wesker, a man with a shaved head and black clothing much less suited for combat than the blonde's black leather outfit, answered the woman who appeared to be his partner.

“What? You don't even have faith in your own project, Felicia?”

The man's tone suggested he was teasing and she responded by glowering at him. Chris noticed almost immediately that these two had red-yellow eyes. More Wesker children. Two plus two made four. Four Wesker children were in the building and they seemingly had come to kill him. It figured he would have the misfortune to have not one Wesker child as his enemy, but five. Now five of them were specifically targeting him for death. At least, he presumed Wesker still wanted to kill him. The blonde tyrant had been acting out of character of late but that didn't mean he had changed one bit. Chris reasoned it probably just meant he was plotting out something extra devious and evil to inflict upon him.

“Shut up, Miles. Reveal nothing.”

The man, Miles, licked his lips as he turned his eyes onto Chris. “I wanna play with him.”

He picked up on the suggestion behind those words and winced. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what was so goddamn appealing that people wanted to “do” stuff to him. His concentration shifted to the elevator, watching as the numbers began to light up, beginning at the second basement level and moving upward. He glanced from the elevator to Wesker, hoping he could get across his message with only that look. In case he couldn't, Chris put his back to the wall farthest from Miles, sliding against the flat surface in the opposite direction of the elevator.

Put as much distance between himself and the elevator. Leave Wesker in the middle. That was his goal for the moment.

He'd gotten a few yards from the elevator when Miles and Wesker picked up on why Chris was moving the way he was. The elevator made a ringing noise. Both Wesker children reacted in the same instant. Miles went for him and Wesker predicted the movement, ramming his shoulder into the other man in black. The act drove both men into the wall about a foot from where Chris was standing. The elevator doors slid open.

Laura and Jonah were standing inside as predicted. What he hadn't predicted, was that Laura would be holding a rocket launcher. As soon as the doors opened up, she immediately propped it up over one of her bony shoulder blades.

“Shit!”

Chris was a little surprised the curse had come from Felicia but he didn't let it distract him as the woman disappeared from view. When he caught sight of the rocket launcher about to fire, he dove to the floor. Just at the right time too, as a rocket flew over his head, on down the hallway. It exploded upon impact with the wall and he hoped no one had been in its path.

Whoah, did I really say that? What do I care if any of these people get hurt or killed?

Apparently he did care, no matter what had been done to him in the past. Still, Chris told himself it was that he didn't want Ada to get hurt since she appeared to be on the good side, at least most of the time. His head turned back, looking over his shoulder to the elevator where he spotted Jonah loading another rocket into the back of the rocket launcher for Laura, who then shifted to prop it back on her shoulder. Expecting another rocket to come flying at him, he flattened himself down on the floor again.

He needn't have bothered, however, as Wesker seemed ticked off at the projectiles being sent down the hall. At least, Chris assumed he was by the growl that passed through his lips as he straightened up, moving to stand directly in the path of the large weapon as Laura fired. The irritated man snatched the rocket right out of the air before it could hit. For a moment, Wesker battled with the momentum of the rocket and then threw it downward, spun around, and kicked it back toward the elevator.

Chris didn't wait to see what happened to Laura and Jonah. At the sound of the explosion, he clambered to his feet and started to move down the hall without looking back. Felicia's face was expressionless as she made her way towards the elevator, ignoring everyone around her except for Wesker. She seemed very focused on him and little else.

Even though he was able to make it a little farther from the elevator, the force of the rocket exploding still managed to lift him off his feet. He managed to stay upright and keep his balance after a hand fisted in his shirt, yanking him back to prevent him from flying forward. The hand belonged to Wesker and the tyrant spared him a single glance and a single word.

“Go.”

Then the blonde was turning back to Miles. The Wesker child with the shaved head and facial hair was looking infuriated at the interference, for the interior of the elevator shaft was presently consumed in flames. Chris couldn't get a glimpse of either of the other two Wesker children but he wasn't going to wait around to find out if they were dead or not. For once he decided to take Wesker's advice. He ran.

Chapter Text

It was raining. He traveled all the way to Malakoff, France, only to find it was raining here too. Lex Mason glowered at the people traveling past him on the street with their umbrellas and their false sense of purpose. Pathetic creatures humans were. He couldn't even enjoy his solitude of being away from his business and the politics of it all. Not when it was raining so hard. The droplets absolutely pelted down onto his shoulders and boots. Every so often a passerby's gaze would linger just a little too long and Mason was beginning to get fed up with it. In truth he knew it was because he was a tall, rather well-built man, clothed entirely in black. The black attire included black sunglasses which was what kept the casual stranger's eyes on him a little longer.

What kind of person wore sunglasses in the rain? He knew it was what these people were asking themselves. But even though he knew this, inside his mind created a variety of different theories. They were watching him because they knew what he was, something other than human. They were watching him because they could see him for what he was, a killer. Lex recognized that he shouldn't bother thinking these things when he knew them to be ridiculous thoughts. These people had no idea who he was. It didn't matter though. He had fun making them up. Such as right at this very moment.

There was a young woman chattering away on her cell phone. A similarly young man stood near her looking rather bored and unsure of what to do with himself. The situation would read as a possible date gone wrong to any sane person. Mason prided himself on not being like the majority of people out there. He was quite a bit insane and he liked it that way. At the moment he'd concocted the idea that the couple were spies sent to observe him. The man was only pretending to be some random bored guy as the woman reported their findings to superiors. Lex ignored what he knew to be the French word for "mother" leaving the female's mouth as he stalked closer to his prey. This was going to be fun.

He was on the male before the man even noticed he was there. The man flew into the brick wall behind him and dropped like a stack of books to the ground. The foolish woman tried to scream and he stopped that nonsense with a closed hand around her throat. Mason lifted her into the air and squeezed, tighter and tighter. The cell phone had fallen from her hand long ago and her eyes practically bulged from her sockets. A slight sound escaped her throat causing him to tighten his grasp. When he did that, she ceased clawing at his gloved hands draining the life from her. A closer look and he realized he must have snapped her windpipe. She was already dead.

How dare she go and die on him before he'd had time to play with her! It was a pity really. She had been a rather pretty thing. He was getting hard just imagining the sorts of things they could have done together before her life would have ended. A muffled groan caused him to turn around. The male was struggling to regain his footing, appearing disoriented and shaken by the force that had thrown him into a wall. Mason threw the still warm body of the woman so that it fell in the man's line of sight. The young man yelled out in surprise and then horror when he saw his female companion was dead, neck horribly swollen, eyes wide open.

The man forgot about trying to get up when he spotted Lex, and instead tried scrambling backward, away from the man and away from the dead body of his girlfriend. Mason could never understand those who would destroy all of humanity. Those such as his..friend from Africa, who would have the entirety of mankind die to fulfill some kind of desire to evolve the human race. Perhaps such a man was lonely. Wished to somehow save the world by first erasing everything that already existed. Whatever this..friend's motivations were, it did not mesh with his own ambitions. No it did not.

He couldn't very well have the fun he was having right now if there weren't humans walking around any longer. So ignorant, so powerless, so pathetically easy for the taking. Lex could accept a few million less walking the earth maybe, but he liked how things were. So many moving about their daily routines without a suspicion in the
world made for a much easier way to claim them. There was no place for enormous, apocalypse-sized ambitions for him in what he wished to do, nor would there ever be. At the moment his ambition was simple. Have as much fun as time allotted for him today. After all, he did have a business to get back to eventually, as well as other affairs to attend to. Of course, Mason did truly have great disdain for mankind. But he would never desire to have all of mankind wiped out, not completely. If there were no longer humans, what else would he play with?

Mason sighed. The human male had run into a wall in the alley they stood in and proceeded to tremble and quake as he stared up at the murderer watching him. This one had wet his pants, he could smell the defecation from where he stood. Lex felt himself go limp down there and sighed again. Maybe there would be a little less fun this time around. He liked his prey to have a little more fight in them, but this..this was simply pathetic and unenjoyable. He would have to settle for something a little less exciting. Rain still pouring all around them, the shot would be muffled. Not that it mattered to him if he was heard or not. It made no difference either way.

One bullet in the leg sent the guy screaming and crying on the wet ground. He curled himself into a ball, rocking back and forth, as if doing so would protect him from the predator eyeing him. Mason drew close and knelt down beside the man. He placed the gun against his stomach and pulled the trigger once. Then he sat back to watch the young male try to stop the gushing blood and spilling guts escaping from the horrific wound in his gut. It would take him a good while to bleed out and he would be there to watch every last second of this human's last moments. For the first time that day, Mason smiled.

/

They made it outside under the aid of Excella's hired guards for the building. By that, Chris meant the guards were there to be slaughtered by the one Wesker child who had managed to get past Wesker. And yes, Felicia was indeed angry. He watched her practically eviscerate one of the guards, the entire time her eyes on him, and he made himself run faster.

"Chris! This way!"

He turned toward the sound of Ada's voice and saw a helicopter in the distance heading in their direction. Ada was standing several yards off with Excella at her side. The Italian woman had a radio to her lips and she was speaking into it. It was highly probable she was communicating with the pilot of the chopper and had called it to their location in the first place. At the moment, Chris had to admit he wanted to kiss the woman for securing them a way out of this..fire.

The building ripped apart in an explosion of flame and debris and he felt himself once again torn off his feet from the force of the blast. His close proximity to the building didn't help any either and he heard himself cry out from the pain suddenly spreading across his body like its own fire.

He couldn't bring himself to get up or even to move at all. The bullet wound in his shoulder was bleeding worse than before. The only positive thing he had to say about it was that it had been a through and through shot so there was no bullet stuck inside of him. Still, it was difficult to see it as a big positive when the hole in him was bleeding so profusely. From his fall to the concrete his pained ribs were hurting him even more and he'd scuffed up his legs and arms.

At least he had the knee and arm pads to save that bit of skin. Load of good it was doing him now though. Maybe he should have worn a helmet too because his face had also literally skidded against the cement along with the rest of him. One of his eyes was completely swollen shut by now, the other felt irritated and heavy, likely bruised, bloodshot, or both. Then there was the fact that the pounding in his head made him feel like he'd cracked his skull wide open. Or maybe it was the blood pooling around his head. Fuck, had he given himself a concussion? He couldn't remember if he had passed out at all or not.

Chris heard a scream somewhere above the noise of his throbbing brain. He tried to lift his head to see what was going on but failed. The explosion had taken what little energy he'd had left in him. The BSAA agent felt himself being dragged by the arm but when an actual whining sound escaped from his mouth, the grip released his arm and a soft hand lifted his chin to slant upward slightly. It was Ada and she looked really concerned.

"Chris, we have to get away from the building. It's falling apart. The helicopter isn't far; we have to go. Can you walk?"

He knew he couldn't. Not without putting his body through a tremendous amount of pain. But he hadn't survived continuous life and death situations by giving up and not pushing past his limits. Chris drew himself up onto one knee and separated his face from Ada's hand.

"A little help?" he asked her, forcing a slight smile so she wouldn't feel so worried about his health.

It seemed to work because she relaxed visibly and held out a hand to get him to his feet. Once standing, he spotted what he didn't want to see. Felicia was fighting Krauser again, dangerously close to the collapsing building, and Excella was looking upset over the delay in their departure. That was actually the most humorous part about this whole disaster of a day. The perfectly manicured female was probably more worried about her schedule than she was about anything else happening.

Ada released his arm abruptly and went for her gun, drawing it and shooting in one smooth motion. Chris forced his body to spin around and saw what she had. Emerging from the flaming building were Wesker and Miles, still locked in a battle of wills. Behind them came Jonah and Laura, and they were who Ada was firing upon.

The two looked terrible and that was putting it nicely. They were almost entirely covered in second and third degree burns and yet were able to walk upright and calm. After Laura took a bullet to the stomach from Ada's gun, she and Jonah stopped short and exchanged glances with one another. Almost in sync with each other, the two looked over at Miles and then Felicia. Finally they looked back at Chris. Their combined staring did nothing to put him at ease but he could see one thing from their looks. They were going to leave. They were going to go away, at least for now.

He was right. About as soon as he'd had the thought, Jonah, followed by Laura, began to retreat. Away from the burning building and away from him and Ada.

"Miles! Felicia! Evacuate!" Jonah called out to his allies.

Then he took off running with Laura at his heels. Chris found he very strongly disliked that Laura could run even with a bullet to the gut. All these superhuman beings running around made it so unfair. The unfairness doubled in that the majority of them seemed to be taking a special interest in him.

Why? He couldn't see the appeal. He was just another soldier. Chris blamed Wesker. It always came back to that man. The blonde tyrant's obsession with destroying his soul was what was driving these crazies after him. How did he get himself stuck in these crazy situations?

He limped alongside Ada toward the chopper. He hadn't even made it three feet before he dropped down flat again. Ada called out his name in surprise as he collapsed. The next second she was urging him not to move as he immediately attempted to get back on his feet. Then suddenly he was on his feet but he hadn't done it himself.

Someone was holding him up by the shoulders and arms. It was Krauser and as soon as Chris realized this he tried to wriggle his way free from the man's grasp. The task proved impossible as the other was incredibly strong, and then Wesker was there telling him to stop resisting. The agent responded by using the last of his strength to kick the taller man in front of him in the shins.

Unfortunately, he was only rewarded with a laugh from Wesker as the blonde grabbed hold of his hand which was forming into a fist. The better to hit the mutated bastard with... He thought to himself. As if his former tormentor touching him wasn't bad enough, the muscular soldier chose that moment to lean in close to Chris's ear, lips practically brushing against his earlobe as he whispered to him.

"Ah, just like old times, hm Chris? Me behind you, right?"

"Get-the-fuck-away from me!" he yelled, and tried to free himself.

Only when Wesker gestured for him to release Chris did Krauser do it, and the man wore an annoyingly big grin on his face even in doing so. It drove the BSAA agent up a wall to see it. He felt a panic attack coming on and his legs gave out, dropping him to his knees. Taking in gulps of air and letting it out slowly in order to relax himself, he fought against this uncharacteristic situation for him. He vaguely heard Krauser saying something and then a female voice cut him off. Chris ceased his breathing to hear what she had to say because it was shocking who had come to his defense.

"Leave him alone. Can you not see you are frightening him? Just keep your distance you disgusting monstrosity!"

When Excella finished her rant she positioned herself between Chris and his past attacker, arms crossed against her chest. He couldn't understand why Excella of all people would try to protect him. Then again, he reasoned, how well did he actually know the Tricell CEO? He managed himself back to a standing position once more and glanced at her. Her back was to him as she was facing Krauser, but he spoke to her despite this.

"It's okay. I've got this handled Excella," he assured the woman who was around a decade younger than him.

There was no need for her to get killed on his account, no matter what sort of evil corporation she was mixed up with.

"Do not try to be some kind of hero, Chris Redfield. I can see you barely able to stand on two feet. You will be silent and let me do this for you."

Even though he couldn't comprehend what exactly was going on with the wealthy woman unveiling she actually had at least one decent bone in her body, he didn't really have much choice. He knew she was right. He could already feel his legs trembling, wanting to give out on him from pure exhaustion and excessive bleeding. Wesker came over to Chris and placed one of his arms over his shoulder. Surprising him once again, Excella moved under him to take the other arm so that between her and Wesker, they were supporting his weight. He was too tired to argue about it.

Krauser made a disgruntled noise and backed away as the three moved past him towards the helicopter awaiting their boarding. Ada was already at the aircraft and she climbed in the back as they drew nearer. She seemed incapable of meeting Chris's eye as he tried to catch hers, to try and read her. Her not wanting to look at him didn't sit well. People who did that were generally hiding something. He let himself be hoisted into the chopper and made himself work his body enough to take a seat beside the Asian woman sitting quietly. Chris felt he'd been rather polite to wait this long before passing out, because that was exactly what he did after his back had hardly hit the wall of the helicopter.

/

Kincaid was a man of habit and simple tastes. He appreciated fine wine and exquisite desserts. He dressed in the same identical black suits and ties each and every day. His choice in weapons could be considered quite simple as well. He carried probably far more weapons than would be advised, but even so, he was quick. Quick and clean, that was how his boss preferred it. One of his duties was to take care of the messes Mr. Mason left behind.

Messes becoming more frequent in occurrence much to Kincaid's chagrin. He knew the business and how it worked and he knew someone was bound to notice eventually. The police could be blind at times but they weren't entirely stupid. They would make connections. And there were also those outside of the police, other parties that might find interest in locating Mr. Mason.

The rain was letting up by the time he arrived on the street he'd been ordered to go for a job. Dawn was beginning to creep through the clouds and the early morning joggers or shoppers would be out and about soon. It wouldn't be a problem for him. It never was. He could have any area cleaned in twenty minutes or less.

Kincaid walked around the corner into the alley he'd been directed to and surveyed the area. Two bodies, massive blood loss by one. Hm..the scene of blood and gore wasn't as bad as past scenes he'd had to clean up for his boss. He didn't waste any time getting to work. After twelve minutes he was done and no trace of evidence could be uncovered by the police or anyone else.

His cell phone rang. He finished stowing the last of the plastic garbage bags into the back of his black Ford Explorer and leaned against the side of the vehicle. After removing red-stained latex gloves and throwing them in the trunk too, he reached into his suit jacket and located his cell phone. A quick glance at the screen to see who was calling him and then he was flipping the device open.

"Sir."

"Progress report?" the voice on the other end of the phone asked, though it came out as more of a command for a response than anything else.

"Clean up is complete. And I've learned where that aircraft you were looking for has landed during the last few hours."

"How?"

"An inside source." Kincaid answered. "The source was clear the craft's destination would be temporary. The passengers on board the plane could already be on the move to somewhere else. Someplace inside the United States seems highly probable. My source told me the target has a facility set up that is already active."

"And where did the plane touch down?" questioned Mason from the other end of the line.

Kincaid smiled even though he knew his boss wasn't there to see it. "The location is in France, not too far from our own location. Just an hour ago I pulled live feed from the Internet of a building that exploded for indeterminate reasons. The building belonged to Tricell."

"Interesting..so it is very likely the CEO of the African division survived and is accompanying the target."

"Yes sir. It seems she is continuing to provide financial support for the target's experiments."

"Return to me. We're going mobile again. I've found our next target. After we're done here, we move on to America."

Kincaid heard the click as the line went dead. His boss was certainly always one to be to the point and definitely not one for the small talk. Unless he'd located a particularly fascinating prey. Lex Mason was one to enjoy talks with those he was hunting. He seemed to get a certain thrill out of toying with his victims and the finely suited man had to admit in some regards, his boss hit the ideal serial killer role right on the nose. He didn't get to decide how his boss chose to behave though. He cleaned up the evidence left behind and did so without a word either way. Who was he to take the moral high ground? Especially when his own past was not one he would ever favor getting out to anyone.

He was known by the name of Kincaid and only Kincaid. No one would ever know the name he was born with, the identities of his birth parents, or even the place he was born. It wasn't important. He had no friends, no family, no life of his own. Not any more. In his line of employment, he got the job done or he didn't get paid. It was firmly understood by his current employer, Mr. Mason, and the arrangement worked well for the both of them.

Kincaid noticed a woman of a rather advanced age peeking out from behind the curtain of her small brownstone home for the fourth time, watching him with a mixture of fear and suspicion. He narrowed his eyes at the old lady and the curtain swished back into place again. It was probable she hadn't seen something that would be damaging to him. Even if she contacted the local authorities, it would never lead to anything. It never did. He was very good at his job.

Knowing this didn't matter, because the gun-for-hire didn't deal in probabilities whatsoever. He fastened a suppressor onto the end of his primary handgun and gave a small sigh as he headed across the street to the brownstone. It seemed like his work was never quite finished.

Chapter Text

The gentle and steady rhythm of a beep, beep, beep, was the first sign telling him he wasn't where he'd last remembered being. He wasn't in a helicopter any longer. Instead of a hard metal seat, he could feel soft sheets beneath him. Another thing, far more important in his opinion, was that he didn't hurt any more. And he had the use of both eyes back! Chris laid a flat palm against his once swollen eye just to be sure. It felt okay. He pushed himself up onto elbows and surveyed his surroundings. A hospital room was where he was. For the first time he noticed he was hooked up to an IV, sensors placed on his chest and on a finger, attached to several monitors displaying his vitals. A thin sheet covered his body which was clothed in a simple hospital gown.

He could feel the bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs. With movement the ribs felt rather sore, otherwise they didn't hurt much. Chris shifted on the bed. He slid the sheet partially over to get a look at the leg that he remembered getting bitten pretty bad, by one of the infected dogs. The bite wound was almost little more than a scar now, having entered the later stages of the healing process. He moved the hand from his leg to the side of his forehead where there'd been the injury that had taken a lot of blood out of him. Fingers felt the rough texture of stitches. He traced them with his fingers, counting eight of them. Finally, Chris moved on to where he knew the worst injury to be. His shoulder, where he'd gotten shot at point blank range. There was a thick patch taped over the wound and no signs of bleeding through.

Well, it looked like he hadn't given himself a concussion. No, instead he'd managed to put himself into a coma instead. He could tell a fair amount of time had passed in order for his various wounds to be so far on the mend. It was hard to ignore the growth of facial hair on his face as well. Several weeks must have gone by at the very least, if not more. Chris didn't feel like sitting around. He felt like he had to see the condition he was in with his own eyes. He pulled the sensors off, calmly ignoring the frantic sounds the machines all around began to make immediately. After removing the IV with a sharp intake of breath at the brief moment of discomfort that came with the action, he slid off the bed. He took it slow, protesting and trembling legs taking him over to a mirror on the wall at the other side of the room.

To say he looked good would be an outright lie. To say he looked..tired, would be closer to the truth. Both eyes were darkened by the long period of time he'd been unconscious most probably. There were still faint markings around his throat from when the BSAA agent had gotten strangled and lifted off the ground by superhuman psychopaths, set on killing him apparently. A female nurse, followed quickly by a female doctor, burst into the room in a hurry. They halted in their tracks upon discovering their patient was not in fact crashing and had removed the equipment on his own. He turned toward the doctor as the nurse moved over to take care of the wailing machines.

"Where am I? How long have I been here?"

"You're in Sioux Falls, sir. Didn't you know that?" There was surprise in her voice as she walked to the end of the bed Chris had recently been occupying. She removed a clipboard from the attached folder. "As for how long, according to your chart you were admitted three weeks ago. Ah yes, I remember you now. Your brother and his girlfriend checked you in."

"M-my brother?"

"Ah.." Her eyes lowered to the paper in front of her. "Yes, your brother Jack and his girlfriend Ada."

"Oh, right, Jack and Ada. Yeah, okay." Chris couldn't really think of anything else to say to that.

The doctor lowered the chart. "I'm Dr. Philsteen, Mr. Ashford. Could you tell me what happened to you? Your brother didn't seem to know. He said he found you lying on the street badly injured. Your brother then left the hospital before I could speak with him to get more information. Do you know why he would do that?"

Ashford? That had to have been Krauser's doing. After all, the man was infected with the Veronica virus, created by the Ashford family in secret while Oswald E. Spencer had been busy with his own plans. It was all really very ridiculous in Chris's opinion.

"Ah, no. My brother's never been one to accept responsibility," he fabricated quickly as to why someone who was supposed to be his brother would just up and leave him in a hospital. Meeting her eyes to make it seem as though he was telling the truth, he added, "I don't really remember what happened to me. How I got like this."

Dr. Philsteen stared at him for a long moment and then nodded curtly. "Alright, that's okay. I would prefer for you to lie back down but you don't seem like the type who would listen. That's fine then, stand there. That being said, you need to wait here, okay? The police are going to want to come and speak with you. In any case where a firearm is involved, the police must be notified and they already came by once. Now that you're awake they'll want to talk to you. You never know, maybe you'll remember something about what happened."

"Um, okay. Right. Sounds good."

The nurse and doctor exchanged glances that were possibly significant but Chris ignored them. His mind was busy contemplating how he was going to get out of there without being seen. As soon as they left him alone, that was exactly what he did.

He snuck out, left arm positioned against his left side to move the injured parts (most importantly the gunshot wound area) as little as possible. Not managing to be seen by a single soul all the way down to the first floor reception area felt like quite the impressive achievement to him. Which made him feel pretty unimpressive when he actually contemplated the thought for a little longer. About a month gone by and he already missed being on a mission. Because at least when he was on a mission for the BSAA, he felt like he had a purpose, something to keep his focus on. It was what he needed to keep himself going.

And what was going on lately? At the rate he kept finding himself getting tortured, beaten, and shot, he might as well be on the job. Which he wasn't, technically. Yup, he wasn't even getting paid for the shit he was being put through.

His organization had probably branded him as officially MIA. As for Jill Valentine or Sheva Alomar? It was anybody's guess what happened to them after they'd sabotaged the missiles Wesker meant to launch into the atmosphere to infect the entire world with Uroboros. He wasn't too concerned for their safety. The two women were strong and knew how to take care of themselves. Heck, they'd each saved his life a couple times in the past.

But it was the knowledge that they cared about him and his safety which concerned him. He hoped they weren't putting themselves in any danger if they were out there somewhere looking for him. He held on to a hope that they'd returned themselves to BSAA headquarters to give their report on the mission Sheva and him had been assigned. It would be big news for everyone in the organization when they found out Jill was still alive too. Of course, with one Chris Redfield missing in her place, it might dampen the celebration a bit...

Chris flattened himself against the wall as a pair of orderlies walked by, careful not to jostle his ribs much. That was when he spotted the employees only room and headed inside. Conveniently an employee had left a cart of fresh scrubs by the door. He snatched a pair of blue scrubs that looked about his size out of the cart and hurried to change into them. They fit well enough and he didn't waste any more time in a place more befitting of someone other than him.

After vacating the hospital building, he made his way down the street. Dr. Philsteen had revealed he was in Sioux Falls. What was he doing in South Dakota? There was a reason. There always was when it involved Wesker. The insane blonde tyrant was a man with a plan who didn't know how to give up. He supposed the man's narcissistic, sadistic, and just plain evil tendencies pretty much helped him along in his ploys which seemed to end with innocent people dying.

The first thing he knew he should do was get to a phone and make contact with his superiors in the BSAA. Except, if he did that they would send other members out to retrieve him. If that happened there would be more lives in danger. And the agent knew he was indeed in danger still. A fair portion of the Wesker children project survivors were out to get him and it appeared Krauser and Ada had abandoned him at the hospital. Chris knew three other things that he had to factor in to reexamine his predicament. He had been in a coma for three weeks, he was in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, for a reason, and there was no telling if Krauser or Ada would come looking for him at the hospital. He wasn't about to wait around to find out.

He quickened his pace, moving as quickly as possible considering the injuries he was continuing to deal with for the time being. It was growing dark when he made it to the outskirts of the town. Something which remained true about Wesker was that he often kept his business right outside of populated areas. All the better to sneak one or two for experimentation, right? His time in Africa had not been very long ago and so he had not forgotten the horror of what became of the inhabitants there. Ten years gone by, and yet it did not feel so long since the incident in Raccoon City and the nightmarish mansion hidden away in the forest beyond the city either.

What was he thinking? Was he really going looking for proof of the existence of a new facility which he strongly suspected Wesker of setting up? He should be getting far, far away from this place and any place where the possibility of running into his former captain was at an all time high. But while he knew the best thing for his own health was to get as far from where he was now as he could, he couldn't do that. As an agent of the BSAA, it was his duty to find and investigate any illegal activities, especially those which could be construed as terrorism of a biological nature.

As the tall hospital building disappeared entirely from view, Chris thought over how he was to go about finding the facility which he very much suspected existed somewhere in this town. No, not in this town, but outside of it. That was the most likely location. It was Umbrella's style; it was Wesker's style.

The afternoon light did little to hide him from prying eyes and he found himself gathering an increasing number of stares. He had to admit, he must look quite a sight in bare feet, blue hospital scrubs, and his hair and face were probably looking pretty scruffy after weeks of neglect. The BSAA agent decided he had to do something to at least make it appear he could possibly be an employee for the hospital. That way nobody would get the idea in their heads to call the police or an ambulance to deal with him. The last thing he needed was attention from some hapless do-gooders who really had no clue about him or the predicament he was in.

Eyes scanning the buildings on the street around him, he spotted a gas station and headed on inside. After ensuring the guy behind the counter was occupied with a couple of customers, he snatched a pack of razors and some shaving cream off a shelf. Chris grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler, checked where the employee's attention was at, and then moved into the bathroom. Locking the door behind him, he set to work ridding himself of the facial hair that had come to cover his face in his weeks of unconsciousness. When he was finished, he left the razors and the shaving can in the sink, and downed the water in one go. He chucked the empty bottle into the trash receptacle and exited both the bathroom and the gas station. Now he just needed something for his feet.

Chris wasn't sure how he was going to go about getting footwear and the longer he thought on it, the more he realized it would be a good plan to get himself a weapon as well. Especially if he was planning on walking right into a building where possible experimentation was happening. Two blocks up and he was staring across the street at a gun shop. It felt lucky to him but he didn't let it go to his head at all. His luck didn't seem to ever last long. Glancing both ways, he jogged across the street, really wishing he had some shoes on as the hot road burned his feet. He ducked into the shop, a man, the owner perhaps, looked up from some sort of paperwork. His mild gaze shifted to one of suspicion upon taking in his visitor's appearance. Namely, the bare feet.

“Lose your shoes, buddy?”

“Uh..yeah. Do you happen to sell any here?”

The man pointed straight ahead of himself, to Chris's right. He glanced that way and found a single shelf with a few types of boots lined up. He gave the guy a quick thanks and walked over, kneeling down and grabbing the first pair he saw that looked close to his size. Boots in hand, he moved to the counter and placed them on top in front of the man. Then he lowered his gaze to the glass case full of weapons, eyes landing on the Samurai Edge 9mm Beretta model among all the other guns. Exactly his kind of gun. However, there was the manner of going about retrieving said gun.

“There's a waiting period for firearms, right?” Chris asked, fully aware there was one.

He watched the guy eye him slowly for a lengthy couple of seconds before setting down his pen and regarding him more closely. “You got a concealed weapon permit?”

“No.”

“Then it's a 48 hour waiting period, no exceptions.”

His gaze returned to the papers he was looking over and Chris sighed inside. This was going to take a tad more pressing than he'd thought. He decided there was no point in avoiding the matter. “I'd like to see the Samurai Edge.”

This grabbed the employee's attention. “You know about guns?”

He couldn't keep the smile off his face. “A little.”

The man reached around for his keys and unlocked the case on his side, taking great care as he removed the weapon from its resting place and set it on the countertop in front of them. He grabbed a clip of ammo from one of the cases behind him and placed it near the gun.

“Takes 9mm rounds. Now you should be aware, the price is considerable for this particular handgun. The gun was created by a man who custom designed the model. It was for some sort of special law enforcement team or something in the Midwest, over a decade ago. He only made a certain number and so this is an incredibly rare gun.” the guy looked him up and down for the second time since he came into the shop. “Are you sure you can afford a gun like this?”

“Kendo.”

“Excuse me?”

“Joseph Kendo. He's the man who designed the weapon. I'll take the gun. Paperwork?”

He seemed to have left the other man speechless and probably even more suspicious with such knowledge. Suspicious or not, the man must not have been used to being taken advantage of, because he said he would go get the papers for him to fill out and then disappeared into the back. Only one last glance at Chris standing there by the counter betrayed the slight concern he felt leaving him alone. But it was slight, and he left him out of sight. He had always been a good guy and hated that he had to rip this guy off. There wasn't another option for him right now though, not if Wesker was up to his old tricks. He had to find and stop him, or this town could end up like Raccoon City one day.

There wasn't any hesitation when he thought about something like that happening. He dropped the shoes onto the ground and shoved his feet into them. He grabbed the gun, grabbed the ammo clip, and after sweeping the store with his eyes one more time, he took a rather sizeable sheathed knife off one of the shelves. It was the best he could do with the time he had. If he had his way, he would be fully equipped with combat gear, but naturally, there was no possibility of that right now. Chris hurried out of the shop before the guy could make it back to find one of his more prized guns being stolen, among other items.

Once outside, he hid the weapons in his boots, which admittedly, were a few sizes bigger than his actual shoe size. He then proceeded to run the best he could in such boots, going several blocks to put some distance between himself and the store he'd just robbed. Yes, robbed. Breaking the law..not good.

His eye caught on to something that caused all feelings of guilt to fall away and be forgotten. A newspaper dated four days ago was laying on the sidewalk with a headline which was eerily familiar to him.

“Family disappears: Police suspect animal attack.” He read further, at the actual article itself. “A family of four was discovered missing after a family friend came by for a scheduled visit Wednesday evening. The family resided in a cabin in the Western section of the woods just outside the city. A window was broken and blood trails were left behind, leaving the police to believe the home might have been the scene of a quadruple homicide at first. Other evidence uncovered has left the police now thinking a pack of wild dogs may in fact be the ones responsible and urge residents...”

Chris ceased reading mid-sentence and lifted his gaze until he spotted the tree line of the woods not far away. He dropped the paper and took off running. As soon as he hit the trees, he had his gun out and increased his speed. It was happening all over again. It couldn't be. It couldn't be happening again. His anger rose as he went.

Too many people, too many people were dying over such stupid reasons. So other men could become rich. So other men could unleash weapons in the form of monsters to destroy their enemies or some dream of grandeur. It was sick and twisted and..wrong. The agent lost track of how long he'd been running but skidded to a halt on the grass when he saw something that stole the remains of his breath away.

A mansion. There was a mansion directly ahead of him in a large clearing of the woods. No way was this coincidence. Wesker must have done it. Why, Chris didn't know. The guy had quite the ego so maybe this was his way of memorializing the night he'd turned into the monster he was. At least, the night he'd changed to look like the monster he was on the outside with those freaky eyes.

He searched around, the idea of being taken by surprise and mauled to death by a couple of skinless dogs not sounding appealing to him in the least. Because he knew it was what had killed those people. Whether the dogs had escaped the compound or been purposely let out, remained to be seen. Honestly, either way it was a horrible thing, and there was only one objective in mind as he covered the remaining distance to the front door of the mansion. He was going to blow the place to oblivion.

Chapter Text

The place was styled after the mansion designed by Trevor all right. However, there were some major differences. For one, the place had definitely been built in more recent days. It had an older style of décor but there were up-to-date items here and there which clued him in on the time-frame it was built. Also, as he scanned the foyer area just inside the front entrance, he could see Umbrella did not care to conceal that this place was theirs. Or rather, that it had once been theirs. The red and white logo of the corporation was all over the place, most prominently featuring on the white tile floor beneath his feet.

Chris jogged across the room to the walkway he knew would be behind the stairs. There was a walkway but there was no gated double doors like there had been in Trevor's mansion. There was no dungeon-esque corridor to explore. Instead, a few pieces of two-by-four were nailed to the wall, obviously covering something.

Curiosity piqued, he pulled at the wood pieces until they gave and then ripped them from the wall. Dumping them onto the floor, he stared at what they had been hiding and couldn't believe his eyes. There, right in front of him, was a device that he clearly recognized as a control panel for a self-destruct system. Whoever had built the place must have made a massive error by putting such a device so near to an entryway. Knowing Umbrella, he doubted the one to do the construction had met a very pleasant end.

He wasn't about to waste his good fortune. After surveying the device, he quickly set to work figuring out the proper way to set the thing off. A password prompt appeared on the screen and he stared blankly at it. Well crap, how was he supposed to figure out the password? His mind raced as he tried to figure out the possibilities. He didn't know if Wesker bothered with security here. He would suspect no judging by the Cerberus dogs running loose if the newspaper article was any indication. Now that he thought about Wesker, was he even certain that tyrant was the one running this place? He preferred not to find out if he had his way.

Besides, security or not, he didn't think it was a good idea to linger in a place like this.

Password..password.. Password and Umbrella... Could it be, that the password was created by the same man foolish enough to place the device in such an awful location? A smile creased his face and then he was entering a password. Sir Oswald E. Spencer. The computer beeped and the red light on it switched to green. All right, time to get out before someone caught on to what he had done.

He was making his way across the mansion's foyer, having walked around from the backside of the stairs. Almost halfway to the front doors when his positive experience was spoiled. A masculine voice coming from behind made him pause.

“Agent Redfield, fancy meeting you here.”

He could hear footsteps coming leisurely down the stairs. He stood still, listening. There was a possibility of a second pair of footsteps descending the stairs meaning at least two people were nearing his position in the foyer, where he stood at its center.

“What is this? Chris Redfield left speechless? Perhaps we surprised him as much as he surprised us, hm?”

These words came from a second male voice, confirming Chris's suspicions that there were two men on the staircase. The agent turned around and faced what he had to face.

One of the two reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped there, while the other came to a stop a few steps above that. Both men were about the same height, a little over six feet. The first wore a black Armani suit with a white silk, dress shirt underneath, and sunglasses. The other wore dark blue jeans, dark boots, a red v-necked t-shirt, a black jacket, and a red baseball cap pulled low over his face. The disguises did little to prevent him from recognizing them after his last encounter with the two.

Chris raised the handgun he'd rather illegally acquired during his travel to the mansion, and aimed it at the one closest to him by the bottom of the stairs, the one in the expensive suit. He tried very hard to pretend he was wearing more than mere hospital scrubs as he took in the two Wesker children standing before him.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Isn't it obvious?” the one in the baseball cap began, coming down the last few steps, a hand reaching up to rest on the brim of his cap, tugging it farther over his face. He was the second speaker Chris had heard before facing them. “You've come because of rumors biological weapons are being created in the basement of this mansion. And we've come to find if there is anything worth finding.”

Chris froze, arms still extended with his gun pointed at the man in the suit, though his eyes were on the one with the jacket and cap speaking to him. Jonah, he recalled the Wesker child's name being Jonah.

The one in the suit and sunglasses gave him a half smile and took a couple of steps toward him. He yelled for him to stay where he was. The man's smile widened.

“We never thought you would be the one thing worth finding here, Christopher.”

The way Miles used his full name, extending the word, somehow was able to bring chills throughout his entire body. Not only that, but the cold realization he was coming to. The Wesker children, Jonah and Miles, finding this compound of Wesker's so quickly. He didn't believe in coincidences. Something was up here. Something wasn't right.

Jonah removed his cap and Miles followed his companion's lead, removing his dark sunglasses and putting them into an inside pocket of his suit. Now two pairs of red and yellow eyes stared back at him. Chris cursed in his own mind about his curiosity and sense of what was right bringing him here. He had probably just walked himself into his own place of death. There wasn't anything he could do about running into the two Wesker children now, so he remembered who he was supposed to be. He was a BSAA agent charged with the duty to protect the innocent, and he always would see his duty through.

Jonah took a step closer and Chris didn't hesitate, he opened fire.

The man, or rather the superhuman being, became a black and red blur as he avoided the bullets with relative ease. Meanwhile, Miles moved on him from the right, not even bothering to use speed as he walked to him. The BSAA agent shifted his gun's aim to that one and that was when Miles kicked in his speed and suddenly appeared in front of him. An elbow caught him in the throat and before he could do more than gag, his opponent kneed him in the stomach and then spun and kicked him in the chest. Chris flew back into the far wall with a resounding smack.

He was punched, kicked, and thrown around repeatedly. He may have survived two of them in a previous encounter, but then at least he had been equipped with combat gear. At this moment, he was no match for even one superhuman being by himself, let alone a match against two of them in his current condition. Yet the agent continued to get back to his feet despite the screaming protests his bruised, bloody, and sore body was giving him.

Chris was shooting at Miles when Jonah kicked him in the back from behind, grabbing his upper left arm and twisting it at the shoulder. He cried out as he felt his shoulder being pulled out of its socket, but then regained his composure and continued firing at the other one, keeping the second monster at bay. A moment later, he ducked to avoid a punch from Jonah and only accomplished allowing Miles to reach him for it.

Several powerful punches to his stomach caused him to double over and spit up specks of blood. They didn't allow him to recover. Miles followed up the punches by bringing the heel of his shoe down on Chris's back. His gun went flying across the floor. The man ran a hand over his shaved head and it reminded the agent so much of Wesker and the way the blonde smoothed his own hair down, that a surge of adrenaline shot through his system. He sprang to his feet and actually managed to land a hit to Miles's jaw because he had the element of surprise.

The second wind didn't last long when Jonah grabbed his loose-fitting scrub top, spun him around by it so they were face to face, and lifted him up with an iron clad grasp around the throat. Chris struggled weakly with his right hand, the other arm hanging limp by his side as it remained ripped from the socket.

“Hm..only human...” Jonah muttered, more to himself than anything.

The BSAA agent gasped as the grip around his neck tightened and his face began to grow red from lack of oxygen, muscles tightening in his neck as his body struggled to find a way to breathe unsuccessfully. Somehow, he found the strength to reach down and unsheath the combat knife he carried. The knife that had been tucked away into the boots he'd taken for his otherwise bare feet. Knife retrieved, he jabbed it into Jonah's outstretched arm.

With a growl, the superhuman being released his hold and Chris toppled to the floor. When he managed to his feet, he staggered away from where he thought Jonah still was and stood ready to fight, only to hear the sound of a gun being cocked. He turned around in all the glory of his torn and bloodied appearance, to find Jonah standing a mere yard or two away with a handgun trained on his face. It was his gun.

He felt Miles press up close against his back with the knife that had once been stabbed into Jonah's arm tracing along the side of his throat. The man whispered something into his ear. Something that scared him because he knew if they wanted to, they could succeed in following through easily and he wouldn't be able to do a damn thing to stop them.

Terrified he meant his words and would try it, Chris threw an elbow back, smacking into his collarbone. Miles started, accidentally cutting him on the side of his neck, and then quite intentionally stabbed the blade into his back, piercing just above the right shoulder blade. He stumbled and fell to one knee, blood leaking from the sides of his mouth. He was in too much pain to tell if he'd bitten down on something inside his mouth to cause the bleeding, or if he was bleeding internally and it was starting to leak out.

The knife was yanked out and plunged into his lower right thigh, the superhuman then backing off. After determining going to the ground wouldn't ease his injuries any, he forced himself to stand. Despite the blade in his leg, he found himself once again looking down the barrel of his own gun in Jonah's hand.

The brown-blonde haired tyrant stared at him with what could only be described as a mixture of curiosity and pity. “Why?”

“Why what?” he managed to get out, his voice strained from having been hit, strangled, and cut in the throat.

“Why do you continue to get to your feet?” Jonah questioned. “Why not stay down and die? It would be much less painful than continuing to endure our torment. Your mission has failed. Accept that and give up. You cannot stop Albert Wesker from conducting his experiments, you cannot possibly hope to win against the two of us, and you most certainly will not succeed in ridding the world of its evil as you so pointlessly try. It's over, you've lost.”

Chris gave him a weak smile, watching as Miles came to stand beside his partner. “Failed? I've never failed a mission. I always somehow make it back alive. For all your super abilities or whatever you might call what you are capable of doing, the two of you sure aren't too smart. The Wesker I know best would have seen this coming at the start of the fight.”

Miles's gaze narrowed. “Seen what?”

“I set the self-destruct system almost 15 minutes ago. And time's just about up. I kept you distracted. Do you see now? I've already accomplished my mission to stop Wesker. It's sure to stop you..at least for now. So that means you lose.”

When Jonah fired two bullets, one into each of his upper thighs, he laughed at them. So much injury he was numbing and besides, he didn't care what happened to him now. He'd won. The mansion which undoubtedly held a bio-weapons laboratory was about to go up in flames. In his last moments, he had managed to stop Albert goddamn Wesker one last time.

The first explosion shook the entire mansion but the BSAA agent's eyes were on the weapon in Jonah's hand. He was about to shoot him again and this time he knew it would be fatal.

He waited for death to claim him but then a black blur swept past and an impossibility engaged the two superhumans in combat. There wasn't time to look closer to see if he was seeing clearly because then a man stepped in front of him, blocking his view. The man was even more buff than Chris, blonde hair, blue eyes, a scarred face, and combat clothing. The appearance echoed that he was a soldier. To him, it echoed that he was Jack Krauser.

“Can you walk?” the man asked in a gruff voice.

He gave him one of his very best glares. Krauser rolled his eyes at the reaction he'd elicited.

“Hi, reality, have we met? Can you walk? The building is exploding around us.”

Chris lowered his gaze to his bloody legs and then back to the man. One who he loathed with a passion. But he knew there wasn't much choice in what he would say for an answer. “With help...”

Immediately, Krauser lifted his good arm and placed it over his shoulder, then placed the other on his side to keep him held steady.

“Let's move.”

They did. They made it to the front doors, Krauser momentarily releasing him to reach out and open the door.. And Chris caught a shotgun blast in the side. The power of the ammo in the gun sent him flying back and he hit the ground hard. He began to scream. He couldn't stop it. He'd never felt so much pain in his life. It felt like his whole goddamn side was on fire.

The agony was all he could concentrate on now. Vaguely, he saw a man in black combat gear, wearing a gas mask and carrying an assault rifle. This man mowed down the three men who'd been outside the doors waiting to ambush them, with a spray of bullets. The men had likely been hired security of Wesker's, finally come to see what was happening in the mansion they'd been charged with guarding.

He wondered briefly, if the guards ever could have foreseen that they would, or could for that matter, be murdered by another who was in all likelihood working for the same boss. The man said something to Krauser he didn't quite catch, and heard the scarred man call him hunk. Hunk? HUNK. Why did he think he'd seen those four letters together in documents several times in all caps before...?

It seemed an odd thing to call someone, but he didn't dwell on it because fresh waves of pain swept through his body. Krauser picked him up and carried him out the doors with an arm hooked under his knees, the other arm supporting his back. His eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he lost all awareness.

The loss of consciousness must have been brief because when he next opened his eyes, he could still see the mansion. He cursed loudly and screamed for a God he couldn't bring himself to believe in any more, after all that had happened in his life. The agent became aware he was being carried up a short flight of steps and realized this HUNK , who was leading the way in front of them, had led them onto a large plane.

They moved through the aisle, along empty seats, and to the rear where a long desk was attached to the back wall. HUNK shoved random papers and objects that were on the table, off of it. Then Krauser placed him on the table as gently as possible under the circumstances of Chris squirming and screaming, because the shotgun bullet fragments in his side still burned. It had been a scattershot which meant he had several areas burning with hot metal.

Fingers probed the side wound and he reached down to get rid of them, as they were exacerbating the pain. Krauser took hold of his searching hand and moved it out of the way so he could continue investigating how bad it was. The offending fingers returned, followed by Chris cussing some more and telling him to leave it alone.

“Do we have any pain meds?” Krauser queried, glancing at HUNK.

Someone else answered him. “There's a medical kit in the storage area on your left.”

It was, of course, Albert Wesker. The blonde appeared in his line of sight, head tilting downward to look at him on the table. He was the one to stop him from shoving Krauser's hand away a third time.

“He's helping you, Chris. Be a good boy and let him.”

“Why won't you die?” the agent asked through gritted teeth, as Krauser went to work on the wound to his side again.

It was a thing he wondered each time he saw him. Why not ask while he felt like screaming out loud? Not from the pain any longer, but from the frustration of once again being gotten the better of by his former captain.

“Charming as always I see. Well it may be possible I just can't die.” Wesker told him.

Chris scoffed, which he then followed with a soft whine as a needle pushed into his arm. HUNK had returned with the pain medication. He grew quiet as almost immediately he felt the drug taking affect and the pain dulled to a bearable level, though it now reminded him of his other wounds. His eyes seemed unable to focus and he stared up at the ceiling of the plane. He became aware the engine had started up at some point and the large aircraft was moving.

“Got it.”

The BSAA agent shifted his gaze to watch Krauser examining what must have been the last of the bullet fragments he'd pulled from him with a pair of tweezers. He set it aside and worked on stopping the bleeding and disinfecting the injury. He watched the man work for awhile and then a sensible thought finally broke through the drug-induced haze his mind had been for a time.

“How did you even know I was there?”

Wesker had disappeared since he'd been shot up with the drug and HUNK remained silent. That left Krauser who answered without pausing from what he was doing.

“A live surveillance video of the mansion's foyer. We were looking at the monitors and saw you on them.”

“Let me guess. The reason you were looking at them in the first place is because your crack team of security hires couldn't manage to notice my intrusion, let alone the two Wesker children sneaking around, so you had to check things out yourself periodically.” He winced when Krauser sat him up to tightly wind bandages around his waist.

The scarred man didn't say anything to his words but instead informed him the clothes would have to be cut off and Chris didn't fight him on it. His clothing was a mere pair of hospital scrubs now torn and bloody. He wasn't exactly attached to them.

For the first time, HUNK moved since injecting the pain medication, and he helped the agent stay in a seated position as Krauser removed everything. He spent the next few minutes removing the handgun bullets from the his thighs, assessing the rest of his injuries, and bandaging where needed. Then he moved to stand behind Chris to get a better look at where he'd been stabbed in the back. Chris's mind went over the events of that night and he wondered what was going to happen next. He couldn't stay here.

“Why are they so fascinated in you, Chris?”

He glanced up to find Wesker standing in front of him with arms crossed over his chest. He didn't answer the tyrant and felt Krauser finishing up with his back, placing a patch over the stab wound. Then his fingers moved across his back and landed on his left shoulder.

“We're going to have to take care of this. You ready for that?” the buff, blonde-haired man asked him.

He glanced over at the speaker looking rather doubtful. There was plenty of pain already without causing more by having his dislocated arm put back into place. Of course, if he didn't have so many other injuries and wasn't on a lovely medication for pain, his arm being out of its socket would be feeling extremely painful.

It seemed he wasn't going to be given a choice in the matter, however, when he felt a gloved hand take hold of his limp arm. Wesker had come closer to the table and taken Chris's arm in his grasp.

“Ah, hell...just do it,” he said reluctantly.

HUNK moved over to Wesker, who leaned slightly to speak quietly so no one else could hear, and then the black uniformed man walked out of sight. At the same time, Krauser held him firmly around the shoulders and chest to keep his body from moving as the blonde tyrant then yanked hard on the arm. He yelled out as white-hot pain seared through him and then it faded as the arm locked rightfully into place. Chris moved his left arm around a bit, testing its flexibility out. It felt much better.

“Thanks.” Chris said, directing the gratitude to Krauser as he hopped off the table, and almost immediately keeled over.

He clutched onto the edge of the table and steadied himself, deciding that maybe he should take things slower since he wasn't quite healed yet or anything. He felt a grip on his good shoulder and back and knew it was Wesker. Despite who had their hands on him, he allowed himself to be helped into new clothes identical to his previous combat clothing he had on in Excella's facility before ending up in the hospital.

Where could Wesker possibly be acquiring these clothes for him? He wasn't sure he even wanted to know. After he was dressed, feeling like a child for needing the help, he let the man lead him over to one of the seats in the aisle on the plane and took a seat. The BSAA agent could use a stiff drink, or a nap, or just not getting punched in the face. He fought the sigh from escaping when Wesker remained standing, hovering at his side while peering down at him through dark lenses.

“Chris, what did they want from you?”

Krauser came around the other side and sat in the seat next to him, passing over a small bag which contained several pills.

“For the pain.”

He accepted the pain killers, praying they were strong. His chin was gripped, face forcefully turned to look up at the speaker.

“What-do they want-from you?” Wesker asked, now crouching by his seat.

“I don't know.”

“You must have some idea.”

“Nope.”

“Really? Because you usually seem to find something out of everything that you're involved in.”

Wesker stood back up. Looking down at him once again, he questioned, “Why, Chris? Why are they so interested? Surely something was said which proved enlightening to you.”

He didn't see any point in lying. The tyrant always knew when he was lying and he didn't feel like getting tortured for the information. Which at the moment was a possibility, since it was Wesker doing the questioning.

“Well..every time they find me they mess around with me instead of killing me outright. A sign they either like to talk too much..kinda like you..”

Wesker did not respond to his snarky comment but instead prompted him. “Either that, or...?”

“Or the intention of their attack wasn't to kill.”

“Because..” Wesker began, pausing for emphasis before finishing his presumption. “Their objective was capture, not kill.”

Chris fiddled with his fingers and sighed softly. “Yeah, that's probably it too. Just my luck.”

“Here. You left this behind.”

The BSAA agent stared at the Samurai Edge handgun resting loosely in one of Wesker's gloved hands. He accepted the weapon without a word, finding his eyes taken in by the piece of metal. Such a small thing, a gun, but this type of gun in particular held meaning for him. It represented his past. This was the exact model gun he had been given as a STARS member and skilled marksman.

The gun meant more to him than just that though. Now, the weapon reminded him of the good things he managed to accomplish while he was stuck in all the bullshit. Like destroying the mansion, which he was certain had contained experiments, since even the Weskers made mention of bio-weaponry.

Chris didn't know how long he was going to be held captive by Wesker, or whether those four Wesker children would eventually get to him, but there was one thing he did know. He didn't want to die. What he wanted was to see Jill again. He wanted to be sure Sheva was all right and he didn't want Claire to be left without a brother. And as always, there was work to be done yet for him, terrorists and bio-attacks to be prevented. He was going to survive this. He was..right?

Chapter Text

"Get off me!"

"Realize your resistance merely serves to amuse me."

"Shut up, Wesker!"

Chris could do nothing as he was dragged out of a car which had awaited all of them at the airport and taken them to a building he did not recognize. It appeared to be a facility of some kind and the only thing he could see around him were trees and more trees. He wasn't even sure where he was any more. This wasn't looking good for him. Especially when he was so injured that running would be quite the accomplishment. Wesker got him to the front door and that was when he chose to elbow the other as hard as he could in the throat. Enough to get him to release his grip, but unfortunately Krauser was ready and waiting to grab hold of him in his place.

A frustrated yell passed through his lips and then he was shoved inside the doors. The place was lit up, people walking to and fro. By all appearances, it was a regular place of business. At least that's what Chris could have imagined, if not for the enormous red and white logo of the Umbrella Corporation covering the tile flooring directly before where the five of them were standing at the front entrance. The scarred man shoved him forward a little bit farther, releasing him, and Chris watched as Excella sauntered ahead. She came to stand at the center of the large lobby of the five story facility and spun on her heels to face him.

"As you can see, this place belonged to Umbrella once upon a time. But now, it belongs to me. Of course, the facility in Kijuju was much preferred. However, I thought it wise to have a near equivalent backup location. This is it. Enjoy. I hear you're going to play a very big role in our work to come."

"You bitch!"

A gloved hand solidly connected to the back of his head. "Manners, Chris."

"Won't you just shut up?"

"Ha ha. I'll make you a proposal," the older man offered. "If you can make me, I'll keep quiet."

A silent glare was the only response he could give in return. Wesker always knew how to get under his skin and it annoyed the hell out of him. He grimaced automatically when Krauser placed a hand on him again, steering him to a doorway on the left.

"Move."

When he shot the heavily muscled man a glare too, it got him a grin and another shove to urge his continued walking. He did, not knowing what other option there really was for him, and passed through a set of double doors just ahead of Ada and Krauser. There was a long white-walled, brightly lit hallway which lay before them. The Italian woman pushed on through them, barely acknowledging they continued to exist around her as her mind became occupied with speaking to the one she never could forget existed.

"I suppose we should take care of his wounds first and foremost, yes Albert?" Without waiting for an answer, she went on. "The medical room isn't far."

She paused mid-step to turn on one heel, her way of emphasizing how important her words apparently were, as she tilted her head over her shoulder to peer at Wesker. "The lab designated for your primary use is on the second basement level. I can take you there after-"

"I will go there now."

"Uh, ah, yes, of course. I will take you there," she stammered out.

"I am every bit capable of finding my own way. Ada, the samples?"

The woman now in a dress a shade of red more closely related to the color pink, patted her left thigh. "I have them here."

"You will accompany me to the lab. Excella, take Chris to the medical room and Krauser will go with you to ensure our unwilling guest..behaves."

"I won't be your experiment!" Chris shouted. "Tell me something, Wesker. I just blew up one of your facilities. Why aren't you more..I don't know, upset?"

It didn't do much for his rising anger at the level of fear also rising inside him, when his demand for some sort of expected reaction out of Wesker, brought him a thing he did not expect. A smirk in the typical cocky Wesker fashion. The response was as obnoxious as he should have anticipated.

"As you can see, I have another facility right here, all ready for use. Your meddling was an inconvenience, nothing more. I need not concern myself with a thing I do not deem a threat. Like you, Chris."

The tyrant was walking away with Ada following closely after him. The latter glanced back at Chris though, seemingly trying to communicate something with her eyes, but he couldn't read it. He couldn't understand what she wanted to tell. He was trapped and didn't know why she did nothing to get him out of his increasingly threatening situation. Wesker sought to use him for experiments and if it happened, things were going to get a lot worse for him. The Asian woman claimed she did not help him because with Wesker, he was apparently safer. Could she say the same was going to be true in the very near future?

Chris grounded down on his bottom set of teeth. Before the man could get out of earshot, he yelled after him a reminder. "I've stopped you before, Wesker! There's nothing that says this time will be any different."

The inhuman being hesitated at the doors and then he was going on through them. It was enough for Chris though. He had drawn out a reaction which would suffice as satisfactory for the time being. It wasn't like he had much to keep up his optimism these days so he would take what he could get. As little as that might be.

A haughty tone burst through his slightly uplifting thoughts. "If you are quite finished, we can proceed?"

"Shove it, Excella," he told her, and walked on past in the vague direction he figured the medical area was located. "I may have to stay here, but I don't have to like it."

"Oh, I don't know," Krauser began. "There are ways to say..control one's actions. Or have you forgotten about your friend? The female who lost certain pigmentation to her. I have to say, she looked a hell of a lot better before the color change. But the fragile thing would have died without long-term stasis. Ah well, the experiment with her turned out to be a bust. Guess, we'll just have to try a little harder this time."

Chris fought to quash the intense desire to smash the other man's face in for even mentioning Jill. He felt responsible for what happened to her in Wesker's hands and it incited that guilt whenever any enemy of his dared bring her up in conversation. She was free now though and that was something. He tried to focus on that fact as he clenched and unclenched his fists, continuing down the hallway.

When he reached a divide in the hall, a glance to his right found him staring at a set of double doors. The words, “MEDICAL WARD”, were printed in big block letters above the doors. Excella hadn't been kidding when she said their destination wasn't far.

He attempted to play it calm. “Cool.”

Pushing through the doors and strolling into the ward, he was surprised to see how large the room was. There were a couple of people to the far right, one sitting at a desk and the other leaning halfway over it. The flirtation taking place was obvious and the guy practically toppled over on his ass trying to appear like he wasn't. When he saw Chris, his bewilderment became confused and then suspicious.

“Hey! Who are you? You can't be in here!”

“Oh, relax, you ignorant fool. He is with me. Now find yourself something to do or I will find a more suitable location for you...Like the basement levels, perhaps?”

“Uh..no, no thank you! I'll get to work, right away! My apologies ma'am!”

“Wipe that ridiculous expression off your face and leave,” was all Excella had to say to the male worker in return.

He wasted no time in scurrying off into some room beyond the main medical ward area that Chris couldn't get a good view of except for a doorway. Meanwhile, Excella had wandered off to a counter on the other side of the room. She set about locating and gathering various items before motioning for him to sit on one of the lab chairs. He did so but not before hesitating when he noticed the wrist and ankle restraints the chair contained. Krauser followed him, scanning his body briefly as the agent sat on the edge of the seat with straps. There were no strong urges to be strapped down at the moment and so he kept away from them, acting like the chair was a fire that could burn him at any time.

Always one for survival and perseverance, the next thing he did was scan the room with the hope that he was fortunate enough for ammo to have been left lying around. Wesker had returned his handgun to him back on the plane and it was currently tucked away in the thigh holster on his right leg. They had given him identical equipment to what he had been wearing previously as well, including the utility belt and thigh holster for his weapon. It didn't do much to calm his nerves. Not when it probably would have been easier to just leave him as he was, practically naked and completely helpless. His eyes returned to stare blandly in front of himself. No such luck with the discovery of random ammo, his thoughts returned to the direct problem at hand.

They wanted to experiment on him, that much he already knew. The P30 chemical used on Jill was by all indications, what they were going to use on him, eventually. First they would need to modify the version Jill had been pumped continuously with if they were going to have better success. This line of thinking brought him around to deciding his former captain had probably chosen to keep him in his typical choice of clothing in order to further enjoy total control over a BSAA agent and former subordinate in STARS. In other words, Chris would be Chris by all appearances; but with the P30 coursing through his veins, it would only be skin deep.

“Asshole...” he murmured.

“Excuse me?”

He hadn't seen Excella walk over to stand next to where he was sitting, legs dangling in a bored manner. His eyes began to roll in the typical way that occurred whenever he laid eyes on the Italian snob, but he managed to restrain himself with a quick blink to hide the motion. He realized she didn't deserve such an adverse reaction when at the moment, she was trying to help him. Help him like a lamb before the slaughter...

There were far too many injuries to not be in constant pain. Even if she was only healing him to allow his use for experimentation later, if it got rid of the pain, then it was okay by him. For now he would play their game, go along with it. Not that there was much choice. This was still the thing to do at present. Stay alive and wait for an opening to escape. It was all he could do.

“Sorry... Wasn't referring to you,” he told her.

“Were you referring to me then? Cause I can think of a few better names to describe me.” Krauser said with a grin.

Chris shook his head. “Nope and you're right, I can think of more than a few for you.”

“This will sting a bit.”

He heard the words spoken by Excella, moving his eyes to her in time to be sprayed all across his body. The fine mist caused him to flinch and shut his eyes, turning away from the woman. It was more than a sting and pure agony spread across him as he felt bones shift back into place, muscle tissue fixing abruptly, and skin growing and healing itself. All this in a matter of seconds.

The pain receded and dulled, eventually fading out altogether, and he could tell he was essentially fully healed. He was left feeling sore and exhausted though. Nothing could ever be entirely fixed without some sort of side effect. Still, the results of the first aid spray, a medical product developed by Umbrella, continued to amaze him. The item was truly a miracle cure, at least for non-mortal wounds. Such a product could make quite the difference out there in mass use among the world's population. Umbrella likely found it to be something they didn't want to share. Why help others when they could simply help themselves?

“You're thinking too much, Chris.”

He twisted his body around to face Krauser.

The man tapped his finger against the side of his own head. “You tend to frown when your mind is racing.”

He narrowed his eyes as they locked gazes. “Can you blame me for thinking constantly? I'm surrounded by evil psychopaths out to destroy the world.”

"You have these predetermined notions about everything, don't ya, hero? Everything isn't plain black or white. You don't really believe people are either pure good or pure evil, do you? Everyone's got a little of both in them, even you."

"Yeah, I know people can have both. They have the choice whether to let the dark side of themselves out though. At least I get Wesker's penchant for doing the wrong thing, and being so egotistical that he would think it's the right thing somehow. The guy never had a chance. He was pretty much set up from the get go to be some kind of tool for Umbrella. But you, you were good. Then you let your greed for power get the better of you. Now you're just like that tyrannical monstrosity."

Krauser made a noise resembling what was probably contemplation before answering. “We're trying to make the world a better place. We're saving people from themselves by doing what we're doing. This world of ours is a catastrophe heading towards its own self-destruction.”

“Ugh, you sound just like him.”

“Do you understand what I'm saying, Chris? Do you understand who we are to this world?”

“Yeah, dangerous. Men who will invariably make the world worse off. That's why I will stop you.”

“Do you really think you're in a position to stop anything Wesker has planned?”

Chris's eyes shone, expression transitioning into one of determination. “I'm right where I need to be.”

“You really believe that, don't you?” Krauser asked him, but in a knowing manner. Without waiting for a response which he already knew, he added, “I look forward to it.”

“To what?”

The bigger man smiled. “For when the day comes when we fight again. A true fight, no interruptions from..outside distractions.”

“Krauser, we've never had a real fight.”

“Hmm..not a physical one, not yet. But I don't underestimate you like Wesker does. You are a formidable opponent, Chris. So I have no doubt the day will come when you make good on your promise to try and stop us.”

He retorted quickly, words coming almost automatic. “I didn't say try, I said will.”

Krauser's smile widened further and then silence reigned. But it wasn't awkward, it could even be considered comfortable. This was apparently equally disturbing to the mercenary working for Wesker, as his smile went away and he stared at Chris a bit differently. He looked right back at the other man and it was as though they were each contemplating how they had just had a normal conversation, wondering how it was possible.

He was first to look away and forced his attention to Excella, who was busying herself with things unknown right beside him. It occurred to him that he should probably be concerned about what the Tricell employee was doing, but his mind was too busy racing with other thoughts, unwanted thoughts. Right now he didn't want to think about the normalcy of his talk with Krauser, and how he was beginning to move past what had been done to him..somehow. At least with the blame. He was far from over what had happened to him. He doubted he ever fully would be.

But he found himself not blaming Krauser for being the instigator of his immense suffering in that room. There was someone else he blamed far more for his torture and subsequent mind screw. Someone he blamed for a lot more than what happened to him in the more recent weeks, but also for what he'd been going through his entire life as the casualties mounted.

Albert Wesker's betrayal changed everything for him. And that was a stain he could not remove from his soul. Wesker would be forever imprinted inside of his mind, and now more recently, his body too. He was a poison that Chris just kept coming back to, re-infecting himself in his attempts to eradicate and cleanse it completely. All he ever succeeded in doing though, was allowing it to seep in further. It made it even more difficult to get rid of the next time and he knew if this continued, one day it would kill him.

Chapter Text

"I've got something here!"

"Finally,” the female agent replied. “We're getting somewhere.”

"Are you sure?" the civilian woman questioned, tone dubious.

"Really? Why do you have such doubt in your partner?" the young agent asked.

"He's not my partner, and this is my brother we're talking about. I'm done chasing false leads and bogus clues."

"You're as stubborn as he is,” the man labeled the irritated woman. “I knew I shouldn't have let you come along."

Claire Redfield spun around to fix her impatient and angry stare onto her current “foe”. She knew what the frustrated woman was thinking.

He'd been keeping her in the dark every chance he got. The one the younger Redfield remotely considered to be on her side, appeared to be the woman she knew least in their search party for her sole sibling. Sheva Alomar was a kind soul and she genuinely did everything she could to keep Claire feeling positive and determined to find her brother alive. Chris may not have been captured, Sheva said. Chris may just be stuck with no way home or decided to go on a different mission all on his own. Sure those options were highly unlikely, but the words managed to make Claire feel better nevertheless.

"We are all partners, Claire.” Sheva reminded. “We work together as a team to get results."

"But we're not because Leon S. Kennedy followed some stupid story his government guy told him, which ended up sending us all the way here to-What is this French city called again?"

"Malakoff." Sheva supplied in a helpful manner.

"Whatever. The point is, it's probably yet another dead end and we're nowhere closer to finding Chris."

Instead of looking irritated, she was looking a bit more sad. The only one she seemed to view as a true ally in this attempted futility to improve her dour mood.

"Well, if nothing turns up, at least we could get to visit Paris?"

Leon winced. "Not the tactic to use here, Sheva. Claire, we'll find him. I promise."

Jill Valentine, who had waited patiently while Leon and Claire had their little tiff, spoke up. "I've got something here. We should be examining the latest piece of evidence, don't you think? Now would be good?"

The BSAA agent didn't wait to see if they would follow, assuming they would. She moved to sit behind the desk she'd been rifling through and tossed the file in hand toward Leon and Claire. In unison, the pair turned to eye her abrupt motion and then the gazes shifted downward. The government agent reached for the file within his sights but it was Claire who snatched it up. As her eyes began to scan the information Jill found worth paying attention to, the former partner of her brother's shared verbally to the rest what it said.

"A Tricell building in Paris blew up, two weeks ago. The media claims it was a possible terrorist attack. Police think a different story. They believe it was some sort of internal sabotage or a move against them from an enemy company."

Claire hummed in disagreement. "Sounds wrong."

"I think so," she agreed.

"You think it relates to Chris." Leon deduced. "You think he might have done it?"

"Well, either he's responsible or he had some sort of role. It sounds like him. Blowing up the building of a company performing illegal experiments on innocents."

"But we found no proof of Tricell actually having a hand in any such experiments. Aside from Excella's affairs in Africa, there is nothing indicating anyone else is involved with non-pharmaceutical production," noted Sheva.

Jill contemplated her current partner's line of thinking. "We never found Excella after you and Chris freed me in that stone room. There's no certainty Wesker died in that volcano either. Josh Stone said the clean-up crew couldn't find any trace of him, though..it was a volcano."

The BSAA had combed West Africa for any signs of survivors, friend or foe, and come up with nothing. They were especially searching for their hero agent gone missing but gave up after finding no path to follow. It was Jill's persistence to continue the search that the organization sent their newly returned agent, and the team of her choice, back out on the mission to find him. Chris was declared MIA as he should be, because she truly believed her old partner was still alive.

"Right, but that monster has survived a lot so I'm guessing he's still out there." Claire voiced.

A disturbing thought that was to all of them. The woman glanced around the boringly decorated file room and then her eyes focused back in on the agents helping to find her lost sibling. Jill tried to catch her eye but didn't succeed at keeping it.

Claire expressed a thought then, that sounded like it had just come to her. "You don't think... What if Wesker has Chris? What could he be doing to him? I mean, look what he did to Jill."

Subconsciously, Jill tugged at her ponytail. After returning to the United States and the BSAA, her first order of business had been to dye her hair back its original brunette color after thoroughly showering. Being an experiment and then a walking drone for two years made it a necessity for her. She was normally in complete control and always opinionated, so two years induced to sleep, and then hardly speaking a free word in her waking hours, made her extra motivated to do the small things for herself to be content. Besides, spending the majority of that time awake in the company of an insufferably selfish aristocrat, made the returned freedom all the more of a relief to have again.

"If Wesker found Chris, he might have killed him-but," she quickly added when she saw horror and fear creep into Claire's eyes. "Wesker enjoys his power and loves to gloat. There is a very high probability he kept Chris as he kept me, to revel in power over a former subordinate who hates his guts and wants nothing more than to stop his evil from spreading."

Jill hoped that hadn't sounded too rehearsed. From the beginning, she considered Wesker alive unless she saw a body, and the same for Chris. And with both of them nowhere to be found, why not count on them being in the same place? She heavily suspected the exact phrases she gave to Claire would be said, she just hoped the younger woman didn't pick up on that during her recitation.

"So we agree?" Leon questioned. "We're thinking Wesker's alive and he's holding Chris captive?"

Nods and murmured agreement all around. They'd been searching for Chris for over three weeks and never really discussed the bad that could have happened to him. They never wanted to discuss it because they didn't want to accept he could be hurt, suffering, or even dead. Now they finally came upon a potentially solid lead. Chris had very likely been in Paris two weeks ago. Two weeks behind him was better than three weeks behind his trail.

The visit to the government building and the files archive of recent high alert situations had been useful after all. Claire really hadn't believed anything would pan out, sharing a few days ago with Jill, a gut feeling telling her Chris was alive. Something she felt strongly enough to be traveling around the world. Some real and tangible evidence of his continued survival would do her wonders though.

Two BSAA agents, a government agent, and a Terra Save employee, and this was the best they could do? She was aware Claire had hoped for more, faster, but knew it was an unrealistic and unfair expectation. They both knew that truth and ignored its reality. Finding a single, solitary person in the vast expanse the world had to offer was a difficult task.

She watched as Claire breathed in and out, deep, then looked more favorably to Leon. "So where do we go from here?" The woman handed the file to him. "Is there anything in here that might tell us where he went?"

Frowning at the file in hand, he flipped the first page over, browsing through it with skilled eyes, then flipped to the next. He paused on the fourth page. A small smile came on his face and he placed the file down on the desk before the three women with him.

"A helicopter was seen by multiple witnesses, leaving the precise area of the Tricell building, after the explosion. If anybody were to escape from that building..."

"It'd be Chris." Jill agreed. "Leon, you're the man with the best connections right now. Any chance you can find us someone to track that helicopter?"

Leon already had his phone out, fingers dialing.

/

Irma stepped out into the sunlit afternoon, eyes scanning the immediate area around her. She quickened the pace on the sidewalk immediately outside her apartment building in Hanover, Germany, her current place of residence. Her entire life she had traveled all over the world, the job requiring it of her to do so. As a scientific researcher, the hours were long and the pressure for results was high. She'd left the job working for Umbrella nearly a decade ago, but the traveling continued with her new work at a medical research facility within laboratories across the globe. Germany was her nation of birth though, therefore, she tended to rotate back to the lab here in Hanover the most.

Much of her young adult life had been spent in America, but Germany would always be home. When she changed biologically, when she could no longer move around in public without the careful application of dark colored contacts in place, she researched the corporation she'd worked and learned from for so long. Irma was highly intellectual and she had known a lot of what her work was doing was in the morally gray area and beyond. When she herself became infected, the time came for her to make a decision. She left Umbrella and went into researching medicines that would actually be put to use to benefit mankind. Selfish ambition had never been a part of her and apparently that was an oddity.

She'd done her research on the Wesker Project once she sought out and found Ozwell E. Spencer, who told her her purpose. She hadn't said a word in response to his grandiose speech and left when he was finished. No longer did she feel any desire to be any place that man..monster was, and she forever left everything Umbrella Corporation stood for behind. He gave her a file on the other project survivors, apparently thinking it would change her mind and bring her back to work with him on his demented vision. It hadn't. It only told her that the other survivors of the experimental injection often acted selfishly, immorally, and sometimes downright vicious.

Admittedly, she had been selfish and still could be, but the immorality ended when her employment with Umbrella ended, and she would never resort to cold-blooded acts for personal gain. Whatever impacted the moral centers of her fellow Wesker children, it hadn't done the same for her. Which either meant her mind hadn't cracked from the strain of the virus or the others weren't as psychopathic as they appeared. That perhaps their actions were a fully conscionable choice, because she doubted a one in thirteen exception statistic.

Her eyes flickered toward a rooftop on the left. Irma returned her gaze straight in front of herself, never breaking her current stride. She swept a hand through dark hair while the other hand reached into her long coat. In one smooth motion, she let the bag drop from her shoulder, spun around, and opened fire with the Glock 17 pulled from the coat.

The man trailing her in the black suit and tie dropped to one knee on the cement before popping back up to his feet. He ducked out of sight, using the panicking crowd of people on the sidewalk and street to disappear from view. She forgot about him for the moment, choosing instead to glance in the direction of the rooftops on her right that caught her attention before. Sure enough, someone was standing atop one of the roofs. This second man stood there silently, watching her.

"I know what you are!" she shouted up to him.

He dropped down to the street below without damaging his body, and thereby proving his abnormality. A slight smirk grew upon his face. He raised a gloved hand into the air, giving it a little wave in a mock greeting.

"You'd be the first."

She blinked at him, not certain what he meant.

"We are a conceited kind, never able to see past our own supposed invulnerability. You seem different. Nothing at all like the one of us I took out in New York."

"Your point?" she asked, not bothering to raise her voice. Their hearing was superb, the noise of the street unable to drown the conversation between them out.

"I wonder if your belief in your own mortality will be of benefit, or result in making you easier prey."

She canted her head to the side as she took him in. A tall man wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. Clothing that operated as comfortable, casual, and yet entirely combat effective should he choose to engage her. Violence was a fact of life, but she really wasn't in the mood. A final glance at him and then she took off running down the sidewalk and away.

Running was nothing new for her. When she initially left Umbrella behind, they hadn't been keen to do the same with her. They'd spent a lot of time and effort on making her; they expected results. When she broke the first men that came after her, then the second and third groups, they stopped sending them. Perhaps Spencer had finally realized he'd created something he couldn't control. Maybe he was hoping she'd come back to him on her own eventually. He was dead now so her continued freedom remained firmly secure for the most part. She wasn't stupid enough to cease being cautious, however, as the present was proving to her.

Five blocks down and he was beside her, lashing out with a heavy boot. She took it in the side and flew into a brick wall. As soon as her back hit the solid surface, she pushed off and attacked with a fist. Her assailant avoided it and countered with a low punch to her ribs. This time it was her turn to dodge the hit and responded by nailing him in the face with her free fist. His head snapped back and she followed up the successful hit by jamming the gun into his stomach and pulling the trigger.

He stumbled away from her, grunting out annoyance at the hole in his ribs, and she smiled at her success. Okay, so maybe she wasn't entirely pure. Irma leveled the weapon to his head but the motion shuddered to a halt as her body seized. She lowered her gaze to find a knife in her spine, paralyzing her completely. Her eyes could yet move and they searched farther down to see the man in the suit gripping the knife. His eyes almost seemed to apologize to her for a second, but then he ripped the knife out, part of her spine along with it. She clamped her jaw to keep the roaring scream mostly inside, while her assailant removed himself from her line of sight.

The pain was incredible. The knowledge that the damage was reversible and would heal because of what she was, not at all reassuring in her present situation. She dropped like a stone toward the ground but was caught before she could hit the hard concrete. The man in the sunglasses and baseball cap had caught her and was peering down at her with glowing red eyes showing over the top of his lenses. Irma stared back at him, unable to do much else with the paralysis.

"Thank you, Kincaid," the man murmured, and then to her uttered, "Your days of freedom have ended."

Irma continued to stare, mind racing. Could he know about how much she loved being away from Umbrella and anything that reminded her of the created person she was? Did he somehow know she'd been running? She supposed he did know at least somewhat, what her life was like. After all, he was like her. He was one of them.

"Time to fulfill your destiny."

A noiseless scream escaped from her throat when the needled syringe plunged into her chest, straight into the heart. When the second one went in, her eyes rolled to the back of her skull and she lost all sensation, all awareness, everything.

Chapter Text

A kiss to his son's forehead before he bade him off to school. The young teenager groaned in embarrassment, believing himself far too old for such displays of affection. Marco didn't mind as he watched his child wipe invisible spit from his head while waving his father away. His son out the front door, he returned to his place behind the kitchen counter where he was frying up a second batch of eggs for him and his wife.

"Maria, scrambled?"

"You know it."

He smiled. She had yet to bother lifting her eyes above the top of the newspaper. He really couldn't find it in him to care about her inattention. Life was good. Over ten years ago, he'd made a vow to his wife and his infant son, that he would be the father they wanted and needed. And he had been. He worked construction gigs and owned a small pizza joint in New Jersey that his wife spent her days running. His ancestry was of Italian descent, hence the Italian pizza place, but he'd lived in America the majority of his life. Most of them had.

His hand went to the drawer beside the sink, pulling it open and removing the sharpest knife available to him. He'd heard rumors, whispers amongst the intelligence network, of only the most informed, that those like him were being hunted. Truly he'd hoped the intel. had been wrong, or that somehow, he would avoid being affected by such knowledge. Denial of the evil that had made him what he was, the others too, would be useless though. Especially now that the evil he'd left behind had come for him, after all this time.

"So, which one are you?"

Marco sensed his wife startle at his sudden spoken inquiry. He understood she thought it was meant for her. The unwelcome visitor was just outside the front window. He didn't turn yet, though he yearned to comfort her, still waiting for an answer.

"I'm the one who will beat all the rest,” said a man's voice, sounding like barely a whisper from the space and wall between them. “I'm better. And you, you are number eleven. The next on my list."

He smelled the heavy scent of fresh blood and spun around with horror, absolute. The front door was kicked open by such immense force that the wood splintered to pieces. The destroyed door and the man standing before it meant nothing. His world, bleeding and fading in the man's grasp, meant everything.

"No!"

The scream tore from his lips and then he whipped the knife at the man. It nailed him in the offending arm and the man stumbled and fell out of the doorway. Marco grabbed up his son and pulled him from the man's reach. He was aware his wife was shouting, panicked and terrified. He was aware his son's fully human and beating heart was slowing to a dangerous point.

"Wake up, wake up, oh God," his wife moaned, holding onto their child from the other side.

"God has nothing to do with it. He is an abomination."

Marco lifted his gaze to glare at the intruder, eyes venomous and making promises of retribution. This did not seem to bother the other man, his composure remaining much the same as he stepped into their home. A shrug was what he gave the enraged father, followed by cold words.

"We are not meant to procreate weaker beings, and humans, are weak. I do a favor by ending his existence."

"Shut the fuck up!"

He whispered for his wife to call 911 and was lunging for the man who'd hurt his son in the next second. Violent punches and kicks were exchanged back and forth, the rough motions of their bodies redecorating the interior of the house. Spotting the kitchen knife his enemy had discarded just beyond the opening to his home, he somersaulted toward it and scooped it up in one go.

As his opponent descended upon him, he thrust the knife up and into his stomach. Blood flowed, quick and easy, but it only served to tick the man off. A backhanded blow knocked Marco across the room and he stood in time to be stabbed himself, in the chest. His stab wound was not of the same tool, however, but a needled syringe.

"Wh-what?"

"Well, you lasted several minutes. Much longer than the ones I've encountered so far. Perhaps because you fight for your family?"

Marco choked and tried to pull away from the other with zero success. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his wife coming toward them and he wanted to warn her away. He couldn't even speak.

His assailant tore the knife from his own stomach and swept it horizontally through the air, neatly slicing his wife's throat open. She dropped to her knees and he would have yelled out to her, tried to get to her. Instead he was injected a second time, harshly through the chest, before he had the chance to do much of anything.

He let himself fall against the wall, sliding down to the ground. He couldn't move any longer, could barely think. His mental faculties were leaving him. Marco's eyes sought out his wife, his son, and saw all that red. There was so much blood. He knew he'd lost them. Nothing else was really left to matter.

Using the last of his strength, he forced raw and agonizing words out of his mouth. He spoke to the monster of a man who'd taken everything from him with no provocation, no real need to do what he'd done.

"I might not have been able to stop you, but someone will be able to, you self-righteous bastard. Believers like you, are always too blind to see what's right in front of them."

The monster was looking his way, crouching down in front of him to watch as the contents of the syringes took effect. "Is that right?"

"It doesn't take someone with super strength or super healing or any number of higher powers to win or be better. Who ever beats you, they just have to be determined enough to see you dead. You're going to underestimate someone and it'll be your demise."

Marco stared numbly up at his enemy, eyes no longer even blinking as he faded. The confidence behind the words stuck with the other man though. That he could see clearly.

"Such prophetic words. Do you actually think they'll amount to anything?"

No response from the now completely still man. Lex stood on his feet and glanced about himself at the bloodbath around him. It was certainly a familiar sight that never seemed to get old. He waited for Kincaid to come in and remove the Wesker child from the ruined house. Glancing down, he was pleased to see plenty of blood on his clothing. His target's words echoing in his head, he thought them over again, humoring the declaration. Wouldn't that be something? An ordinary man getting the best of him.

/

Chris firmly decided he loathed tests. Four days dragged by where he was poked and prodded by various instruments, given random injections, and he'd lost count of how many vials of blood had been drawn. He was mostly kept company by fully outfitted guards constantly on high alert, and a range of scientists. Excella grudgingly hung around the lab with him each day as well, appearing as bored as anyone could possibly appear. Krauser, on the other hand, enjoyed loitering nearby, and was anything but bored.

At present, he was grinning in Chris's direction and seeking to catch his eye. Not going to happen. He'd learned the hard way that all it ever amounted to was a leer, followed by a wink, followed by murmured promises of violence to be done to him at a future date. Instead of imagining all the sick things the man could do, he chose to spend his waking hours plotting his escape. He would get out of here. He just had to find the weak spots in security and wait till the super soldier wasn't lurking about.

Not that he was afraid of Krauser. Well, okay, he was a little afraid. The man was very strong and fast, almost like Wesker. Mention the whole issue about being brutalized and tormented by aforementioned soldier boy, and it made a bit more sense to be at least somewhat fearful. But he could take Krauser in a fight. Maybe, probably, well, he'd risk it anyway. It would be better if he was gone.

Krauser notably perked up. "It would be better if who was gone?"

Huh. Apparently he'd spoken that last part out loud. How unlike him. Could it be one of the numerous injections he received was actually having an effect? This wasn't good.

"Wesker?” the man guessed. “Yes, I imagine it would be better if he was gone. It can never be a good sign when the big boss himself comes for a visit."

Chris whipped his head around to see the man himself. He hadn't seen Wesker at all during his four days in captivity, living in the cold, dull medical wing of this place. He had yet to ascertain where the mansion was located and he figured he could concern himself with where he was, once he got his ass out the front door. That in itself would be a mission.

Turning away from the black-clad bastard, he didn't bother with any sort of greeting or acknowledgement other than looking at him for a moment. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how being cooped up in a lab was getting to him. Nowhere near as unbearable as the torture, but nowhere near inciting encouraging feelings of any kind. Ugh, and to think, he'd slept with him in an oh so pitifully pathetic moment of weakness. Never was he going to live that one down.

"I understand progress has been made." Wesker stated, tone dry and impatient.

"Albert," the posh woman positively purred. "How good of you to join us."

He didn't even have to turn to know she was currently leaned against his shoulder, fluttering her eyelashes up at him. Excella was anything but subtle in her flirtation and obvious desire to become a permanent parasite at the tyrant's side. Chris risked a quick glance toward a no-name female doctor heading his way, then looked away. Oh joy, yet another injection. Whatever side effect might this one have in store for him? He'd experienced cramping, burning sensations in his head and arms, and what was probably very nearly a heart attack at one point. He came to understand very quickly that they didn't care if he suffered as a result of their experimentation.

"I express my regrets on your lack of success of late, Albert. You are a brilliant man. Things will soon turn for the better."

Wesker growled, actually growled at her, and Chris shifted around in time to see him pull away from her grasp. She frowned and then forced a smile and it made him slightly happy. It would seem Excella was doubting her place in Wesker's world at the moment. As well she should be. The ambitious man kept what was of use to him and that was it. He didn't care for anything much outside of himself.

Right now Wesker was irritated by his current failure being broadcast to his enemy. It was making him a not so miserable captive in this minute. Anyone taking Wesker down a peg, however unintentionally, was okay in his book. Excella was growing on him.

"Progress, Dr. Jenner?"

"Yes," the doctor now standing in front of Chris seemed pleased to report. "See for yourself."

When he realized what was likely to follow the injection, he thought about making a run for it. Then he thought better of the idea. Even if he made it out the door, he wouldn't make it far. He'd be dragged back and injected by force. No, here was not the time to fight. He'd be ready when that moment came. He'd be ready.

He stuck out his arm and waited for the inevitable injection. When it happened, he sat there and felt his eyes dilate, felt the chemical surging through veins in his arm and to his chest. This one had a kick. For a minute he forgot how to breathe and woke up on the floor.

A hand gripped the front of his shirt and hoisted him to his feet, then back to sitting on the bed. Chris brushed away the offending hand, a hand clad in black leather per usual, and stared at his arm curiously. It felt funny. There was a dull thudding pain and the sensation of feeling a lot lighter throughout his entire body. How weird.

"Weird? What precisely do you feel?"

What the-with the prompt from Wesker, he must have said the last part of his thoughts out loud, again. He didn't like this lack of control. He answered the question, completely, without even thinking of the answer first, and knew it was a success. A success for Wesker. His scientists managed to concoct a P30 chemical that Chris's body accepted, and now his body was no longer his own.

"Stand."

His body jumped to obey.

"Sit."

He sat back down fast. Oh, fuck this.

"Stand."

Was Wesker really messing with him so childishly?

"Break Dr. Jenner's neck."

The doctor choked and took an immediate step away from Wesker and Chris. "What?"

He fought. His mind didn't want to do it but his body was itching to. A section of his brain was clearly wanting to obey Wesker's every command. But it was chemical. He was stronger than some chemical coursing through his veins. He concentrated the whole of his thoughts into one single action.

When his body lunged for the doctor, he forced it into a spin kick, nailing his boot against Wesker's chin. The man was caught off guard and stumbled slightly before regaining his balance. When he did so, Chris was satisfied to see a small bruise already appearing on his chin. The knowledge that the mark would heal far too fast, didn't lessen the satisfaction any.

Wesker looked disgruntled, maybe a minor bit put off, but his expression solidified into a calm and accepting stare seconds after his discontent. Ever the scientist he supposed. Honestly, he was surprised to have even caught the other man off guard in the first place. He thought Wesker knew him better than that. Chris would never stop fighting. He would never give up.

The tyrant's gaze shifted to the doctor again. "Keep working."

A sweep of his stupid long coat behind him, that managed to look stylish and yes, a tiny bit sexy, as he turned to go. Then he was gone from the lab. As soon as the door swung shut, he took stock of himself. He could feel it, his body was his. What a relief. He'd never much liked anyone telling him what to do. To have his willpower stripped away would be a nightmare come to life.

"I won't let him succeed," he promised, meeting Krauser's gaze with as much intensity as he could muster. "I will stop him before he can get far enough to try another Uroboros disaster."

Excella might have the "official" rank, but Krauser most certainly had the power and the leverage in regards to Wesker. Besides, the super soldier was the one who kept talking about how Wesker was working on something special in order to bring about a new, better world. Ironically, even though it was Excella who loved, or thought she loved Wesker, it was Krauser who believed in the man. These wanna be villains with their psycho visions of grandeur. They worked together but didn't even have the same endgame. The damage they could do laid in their misguided belief that they were right in what they were doing. It was so messed up. And Wesker had called him self-righteous.

Excella sniffed at his remark while Krauser seemed rather pleased. The woman strode off at a brisk and annoyed pace, only to lean against a desk nearby and stay. The soldier though, he stood right where he was, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You're an action man, Chris," he said. "I would be disappointed if you didn't try."

Chris continued to stare back at the other man. "What Wesker's trying to do, it's bigger than any one person. I suspect what those four Wesker children want, it's far bigger than just me. All this bullshit about making the world a better place, bullshit. It's crap. It'll make things worse. So this is me, standing between the world I know, and the horror show others want to try and turn it into. Do what you will with me while you've got me. It won't make a difference. I will stop him. And you better remember, I'm not the only one like me."

His enemy chuckled softly but he'd had his desired effect. The words sunk in. Krauser was thinking. Excella had heard, too, and he knew she was truly hearing him as well. Let the planted seeds of doubt begin.

He smiled to himself and sat down in one of the chairs, feeling pretty good considering he was a hostage. It was temporary. He would stop him. He would remember his own words when the time came to act. The agent wasn't the only one like him. Others would never stand to let Wesker see his world become reality either.

Chapter Text

Jill Valentine blew the pencil across the desk, caught it before it could topple over the edge, set it back in front of herself, and then repeated. This action had made up most of her morning. She strongly disliked waiting. Especially when such waiting meant she continued to be in the dark on the whereabouts of her former partner, her friend.

The concern was building, as was the anger. She planned on putting several bullets into Wesker when she found him. In the meantime, all she could do was wait while Leon struggled to find any scraps of information on a helicopter that apparently didn't exist. An entire week gone by, wasted, waiting for the last of Leon's contacts to get back to him on the chopper. Time was not on their side. When would the damn phone ring? Ring!

She nearly fell out of her chair when the phone suddenly rang on the desk across from her own. Claire spun away from the window to stare at the phone. Jill allowed her eyes to drag from the long-suffering sibling, over to Leon as he snatched it off the receiver. Silently, she prayed this was the call that would yield actual answers.

Not even a minute later and he was hanging up. He scratched something down on paper, fussed around with his handheld gadget, and finally looked up.

"We've got something but don't get too excited."

Jill straightened in her seat as Claire moved from the window to stare Leon down in closer proximity. They were both waiting, not a hint of patience left in either one of them. They needed something, anything to grasp at.

"A guy I know got me the name of an international airport where the chopper in question apparently makes its home."

"Okay, so where's the bad?" risked Claire.

"This guy I know, not known for his trustworthiness. Plus, he's not even one of my better sources, has the least amount of connections and pull, yet somehow managed to locate where this mysterious black helicopter routinely stops. I'm not buying it."

She ran her fingers through the hair of her ponytail and began tapping the pencil in her other hand against the desk.

"Okay, certainly sounds suspicious. Question is, do we go with a probable dead lead in the hopes that it takes us to a semblance of an actual trail to follow?" asked Jill.

Claire was surprisingly enthusiastic. "I say we do. If it takes us nowhere, we find this guy who went through all the trouble of putting out a false trail. I mean, he's bound to know something real, right?"

Leon appeared to be thinking that over, during which time Sheva walked through the door. The young woman seemed to realize she'd walked into a changed situation. It was then Jill made up her mind.

"We follow the lead, but we go with badges and weapons,” she suggested.

"This guy's a bit reproachful but I really don't think we have to worry about him doing anything like setting us up to be harmed in any way." Leon pointed out.

"Nothing wrong with being careful. You can bet a solid lead or not, there's a good chance we'll encounter some kind of trouble. Chris has a habit of getting into deeper and deeper troubles."

The single male of the bunch laughed. "We all have that tendency."

/

The airport was in Paris, only a thirty minute drive from the hotel and workspace the BSAA had set them up with upon their arrival in Malakoff, one week ago. It didn't bode well for Chris that they were now again three weeks behind him. Her partner and best friend missing for a month. This was unacceptable. Jill felt awful and uncomfortable with the knowledge that he had been pulled from the world. She couldn't even begin to imagine how he must have felt when she was gone for over two years.

They'd thought her dead, pronounced her as such after the search for signs of life over time proved entirely unsuccessful. When Chris finally found her, saved her from her prison, he hadn't seemed too surprised she was living. He'd believed her alive, even when everything pointed to her being that way as highly implausible. So she would believe in him being okay and explore every possible avenue to find him. It wouldn't be two years. It wouldn't be two months. She was going to save him like he'd saved her, and soon.

When the car pulled to a stop, she shifted to get out of the car and paused. Claire had made no move to get out. She placed a hand over the younger woman's and squeezed.

"Come on. We have to keep moving. You know he would."

They got out of the car, and together the pair of them joined Sheva and Leon in heading inside the airport. After an awfully lengthy period of explaining to security the nature of their visit and necessity for carrying guns, they made it through and into the heart of the bustling, crowded building. There they found a person they did not expect. Jill knew it wasn't coincidence.

"What is she-"

Jill and Leon interrupted Claire's vocal confusion at the woman in the deep red dress and blood red leather jacket, being, well, at the airport bar. The pair of them interrupted her by drawing their sidearms and aiming the weapons straight at Ada Wong. The woman had the gall to smile at the action, while the noticing civilians around them either shrieked or backed away in panic and fear. It was a good thing, she supposed. She appreciated it when innocent people cleared the way for her to do what needed to be done.

"Ada Wong! Don't move!" Leon yelled over to her.

She continued to smile sweetly at them. "I'm not moving."

"Keep your hands in plain sight. You are a wanted terrorist, believed to be associated with numerous viral outbreaks across the globe." Jill continued for Leon, but before she could get to the part about attempting an arrest on behalf of the BSAA, Wong was once again responding to their statements.

"I merely take advantage of outbreaks already in progress. I have no interest in chaos and violence. That's a game better left for men."

"A game?" Claire spat.

Jill looked sharply towards Chris's sister, startled she'd chosen to partake in this situation. She didn't know Ada Wong, not really. She guessed Claire was smart enough to know Ada wouldn't be here unless she had something to say or do, and suspected that something had to do with her brother. What in the hell Wong had to do with Chris was extraordinarily puzzling.

When Ada threw herself bodily through the air after launching with a push from the countertop, Jill had a second what the hell moment. In the next though, she understood. Rather, she saw the highly suspicious man Ada had selected to launch herself heels first into. The man was surrounded by three other equally out of place guys. They wore black, they carried knives, and how did they get past security?

No time for that. The four men were in the process of attacking Ada. Scratch that information. Two of them were on Ada, the other two had taken notice of their standing presence with weapons out, and actually moved toward them despite the guns. She yelled for them to stop, as did Leon, but they kept coming.

Damn it. Too many people scattering about behind them to fire their weapons and risk return fire hitting the crowd. Why it was people ran about aimlessly when they were afraid and confused, not knowing what to do, Jill didn't know. It was frustrating.

"Leon!"

He glanced her way and then near simultaneously, the pair of them holstered their weapons and moved in to engage the men in black in close combat. The men were skilled, definitely had formal training of some sort. Jill was ready for them.

She swung a leg around to connect with the closest man to her. It was blocked, but she was prepared for such a thing and struck with her left fist. It was astonishing how many opponents she'd come up against, that were never ready for an assault from the left. This man was no different, and reeled from the hard blow, clutching his face.

Taking advantage, she attacked again, striking the man square in the ribs with her booted foot. He fell to his knees and she took him out with a final kick, this time to the face. The man down for the count, she found herself disappointed at how easy the fight had been. Looking about herself, she found Leon had had quick success as well, while Ada appeared to be having all the fun with the two men she was engaged in combat with as of yet.

Sheva stood off to one side, looking ready to approach should the need arise. The secretive agent didn't need help. She was toying with her opponents, taking her time and enjoying the fight. Jill was wishing she'd hurry up already. Amazingly, Leon said her thought in a manner of speaking.

"Ada!"

A slight smile appeared on her face again, and then the snap of one man's neck angered Leon incredibly fast. He shouted her name in a very different tone the second time and the woman in red responded in kind.

"Ada!"

The smile disappeared, expression darkening, and she took out the last guy much less lethally. When she was quite finished, she glanced about herself at Jill, Sheva, and the rest of them. A very forced smile passed over her face briefly before falling away entirely.

"Sorry, sometimes I get carried away."

Leon glared, Claire looked away in disgust, and Jill noted Sheva bore a similar distancing expression like her own. Emotions were best kept off the battlefield, away from the enemy's prying eyes. She got right to the point.

"Ada Wong, do you know who those men were and why they were here?"

A slight tilt of her head as the woman crossed her arms over her chest in a relaxing manner. The woman knew something. That much was obvious. Jill was truly hoping Wong wanted to be forthcoming or else she doubted they'd learn anything new. There was darkness in this woman, and she suspected it was born from darkness. Something had made Ada the way she was today. A thing also kept her from crossing fully over, or rather, a someone did.

She glanced in Leon's direction, then returned her careful gaze to the woman who had spoken to her directly.

"He's okay. I mean, not completely. As I'm sure you're aware, bad things have happened to him. But he's okay, starting to act like himself. Not that I know him all that well... He seems better? I'm sorry I can't give you more on his well-being but I knew you would be wondering."

"Ada?" Leon began, paused, then went on. "What is this?"

"Those guys, hired muscle, nothing more. Krauser sent them to keep an eye on me. I do believe that man doesn't trust me."

"Krauser?!"

"Oh, right. Krauser's alive, still a misogynistic bastard who thinks with his body instead of his mind. He came down hard on your friend. Wesker put a stop to that but as you can imagine, Chris isn't too much better off with that superhuman in control. Anyway, my tail must have decided to execute orders given to them should they decide I ended up being a double agent, up to no good, or whatever. Idiots."

"So you're not a double agent?"

She'd appeared distracted for a moment, eyes cast downwards to the unconscious three and the very dead fourth of the men who'd come at her. Shaking it off, she looked at Sheva, really looked at her, for what might have been the first time.

"What? No. Of course I'm a double agent. But it was highly unlikely these men would be able to successfully take me out, especially when these guys were moronic enough to do it in full view of the public and you lot. Besides," she added with a slight shrug of her shoulders, "If they can't return to Krauser, there is nothing to say I didn't simply notice my tail and react accordingly to such an annoyance."

"It's what you mean to tell him." Leon realized, and Jill could tell, he was trying hard to track his emotional state and keep it professional and cool.

"Yes. You." She was looking to Sheva again. "You were with him in Africa."

"Yes." Sheva admitted immediately. "He is my partner. Until Wesker took him away."

"Krauser had him captured actually. Then Wesker made the decision to hold on to him. Listen, I need to get back, but, Chris is fine for now. Safe enough. The trail that led you here, is fake, a lie to steer you away from the truth. South Dakota. Search there for answers. You're bound to find something of interest."

Jill relaxed herself a bit. She couldn't say for sure, but she didn't think Ada was lying. She felt as though the woman knew far more than she was offering, yes. The fact she was here giving them a clue to go on at all was a wonder. She pondered on the run-ins Leon had with this woman in the past, and saw a potential answer somewhere among all that history.

Ada had shifted her stare to Leon again. She smiled warmly at him. It looked genuine to Jill.

"What's on your mind, Leon?"

"I wonder what you are trying to steer us away from, Ada."

"Oh, Leon..."

"Get out of here, Ada. If you're not going to help us, I don't want anything to do with you."

"You won't arrest me?"

She appeared amused. Jill frowned and knew the others likely looked very similar. She knew full well why they'd traveled all the way to France. She knew a lot of things and said none of them. For the sake of what? To be in favor of having a more mysterious aura? To hold power over whomever she was required to? Or was it as simple as the fact that telling them everything failed to be for her benefit? But then, how was risking coming here to tell them anything managing to be beneficial to her?

"Ada, he's my brother. My only family. I'm begging you to help us if you can."

Very solemn now, she looked to Claire. "I just did. South Dakota. Don't screw it up. He needs you. Oh, and I suggest bringing back up when you do manage to find him."

She was running. Airport security had finally shown themselves and she fled their attention, far too easily. Leon looked like he meant to follow. Jill stepped just in front of him, as though it was unintentional even when it most certainly wasn't. She knew what it was like to feel something for the supposed enemy, to survive together, come out alive, and then face confusion, uncertainty. Ultimately, deciding alone meant safety.

Taking a moment to regard her current team seeking out her old partner, she knew they were no different right now. Because sometimes, even when you stood together with friends and allies, you continued to walk alone in fear.

Chapter Text

"You should avoid doing that."

Excella froze. She was on her way to the medical lab where Chris Redfield spent his days. She fiddled with her black dress, the fabric tight and uncomfortable, but certainly stylish. Pretending she did not know what the other woman meant, she crossed her arms casually and turned to face her.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do."

She sneered at the infuriatingly secretive agent in red. "It's none of your concern."

"If Wesker sees how you've grown less blind to his greedy ambition and more inclined to the man he holds captive and at arms length-"

"What? What if he does?"

"It won't end well."

"This is never going to end well, is it?" Excella asked as if she already knew the answer, but she was really asking.

She feared to hear the truth of the reality she'd been living in these past few years. Ever since the monsters became real, ever since she first saw a man become violent, murderous and controllable with simple infection, she'd always been afraid to see. Because to open her eyes, would force her to accept a lot of evil she'd witnessed and brought about herself, real and whole and terrifying.

"Why do you think he's the way he is? There's an answer, you know."

Excella furrowed her brow, puzzled about what the woman could possibly mean. When had the silent, mysterious one become so knowledgeable and insightful? That in itself was something she would like answered. Maybe, maybe Ada Wong had always been that way, and she just felt things were better kept to herself. Excella certainly knew what it was like to keep things unvoiced to best suit her situation. Though she was fully aware she might appear superficial and foolish, she was no idiot. She waited, wanting to hear what Ada had to say about the man she'd placed so much stock in for the past few years of her life.

The woman leaned herself against the wall in the hallway and looked over. "They were created to be great, to have purpose. But what they were instead, were freaks, having no real purpose."

Whatever did she mean by that? Excella wasn't understanding this at all. What made her think she knew what she was talking about? What gave her the right to try and figure out Albert?

"They look for a purpose and fight against their inherit sociopathic tendencies. Well, some of them fight it. Wesker, keeps good men at a distance to avoid such ideology from bleeding into their subconscious, so to speak. Some give in or believe it gives them a kind of advantage."

"An advantage toward what?"

She did nothing to hide the growing frustration she was feeling. It was making sense and she didn't like another woman knowing something about her Albert that she did not. On guard, she placed her hands on her hips, a tad haughtily, and waited for the reply.

"Fulfilling their purpose of making the world a better place."

Ada didn't seem bothered by the hostility she was displaying. The woman answered her easily and potentially honestly. Which bothered her. Why? What was it that made her gravitate toward those who would sooner harm her than help her? Why was she so eager for the acquisition of power? It was a long story that would only bore others and never put her in a positive light. She knew that much. No sense concerning herself on the future when the present was difficult enough to manage.

"You make them sound good." Excella pointed out. "Every action taken by these Wesker children have spoken to the contrary."

In her head she added, Albert's actions had also been far from laudable. A shame, when she'd given him so much, hoping he'd give her what she needed in return. She was still waiting for that dream to become even remotely a reality. What a shame.

"The world could use improving and Spencer made them to be gods among men to do just that."

"I thought the old man sought power and immortality."

"Yes but somewhere among the madness, there was a desire to do good. He wanted to make the world anew, so it would be safe and better."

"How could you know this?"

"I watch, I listen, and I do my research."

"Hmm." She was far from satisfied by the answer. "Albert wishes to create the world anew. This falls in line with your argument. The others, they do not."

"What do we really know about them? Not much."

"Exactly. So you have no basis to back up your claim."

The other woman had the nerve to appear amused by her response. What did she know? Why did everyone think they knew better than her? Excella reverted the topic to how this conversation had begun. She'd rather address that than the intentions of Albert.

"Who I choose to spend my time with is none of your concern."

Ada took a moment to adjust to the sudden change of the man of focus. She seemed to have expected such a thing to happen though, and was ready for it.

"Spending time with Chris shows a weakness of yours. Wesker appalls weakness, and it's why he pretends not to care. To care is to be weak in his eyes. They were programmed to do whatever it took to be better, to make things better, as I understand it. If you insist seeking out the company of another, then keep this in mind, Chris hates Wesker. But they aren't entirely dissimilar. He will use you if you give him the opportunity."

Then the other woman was walking away and Excella was left staring after her in muddled confusion. Was it just her, or had Ada purposefully given her an idea of how to get Wesker to notice her? Certainly not. Attention like that would get her killed. Which meant she could also be planting an idea in her mind, not so subtly. Perhaps this Ada Wong was all right after all.

/

"You should avoid doing that."

"Shut up, Jonah. I know what I'm doing and have calculated the potential consequences."

He regarded Laura carefully before giving her a curt nod of acceptance. She was a brilliant woman, highly intellectual and thoughtful in every endeavor she undertook. Truly she was not one he need concern himself about, yet he did. How could he not?

His focus changed to the head of this project of theirs. He'd often wondered if she knew what she was doing, in the beginning. Now he spent his moments in her presence, curious as to why she chose this specific project, when she did not seem to care much for the people in this world.

Felicia was a driven woman. Nothing could deter her from her investigation into the human condition. People fascinated her. She explored every aspect of them, sought to detect any conceivable information available on them. But she hated them. The research was beloved to her, a not so humble obsession, but the subject matter, utterly loathsome to her. What a peculiar thing she was.

That was just it though. What she was. What exactly was it she was? Jonah didn't know, Laura didn't. None of them knew. They grew up in strange situations where they were aware it wasn't ordinary. They knew they were brighter than other kids, had parents who set out a strict regimen for them always, and were never allowed to stray from the course. Miles was the first of their future research group to comprehend the futility of the life he was living.

He'd been more prone to unleashing his darker fantasies that coincided with an incessant desire to explore and unearth new information and possibilities. A trait inherit to all Wesker children they eventually learned, when they discovered the project responsible for their existence. He'd taken a neighbor boy from his yard when he was only twelve, forced some stolen pills down his throat to make him pliable, and proceeded to start a live vivisection. Needless to say, a few drugs were nowhere near enough to keep the little boy's forced compliance for long, and the screaming brought the neighbors running. Miles was moved to a secure research facility where he started work for Umbrella far earlier than planned.

See, the project survivors were meant to be under the illusion that they were mostly normal, human and mundane save for their vastly superior intelligence and strong upbringing. Wesker children were the property of Umbrella without ever knowing it, obedient, without ever knowing it wasn't their choices that took them along their career paths. Except, Jonah thought humorlessly, very few of them actually managed to fit the desired pattern.

What did Spencer think would happen when he created near invincible beings with extremely high intellects? That they would never cross paths with one another when their similarities far outweighed the meaningless differences that did exist? That they would never have such an original thought as to question why they should listen to a mad man with a self-deluded fantasy? The day Spencer died had snapped a leash off of each of them. It was like a restraint on the mind suddenly lifted. They no longer felt weighted down by an unidentifiable urge to figure out their purpose. No, when Spencer died, they found themselves granted true freedom.

That was when Felicia came forward and revealed herself, first to Jonah, and then Miles and Laura followed soon after. Together, they determined to work together on a project Felicia had on her mind. One they all badly wanted some kind of outcome to. Jonah did at least. He wanted an answer. There had to be an answer.

“Jonah, help or hinder. Help or hinder.”

He rolled his eyes and moved closer to help Felicia lift the second corpse from the operating table and into the oven. Not that she needed the help being superhuman and all that. It was probably one of her bonding methods to keep them a team that required each other. Yeah, right.

“You know, these burns are still healing. I don't need new ones helping you clean up your messes.”

“They're Miles's mess and you know it.”

“Please, you encourage him. Still think you can somehow learn something about them on the physical level. I'm telling you, it's all in here.” He tapped the side of his skull. “It's their mental power that gives them strength, that makes them keep on keeping on.”

His gaze shifted to watch Laura at her work station, fingers moving dexterously across the keyboard as she made swift work of a series of complex mathematical equations. He didn't even flinch when she nearly made an error that could have caused a hidden missile from a long forgotten German bunker to launch and wipe out a substantially populated city in Russia. It wasn't like the planet wasn't overpopulated as it stood now.

“Hey Jonah. Look what I got.”

He didn't have to look to know what he would see. He could smell the stench of sex and sweat, blood and fear. He certainly didn't approve of what Miles chose to do in his free time, but he had better things to do than play at being a hero. He wasn't one, even if Felicia was in search of the perfect one for them to exploit in the name of experimentation and discovery.

“Where'd you get this one now? You weren't seen, were you?”

The dirt covered woman's chains made a loud clanking sound as she was shoved into a square cage, easily big enough to fit three grown men so long as they stooped. Whimpering began anew and he forced his attention over to see what was the matter now. How long it took for some people to learn when to shut their mouths was simply ridiculous at times. Felicia was the reason for the fearful noise emitting from the captive human. She was pissed.

“What the hell is this?”

Miles looked annoyed. He ambled over and hopped up to sit on the clean operating table beside the still very much stained one. Reaching across Laura, he snatched up her apple to take a deep bite. Jonah tore it from his grip before his teeth could sink in and returned it to its proper place in front of the intensely focused beauty at the monitor.

He ran a hand across his scruffy jaw and sighed. “I'm bored. I want a real challenge. All I get are the whimpering messes. Sorry excuses for a human race that's clearly not worth preserving. I want another shot at Mr. Hero. Give me some time alone with the likes of him. Bet I could make real progress there.”

“Miles.”

“Felicia.” Miles called back, mocking her stern tone with a false one of his own.

“What is the point of this? You've brought her already broken. What good is she?”

“I don't know. All I did was some over the clothes touching and she freaked out and wouldn't stop screaming. So I tossed her around a little. Just to shut her up. Now she whimpers. Whatever. Maybe you can check out her mind to see what caused her to be so weak, so easily.”

“You are not as stupid as you pretend you are. You know that's not how this works.” Laura noted, the first she'd spoken in a while.

“Isn't the point that we don't know how this works?”

“We need strong test subjects who may actually succeed at surviving a test or two.” Jonah shared what was obvious. “Not this. Stop terrorizing every assignment we send you on.”

Felicia got in his face, talking down to him, talking like she would perhaps to a child. “Next time, maybe you try thinking with your superior brain, instead of your fucking dick.”

“Aw come on, I didn't even rape this one. I was the only one who got off and it wasn't near her pretty little blouse.”

She turned away and went over to the other side of the room where an assortment of papers lay strewn about. A quick scan on a couple of the sheets littered with charts and columns, and she was shaking her head.

“Useless. We don't need another one like her. Like I said before, it's time we move on to the next step with our current most viable candidate.”

Jonah looked at Miles, but kept his thoughts on Laura. He didn't much relish what came next, but he watched every time anyway. His way of paying the debt back a bit maybe. His way of trying to appease Laura, who didn't like any concept of mortality, no matter who or what it may concern. He could understand that. He didn't ever want to lose her.

The lean man tugged at the collar of his jacket and lowered himself to hover in a crouched position near the pathetically teary case in the cage. As he reached into his coat and withdrew his sidearm, he shook his head and mumbled about how it blew he had to dump her. Laura's typing stilled. Jonah forced himself not to look at her, not to look away from the cage and Miles.

“Man, this blows. Could have had some fun,” he lamented.

Jonah stared at the man. The words that came out of his mouth sometimes were simply astonishing. Damaged property of Umbrella's at its finest. Miles readied the weapon and slid the tip of the gun between metal bars. The whimpering turned into a wheezing gasp of what could only be described as pure terror. The woman was so scared she couldn't even breathe proper.

Perhaps that might have been worth a bit of exploring. Oh well, too late now.

Miles sighed regretfully. “Know I'm losing more out of this than you are, pretty.”

The gun fired, the girl's noises abruptly silenced, and a soft thump sounded as her body hit the cage floor. The chains rattled a little, too, but somehow it was a sound he bypassed in favor of hearing the others. The Wesker children really weren't wired like anything he'd ever read about.

Felicia's pen had never stopped scratching at the surface of the journal in hand since she'd told Miles his collection was a worthless contribution. Jonah decided he best find something for him and the currently grumpy Miles to do for a while, so the ladies could continue working. Beside him, the typing resumed.

Chapter Text

He was alone with him, in the room branching off from the basement lab they reserved for P30 experimentation. A small room with a toilet and sink, a desk and chair, and a single cot in the far corner. That sad, sparsely lit room he was forced to call home for a week now. They left him alone with him a lot.

This time he wasn't leering. He wasn't smiling or speaking. There was no habitual knife play or a weapons magazine for his perusal in sight. Chris recognized this kind of quiet coming from the other man. The calm of acceptance when a person decides to give in to desire. When they determine to feed the perpetual aching need they can't get rid of, holding on to the awareness that even though they'll be failing to keep themselves in check, at least the mind will go quiet for a time. A respite from that terrorizing desire, which ordinarily refuses to let them be free, even if only for a very brief time. A brief time when the mind is tricked into feeling fulfilled and satiated, though consciously the person knows that aching need slowly destroying their mind will return the very next day.

Chris was once a smoker in his teenage and Air Force years. He'd seen friends and allies over the years battle the want of drink. He knew addiction when he saw it. And right now, he was staring into the eyes of one afflicted by it. This man's particular urge had been allowed to fester for too long. There would be no true pleasure when he gave in, only a false one.

He weighed his options. A distraction could conceivably keep the man from giving in to the most desperate of his needs, saving Chris from what would probably be a near death and agonizing time. It would have to be a very good distraction.

Krauser took a step in his direction. He stood up from the cot. It would be hours before anyone else came to the lab. They both knew this. They both also knew Wesker would be furious if his test subject was debilitated to the point where the experiments would have to be put on hold. The trouble with that knowledge, one of them didn't care.

He'd taken a lot over the years. Pain, physical and mental. Made sacrifices he wished no one should ever have to make. The last two months had been particularly memorable in suffering and hardship. But he got through it. He was still alive. He could take this, too.

“Jack.”

Krauser paused, seemed to think better of bringing his beloved knife in with him, leaving and returning without it. He didn't bother announcing his intentions. They both knew what he wanted, and Chris was going to give it to him. In this moment, survival was more important than anything he wanted, or in this case, didn't want. When Krauser grabbed his shoulder and shoved him so he fell back to the thin mattress, he let him. When the man put one hand around his throat and the other latched to the rim of his pants, he let him do that too.

The man had the audacity to growl at him. “What are you doing?”

Chris echoed the question word for word. That got him a backhand which wasn't entirely unexpected or undeserved. He smiled, a small little quirk of the lips upward that could maybe be considered a pleasant look. That earned him a punch. A really hard punch to the face. His left cheek stung and he could already feel the rising swell of a bruise.

Without any prevention on his part, it didn't take long before he found himself in a horrible position. He was facedown on his pillow, pants around his ankles and Krauser preparing to intrude in the worst way. He'd been given a white t-shirt and white flannel pants to wear every day. Easy to remove. Chris wondered when it'd become sexual for him. Maybe it started that way and turned even darker and vicious with time.

He turned partially to latch onto one of the man's wrists.

“Careful,” he warned.

Wesker will kill you. He didn't have to say out loud.

Then Krauser was inside him. He released his wrist and the other man used the hand to shove him flatter on the mattress, his shirt riding up when he did. Despite his preparation, it hurt. Despite Chris's warning, he was fucking hard. He worried his allowance of this happening wouldn't be enough to keep Krauser from giving in to what he really wanted.

Each thrust shook the bed. Nails were digging into the flesh of his hip and left shoulder blade. Idiot was leaving marks. If Wesker bothered to come by for a progress check within the next few days, he'd surely notice. The bruise on his face would take at least that long to heal.

A troubling question emerged from these thoughts. Why did he care? Why did it mean something to him if Krauser got himself killed? The man was a monster. Biologically he wasn't a regular human, and he sure as fuck was a monster psychologically. He was a kidnapper and attempted murderer before his second presumed death, and currently a kidnapper, rapist, and torturer. Kijuju had been hell. This laboratory wasn't much better. There was a strong possibility the man was a sociopath.

His head slammed into the metal frame beyond his pillow from a particularly hard thrust. Ow. Bastard. He put his hands on the side railing and held tight. Krauser's response was to grunt and raise Chris's hips up a bit before resuming his practiced rhythm. Oh.

The pain began to ebb away as a pleasant sensation replaced it. Goddamn Krauser. He didn't want to enjoy this. He didn't even want to be a part of this. Choices were limited in captivity. A soft moan escaped his lips. Fuck.

He fought to distance himself from the physical again, bringing his mind back to the previous question. Why did he care what happened to Krauser? How could he? Yeah his life had been saved a few times by him. And he was aware before the first presumed death, Krauser had been a highly respected and highly successful war hero. The man was a soldier who lived to be a soldier doing his best, until he was injured on a mission and subsequently pushed out of service. That couldn't have felt good.

Was he always a sociopath? The start of a life without direction or purpose driving him to embrace that dark part of himself? Did the sudden abandonment of his government do the deed? Spark his sociopathy from there? Hard to say, but it just didn't sit well with him, how a man could go from hero to psychopath.

Okay, so Wesker was the true psychopath here. A definite psycho, who also happened to have saved Chris's life more than once. But it wasn't entirely selfless. And Krauser was right at his heels, willing to do anything for the man's insane plans. He was also far worse at his self control. Given the opportunity with his capture of Chris in Africa, he hadn't hesitated to tear a human being apart. Wesker didn't do that. He might kill without a second thought if there was something to be gained, but the concept of sadism didn't appeal to him.

Well, shit. How did that happen? Now he was defending both his captors. What was he? A victim of Stockholm Syndrome? Not a chance. He could never be disillusioned into mistaking them as anything but bad men. Bad men... Possibly made bad by viruses which were a part of them now. Oh for fuck's sake. There he went again.

He bit down on his lip and punched the metal of the cot's frame to keep from making any sound as Krauser climaxed. When he was done and removed himself from the bed to fix his pants, Chris stood to take care of his own clothing. Standing at the side of his cot, he stared at the other man.

There were things he wanted to ask. Like why he got off on forcing people. Whether it was sex or some other end, the man clearly loved control, demonstrating his power. So when did it start being fun to do harm to others? When did he trade saving for killing, aid for cruelty? What was it like to be infected with a virus? What changes came of it? Did he like being pretty much alone? Was his show of restraint here meaningful or nothing? What did he hope to gain from Chris?

Yes, there were a lot of things he could say. He might even get an answer or two. But those were questions for another time. He had to think about himself right now.

So instead he said this. “Feel better?”

The incredibly painful knee into his stomach never felt so good. While he sank back onto his cot, Krauser looked at him strangely. It lasted only a moment and then the man walked out of the room.

Chris heard the brief scrape of metal sliding against metal, Krauser retrieving his knife. He held his breath, wondering if he'd miscalculated the situation. The sound of the electronic door whooshing open, footsteps fading, and then silence. Krauser had gone. He breathed again. The hounding addiction was mostly avoided for yet another day.

He stood up and pressed a hand into his stomach where he'd been hit. A grimace from the touch. There were a few bruised ribs but nothing worse. Walking uncomfortably over to the mirror above the sink, too aware of another area hurting and in definite need of cleaning, he laughed. The red welt on his cheek was bigger than he'd thought, colorful bruise spreading from the contact point. Where his forehead had hit the bed's frame there was a red line, also likely to bruise and turn a few colors before it healed. What ever would Excella say?

/

Wesker was livid. His partners were making his life difficult. Chris believed he wouldn't risk meeting with either, for he might murder them if he did. And they had their uses. To add to the man's trouble, Wong wasn't helping any by being as predictable, in her unpredictability, as always. She spent most of her time skulking around the upper levels of the building, awaiting further orders. Mr. Flawless didn't suffer failure and they were failing.

For the last two days, Ada returned while Krauser took off, keeping his distance to avoid wrath. Work had ground to a halt in one particular lab when Excella put her foot down. She refused to allow another test until the test subject fully healed. Her awakening to the reality of her present situation and Wesker's true nature was blinding her from what she was becoming: endangered.

Chris couldn't help the grin as he walked slowly down the hall under the escort of four armed guards. He had been summoned to Wesker's room. The plan was going swimmingly, and the beauty of it was that it had fallen into his lap. Man, he loved bad guys.

This was the first he was seeing Wesker in over a week. The first time ever to be brought to the other side of the basement labs where the blonde tyrant spent his days. He knew full well this was not part of the original plan. Anything he could do to knock things off track counted as a win in his book.

As soon as he stepped inside the appointed room, the guards left. The electronic door sliding shut behind him, he took another few steps and stopped. He blinked multiple times to allow his eyes to adjust. The room was significantly darker than the blinding white of the hallways that brought him here. The dim setting of overhead lighting was on, as well as a lamp on a large desk front and center from his position.

A quick scan across the rest of the room told him what he could have figured. There were shelves filled with files and texts, a shut door to an adjacent room, and a large bed against the farthest wall. It didn't look like the bed got much use. The desk was plainly the prime spot of activity.

When he gave no indication he would move farther into the room, Wesker beckoned him closer. A gloveless hand directed him to step by him. He couldn't even be bothered to look up from his work. Chris supposed it was nice to know he did, in fact, take the gloves off sometimes.

He went over, coming to stop just before the edge of the desk. His gaze explored the desktop out of habit. It was usually good to be aware of as much as possible and here would be no exception. Search. Stabilizing element. Uroboros. Overpopulation. Pollution. Lack of expanding parameters. These were the ten words his eyes caught among various papers during the brief search of the desk's contents, but only one really clicked home for him.

“Uroboros? I thought you were done with that.”

The sigh of someone's privacy disturbed came before the actual response. “Indeed.”

Wesker turned from his computer, the screen going black as he did. “Progress is built from that which precedes it.”

“How very profound.”

His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he took in the sunglasses had been shed also. Black gloves and sunglasses were like permanent fixtures on the man. For him to be without both was bizarre to witness.

He stood from his chair and Chris noted there didn't appear to be any weapons on his person. It was easy to see, as Wesker came around the side of the desk sans his latest favorite jacket, and there were no gun holsters or knife sheathes. The man was perfectly harmless like this. Yeah, right.

A hand reached forward and took his chin in its grasp. Amber eyes slightly glowing, alighted upon his face. The set of bruises he wore in plain sight of course hadn't gone unnoticed long. But even he was surprised by how angry Excella was, and how stubborn she'd become. Two days into the healing process left the bruises expanded and an ugly mixture of off yellow, green, and black. A thumb brushed across the mark on his cheekbone.

“What did you do?”

“I smiled.” It was the truth.

Wesker hummed with discontent. “If not another action, words came first.”

“What makes you say that?”

His head tilted to the side a little. “I know you.”

Again he told the truth. “I asked him what he was doing.”

Wesker released his face and started to turn away. “I assume the manner of tone and timing was less than ideal.”

“It was plenty ideal for me.” Chris retorted.

The other turned back, looking as though something occurred to him. He shifted in place, waiting for the inevitable follow-up question. He wasn't disappointed.

“Where else?”

“What?”

“Where else did he hurt you?”

Chris's shoulders slumped a bit. “How'd you know?”

“I suspected, because I know Krauser's type. They can't temper themselves.” Red eyes bore into his. “I knew, because your breathing is altered. Fractionally, granted, but I can hear it.”

“Damn.” He was grudgingly impressed. “Those are some stellar ears you've got.”

There was that hum again. Did Wesker somehow know he was avoiding? He couldn't possibly.

“Let me see.”

He played dumb. “See what?”

The critical eyes narrowed in their speculation of him. “Now, Chris.”

He thought about refusing, insist it wasn't anything serious. All the reasons he could come up with would make sense. But just as Wesker knew him and Krauser, he knew the man standing in front of him. He would see any more words for what they were, simply stalling from the request.

Not caring that he looked obviously reluctant, he pulled the thin t-shirt over his head. He held the fabric in his hands, close to himself, in the hopes permission would be granted for him to put it on again soon enough. Those hopes were dashed when Wesker reached and took the shirt from his grasp, discarding the item on top of the desk.

“They're just bruised a little. It's nothing.”

“It's disobedience from an employee.” Wesker corrected, testing the level of damage to Chris's abdomen. “Unacceptable.”

“Thought he was your partner.”

“Yes.”

He said it like an answer, but it didn't really tell him anything. Chris reached for the shirt on the desk and Wesker latched onto his outstretched arm. Before he could ask what he was doing, his arm was twisted so he spun around, back facing Wesker. Great. Now he knew.

Without even seeing them, he knew those eyes were mapping out the incriminating fingernail marks. Briefly the waistband of his pants was pulled lower to seek out further impressions in the skin, and then Wesker withdrew completely. Chris turned and watched as the other man grabbed his phone out of the top desk drawer. He tapped a text message in for someone, then did another to a second contact. The phone went back into the desk when he was done.

“Krauser's going to be reassigned to a new duty for a while. Your testing will resume tomorrow morning.”

“Excella-”

“Has her orders.”

Chris glanced away, staring at nothing in particular so long as it wasn't Wesker. “Right.”

He looked at the man again. “Well, boss, should I type up an incident report or should we sweep this one under the rug?”

Wesker bristled. “You were hiding it.”

“He has a problem.”

“Perhaps.”

“It's the virus. There is some sort of virus in him, isn't there? Your idea of a favor no doubt.”

The older man took a step closer and leaned in. “Modified T-Veronica virus, and a version of plaga which you already know, but let's keep that knowledge between us.”

“How about we talk about something that's not between us. Like your own virus.”

“Hm...”

“The others like you out there are proof everything you are isn't entirely you.”

“Explain.”

“Your obvious violent natures, inability to keep emotions in check once they're let out, and that all-consuming need for resolution and purpose at all times. It's inevitable for you to act this way if you give in to it.”

Wesker was looking bored now. “These are not facts, merely opinion.”

He had to laugh. “Fact.”

The topic reverted back to the man of the hour. “You defend him. Why?”

The answer came easy. Out of his mouth, well-formulated and confident, without his thinking it through before speaking. He was realizing what he thought as he put that thinking into words.

“Because I understand what it feels like to not be in control. I know what it looks like now, without a shadow of a doubt.”

When nothing was said in return, he knew he had something. He couldn't let this moment pass him by. He could do this.

His hand fingered the waistband of his thin bottoms and his eyes stared right into Wesker's own. “Wanna fuck?”

He didn't show any surprise at the proposition. The painfully self-regulated man never would so easily. Instead he did what Chris knew he would. He tried to read him and tell him how it was. God-complex at its best.

“Sex with me will not erase the rape. You've been here before. You've come to me in your brokenness and desperation. Weakness appalls me.”

“For the record, you requested my presence here. And if I were weak, I wouldn't be alive today. I sure as hell wouldn't come to you for a good cry or a pity fuck.” He grabbed his shirt from the desk and put it on. “You're a freak. Umbrella leftovers. Of course you wouldn't want something that could make you feel human.”

“Anger over shy embarrassment, how like you.”

He only glared. This was not fun for him. Being a captive was never going to be the highlight of his life. What did Wesker want from him?

“Honesty.”

“What?”

Okay that was eerie. A bit like his mind had just been read.

“You have a plan,” he went on.

“What?” Chris choked out, like he was echoing his previous 'what'.

“Whether it works is irrelevant. You have one.”

Those eyes were officially unnerving him. “Yes.”

Wesker smiled. Not a smirk or a grin or anything promising bad things. It was merely a genuine, nice smile.

“There's reason I like you, Chris.”

“You hate me,” he pointed out.

“Only when you are actually effective at affecting my plans.”

“Mocking me, how unsurprising,” he said, in a manner identical to how Wesker described his anger over being analyzed earlier.

The smile deepened. “For being so ordinary you are quite extraordinary.”

What was Wesker up to? “Okay...”

“Uncompromising.”

Momentary silence followed as Chris grew uneasy in his suspicion, then Wesker shared, “I look forward to having you on my side.”

Ah, there it was. He gritted his teeth. “Not going to happen.”

“The P30 trials are nearing successful completion.”

“And?”

“What was it you said before while reasoning my behavior and choices.. Ah, inevitable. Inevitability. Yes, I do believe that applies here.”

God, Wesker could be insufferably annoying. A complete bastard and control freak. “Fuck you.”

“No, but I will fuck you.” Wesker volunteered as he turned around and started walking to the large bed at the back.

Chris watched him undress and decidedly hated the Greek statuesque form the man had. Perfect chiseled features and sculpted muscle. How could anyone look that good?

He'd never felt a desire to sleep with men before. He still didn't. The rapes had driven him further from ever getting too close to another person intimately again, male or female. He'd known this was a result of his torture almost immediately after experiencing a taste of the outside world, away from tight spaces and closed off rooms. But Wesker seemed to always be the exception. It made zero sense. They were enemies.

He peeled off his shirt and tossed it onto the desk. As he headed toward the bed, he let deeper thoughts fall away. Though sex had now become known to him as the potential to be a certain evil, this wasn't that. He wanted Wesker to fuck him. That in itself told him just how fucked he was.

Chapter Text

[Dialing. Ringing. Click.]

[“Report.”]

“I've got something special for you.”

[“How many did you witness?”]

“Three. One engaged two in combat before they went separate ways.”

[“Go on.”]

“One of the parties was running experiments in an abandoned estate. The one who fought on his own I suspect. He had human allies present.”

[“How can you be sure?”]

“Because he was also the one with an exit ready.”

[“Another plane. Like Africa.”]

“Yes sir, I do believe he's the one we lost in Africa. Number two.”

[“And he's escaped our grasp once again.”]

“He'll be collected in good time.”

[“Forget him for now. Track the others.”]

“There's something even better, sir.”

[Pause. “Oh?”]

“I did manage to pick up a trail on the other two.”

[“You have a location.”]

“Yes, and where they went...”

[“Yes?”]

“Sir, there were two more.”

[“If we do this perfectly...”]

“We could get five.”

[“Continue surveillance. They will inevitably converge again.”]

“I understand, sir. End report.”

[Click.]

Now, to the task he'd appointed himself. Another group had piqued Kincaid's interest. The PTSD woman, the desperate woman, and the other two who were varying degrees of anger, determination, and duty. The latter two a man and woman, the professionals of the bunch as he saw it. The other women were far too emotional. No sense of duty was driving them to push onward even in their cluelessness. He was watching this assembled team.

A kind of mission had taken them to the wreckage of the demolished estate after a brief exploration through town. That they found this building so quickly spoke of some skill in finding the unusual. But the burned remains gave them a dead end. By their reactions, this was not the first time they'd found themselves lost for direction.

As he pondered how long they'd kick around charred blocks and stare helplessly at their failed progression in the form of a ruined building, one of them got smart. The young woman, one of the considered professionals, noticed the disturbed grass and dirt, noticing how grooves had intentionally been dug into the dirt. A makeshift road, a potential runway, she deduced for them. The desperate one clung to this, turning to the professional man for hope.

He watched him move away from the others with the PTSD woman. The man made a call that was out of earshot for him, but already Kincaid was observing something unnoticed by them. It really shouldn't have gone unnoticed. They would pay for it.

Number ten was moving silently around a portion of one of the still standing walls of the estate's east end. The professional woman spotted her three seconds before the desperate one did. She went for her gun too late, unable to identify the threat until it became threatening. So she lacked experience with Wesker children and identifying their kind. For hunting one, that seemed curious. Unless it wasn't number ten they were searching implicitly to find.

The fight ended far too abruptly. The professional knocked out in one blow and the desperate female scrambling to break free of the arm pressed into her windpipe. Lacking access to air, she choked, but number ten made sure she did it quietly by keeping a hand over her mouth for insurance. Unbelievably, she dragged the struggling woman out of sight without further incident, back the way she'd come. How tragic.

Kincaid wasn't sure what it was, but something finally made one of them notice. The PTSD one jerked her head in the direction of the disturbance, immediately spotting her fallen companion. She tugged on the male's shoulder and together they ran over to provide aid. Far too late for effectiveness.

“Claire! Where's Claire?” PTSD demanded of the shaken awake and disoriented professional.

So Desperate had a name. Claire. He observed with much amusement as a white jeep started up from somewhere beyond the charred estate and sped right past the clueless three. The trio aimed firearms simultaneously to hit tires but every shot missed its mark. Emotion likely the culprit for their clouded judgment and inability to act.

“I got the license plate!” the male professional exclaimed.

I already know where they're taking her, he thought to himself. He was deeply curious to know why she'd been taken. This was no random snatch and grab to yield a new subject for experimentation. These people were connected to his prey in some way. Hm... He'd just thought of a use for them.

/

Two entire days of altered P30 injections left him a very unhappy man. Wesker had chosen to personally oversee the trials in Krauser's absence. This meant Chris got to witness Excella waiting on the man constantly, yet watch her pretend it wasn't what she was doing because of her pride. She was less dumb than when he first met her, but that clearly didn't translate into gaining smarts. Her only saving grace was that she knew enough to pretend she didn't normally spend a large portion of her time chatting up the captive, the guinea pig. She kept her distance from him while Wesker's presence was so known, and that kept her position secure.

Sitting in a chair while Doctor Jenner reviewed the day's results, he looked over at Excella chatting with the actual person in charge near the exit. Wesker retained his expressionless mask all the while and he had to feel a little pity for her. She wasn't a terrible person, just selfish and greedy enough to gain at the expense of others without much thought.

The burning sensation was rising in his head again. Oh, great, another headache to leave him on the floor when it worsened. Wonderful. This was total bullshit. Why did he have to endure this crap? He kicked the chair next to him across the room.

He blinked. No, wait, the chair was still there in its same position. He'd imagined doing the action apparently. A wave of nausea swept through him. That was new. Gratefully the burning in his head dulled, but he was feeling a little dizzy and strange. It felt somewhat like he wasn't entirely in his own body.

“Excella!” he called out, aware he'd let some of his discomfort leak into his voice.

She appeared by his side. “Are you going to be sick? You look a little pale. Let's get you to the table.”

He let her lead him toward the table. She could be nice, caring, and yet could also be a total bitch. She could help him, take him from this bad place. She didn't. She was helping them take away more and more of the freedom that remained for him.

His mind fluttered with violent images. He imagined punching her in the face. To do it for him, for every last soul in Kijuju who became victims of her lust for more power. He imagined taking firm hold of her throat and squeezing the breath out of her. Take her life for every life she'd taken.

“Chris.”

His eyelids fluttered. That damn burning sensation was back. His head felt ablaze with pain.

“Chris. Stop.”

There was an overwhelming need to obey the voice. He felt great affection for that voice and wanted to please it. But stop what? He wanted to do it for him.

It was when his hand actually released its grip that he realized what was real. The punch had been wishful thinking, nearly throttling Excella to death had not. She dropped to the floor, coughing and sputtering. Every breath now came to her with a wheezing gasp.

He swallowed hard and stared numbly down at her. This wasn't how Jill described it. She'd said she couldn't stop herself but was aware of what she was doing. He, on the other hand, was having a difficult time assessing the real from the imagined. And he hadn't tried to stop himself either. He'd wanted to obey, needed to come through for him.

When he finally forced himself to look over at Wesker, the urge to go stand by his side nearly brought him to his knees. Tears streaked out of his eyes, moistening his cheeks, but he stayed where he was. He understood, without a doubt, Wesker ordered his near murder of Excella. A murder he would have committed if the man hadn't reversed the command.

Wesker was playing a dangerous game and it could lead to one or both of them dying. There wasn't a whole lot of time left to fight. If he didn't get out of this place very soon, they'd have time to create a stronger and longer lasting dose to keep him under, influenced. He was terrified.

A wave of desire to go to Wesker's side swept through him again. His head began to burn like before. A side effect of disobedience possibly. He welcomed the now familiar pain even as he struggled to think through it. Just one thing he had to manage before it was okay. It took every ounce of willpower he had to grind out his own words.

“No, Wesker. Not in the plan.”

All right. Now it was okay. He fell to his knees and barely a second after doing so, blacked out.

Chapter Text

Wisconsin. Wisconsin was where his shadowy target disappeared to recently. A mansion among a mass of trees he was calling home at present. The place was functioning like any public work space, with employees coming and going. He wondered if they ever received visitors and got his answer firsthand.

They let him stroll right on by the reception area to a set of elevators after delivering a simple lie. He and Kincaid were brought up to the third floor by a young, cheerful guide. She made small talk with them as the elevator ascended and although Kincaid remained silent throughout, Lex was pleased to make false social chatter. Humans were terribly amusing. Such strange creatures. So fascinating. He didn't know how he ever thought he was like the masses.

“Rather cold today,” he was commenting to the woman as they arrived on their floor. “At least it isn't raining.”

“Hey, stop!” a voice commanded as soon as they stepped off the elevator. “This floor is restricted today.”

A guard suited in a bulletproof vest, full gear, a black cap, and an earpiece stood at the other end of the hall. He looked perturbed to find unwanted people in the area. That was a lot of weaponry for a mere office building.

“These gentlemen have an appointment with Ms. Gionne in five minutes,” the secretary explained. “We're using conference room C; it's reserved.”

It hadn't taken much for Kincaid to falsify an appointment labeling the meeting as two interested investors potentially in the Tricell corporation. His associate already appeared the part in his neat suit, and he simply zipped up the expensive leather jacket he always wore to conceal the plain tank top beneath. The sunglasses and baseball cap remained worn out of necessity. It wasn't too peculiar. Plenty of wealthy people wore what they wanted out of perceived entitlement.

“I don't care what you say you have. Ms. Gionne herself placed this floor on restriction for the day.”

“That doesn't make any sense. Who is on this floor to place restriction-?”

“Lady, get your goddamn guests, and get back in the elevator. Now!”

Kincaid grabbed the woman and covered her mouth before the scream could sound when Mason went ahead and darted forward, shoving a hand through the guard's chest. The man had time to only reach for his weapon, nothing more. He sighed, shaking his head. Such a nuisance. His eyes tracked a storage closet just beyond where he stood. How convenient.

After disposing of the body in the small square space, he came walking out, wiping his blood-coated hand and sleeve with a wet towel. The woman visibly trembled, shaking in fear within Kincaid's hold. A man came into view at the opposite end of the hall, behind the pair standing by the elevator. He stopped as soon as he saw the terrified secretary and the one keeping a hand over her mouth turned to look at him. Maybe not so convenient.

Mason examined this newcomer. Not another guard. He was clothed in white pants and a shirt, like hospital scrubs one might see on a doctor or nurse. His seasoned eyes told another story as they searched the three of them and what might possibly be transpiring.

He continued to calmly wipe the blood until the darkening of his black jacket remained the sole trace of his encounter with the guard. When he didn't respond to the man's arrival and instead kept staring at him, Kincaid took it upon himself to handle the situation.

“You. Come here.”

The man knew it was a bad idea. He grimaced and tried to catch the eye of the trapped woman.

“Let her go.”

“If you come, I will let her go,” promised Kincaid.

Now he was weighing his options. He glanced behind himself but didn't seem to be finding anything useful. Giving another look toward Lex and the towel in his hand, which he chose to toss aside at that moment, he nodded slowly.

“Okay... Keep your hands where I can see them. The both of you.”

Hm... Had the sound of law enforcement. Mason put his hands up innocently in the air. Cautiously, the man began to step closer. He was barefoot. Hard earned muscle showed in the parts of his arms that were not covered by sleeves. Recently shaven, appearing healthy. Had they potentially stumbled upon a conditional prisoner?

Predictably, his man snapped his hostage's neck as soon as the other was a few feet from him. What he hadn't predicted was the other being prepared for the possibility of it happening. When Kincaid killed her, the man lunged forward, barreling into him and the dead secretary bodily. Impeded by the corpse on top of him and now this man's additional weight, he took several punches to the face.

Somewhat impressed, he started to walk toward the spot. Lex went slow, curious to see what would unfold. He had complete faith in his friend's handle on the situation, but wanted to use the opportunity to see what this man's capabilities might be.

Using what hindered him to his advantage, Kincaid shifted the body so the next blow would strike her unless he changed course. The man did, hesitating when he saw who he almost hit, and received a powerful punch to his jaw for it. This allowed him to shove his assailant off with the corpse and he swung a foot into the other, connecting with the side.

It flipped him from the momentum behind the kick, and Kincaid continued utilizing said momentum to swing himself up onto his feet. The man was quickly moving back in for another attack and they parried blows from one another, neither landing a hit. Mason decided it was informative enough.

He came to a halt just behind his partner. “Kincaid.”

His man abruptly ceased the fight by lowering his arms and stepping sideways. The other man faltered for a moment when his target was no longer in front of him but found balance immediately. He glanced between the two of them on high guard, uncertain, alert to the danger they presented.

“So it's clear, I didn't actually lie,” Kincaid informed the man. “I did let her go, from this world.”

A fierce glare replaced the careful, cautious look. “You didn't have to kill her.”

“I didn't have to kill the guard stuffed in the closet over there either,” Mason told him. “It's just quicker, and,” leaning forward a little with his head bowing, he whispered loudly. “Between you and me, I kind of like it.”

The doggedly angry glare switched to him. He observed his attention linger on the cap pulled low on his face and the sunglasses worn. The anger lessened and he took a step back. Kincaid matched his step, moving closer.

Unease showed on him. A smile appeared on Lex's face. “I do believe you have encountered my kind before.”

“Do you know where you are?”

He canted his head briefly in considered agreement. “Good point. Let's have a conversation somewhere less open. Conference room C, right over there.”

The man glanced to the labels next to the doors. Kincaid responded to his suspicious puzzlement.

“We reserved it.”

Instead of going to the room, he was peering over his shoulder again. He really expected someone to be showing up it would seem. The man would have to accept he was out of luck for now.

Mason removed his sunglasses and put them inside his jacket. “I really must insist.”

His associate placed his hand firmly on the man's shoulder and he could see everything was telling him to lash out and fight. But he obeyed and went with Kincaid a short way down the hall until they came to the conference room. Lex followed them inside and shut the door, twisting the steel handle into a warped shape that barred access by any conventional means.

Taking a seat at the head of the conference table, Kincaid put the man in white scrubs in the chair next to him, then stepped away to hover behind. Mason noted he kept one arm rigidly straight and knew there was a knife ready to slip out of the sleeve and into his hand at a moment's notice. Satisfied with the condition of this arrangement, he focused on the uncomfortable man at his right.

“What's your name?”

He didn't say anything, only stared back at him, eyes glimmering with anger. An expected response. He clearly didn't like being forced to do anything, even something as harmless as having a little chat.

“My name is Lex Mason. That's Kincaid. And you are?”

Hesitation, but his eyes lightened. He was no less suspicious and careful, however, he was more calm than before. Risking settling in the seat a bit, he gave an answer.

“Chris.”

Seemed to be the truth. “Chris. I presume you have a last name.”

“You would presume right.”

The corner of his mouth upturned slightly. “You recognized the danger presented by someone with eyes like mine. You know what I am. I believe someone like me is in this very building.”

Chris twitched, giving away the accuracy of his suppositions. He saw this as encouragement to go on.

“It's number two, isn't it?”

The man understood. Who was he in the grand scheme of all this? Why was he being held here? A prisoner. Maybe an experiment. But he'd been given some freedom, which was unusual. He craved to know more about this curiosity.

“Albert is here, running his precious experiments. Why are you here?”

He shook his head. “So you're Alex. You disappeared. Guess you're a lot like Wesker in that. No interest in an old man's fantasies either.”

Intrigued, he leaned closer, placing his hands on the table. “Who are you to this Wesker?”

“Why are you here?”

A flicker of impatience showed on his face and he took a moment to conceal it. His own question being used on him instead of giving an answer wasn't what he wanted. This was a stubborn human, all right. But humans became emotional quite easily.

“I can tell you were law enforcement of some kind. What were you?”

“Still am,” he answered begrudgingly. “Still working. Even if it's less than ideal circumstance. Never usually is very pretty in this job.”

Lex let a small smile slip onto his face. “So you're used to working with biological threats. And with such knowledge of Wesker children, that narrows your organization down considerably.”

“Why don't you tell me what you're after?”

The smile slid off. “Got better things to do in your imprisonment?”

Chris threw his hands up briefly in irritation. “I just don't feel like being interrogated, okay? No way you're up to anything good. None of you psychos ever are.”

“You've encountered other Wesker children. Is that right?”

He met Kincaid's eyes before returning to the man currently glaring at him. “Tell me, how long have you known number two? Rather, Albert Wesker. How much time has he kept you prisoner?”

The emotions positively radiating off of the man right now, spoke volumes. He did not like this number two. There was history there. He was certain the Wesker child had wronged him to the extreme, and he was far from forgiving for it.

“Wesker's insane. You are too. Psychopathic killers hell-bent on changing the world and playing God among humanity.”

“What could his reasons be for that? I wonder...”

The other had the decency to look confused, unsure of what he meant. Insanity, psychopathy, and a perpetual desire to fix the world were all firmly engrained in the project survivors. This was old news as he understood first-hand what a powerful virus circulating throughout one's system did to the fragile human psyche.

No... What he wondered was how he could use this man sitting there to further his own agenda. The other Wesker might put in an appearance, and he considered how the meeting might go. Violence was highly probable. Could he be reasoned with?

It wasn't yet time to play his hand. Doing so would give away his intention. Draw them in, trap them close, and take them out. Soon. For now he would let these sides already in conflict rip each other apart. Quite amusing...

“Were those your hunters in Kijuju?”

Africa, hm?

“Correct,” he replied.

“Were you trying to kill Wesker?”

“Possibly.”

The other man looked disgruntled by his brief, vague answers. He was definitely a law man. Not worth much more of his time.

“I'm tempted to kill you to upset their plans,” he informed, awaiting his reaction.

This didn't faze him much. He must have faced near death often in the past. His hands squeezed temporarily into fists before flattening out again.

“That would really only upset me.”

“And your sister,” added Kincaid.

Chris stiffened in the chair. So something could be gleaned about this oddity. He raised his eyes to his man, encouragement to continue.

“His surname is Redfield. Special agent for the BSAA listed as MIA since a mission in Africa, presumed dead.”

Mason tutted. “You were on that airplane in Kijuju, and I suspect you were on that other plane with number two as well. Did you destroy that mansion? I bet he was rather upset about that.”

“Hardly.” Chris responded quickly. “Wesker's an ego-maniac who bends every circumstance into his own favor wherever. Go ahead and tell me you aren't doing the exact same thing right now.”

“Oh?”

The man didn't see it until he was already being strangled and lifted into the air. Lex slammed him down onto the tabletop, pressing into his throat with careful force. Chris squirmed, fighting to get hands off him.

“Are you trying to die?” he asked rhetorically.

It didn't take long for him to quiet and go limp.

He released him just before he could pass out. Gasps for air came almost softly, too weak for the heavy and loud gasping to better draw in oxygen. Lex placed his hand back onto his neck without squeezing, just teasing the possibility.

“What else have we learned about Agent Redfield, Kincaid?”

The man smiled. “He has a sister. Saw her myself. Saw her get snatched.”

“What?” Chris barely gasped out, and tried again. “What did you say?”

Mason removed his hand when the other tried to turn over and let him so he could see Kincaid. When he tried to rise, he shoved him down flat on the table. Too invested in getting the information over his own current position, he lied there and did his best to look at him.

“Is Claire okay?”

He continued to fiddle with his phone and his smile grew larger. “You're connected to the rest too. Former partner, Jill Valentine, known intelligence associate, Leon Kennedy, and last known partner, Sheva Alomar.”

His fingers idly began tracing and tapping along the prone man's backside. “Aw.. Your friends must be searching for you. How nice. How dangerous.”

“Shut up!” Chris yelled, having regained his voice. “What about my sister?!”

Kincaid tilted his head a bit, examining the man on the table's face as he realized out loud.

“They want you.”

Mason glanced between the pair of them. Unexpected. And interesting.

“All the pieces circling around have been following you. I thought maybe number two, but no, it's you they're after.”

“Why is that, Chris Redfield?”

“Cause they're crazy,” he told, like it should be obvious there was no other answer.

He smirked a little. “Well that isn't entirely convincing, nor helpful.”

“Go to hell.”

This would be a fun one to take apart. He released him, allowing him to sit up, and stepped back to give him space. Chris stared at him funny.

“Something wrong?”

“Connected to Albert Wesker far longer than we thought,” Kincaid interrupted before he could get a response for his query. “Knew him from back in the mid-90s. Wesker was his captain of a special forces team based out of Raccoon City. Redfield survived the infamous 'Mansion Incident', where at first everyone thought they were liars making up their stories of monsters and evil.”

“The city overrun and bombed? So you know all kinds of things about Umbrella.”

The man glowered at him from a seat on a table, which truly had him lack in intimidating even a fraction. Still, he was currently weighing the risks of making a move. Lex set his eyes on Kincaid's hip and when he felt the eyes on him, he shifted his suit for the firearms to be glimpsed briefly.

Their captive audience, pun intended, took notice and slouched. He didn't have the need to hype himself up while at such a disadvantage. Since he couldn't be violent, he unwisely deemed it best to talk.

“What do you know about my sister?” he demanded of Kincaid, then looked to him. “I know what kind of man you are. Barely a man. I know what you can do, what you're willing to do to get what you want. And I'm not going to tell you a damn thing so just-”

He stopped when Lex put his hand up. “You're mistaking me for someone else, Agent Redfield.”

The other immediately appeared to have something to say about that but then the door busted in, spraying wooden shards haphazardly. Someone who could only be number two walked into the room, stone-faced and wearing dark shades indoors. He was expecting a fight.

“Ah, finally,” he boomed loudly in greeting. “We can get started. We were waiting for you, Mr. Wesker. If you would please take a seat. The meeting will begin.”

Chapter Text

When the distraction presented, Chris rolled off the table to the opposite side. His intent was to run out the door. He was fairly certain Wesker would let him with a bigger concern at the forefront. But he didn't count on Kincaid stopping him. Guy was fast too.

The man dove over the table, timing it perfectly to land against him as he was getting to his feet. This propelled them into the wall. He swung an arm to elbow his assailant in the face but it was avoided and he felt a knife press to his throat.

“Please have a seat, Agent Redfield.”

The knife was drawn away and the man stepped back. Chris eyed him and then glanced in Wesker's direction. He was staring at him, eyes glowing through the shades. When Wesker turned away to examine Alex instead, he reluctantly followed Kincaid to the table. They both took seats beside each other, and he noticed this time the knife stayed out in his hands.

Alex walked around to the front of the table and bent slightly to pull out a projector stored just under it. Placing it on the table, he turned it on and went over to the wall to tug the chord. The screen rolled down and Wesker was drawing near the table, pausing behind Chris's chair.

“Why come here?”

“I wished to speak with you.”

“I do believe you're lying.”

The other unzipped his jacket and reached into an inner pocket. “Nonetheless, I wish to speak with you now.”

He removed a flash drive and inserted the device into the projector. While he was waiting for the file to be read and opened, he took the moments to study his enemy. Who he assumed was his enemy. The last thing Chris needed was for these two to become allies. The world would well and truly be screwed if that team-up happened. He strongly suspected neither one of these project survivors would have an interest in uniting. They were far too selfishly devoted to their own warped views of mankind for that to ever happen.

A page appeared on the wall sized screen, headshot photographs in rows of the Wesker children project survivors. Wesker was the sole person in the pictures wearing his sunglasses. He sure did love them, even before the change to his body chemistry made them useful for disguise. Big Xs crossed out some of the photos, and some were a darkened hue.

“Thirteen survived the highly experimental injection. Spencer concealed the truth of the results. Everywhere he kept a record, he claimed only two lived on from there. But in reality, three died of sickness, bodies rejecting the selective mutation, while ten lived on.”

Chris leaned forward, interested despite himself.

“The dark images are the three who did not survive the final stage of the project. Numbers three, nine, and thirteen died years ago in the 90s.”

“And the ones crossed out?”

Alex raised an eyebrow and shifted his attention to him. “What do you think, boy?”

He choked on his curse in his surprise at such an insulting label. “Boy?! I'm thirty-five goddammit!”

“What do you think, thirty-five..Chris Redfield?”

Great. The guy was mocking him. It had to be written in the code that these guys were all dicks. Spencer was one, so maybe they got it from the paranoid prick somehow.

He cleared the disgruntled look from his face and ignored how much he wanted to punch something right then. Instead he peered at the images. So Derek, Ken, and William were dead and gone. This one seemed pretty certain about that.

Alex and Albert were standing in this very room, and the four psychos bizarrely fascinated with him were out there somewhere, doing nothing good. Wait.. Could they have been the ones to kidnap Claire?

It took everything to swallow down the urge to demand once again just where she was. They hadn't told before, they wouldn't tell him now. Might not even know where she was, and he really worried about her. Let her be okay...

“Chris? Still with us?”

Right... Five, seven, and eleven had been crossed out. Number six was left alone, like the four after him, like Alex and Albert's photos. Three of them... And Alex appeared smug.

“You killed them,” he supposed.

The smug look increased. “I took them out, yes. I'll take the rest too.”

It was Wesker's turn to appear smug, amusement playing across his features. “Really now? What is it you hope to accomplish?”

Chris was sensing Alex was fronting a bit, pretending to be all-knowing and prepared for everything that could possibly come his way. He'd seen Wesker act the same way. It was all cover for their own insecurities. They doubted, and felt emotion like any human. They were just better than most at deciding to run with their sickest thoughts and urges. Maybe he could shake things up a little. Worth trying.

“I didn't know any of this until recently. Wesker just knew about one other survivor too. Seems unlikely that he'd find himself so out of the loop, and you would find yourself so in.”

A slight frown creased his face as lips tilted downward. “How do you mean?”

“I think you didn't even know all of this until recently either. Spencer kept you in the dark, like you did to him. Means you're pretending to be in control and aware of everybody's movements, but you aren't. Do you even know what you really want? Are you just blindly going about laying plans you haven't even fully realized? Sounds stupid to me.”

The eyes were glowing presently, zeroed in on him. What exactly was his own plan again? Get him off balance..and then?

A hand fell on his shoulder. Wesker silently signaling for him to shut his mouth. Probably wise. Which is why he didn't listen.

“You planning to rule the world? Something completely unoriginal like that?” he prodded. “Get all your ideas from comic books lately?”

Alex stilled for a moment before glancing at the faces of Wesker children on the screen.

“It won't be long now. They'll get what they want. Think you can survive it? Think she will?”

He slammed his hand on the table, standing despite Kincaid's knife. Wesker's hand fell from his shoulder as he did. Fed up, he glared furiously at the other man.

“What do you think you know?” he demanded. “What?”

Kincaid threw his knife at Wesker's face and the man caught it with two fingers. Looking at it, he eyed the thrower. Alex ignored his guns and sprang forward. He missed hitting the blonde man when he was suddenly no longer there, and Chris backed away to stand against the wall by the door. This would get messy.

Wesker backflipped away and had no qualms about using his own weapon. He drew his handgun and fired two shots before Alex was upon him. The latter went for his throat but the attempt was deflected and blows were exchanged.

The varnished wooden table split down the middle when Alex was thrown upon it. He drew himself up from the halves and smiled at the man opposite him. The inhuman being darted forward and twisted his body into a full body strike, feet first. Wesker took the blow and dented into the plaster.

He emerged quickly to resume the brawl. Egos. Chris slipped closer to the door, monitoring the fight intently. His chance to slip away was here. He just..wait- Where was-?

As he stepped outside the room, Kincaid was waiting for him. He had a gun out this time and a fake smile in greeting. Waving the weapon in the direction of the elevator down the hall, he shared what was on his mind.

“While higher minds relieve their stresses, let's go take a walk.”

He stared at the other silently, not moving a muscle except to flicker his eyes toward the doorway he'd exited.

“How about a tour of the lab?”

“Why?”

“I know where to aim so that you bleed, but you don't die..quickly.”

Kincaid put himself behind Chris and he reluctantly walked to the elevator. They descended to the basement, neither speaking a word or making a sound. The other had security cards he shouldn't have, taken from the dead security guard no doubt. He was shoved out once the doors opened. The reluctance to play tour guide was all over his face and body language.

He wanted to run from this place, not walk straight back into it.

When they reached the basement level where Wesker conducted his experiments, he sent him on ahead. Chris refrained from rolling his eyes at this interminable hostage situation he had going of late. Only when the elevator doors clicked shut, did Kincaid move past to scan a row of empty tubes big enough to fit a man or monster. He knew the elevator blocked access without a key card, so unless he got hold of it from the other man, he wasn't going anywhere toward freedom.

The partner of Alex's glanced at him. “What are these for?”

He shrugged. He honestly didn't know, and even if he did, he wouldn't care. It didn't do him any good to know it, so why bother?

Chris received a contemplative look for his unhelpful response. Walking past the tubes, the man now examined the chair he was strapped in for the experimental injections. Gaze passing over it to a row of powered off computers, he then lifted his attention above to the lighting. What was he doing?

“You.”

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“What did he do to you?” Kincaid specified.

The question made him uncomfortable and something not on his mind to be sharing with anyone. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Lie. It's you who is the experiment. You seem rather normal to me. Appearances can be deceiving, but is it in this case?”

“You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Ashamed? Is your humanity so important?”

“Of course humanity is import-”

He was interrupted. “You're missing the point.”

Chris determined to try to change the direction of their conversation. “How can you work for someone like that? What kind of man are you to do that?”

It was a little disturbing when Kincaid looked almost happy to answer him, if “happy” could be a term used to apply to any expression put on his face. At most the guy seemed to give a small smile or a slight frown, and the rest of the time he was giving everybody nothing genuine. He wouldn't be surprised if he had some shady special ops background in his past.

“I used to kill people for a living,” he shared. “Now I kill people and will soon change the world.”

A glare settled on his face. “All you people ever do is make the world worse. Why can't you all just leave it alone? You're insane.”

“Everyone is slowly losing their minds. Some just take longer than others before they realize everything they are or do is utterly meaningless,” asserted Kincaid. “That's why you should simply do whatever makes you happy in this world, no matter how brief it might last. There is no point to anything, no long game, no inevitable consequence.”

“Sounds to me like you're projecting your own personal issues onto the world. That's what you crazies do to justify murder and anarchy.”

“Does calling us crazy make you feel better?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately, wandering a bit closer to the other man, hoping he could find a spot and moment to get the jump on him.

“Life is one giant chess game. Everyone endlessly making choices and moves. But nobody really wins when it's done.” Kincaid explained with derision. “All the efforts and plans and strategies amount to nothing because every effort has been contained to prevent a true victory. Pieces can only take certain paths, at certain times. You are given the illusion of choice, but you don't have it.”

“What?”

“We seek to remedy that situation. We're going to change the world, and finally, everyone will truly have free will.”

Chris spat out a laugh. “You're telling me nothing new. That's pretty much what Wesker wants too. Make everything better. Maybe there just has to come a time when you all realize you suck at it.”

“So you like games?”

Him and Kincaid spun to the elevator simultaneously, then diverted their attention to the right of it. There was a man standing behind a long counter, wearing a black tank top and pants. His arms were bandaged from the fingertips to the elbows. He wore a belt with gun holsters and ammo packs, a knife, and there was a sheathed sword slung across his body by a strap.

They hadn't heard the elevator make any noise, which meant he was already in the labs when they arrived. He kept his head bowed and his hands twitched readily by his waist. Another visitor. Excella's building sure was popular today. Or maybe these people were always revolving around the radius of Albert Wesker, resident world terrorist consistently labeled dead when he was not. Maybe the time had come for the hammer to fall and shit to blow. Spencer set ten potential time bombs long ago when he messed with science far beyond his understanding.

He stood quietly another moment and then hopped up to stand on top of the counter. Heavy boots with knives strapped to them showed. Straight black hair fell over his eyes, head tilted downward to keep it that way, and his lips curled into a tight smile of greeting.

“Konnichiwa. Hajimemashite. Hiro to yonde kudasai. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.”

The guy bowed deeply. Okay, so he only understood about two words in that. And he knew it was Japanese. After staring at Alex's chart of Wesker children minutes earlier, he already was acknowledging who had also managed to find their way into this laboratory. Secure facility.. Yeah right.

“Did you say Hiro?” he asked to confirm.

The smile widened just a smidgen. “You know me.”

Hiro shook his head back and sideways to get the hair out of eyes more. Yep, he had the freaky red-yellow eyes with the black, cat-like pupils. A Wesker child.

“When I found what was true on the computer, and saw someone took it, I left.”

Chris stared at him in confusion but a glance at Kincaid informed him he knew what was meant.

“You're skilled at staying hidden, number six. We looked for years before considering the possibility of your demise somewhere forgotten.”

“Spencer lied about a lot of things. Said we were all dead, kept his most prized children in the light of day. Ahou. He did not know what he made.”

He had to be here for a Wesker. But which one? Or was he here for both? Either way, he'd be happy to point him in the right direction.

“If you're looking for Albert or Alex, they're upstairs.”

He felt Kincaid looking at him but pretended not to notice. “Feel free to kill them both.”

The smile softened, a more solemn look appearing. “Why are you here? Who are you?”

“I'm nobody.”

He was distracted momentarily by the sound of the elevator being called and Hiro drawing his sword from his back. Removing a small square object out of his pant-leg pocket, he gave them a genuine smile with teeth showing. Chris decided to back away from him slowly, knowing this probably wasn't going to be nice.

“Geemu wo shimasu. Time to play a game.”

A thumb pressed down. An explosion rocked the building and chunks of debris flew through the air. He threw himself to the ground and covered his head as yet another explosion chaining from the previous explosion sounded, deafening. His mind raced with possible actions he should take.

When he risked a look up, there was a gaping hole in the building wall, earth spilling in from their underground position. He thought he saw something that couldn't be, so he wiped his eyes and slid onto his knees to get a better view. But it was. There was something moving in the dirt.

“Aw, fuck,” he muttered, feeling naked without a weapon or even shoes.

Something huge burst from the earth, spraying dirt everywhere and further debris when it cracked another part of the wall off. It had a skeletal shape but humanoid he would not use to describe it. Though, he thought, swallowing the sickening urge to vomit down his throat, it probably once was a man. Its head was mutated huge, skin translucent and eerie, almost glowing. Elongated bones were visible through the peculiar skin and there was a possible torso, but beyond that were a stream of tentacles trailing behind it.

Chris scrambled to his feet and kept moving backward until he hit the opposite wall. Kincaid remained standing where he was, dangerously close to the abomination sort of slipping and sliding on the floor. Then arms grew out of its broad, skeletal torso, glowing heart shining through skin, and the hands were clawed. How did it do that?

He shook his head to shake the thought out. Why did he even bother wondering questions like that after every freaky creation he'd witnessed? None of it ever made sense, but these things existed and liked to kill other things. It didn't seem to have eyes, just the hollow cavities of a skeleton eyes shifting about the room searchingly.

“Kaiju.” Hiro announced to them. “I call it Gashadokuro. A great skeleton made of bones of the dead. It likes the taste of blood. It will like you.”

Ding!

The elevator doors opened and the monster screamed in its direction, a wailing and terrifying sound. It tore across the room and Chris stood rooted to the spot. A black blur darted out, followed by a second one. The latter ran past the creature to the other side of the room, while the other went directly for it, attacking.

Wesker was the confrontation, while Alex went to his partner. He was immediately concerned that they came to the lab together after just before trying to tear each others' throats out. They hadn't formed a pact, had they? They wouldn't do that. It failed to wholly convince him.

His concerns were distracted when the giant monster who filled a fourth of the room, threw Wesker away from itself. He was thrown across the room, stopped short when he smashed into one of the empty tubes, breaking it. Glass shattered across the floor and surely into him, incapacitating him for however briefly.

It screamed again, infuriated. He noticed a collar around its throat. Was this somehow being used by Hiro to control it? Or was its purpose merely for tracking?

“Temee!” he heard Hiro shout at the tail end of the creature's wail.

Chris shifted his alert eyes to the three at the opposite end of the room. Hiro propelled himself from the desktop, sailing in a direct path for Alex Wesker. Wait, he used a different surname, didn't he? As soon as he considered it he dropped the thought when he realized the creature's face was turning in his direction.

Not the time to worry about names! He reprimanded himself and focused to get his head in the game. The monster sort of did a mix of dragging and sliding itself across the too little space between them, closing the distance in seconds. He dipped to the left, a hand as big as half of him smashing into the wall, putting a huge dent in it. Caught in the wall, it swept the other clawed hand at him and he somersaulted forward to get out of the way.

He started to run but the attempt lasted far too brief before thick, powerful tentacles wrapped around his leg. As he began to fall, more tentacles wrapped around the rest of his body from the neck down and he found himself stuck and raised off the ground. Chris became attuned to audible breathing as he was drawn to the front of the creature, directly in its face.

Squirming, he struggled to break free and a sharp claw slid along his cheek. Gently. That surprised him and he paused fighting in his confusion. The head tilted, puzzling at him, eye cavities boring into his trapped form. It really seemed to be seeing him...

A soft roar slipped out of its throat as an appendage that looked a whole heck of a lot like a slightly smaller tentacle emerged from its gaping mouth. Unlike the translucent, bluish tail tentacles, this was a deep red color. The mouth pushed closer and the tongue or whatever it was darted into his throat.

Shocked by the sudden attack and pain, he could only stare at the monster as it drained blood from his neck. Hiro had meant it literally liked blood to consume. Oh. His hands failed to gain a solid grip on the slippery appendage and when he tried to kick out, another tentacle wrapped about his ankles.

Right when he was accepting this might be how he died, he was dropped. Hitting the hard ground, he groaned and put a hand against his throat. The flow of blood was surprisingly slow so it must have managed to put a small hole in him to drain blood straight through the appendage. Kind of like a straw. Ew, an unpleasant image.

Then he had the thought to see why he was abandoned. Oh lovely. His hero in shiny black leather. Would it kill him to put on a cotton t-shirt for a day?

Right. Battle. He scrambled out from under the monster in the nick of time. It thrashed wildly when Wesker cut a few fingers off, the man then backflipping away to put distance from the sporadic motions before running back in to continue the offensive.

“Shit!” he cussed when a knife flew past him, narrowly missing his head.

Spinning around, he saw Alex and Hiro each trying to kill the other, brutal punches and kicks being delivered. Kincaid stood just by the hole in the wall with dirt piled in, watching him, obviously waiting for himself to be seen. He shrugged at Chris for the attempt on his life, another knife appearing in his hand, and then rejoined the battle between the two Wesker children.

Chris took a look about the room to see where he might not die. This was absurd how quickly the place was being destroyed. Without his gun or so much as a knife, there wasn't anything he could do to put a stop to anyone. The BSAA agent supposed he could find the knife that almost killed him. He considered this thought. They were all his enemies as far as he was concerned, so why should he care? Why worry about not being able to help? He could run. He could be free.

He glanced at the elevator right behind him, putting his back to the doors. But he would need a key card to access the elevator from the basement. Kincaid would be his best option as the only other human in the room. Still didn't mean it would be very easy, especially in this chaos.

Ding!

His was a delayed reaction to the elevator noise since at first he wasn't sure he'd heard it with everything going on. He caught sight of Alex being flung to the ground mere feet from his position, an angry growl coming out of his mouth. The man vanished in the next second, racing into the fray once more. His hand slipping away from the small wound in his neck to hang at his side, he heard and felt the doors sliding open.

Chris was only beginning to turn, uncertain about why the doors were opening out of nowhere, when a firm hand gripped his wrist and pulled him inside the square shaft. The horror was beginning to dawn on him when his eyes met Jonah's glowing red gaze as he was yanked forward again and then shoved into someone else's solid form. An arm wrapped around his upper body, pinning his arms to his sides.

Please don't be him. Please don't be him. Jonah reached to press the button closing the doors and the elevator seemed to respond impossibly quick, shutting closed and beginning its ascent. He noted the roof button was glowing and worried what that meant. It honestly concerned him that his hope was to be thrown off a roof rather than there being some transport to steal him away. He was finished with being a prisoner. He refused to play any more of these psychos' games. Not that what he wanted mattered.

“Can't believe our luck, eh Jonah?” the voice of the man he'd prayed wasn't there said. “He was practically waiting for us.”

“I suspect he was hoping for a chance to slip away from his keeper,” he correctly surmised.

Miles pressed his face against the back of Chris's hair and then slid it downward until his lips were near enough to lick blood off his throat. He fought to remain unmoving and not give them a reaction. These guys liked the fear and pain from people, especially the one teasing fingers around his waistband from behind.

“Someone made you bleed, Chris,” he murmured into his neck.

“Something, actually,” he pointlessly corrected. Stubborn was simply something he was born to be.

He could feel the smile growing on Miles's face even if he couldn't see it.

“We're going to take real good care of you, hero. Jonah and I, we're going to hurt you a lot and see if it takes.”

“If you know anything about what's already been done to me under torture, you know it won't work,” he tried to deceive.

A soft laugh that betrayed the monster it belonged to. Miles drew back a little, straightening, probably to look at his friend.

“We're very good at what we do, and have the added advantage of piling on to what you've already been forced to endure. Besides, if you do prove strong enough, we'll be proven right and move on to what's next.”

Chris frowned, working hard to keep any traces of fear from leaking out. “What's next?”

Jonah smiled pleasantly at him before providing an answer. “We're step one.”

Chapter Text

As they were crossing the lobby, Chris tried to stop a moment when he noticed blood leaking from behind the reception counter. Miles didn't let him stall long, but there was enough time to see several bodies strewn about the large area. At least one of them had been dismembered, an arm laying across the Umbrella logo. These were not the people to be taken by.

The thought to attempt a run entered his mind. There was really no chance for success but fear and anger were beginning to grow in him. He was so sick of the dying and infected and torment everywhere the Wesker children went.

Chris turned his hatred of monsters into a punch. It jolted Miles's head sideways and he received a smile from him, seemingly pleased at the move. A backhand struck him when he barely knew it was coming his way, putting him on the floor. Memories of the times Wesker easily handled him in a fight passed through his head, pissing him off more. These guys were so strong and fast, taking blows that would cripple an ordinary man, leading anyone who opposed them at a major disadvantage. Without a plan, some method to do real injury to them, it really was futile.

He got up and threw a punch which the other caught. He winced when the man squeezed the trapped fist, still holding that damn smile. Fuming and in increasing pain as the grip tightened, he clenched his teeth tight to avoid making any sounds of discomfort.

“Let's start with a broken hand then, yeah?”

He focused all of his energy on a glare. It was what he had left. Pathetic. What did someone need to do when sheer determination wasn't enough?

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, distracting momentarily from the pain. Wesker shot into view, slamming his elbow into Jonah's side at full speed. This sent him across the room and the man rolled up onto his feet in the next instance. Fully intrigued by someone other than Chris, Miles released his fist and turned for a confrontation.

The two Wesker children faced their interferer while he stood stoically by, sole movement his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. He did do stoic rather cool. Wait, why think that? Don't think that. What was he thinking again?

Wesker. Right. Wesker had shown up and a fight was likely to ensue. Could he take on two people like himself? Guess he would find out.

He went for Miles first, nearest to Chris, nearest to himself. His eyes were glowing and he looked furious. Maybe he was as sick of all the bullshit as he was. The two men matched brutal swings and kicks, one equally adept at avoiding or shrugging off hits as the other.

Jonah joined in and he was impressed to see Wesker more than capable of dual-fighting the both of them. They were skilled fighters though, so how long he would keep it up was in question. Well, he could stand by and watch this, or better yet, run with the opportunity.

The scene before him blurred and he found himself having trouble remembering just what was happening. Why? What? Irritated, he struggled to regain his grasp on what he was seeing. It took a moment but then he did, and he was watching Wesker in his stand off before the conflict began.

Wesker went for Miles first, nearest to Chris, eyes glowing with ferocity. The two were equal in combat skill as well as superhuman abilities. One had to be the luckier or more intelligent tactician to win this fight.

Jonah joined in and Wesker proved able to fight them simultaneously. The thought occurred to make a run for it. He desperately wanted to be free of these dangerous and sociopathic monsters.

He slowly stepped closer to the entrance. The three were far too occupied battling one another to notice him right now. If he could get to a vehicle, he could get away. Wesker had given him his chance.

Once he was outside, a genuine smile came on his face. He would leave this place, locate Jill and Sheva to be sure they were okay and safe. Then he would find his sister and if she had really been taken, he'd kill anyone responsible. They had it coming.

Driving down the freeway, he looked over to Jill.

“So she was never taken? Alex must have been lying to try and rattle me.”

“Yep. She was pretty surprised to hear you believed she'd been kidnapped again. I mean, come on, Chris, how many times can someone get kidnapped, right?”

He laughed. “Yeah, guess you're right. I gotta stop looking at the negative in every situation.”

“And maybe take a vacation?”

“Look who's talking, Jill. You took, what, one week before coming back to work?”

“I missed this too much. Now you have to deal with me. You okay with that?”

Chris grinned. “I think I can handle it.”

“That a boy.”

Wait... Did it make sense? How was Jill free to be here with him now?

As much as he wanted his partner back, he knew typical procedure was to quarantine anyone potentially compromised or infected. The organization would have to until certain the person was no longer a potential threat. This didn't make sense.

Thinking made him think about everything going on. Chris gave a quick look to his partner as he drove along the highway. Jill was wearing her BSAA outfit. The blue one she was wearing when they investigated the mansion where Spencer was believed to be hiding. He glanced down at himself and saw he was dressed in similar attire but green.

This wasn't right. Discomfort twisted in his gut. How did he come to be here? Why were they here now? He was confused and uncertain. This was wrong. Fear surrounded him.

He woke shivering and alone.

Of course Albert Wesker would somehow become the man of his dreams. He'd had nightmares of him in the past, ever since the horror of 1998. Wesker playing the role of savior in his dreams, rescuing him? It was laughable imagining the real man would ever bother to come save him.

What did it say that he wished he would? Chris loathed Wesker. How could he ever go so far as to wish that?

Weeks had gone by since they took him. He couldn't recall how much time had passed. There weren't clocks where he was now. No sunlight.

The hunger faded after a while. They didn't feed him much, providing only water regularly to sustain him. Pain consumed his thoughts most of the time. Humiliation and misery often replacing the pain.

Chris kept his eyes closed. He didn't need to open them to know he was in a bare, white walled room. It was freezing in here. He preferred it to the other rooms. This room required him to endure extreme cold, but it was quiet and he was by himself.

Another room they switched him to was unbearably hot with blaring music to deprive him of sleep. As much as that room made him exhausted and dehydrated, it far exceeded the third room. The third room was for personal torture at the hands of his two captors.

An electric rod was frequently used on him, suffocation, doused in water, and when they wanted to have a more “intimate” play time, they injected him with something that made him desperate for sexual contact.

Resisting didn't work. It left him helpless and mortified on the floor with an erection, practically mewling and whining for release so he could think straight. They waited him out until he couldn't take the immense discomfort and scratchy, burning sensations shocking throughout his body from the drug.

Ashamedly, he begged them to fuck him. He was the aggressive one telling them to touch him, screw him hard. And they would, rough and brutal like he was a thing to be used. Whatever was in that drug cocktail was pure evil. It could make a person plead to be raped repeatedly for hours on end.

The heavy door was opening. His mind told him to get up and hide in the corner of the room. His body didn't follow through, too worn and beaten down from interminable poor treatment.

Hands pulled him up off the floor. His feet refused to stand for him so he was hefted to lean onto a strong shoulder. Jonah murmured to himself how pointless this resistance was serving to be.

He disagreed in his head. He wouldn't do as they asked. They could start cutting off pieces of him and he still wouldn't do what they asked.

Set on a chair in the third room, the worst room, he opened his eyes for the first time.

There was a woman sitting in the chair opposite him. She was tied to the chair and gagged. His hands automatically moved to cover his private area. The kidnapped people they brought here could likely care less that he was nude, but it continued to remain a gesture he did regardless.

“You know the score, Mr. Hero,” Miles said, pushing away from his leaning position against the far wall.

Jonah shut the door they'd come through. “Two men and a woman are dead. The second man was barely out of his teen years, hardly a man. You watched us torture them to death. You didn't even try to save them.”

The woman's eyes widened with raw fear, gaze flickering across her surroundings in distress. He tried not to look at her much, nor did he attempt to ease her terror. There was nothing he could promise and hold to in his own grave circumstance.

“That's not true,” he managed to say.

His numb appendages were beginning to tingle, waking to the much more agreeable temperature of this room. It felt like needles beneath the skin. He rubbed at his sore jaw, a terrible reminder of what they put in his mouth, forced down his throat.

He willed the disturbing memories away. They didn't beat him and they shaved and cleaned him regularly. The other day they insisted on trimming the hair on his head which was starting to get a little long.

Why they were keeping up his appearance had to be for their own pleasure or for some other reason. It had no purpose he could see.

“We gave a choice,” said Jonah, walking over to stand before him. “Kill them quick, a bullet to the head, or watch them die slow.”

The woman whimpered, tears leaking down damp cheeks from previous crying. He sympathized for her, he did. But he couldn't save her.

“I didn't choose either!”

“Not choosing is a choice for the latter.”

“You're so full of shit!”

He stared at the man's brown-blonde hair poking out from beneath the hat, or the v-necked t-shirt interchangeably. It was harder to look him or Miles in the eye anymore, so he looked anywhere else.

Jonah observed his anger. “That emotion will do no good. Why don't you try to rise above such base feeling?”

“Oh yeah, cause it's so goddamn easy!”

Breaking his assumed silence, Miles sighed regrettably. “Suppose it's the child challenge.”

The what?

Miles rubbed a hand across the back of his shaved skull, expression disagreeable. Quick strides brought him to the door. He rapped his knuckles against the metal surface. A few moments passed and the door opened from the outside.

The woman he remembered to be Felicia, was standing there in knee-high boots and a tight dress that extended just above the footwear, showing a thin line of light brown skin. She stood with her hands resting on the shoulders of a young boy standing in front of her. Looking at Chris, she didn't talk or smile or react.

“Child challenge,” repeated Miles. “Would you save a child from an excruciating death? Drowning sounds fun.”

Chris stared at the kid. He didn't seem to know what was going on. Guessing the age, he was thinking maybe seven years old. Blonde bangs fell slightly into curious blue eyes searching the room.

Freckled cheeks grew bigger as he peered upward at the tall woman behind him.

“Can I have more ice cream?”

“That's up to the man over there,” she told him, pointing to Chris.

The boy looked, frowning at his body and meeting his eyes with utter puzzlement.

“Where are your clothes, mister?”

“Let the kid go. I swear if you hurt him…” Trailing off the ineffectual threat he could not back up, he went on. “Don't you dare hurt him.”

Felicia patted the gun holstered to her hip. “You can save him from suffering. Show him mercy.”

“Did they get dirty?”

Oblivious to his situation, the kid was still trying to work out the mystery of his nakedness. Goddamn monsters. Why do this?

The first person they brought into the room was a man in his mid to late thirties. When he refused to shoot a man in the head, Miles tied him up to prevent interference. Jonah systematically applied shallow stab wounds until the man bled out. It took a long time and the man… It was hard to see that.

The second was a teenager they strangled with a chord, loosening and pulling it tight until finally finishing him off completely. The third victim was a woman they broke the bones of, working up from the toes. The teenager's eyes as the life left them… Her agonizing screams…

He was tempted to kill them to end their suffering after the first few minutes passed. Chris knew he couldn't help them though. They would die either way, and he refused to compromise his beliefs by murdering an innocent. Giving in to terrorist demands was never the answer.

Part of him knew his inclination to end them had nothing to do with the person hurting either. It hurt him to be forced to watch, a selfish motive. And it didn't matter if he demanded they do it to him instead. They tried to explain for that very reason, they couldn't. He didn't understand.

“Brian really needs you to make a choice, hero,” said Miles, stroking his light beard while he scrutinized Chris over the rims of his shades. “He's waiting for ice cream.”

Was that the new code word for death? He glared at each of them, settling his infuriated gaze on the man in the baseball cap looking down at him from a foot away.

“I'm not taking innocent lives. You can forget it.”

Miles grinned, hand falling away from his face. “You can forget the drowning. Do it or I rape the kid to death.”

Jonah didn't react, but Felicia had the decency to be surprised and appalled. Across from him, the woman mumbled something indecipherable through the gag, squirming and straining to free herself. There was no escape from this, no rescue.

He got up when Felicia pushed the boy forward into a sadist's waiting arms, however, Jonah shoved him back into the chair. Sliding around to the back of it, he firmly positioned his arms so they held his body into the seat. The man leaned into his cheek.

“Is your self-righteousness really worth the lives of these people?”

They were going to die regardless of his choice. He didn't want them to suffer, but murdering anyone wasn't something he thought he could do. It was a cruel, callous fate either way.

Miles hooked his fingers into the loops of the child's jeans. “Kids don't do it for me. Frankly, it's disgusting. I mean, they're so helpless and stupid and soft. I'll have to think of you while I'm destroying his anal cavity, tearing him open and bloody. How can letting that happen be the right choice?”

The kid continued to remain clueless. He turned to the man touching his pants, curious what he was doing. He received an empty smile, dark shades hiding the eyes that would likely freak him out.

“If you want ice cream, Felicia needs you to take a bath first. Could you take off your clothes for her?”

His face crinkled into a hesitant and unhappy frown. “Do I have to? Will my mom have ice cream with us too?”

Peering over the boy to him, Miles continued to smile that false smile. “Oh, I think you'll be with her real soon.”

“Don't you fucking touch him! Sick bastards! Don't you fu-” he broke off when his pissed tirade drew the boy into the man's arms, frightening him.

Miles wrapped his arms around him and slid a hand beneath his shirt, stroking slowly along the skin of his back. The child was crying, asking for his mommy. The wandering hand lowered to his bottom, pressing lightly against it. The boy didn't comprehend the sick intention behind his touches.

He's a kid! He's a fucking kid! He couldn't murder a kid. He couldn't!

Despairing, he stared the sick fuck in the eyes best he could with the sunglasses concealing them. “I won't kill someone but anything else, please. I'll do whatever you want, just stop this.”

“You do whatever we say?”

The boy was wiping away tears, peeking toward him in confusion. He didn't hesitate.

“Yes.”

Felicia held out her hand. “Come on, Brian. The bath can wait. Let's go get some ice cream.”

He hurried to leave the room, taking her hand. Definitely sensing something was weird and not good now, he seemed to see the woman for the first time. He paused, attention on the frightened woman gagged and tied to the chair looking at him. Brian was young, but he knew enough to know she was in trouble.

Jonah released his hold on Chris and strolled over to her, standing her up.

“Go with them,” he ordered.

She practically ran to be out of this room. There was no way for her to know if the female captor would be any better than her male counterparts, but they were going somewhere outside a room child rape and murder were discussed. He couldn't blame her for the eagerness to leave.

The kidnapped left with Felicia, Chris's eyes following them for as long as he could. He hoped they would be safe, but worried once out of sight she would kill them. He had absolutely no power to make a difference here. It was beyond horrifying.

Jonah turned to face him. “Sex of your own volition.”

“Why?”

He choked on the word. To them it was probably proof they'd selected the right action to order of him. The physical torment and injury he could take all day long. His stubbornness denied his ability to give up or cease fighting to endure. Torment of a sexual nature worked a little different. It affected on a deeper level. One that didn't heal or wash out. Oh God…

Chris breathed in, exhaling slowly. They'd already raped him. Krauser raped him. This would just be another kind of rape. One where he was fully participating and… He really hoped the day would come when he had opportunity to kill them both.

“What do you want me to do?”

Smirking, Miles started to undo his belt. “On your knees. Let's teach you how someone can put their own mouth to work.”

Didn't want to use it as a mere hole this time, huh? Lucky him… He knew pretty much nothing about blow jobs. Life and then work kept him busy. He didn't have interest in porn, and the few occasions he had time for sex, he'd never asked or expected a woman to do such a thing for him.

He stood up and approached Miles, extremely apprehensive and reluctant. A glance over a shoulder informed him Jonah was shedding clothing. How long would they expect him to obey?

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to just do. He got down on his knees. He wouldn't hesitate. Hesitation would show fear, shame, and anger. All of which he was feeling. All of which they wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing.

Chapter Text

It was loathsome to be so close to Miles, exposed or not. His desire not to do this was threatening to paralyze.

The thing terribly close to his face was as long as Wesker's dick, but at least an inch wider. That inch made a big impression when it was being thrust mercilessly down his throat. It was so tight, barely fitting, and he couldn't breathe. Might as well have been shoving a baseball bat down into his stomach.

He blinked rapidly, memory leaving his mind. This was hesitating. He wasn't supposed to do that.

His mouth opened to take that monster of a thing into his mouth. Miles pulled away to wag a finger at him.

“Not so eager. Take the time to lick and suck it. Don't neglect my balls.”

Cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Goddamn this was a nightmare. He'd take Wesker beating the shit out of him over this crap any day.

This was the definition of hesitation. Miles ran fingers through his hair, ruffling the short strands. His body was forgetting the cold quick, heating up in his nervousness and in adjusting to the normal temperature of the room.

Chris talked himself into listening to the suggestions that were really commands. He began applying light touches with his lips and tongue along the long shaft. It wasn't hard yet. He knew from experience the psycho didn't require much to get him stiff.

He didn't like the taste. Definitely didn't want to put the plum sized testicles in his mouth. Placing hands on the man's hips for balance, he lowered his face. His lips cupped one and let it drop into his mouth, sucking.

Miles groaned and urged him to go on.

After counting to five, he switched to the other one. Bile rose in his throat, sickened by this action. Swallowing to push the nausea away, the man put a hand on top of his head and asked him to do it again.

He did, then pulled his mouth off to return attention to the thick penis now erect and longer.

Chris followed his instruction and slid teeth and tongue across the organ. When several agonizingly lengthy minutes passed, he ignored Miles's request to suck his balls more. Instead, he enveloped the head and first couple inches of the cock inside his mouth.

A loud moan told him the man didn't mind. The hand on top of his head shifted to the back, urging him forward. He obeyed, gradually accepting the length into his mouth inch by inch. His jaw straining around the girth, it was touching the back of his throat and there was plenty more to take.

He dreaded what was coming, even while shoving his face forward to make the first inch go into his throat. At these five inches he was gagging. Chris swallowed repeatedly to force his mind and body to comprehend this was happening still, regardless of the automatic instinct to repel the too large, foreign intrusion.

His lips were painfully stretched. Miles was emitting loud noises of pleasure, enjoying the way his throat and mouth tightened around his cock with every swallow. Unintentional as that was, he tried to tell himself it was a good thing he was satisfied by his novice performance.

Movement had him looking as far to the left as he could manage during his predicament. Jonah appeared in his altered line of sight. He wore a questioning expression, but he soon forgot about him.

Two more inches and he was choking. He concentrated breathing through his nose, telling himself it was okay. His body desired to seize and spit it out. Chris made his body relax and slump.

Blinking through watery eyes, face surely red from the effort, another inch descended, and another. It felt like he was swallowing a giant snake. Must be what those idiots on the news felt when they swallowed a billiard ball each on a dare, and the things got stuck in their throats.

Except this monster of a thing was wider. He'd guess three inches, about the size of a crayon's length. There wasn't interest in measuring the damn thing all the times Miles forced it down his throat and brutally fucked his mouth like an inanimate object. Presently though, the slow going gave him number counting and factual input as a means to keep it together.

His face poked into pelvic bone, squashing against it as the last inch entered his mouth. The air was bitter, pungent scent of pubic hair and skin filling his nostrils. Straining to breathe properly as is, he had to smell the man's musk deeply.

Mouth taut, jaw aching to continue accommodating the huge penis, he stilled.

Chris was uncertain how many minutes ticked by while he held the thing in his mouth and throat. But finally, Miles patted the top of his head.

“Fuck yourself.”

He pulled back carefully until the hard dick was half in, half out, an inch yet down his throat. Hands continuing to grip Miles's hips, he used it to pull himself forward, swallowing the entire length. Deciding it worked well enough, Chris set a rhythm of removing it halfway before jamming it into his throat, over and over.

He expected Miles to take control and use him as a fuck hole like he'd done every other time during his torture sessions. The man never did, controlling himself and letting Chris do it.

A grunting noise slipped out of him each time he backed off the dick which he hated. This was humiliating.

His forehead was perspiring. A drop of sweat trailed into his eye. He blinked it away, eyelashes fluttering against the dark curls of the groin hair touching his face.

Anger flooded through him but dissipated as abruptly as it came. What wasn't anywhere near abrupt was this task.

Miles had ridiculous stamina and it must have been close to an hour before he couldn't keep fucking himself. The penis was erect and dripping pre-ejaculate, but no hint of approaching climax otherwise. Noticing his slowing pace and decreasing “enthusiasm”, two hands slid into his hair.

“Let me take over, okay?”

Chris peered up at him with bleary eyes. He nodded once, incapable of mustering the strength to be embarrassed or hateful. Miles didn't sound haughty and vile either, which was odd.

Once more, he was not rammed into like an object or anything. The style and pace he'd set was followed precisely, only difference being Miles was the one moving back and forth in place of him. The man above sighed in contentment. He had to fight to keep from fighting.

The leisurely fucking went on forever. He retained alertness and full sensation to every scrape across his tongue, every moment his throat was filled. His knees throbbed painfully, his back ached like his stretched jaw did, and he was getting a headache courtesy of numerous discomforts adding up.

It was horrible to feel it all like this. He felt like running and hiding, cowering someplace unseen. He'd probably be killed by one of these Wesker children before he achieved a single minute of peace.

His wandering mind struggling to go elsewhere was brought back to what was happening. The man's breathing was quickening, rhythm breaking apart. The climax was finally nearing.

Eager to get it done, Chris swallowed and flicked his tongue against the organ, trying to encourage the finish. A moan, breathing stuttering, and Miles jerked erratically deep in his throat. He felt the organ softening and shrinking, warm fluid filling his stomach.

The limp penis withdrew, sliding out of his mouth and leaving a salty taste behind. Eyes watched him carefully, knowing there was more of the thick, somewhat bitter ejaculate that landed outside his throat. He'd be right. It sat in his mouth, burning a little.

He knew what he wanted and cleaned it out of his mouth by accumulating saliva, gathering it with his tongue, and swallowing. When every last drop was gone, he made eye contact. Satisfied, Miles moved away and Chris shakily got to his feet.

His knees protested because of the extended period he remained in the position on hard ground. Chris ignored the aching pain like he ignored the lingering taste in his mouth. He tiredly looked between the two men, waiting for whatever would come.

Jonah sat in the chair vacated by the captive woman, beckoning to him with a tap on his thigh. He stared over at the bland wall on his right for a good long moment. It wasn't so bad. Really it wasn't.

He didn't believe himself.

Chris walked to him, hiding his aversion to their desires. The cock expecting his perseverance was thankfully not the terrifying size his friend was carrying. It was still pretty big as far as he knew penises to be, like Wesker's but a bit shorter in length.

He actually wished for a fraction of a second that these guys would have a dick the size of himself or even Krauser. Average thickness and maybe slightly above average length. Maybe. He wasn't a male genitalia expert. Just trying to use numbers to distract.

The seated man was a paradox. He portrayed a cool exterior, but he'd seen the honest him in brief flashes. The man didn't gain pleasure in hurting Chris any of the ways they had, including the rapes. It might genuinely bother him.

Yeah, sure, he achieved an erection and climax every time. It was mechanical stuff of the body though. His mind was calculating and observant primarily. He was intrigued by the results the act might cause, not in the act itself.

Since what he did meant Chris's suffering, he held no sympathy. He held no willingness to grant the man any benefit of the doubt he could be a better person. After nearly destroying the world and what he did to Jill, the BSAA agent shouldn't concede a single thing to Wesker either. He did though. It was personal. That's what he blamed it on. That's how he explained it away.

He sensed Miles behind him, standing close. Chris looked over his shoulder at him, noting he was no longer exposed. Something was pushed into his hand.

A glance down saw it was a bottle of lubrication. His eyes closed. He breathed in and out one time. Again. He opened his eyes.

Chris popped the bottle open and squeezed a lot of it into his other hand. No way was he going stingy on the aid. He reached in front of him and began applying the substance along the length of his shaft.

Having been in his pocket probably, the stuff was fairly warm. His gaze accidentally connected with Jonah's when he glanced up from his task. The man's eyes were half shut, arousal evident. He was watching his hand slide up and down his erection with heated anticipation.

Fake. Right? He appeared to be faking all the other times. Unless somehow now was different.

“Enough,” he uttered, a low growl revealing his impatience.

Eager eyes flickered to his face and then to Miles. Trepidation for the obvious coupling position he wanted spread throughout him. He rubbed his aching jaw with the hand unsoiled by lubricant.

“I'm going to lower you,” Miles said.

He spun to face him. “Like hell you are! I'll be torn up.”

Sighing, Miles took the bottle out of his hand and dribbled some of its contents onto his fingers. Rubbing the digits together, he used the other hand to turn Chris back around. Fingers brushed against his ass, slipping between his crack. Two fingers pushed into him.

The entire situation they were in was bizarre. In the past, they abused the entry into his lower body with lubricant on their dicks and zero else in the way of preparation for his rapes. This time, if they demanded he be an obedient participant in their sick methods in exchange for a couple lives saved, he was at least getting properly prepared.

Chris tried to pretend it was someone else touching him. The trouble was, it had never not been an enemy doing this particular thing. So his imaginings didn't really work.

He fought not to shift or pull away as the fingers prodded and twisted to widen the receiving end. Miles wore a look of irritation and boredom, like the idea of making someone comfortable for sex was an annoying concept. If he could avoid this time feeling like pure brutalization and pain as all the previous occasions had, he would. When Jonah tugged his limp cock with a small smile, he knew he would be made to climax himself.

First time they were doing that without his drug-addled mind and body necessitating it. They never laid a finger on his own dick until right then. The drug-induced erections were painful, and only brought relief that it was over when he climaxed from hard penetration.

Chris didn't much like the thought of feeling pleasure out of this forced situation, but it was a far cry more ideal than the violent sexual assaults he'd endured at their hands.

The fingers slipped out and he swallowed nervously. He stared at the penis he was going to have to take, even as hands gripped his armpits and lifted him off the ground a few feet. Anxious breaths huffed out of his mouth when he began to lower closer to the erect organ prepared to penetrate him.

Jonah grasped his asscheeks, spreading them apart. The wet tip of his penis poked against the hole. Chris held his breath, dreading.

Anticipating, the man used his fingers to worm the hole open a bit more, allowing the head of his cock to slip inside. It felt weird, akin to lowering himself down onto a flashlight handle. He squirmed and remembered he had to do what they wanted to protect that kid, and the woman.

Miles lowered him onto the penis, gradual. He felt his body easily accept the thick, warm stick of flesh. The repeated assaults probably helped in that area, he thought bitterly.

“Unnnhh...” he groaned, uncomfortable by how deep it seemed to be entering him.

His arms were shaken a little and he took the hint because it felt natural, putting his hands onto Jonah's shoulders for balance. He sensed Miles back away, and lowered his eyes to the situation below. He'd estimate he had about five inches in him already.

He found his feet could touch the ground now, and set them on cold floor for leverage. Breathing rapidly, he tried to calm his breaths and control the clenching his sphincter insisted on doing. Jonah held firm onto his hips, helping him keep position and elevation.

The man giving was receiving plenty of pleasurable sensations if his excited expression was anything to go by. His eyes were glowing red. Chris looked away and focused on what he had to complete.

An inch disappeared into the cavity of his body. He continued impaling himself, inner walls tight about the invading tool. Admittedly, it didn't feel awful.

Chris absorbed the rest of the dick inside, releasing a quiet moan. It felt so deep, so..good. People did this for a reason. His fists clenched and he crushed the anger, pushing the emotion out of his mind.

Rising up to an almost standing position, he sat back down, enveloping the cock back into him. Oh. Curious what else could be gleaned out of this, he thrust forward. They both moaned in unison at the pleasurable waves that shot through them. He did it a few more times, his own dick hardening.

Jonah removed his hands from hips, wrapping his arms around Chris. Pulling him close, he kissed him on the lips. Shocked, he yanked himself away and almost off of the lap if not for the arms surrounding him.

“Own volition,” his enemy murmured in a low voice.

Everything in him wanted to flee the creature peering into his eyes. The cock deep inside slid deeper somehow when the lap bucked upward, ripping a moan out of his throat. Arms still wrapped around his body, Jonah started humping and the nonstop waves of pleasure were absurd.

It was difficult to think straight and he needed to be able to think. So he did what he thought to do and leaned forward, pressing his lips against Jonah's lips. The rutting ceased and they became enthralled in battling for dominance with their mouths. Teeth and tongue clashed.

Chris wrapped his arms around the man's shoulder and head to get better angles. Hands slid through hair, saliva changed mouths, and damn he'd never been this turned on. What was wrong with him?

Their lips were redder and bruised before they pulled apart for air. A hand caressed his cheek, coaxing him to take what he wanted. Unable to bury his lust, knowing he wouldn't be allowed to scurry off to some corner to masturbate in shame, he listened.

His body pressed tight to the other man's, molding their bodies into one. He initiated another kiss and began a rhythm of small thrusts, his own erect penis pushing against the man's stomach. He enjoyed the feel of his skin, the tight muscles. The friction was amazing and leaking precum let him increase the pace of thrusting.

The penis inside of him was rubbing his prostate with each thrust, sending him into stimulation overdrive. Bucking like an animal in heat, he flushed red, puffing air out in short bursts. He slid his face to bury in the crook of Jonah's neck as he climaxed, shuddering without control. Noises emerged out of his mouth and he loathed himself in that moment.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” asked Jonah.

He didn't answer, hiding in that neck, and the hard cock in his ass moved. Why did it have to feel good?

Jonah took hold of his hips and jostled the lap. He gasped at the jarred penis deep in him, pulling out of his makeshift hiding spot. Steadily, he began to raise Chris's ass off his penis, then let it sink back onto it. After repeated motions of this for a few minutes, his deflated penis was growing hard again.

Horrified, he let out a whining sound when Jonah noticed and burrowed into him a little more roughly. Wishing to hear the whine again, he changed tactic. After lifting Chris off his dick to the tip, he snapped his pelvis upward, completely slipping back into the narrow passageway.

While Chris was not a fan of this objectively, his body yearned for it. His sphincter clenched around the thick flesh, sucking it in and holding it there. The deep penetration was awakening his base instinct to couple with other warm flesh, and apparently, aside from skin to skin, roughness turned him on too.

He was fucked as hard as Jonah could manage in a seated position. Aroused grunts fell out of his mouth with every thrust and he held on to powerful shoulders to avoid falling off the lap. Body shaking, he climaxed a second time, crying out and deeply satiated.

Red-yellow eyes flickered away from his drooping length to his face. The eyes beginning to glow red, Chris wasn't certain of the expression staring back at him. He felt unease.

Jonah leaned forward and licked his tongue across his lips. He blinked, looking without reacting. He was contemplating if he was in danger.

Hands ran from his hips across his thighs. They never once broke eye contact while his body was systematically groped and touched. It was immensely erotic unfortunately, and dexterous fingers were brushing against his chest and nipples when he got another erection. Sheesh. He felt like a horny teenager again.

Smug, he smirked. “Stand up.”

“You want me to get off?”

“Oh yes.”

He meant the question literally, not pertaining to sexual gratification, which he was certain Jonah was referring to with his reply. Still, he struggled to dislodge the big penis from his ass and stood next to the chair. His legs protested a little, quaking, and he wondered how long he'd been on his lap. Counting as distraction had long since gone out the window as an option.

Speaking of windows, he wished this room had one. For a pointlessly attempted escape or plain sunlight. It seemed like ages had passed without ever seeing the sun. He worried on that.

His mind soon returned to pressing concerns. Jonah was standing from the chair. He automatically stepped back to ensure their hard-ons didn't incidentally bump into each other, which was silly. They'd gone a whole lot further than bumping private parts.

“Lie down on your side.”

Frowning, he followed the command even though he didn't get why he wanted him to do that.

When Jonah joined him on the floor, spooning up against his backside, he got the why.

He cursed as the hard length slid into him in one go. Arms wrapped around him, fondling his chest and erection. Chris was held tight, feeling the man's skin against his. The hand stroking his dick left it momentarily to tug his hips back so his rear was flat to the man's groin, a leg wrapping around one of his legs to keep them in this extreme closeness. His positioning resembled a loose fetal position with his butt pushed outward and into the man at his back. It shifted the penis buried in his ass deeper.

The Wesker child discovered what got him off. Maximum skin contact was something Chris already learned for himself through the sexual experiences during his life. The sex he had with women was always sensual and romantic. Liking it rough was new to him. New was liking a man's body and a dick up his ass also so...

Why would he choose a position that would now give him the best sex for his uncovered preferences?

He had the sinking feeling he'd made a grave mistake by saving the other captives this time. But how could it be a mistake? Saving lives whatever the cost was what he did.

Jonah drew very slightly away and thrust against him. The penis stayed in him entirely and each thrust felt like it was driving into him impossibly deep. Setting an intense pace, their lewd noises mixed together with their connected bodies desperate to rut and feel pleasure.

Kissing and sucking the back of his neck and lower back, Chris arched into the gentle gesture. He thought of nothing but the physical sensations, body becoming drenched in sweat as the minutes ticked by. The man behind him was sweating as well. He could feel the heady heat and perspiration mingling with his own.

His penis was being stroked to match the savage humping, and when the hand funneled, he needed no direction. He fucked into the hand every time Jonah made a ramming motion to own him deeply. That's what it was, and he climaxed thinking about how much he liked the thought of being claimed.

He wasn't given time to feel shame. The muted horror was on his face for a good while, but the pace never let up. Soon he was lost to the pleasure, rational and serious thoughts evaporating.

There was a shuddering from the man behind him, the big organ deep within him feeling like it was throbbing. It seemed to pass, whatever it was, and the rhythm picked back up. Too much for him, he let himself start expressing his pleasure, as smothering it required concentration he did not have available.

Climaxing a fourth time, he was really starting to feel how worn out all of this was making him. While he kept on grunting and groaning, the pleasurable moans were no longer a factor. The touches and deep thrusting felt spectacular, but his dick couldn't keep working for him.

Jonah didn't mind. His hand trailed lightly up across his side, slipping down to rub his flat breasts with the other hand. The brute humping went on, continuous moans interspersed between touches of tongue and lips on his neck and shoulders. He didn't think it would ever end. The egocentric part of him didn't want it to as it had been a very long time since his body found release or felt this comfortable.

The man eventually climaxed, throbbing member spraying his insides with a lot of semen. Chris grimaced, feeling just how much when the dick pulled out and his anus leaked the stuff. Gross.

After determining it was safe to move freely, he shifted his upper body upright. More ejaculate oozed out of his hole and he attempted to stop the embarrassing visual by clenching. He stretched his arms and legs, testing if he was messed up physically by the unending fuck.

It seemed okay. He was exhausted and aching, and he'd probably be immensely sore tomorrow. Aside from that...

He could stand without difficulty. He counted that as a win. Yay, winning...

Chapter Text

Despair and concern flooded through him. Miles was leaning on the metal table attached to the wall nearest the door. Unmistakable hunger in shining red eyes.

He straightened and began to undress. A finger pointed downward at the spot by him, indicating he wanted Chris to go there. Why couldn't this be over?

Forgetting embarrassment when semen dribbled down his inner thighs as he walked across the room, he felt only fear. It soon proved justified.

Finished taking off his clothes, the monster of a cock was hard and dripping. He latched a hand onto Chris's arm and pulled him close, then turned them, shoving him into the table. Another shove and he pitched forward, hands dropping onto the metal surface to hold himself up.

Miles pawed impatiently to spread his asscheeks, positioning his huge dick to the wet entrance. He lowered himself onto elbows to put his butt higher in the air. Standing mostly upright would be a recipe for agony. Chris's only saving grace was the plentiful ejaculate to slick his entry.

He screamed as the man forced his penis into the too small hole. It was like that every damn time and he never cared. Thankfully or not so thankfully, this occasion the sopping cavity made insertion a little less painful. Jonah's extensive penetration prepared him well for a bigger size also. Still, it hurt, stretching him and feeling horribly like being impaled on a pole.

After successfully pushing the whole length into him, he rested it there, allowing Chris and his ass to adjust and get used to the thing. That was a first. It didn't take longer than the few minutes given for him to learn there was a cruel and selfish motive.

“Like a good cock up your ass, do ya? How's mine feel? Bet you're worried I'm gonna tear you up, make you bleed. We already did that, didn't we? That first day and night we had you. Didn't you notice how we took better care of you from then on? Did you see we made sure not to tear or do real damage after we got carried away?”

“Monster,” he spat.

“My cock sure is. And it's in you right now.”

His hips wiggled. When Chris tried to dislodge him somehow, grabbing at the table, Miles yanked him back onto his dick.

“Does it drive you crazy to be turned into a bitch in heat, begging for big cocks?”

“Go screw yourself.”

“Why do that when I can screw you?”

He made a point of following through by pulling out and then pushing into him fully. A moan slipped out, the thick penis easily stimulating his prostrate. He was humiliated to be pleasured by sex the other man was happily acknowledging to be him taken advantage of, like he didn't already know...

“When I push in, I want you to push out. Got it?”

“Wha-?”

Chris cried out as the penis slid out and back in quickly, a sickening slap of skin against skin. A hand slapped his head and he once again tried to rise from the bent over, vulnerable position he'd put himself in. Miles responded to the attempt by shoving him flat on his stomach with a hand on his back, and ruthlessly bucking in and out of his sore asshole until he was struggling to catch a breath.

While he was weakened and limp on the table, Miles shoved into him one more time, leaning onto his backside.

“When I push in, I want you to push out. Tell me you heard me.”

Gasping for air and shaken by the pitiless behavior, he clenched his jaw and blinked back hot tears.

“I heard you.”

Miles slid out, and Chris tried to prepare himself for however it came into him. He expected it vicious, and he was right.

Slamming into him, he cried out but didn't forget his instructions. As soon as it rubbed deep within him, he mimicked like he was straining to take a shit. The motion pushed his ass backward, into the man's groin. Behind, the man moaned in pleasure, withdrawing his dick with the action.

And slammed right back in.

He saw how this was meant to go and didn't know if he could bear it. He wasn't given a choice though, and so gripping the sides of the table for stability, he took it. The penis shoved roughly in, he pushed it out, and it shoved right back in. Over and over and over.

After a few minutes he was able to tame his cries, a sound pushing against his tightly shut lips during every brutal thrust in place of the vocal one. His skin felt raw, constantly being shoved across the table, and tears fell from his eyes. An intimate violation.

Miles succeeded where not even Krauser did, as the man was never as invested in using sex to break him as he was invested in sex to fulfill his personal urges. Miles managed to make him feel dirty and pathetic. He taunted him and fucked him savagely, while ordering him to engage in every second of the brutality like he was eager for it.

The eventuality arrived where he was too spent to participate, needing a break they would never give. Miles pulled out and spanked a buttcheek to see if he could spur him on. Chris let his eyes slip closed, incapable of speech, let alone physical momentum.

“Humans,” the man uttered like a criticism. “Think you can do whatever you want if you can get away with it. Uh uh.”

Fingers tapped him on the cheek. “Either I'm going to need you to do something to speed things along, or this is gonna take a while.”

Chris opened his eyes, taking the hint he was not allowed to “sleep on the job”. He was supposed to do something. Something to speed this along. He'd certainly be okay with that possibility if the other really wanted to get off bad enough not to extend his suffering longer than he already had. So he thought about sex he had with girls.

Tightening and squeezing his penis inside their vagina generally worked well. Although when they spread their legs wide it was a turn on. Huh. Uh...

He stood straight and separated his legs as far as they could go without leaving the floor. He bent over the table again, holding on, and fingers were immediately stroking down his spin, tracing his hips. Miles didn't have to say a word for him to know in the momentary silence that he'd made the correct choice.

Of course being Miles, he did talk.

“You want me so bad, don't you?”

A hand slapped the back of his head, startling him. He didn't think the man expected an actual response. Working to recall the question he hadn't been listening to, he told the truth.

“Like razor blades in my soup.”

Somewhere in the room, Jonah laughed. Angry, Miles smacked him on the head again.

“Tell me you want me.”

The hand shifted to the back of his neck threateningly. They both knew it would be easy to snap his neck. He couldn't die if it wasn't for good cause. Claire might be in danger somewhere. He had to survive to find her as soon as he could. Even hoping there were others who would search for her, like Leon, as her brother it was his responsibility to look out for her.

Wiping away the tears that had fallen earlier, his expression hardened, staring daggers at the wall.

“I want you.”

“Say you want me to fuck you with my huge cock. No. Say you want me to fuck you with my huge cock. Like the bitch you are, like animals in heat.”

He hesitated a few seconds before dutifully reciting his stupid words.

“I want you to fuck me with your huge cock like the bitch I am, like animals in heat.”

The breathing was quickening behind him. Hm... Maybe this would actually work to get this over and done with faster. He thought it was mostly bullshit, but now...

“Use my name. Beg for it.”

Oh come on.

“Give it to me, Miles. Fuck me with your monster cock.”

Voice low, he growled, “I'm going to defile you, hero. Cause you want it. You want me so bad.”

His dick pushed into him with such ferocity he almost flew across the table. The iron tight grip on his hips held him in place, upper thighs painfully digging into the edge. He was held so firmly, no matter how vicious or rough the dick plunged in, he was stuck precisely where he stood.

It hurt bad. He alternated between wails and whimpers, wishing to distance his mind but failing. Miles had him. For right now, he possessed him and there was nothing he could do. All the stewing hate was useless.

As turned on as the man clearly was, he maintained erection, pummeling his abused entrance enthusiastically. Unable to move, sodomized violently for what seemed to be a very long time, Miles suddenly paused mid-thrust. He hoped for climax, but the man pulled out hard as ever, and tugged his upper half off the table.

Dazed from what had just been happening to his body, he stumbled into him, legs wobbly. Chris didn't fight it when he was lifted to sit on the table. His tired body toppled onto his side and the other man repositioned him onto his backside.

“Hold your knees back.”

He obeyed, praying it meant he would be finished soon. His body was dragged to the end of the table, and he caught Miles taking a few seconds to examine his probably red and aggravated ass. Admiring his work. Bastard.

“Rest your legs on my shoulders.”

Chris did, the man's arms coming around to support his back in the raised position it put him in.

“Grab my shoulders.”

Doing so, Miles entered him, face close to his bent form. When he gave a solid thrust, it was pleasure that shot through him this time. He bit back the moan but on the fourth thrust, he let his head fall back and released a loud one.

This anal manipulation shit was ridiculous. Goddamn it felt good and it put him out of control. He didn't really approve of those two things going together.

Enjoying the massive erection thrusting in and out of him because the violence was tempered and his body didn't know anything except its prostate was being activated, he got an erection. Chris tightened his grasp on the man's shoulders, losing himself to sensations. He could feel the eyes burning holes in him, watching his face intently all the while, and he didn't care.

They climaxed together unintentionally, or maybe it was intentional on Miles's part. He didn't know. But when he released the man and flopped bonelessly onto the table, a hot mouth enveloped his dwindling penis.

Gasping, his hands flew to the man's face, trying to push him off.

“Don't!”

Making eye contact, he whirled his tongue around the sticky organ coated in old and new ejaculate. He kept pushing at his face to get him to stop. Miles buried his face into his crotch, taking his entire length and swallowing.

Chris's hands slid off his face and hips bucked upward into the enticing heat. A hand began playing with his balls while the mouth worked his shaft. He hardened under the man's skillful oral ability and was stunned he could get an erection again.

Before, his body couldn't get hard like it was too tired. Now he was feeling reinvigorated, like achieving a second wind. Amidst the pleasure, he felt a dull foreboding at the back of his mind.

Miles ceased the oral sex abruptly and lifted his legs out to the sides, spreading them wide, granting him easy access. What he failed to notice was that he wasn't alone in becoming erect again. The huge penis pushed in and he groaned, already incredibly turned on to the point the deep and filling contact was welcome.

Slipping his arms beneath, he was picked up. Not wanting to lose the stimulation, Chris wrapped his legs around the man's waist, pulling them close. His arms went around shoulders to hold that nearness, and Miles carried them a few feet to the wall.

Back to it, hands were massaging his asscheeks where they supported his weight. Their chests touched after Chris shifted to try and be more comfortable, and sweaty foreheads slid together. He sank forward into a kiss when the man's lust-filled gaze indicated it was what he wanted.

Erotic as everything was combined, the who of his partner fell away. It was a worry for another time.

He rutted his dick into the man's stomach, feeling the dick inside him that really needed to be moving to satisfy his desire. The motion served as notification to action. The lips pressed to his, curved into a wicked smile.

The smell of sweat and sex was potent, intoxicating Chris further to release his faculties and just do. His body was made for this. Why deny it?

Miles had a look that should concern him. His expression appeared almost to be noticing something about him and whatever it was brought joy to his face. He saw the warning sign but couldn't bring himself to care.

Lips roughly assaulted his mouth and he responded with equal fervor. Tongues mingled and tasted and explored. Pulling back a few inches, the man's breath puffed into his agape mouth.

“Do you want me?”

“Yes,” he responded without hesitation.

“What do you need?”

“I need you to fuck me,” he practically whined. “Please.”

“I won't go easy.”

Their eyes met and he knew he had to be seeing the anxious yearning for him, for this.

“Please.”

“Please?”

“Fuck me up against this wall. Make me scream.”

Oh he liked that.

His back flattened to the wall with the first thrust. The second thrust drew a moan. Pace increasing, his body painfully battered into the wall with each drive of lean hips.

“Uh, uh, uh,” emerged after each rapid thrust.

It was pain and pleasure mixing. Feeling insatiable, he started swinging his hips forward with each rough pump that slammed him against the wall, riding the powerful cock for as long as he could. This left him reeling brainlessly, consumed by the strong force answering his need for it.

“Uh, uh, yes! Yes! Harder! Harder! Yes!”

Bouncing up and down at this man's mercy, he reveled in the lithe body he was wrapped around. Teeth sank into his neck, into his shoulder, biting and marking territory. A particularly hard thrust took him by surprise and he climaxed, spraying his semen against the man's chest and stomach.

The other man wasn't bothered, never missing a step in his harsh and unrelenting screwing. Chris appreciated the passion, encouraging him to keep giving it to him, whispering how sexy he looked.

When he climaxed, he kept ramming into him. It was out of rhythm and less forceful, but he continued his humping movement until the fluid stopped flowing and he softened. Slipping his penis out, he let him drop to the floor.

Chris landed with a shout but was soon distracted from his pain by Jonah approaching. The man didn't say a word as he pushed him gently onto his back. Getting to his knees, Chris bent his own knees onto his chest, folding them as far back into his shoulders as they would go, exposing himself to him.

The man widened the stance of his knees and pushed his penis into him fully. Groaning, it got better as the man straddled his butt, leaning over it to press as close to his body as he could. Hands coming to rest on either side of his head, Jonah lowered his head and they kissed.

With his knees shoved up, legs in the air like this, he could barely move. His hands wrapped around the man's thighs and Jonah thrust the pelvis flat against his ass forward. Moaning in ecstasy, he realized this position made the fit feel incredibly narrow with his muscles tightening as they strained to maintain the posture.

His next moan was swallowed by a kiss. Chris hungrily nipped at his lips and opened his mouth to allow the tongue to delve in. The slippery appendage began fucking into his mouth with each thrust of the cock deep inside his ass. It felt fantastic and when Jonah climaxed in what seemed to be a matter of minutes at most, he was disappointed it was over.

He wasn't even hard. It simply was exhilarating to keep the sexually charged atmosphere going. Sitting upright when Jonah stood and stepped aside, he looked up to find Miles striding purposefully toward him.

“On your hands and knees, slut.”

Hurrying to obey, he scrambled into the position with his ass facing the man. Kneeling with a leg on either side of Chris's, a hand cupped him under his stomach and the other latched onto his shoulder. He was locking him into place, dominating him by displaying his body was his to control.

Chris glanced down as his butt rose upward, feeling his own penis was half-hard now. He knew this was going to be brutalizing and couldn't wait. When the dick slowly sank in, absorbed into his ass inch by inch, he panted merely imagining what was about to happen. His penis hardened.

He began banging away, flesh slapping against flesh, lewd and delightful. Reveling in the thick girth and filling sensation, his breath heaved with every blow. He was helpless to do anything but take it all in again and again. The hand on his stomach kept his rear flush to the man's stomach and thighs, body encasing his lower half.

As this went on for some time, he recognized the hand on his shoulder had practical reason as well. The grip prevented him from falling onto his face. Thankful for such astonishing pleasure, he gathered his breath enough to gasp out a few strangled sounding sentences.

“Yes! Jam me full! Oh! Ah... Make me yours!”

The bliss was put on hold when Miles suddenly stopped. Did he say something wrong? He only wanted to please. All he wanted was pleasure for them and they could take it from him perfectly.

“Jonah, would you be so kind as to oblige?”

Footsteps. He looked up to find Jonah standing in front of him stroking his beautiful, erect penis. Chris opened his mouth and the dick slipped past his lips. Pushing forward until his nose nestled in pubic hair, half the penis descending down his throat, the cock in his ass thrust hard, causing him to choke on the cock in his mouth.

He adjusted to the discomfort in his mouth and the situation improved after the two men spearing him from either end conceivably worked out a rhythm. Thick cocks shoved into him in unison. His eyes watered as he tried to make it good for them both, grinding his ass backwards and swallowing when they penetrated.

They were moaning and muttering confessions of what a good fuck he was, how tight he felt, and expressing adoration for his compliant degradation. He climaxed violently and all the while, his body was used. He concentrated on continuing to serve their needs to the best of his ability.

Miles climaxed first, shuddering against his lower half before withdrawing, leaving his ass feeling empty. Jonah reached climax a few short minutes later and he greedily gulped the ejaculate down, tasting a little sweet and watery amongst the salty tang. He sank back on his heels, relaxing his heart rate and breathing.

Considering what he should do so they wouldn't abandon him while he was desperate to serve, he shuffled across the floor on his knees. He could sense their eyes on him, watching. Chris planted his face into the floor, lying flat on his stomach, and spread his legs just enough that someone could slip between them if they wanted.

His decision was soon rewarded.

Someone slipped between his legs. He felt their body hovering over him, glimpsed a fist planting into the ground near the crook of the arm he was peeking out of.

Size informed him it was Miles as the penis slid into his hole. He tightened his legs against muscular thighs pressing into his rear flank, and the man above him grunted, anal muscles contracting into a smaller passageway. His partner pulled out to the tip and then pushed back in.

He moaned, thoroughly enjoying himself as this became a pattern. The man never did anything but vicious animal fucking. Right now, he was sensual, sliding in and out slow. This allowed Chris to experience every inch of the huge organ squeezing into him, packing him full.

There was still raw power behind each thrust, and his hips raised up when the penis slid in deep. It felt like he was pressing down into his stomach. The satisfying slow fuck went on a long time before the man removed himself without coming. He whined at the emptiness.

Calming when he could feel heat across his back again, he relaxed and a cock slipped in. Jonah. A low, humming sound slipped past his lips, contented to be filled. He continued the lazy in and out. Chris thought he might lose his mind by how gratifying it felt.

Some unknown amount of time passed. All he knew was it seemed preciously long, and unfairly brief. He was abandoned again without delivering his partner a climax. This left him confused and horny, despite lacking physical arousal of his dick.

Heat behind him. Hands pulled him up onto his knees. He automatically kept his legs spread on either side of the man at his back, wondering eagerly who it was. Someone's lips pressed to his neck, the slight scratch of facial hair telling him it was Miles. A hand slid in front of him, taking his hand and indicating he should reach beneath his legs.

When the cock pushed in, encased in his heated need, he uttered a noise of pleasure. Testicles scraped against his rear and he understood what his lover desired. Reaching beneath his legs, he grabbed the balls and fondled them. In return, Miles reached in front to stroke his flaccid penis.

Miles thrust into him, stroking his penis in time with the thrusting. He focused on caressing and kneading the balls, wanting to do whatever to increase their pleasure for what they were giving him so many times. His head arched back, dropping onto a strong shoulder when the kissing to his neck turned into a bruising bite.

After a while, his penis finally responded to the enduring touches and strokes, growing stiff. In the crook of his neck, Miles spoke to him in a husky voice. The man exuded sex and he started bouncing back on the cock quickening its pace.

His possessiveness was a major turn on and he listened, growing excited.

“You belong to me. This is how you serve. On your knees, on your back... However I want you, you submit to me.”

“Yes,” he agreed softly into lips that briefly met his for a kiss.

Abandoning the hand on his penis, Miles began pounding into him with renewed vigor. It was relentless and a little painful, but he grinded back onto the cock to keep it in him as long as possible. By the time he finished, coating his insides with yet more ejaculate, he was sore and hurting.

Jonah walked over and handed him a wet cloth to clean himself out a bit. He reached below and did his best to clear the semen leaking out of him. He wiped the dried crud on his legs too. Then he worried they planned to go away.

They were standing around, not really looking directly at him. Why? Anxiety came into his head. He was still hard, Jonah was still hard. He could still be good for them.

Chapter Text

Miles expected submission, fine. But submission meant something different with these types. They approved of initiative, dedication, and skill.

He turned to Jonah and asked him to lie on his back on the floor. The man looked at him, puzzled, but did what he requested. Miles was observing them, intrigued.

Chris checked he'd gotten most of the ejaculate he could get, and tossed the filthy rag onto the floor, stepping around the gross puddle. Joining Jonah, he stood so he was straddling his groin and carefully lowered himself. The man on the floor saw what he intended and rested his hands behind his head, contented to watch.

Slowly he impaled himself on the shaft, gravity doing a lot of the work to lower him down onto it. He groaned at the feeling, how tight it remained after all the penetrations. When he fully encased the penis into himself, he rocked his hips forward.

Jonah smirked. His eyes closed as he bounced up and down on the hard shaft, fucking himself. It was incredible. He starting panting, convulsing air from all the excitement and depth of penetration.

He alternated between bouncing and gyrating his hips. Shuddering, his hands fell onto Jonah's chest and he climaxed with a cry. As soon as the blind pleasure receded from his brain, he resumed bounces, eventually groaning from how much use his ass was getting, the aching muscles. He was able to overlook the negatives because his mind was one-track, determined to keep this going indefinitely.

When exhaustion swept through him to the point he couldn't continue, Jonah motioned for him to come close. He laid down on top of him, kissing the man's lips before laying his head onto his chest to rest.

“Nearly an hour and a half. You're getting better.”

“I want to do my best,” he claimed.

“You will,” the man murmured in his ear.

Placing hands beneath his rear, Jonah started pushing, pulling his lower half upward. It shifted Chris's pelvis forward, cock moving in him, and inspired, he gathered strength. After a few minutes, he began the gentle thrusting motion of his own accord. The hands guiding him until then, slid up to his back and let him work.

Using his body while keeping it flat on the other man, he pivoted his pelvis forward, front humping and rubbing against Jonah's front. The friction was carnal and satisfying. A moan slipped out.

Huffing, his hands curled into his lover's hair and they were making out, kissing and sucking and feeling with their mouths. All the while, he continued the slow, full body contact. It felt so amazing that his dick hardened and shortly thereafter, he climaxed screaming.

After so much of this, his body was red, raw, spent. Yet he kept finding more energy and his mind vowed never to stop. He had to please his partners. There was nothing else.

Jonah climaxed several chunks of minutes later. After he did, neither one of them moved. Chris rested on top of him, eyes closed, feeling the wetness deep within him and the softened shaft.

A weight settled on top of him and his eyes opened in surprise. Hands parted his asscheeks and he realized Miles was planning to force his way into his already filled hole. Nervous and uncertain, he tried to rise on his hands and turn to see what was going on.

Jonah yanked him back flat, chests banging together, and assured him it was okay.

“Lie flat. Spread your legs wider. Relax your body.”

He obeyed immediately.

“Miles is putting more lubricant on. It'll fit so don't you worry.”

Not exactly what he was worried about.

The thick organ struggled to enter him. Miles tugged and stretched fingers inside his hole to make room. He popped the head in successfully. Chris screamed in agony. His asshole had to be stretched five inches. He couldn't do it. He had to.

Penetration was painful all the way in. It burned moving, and felt like being stabbed when it wasn't. He howled his pain, wheezing and gulping oxygen as he strained to hold still. Jonah smoothed circles along his shoulder blades for comfort. He barely felt the touch.

It was as though the air had been punched out of him. He stayed limp. Miles laid his stomach down onto his back, chin resting on his shoulders as Jonah withdrew his hands. The intimate contact should be nice. It felt like suffocating.

Crammed in to the hilt, they stayed that way and began synchronized movements. In pain and trapped in the middle, he whimpered and jostled along with them. It didn't feel good. They were greedy for it though, unabated motion for a very long time.

They climaxed together, and when they pulled out and stepped away from him, he curled into a ball. Heaving and discerning his hole was shrinking again, lower half recovering, he breathed a little easier. He was glad to be of use and was sorry he'd done nothing to improve their pleasure.

Some time passed before footsteps approached. Arms gathered him into a cradle. Jonah brushed a hand through his hair. The other man's brown-blonde locks were damp with sweat, matted to his forehead in spiky patches.

“You want to do your best?”

He nodded, peering up at him, and that was all the permission the other wished for to stroke himself into hardness. Liking the feel of the dick rubbing against his side, he turned in toward his chest. Uncaring that he was flaccid, mind whirling with the scent of arousal in the room, his bottom sank onto the dick.

Wrapping his legs around him, Jonah did the same, molding their bodies together. They kissed, hands caressing and groping for maximum contact. He lost himself in bliss and only remembered his duty when it succeeded, ejaculate seeping into him.

Miles appeared from behind, pulling him off of the lap and onto the floor. A foot pushed him on his back and the man straddled his shoulders, hands yanking his head toward the erect penis in his face. Opening his mouth wide, he allowed him to push it in, setting his hands lightly on his thighs.

Concentrating hard, he rested his throat and took it down, balls knocking into his chin. Sighing, he didn't move and Chris determined it meant he was free to service him. Sliding it up and down his throat for a while, he then pulled it out to suckle at the tip. Pre-cum leaked and he lapped at it, swallowing the substance. He recalled his teaching and ran his tongue, lips, and teeth across the length.

After plenty of this, he paid special attention to the testicles, dragging his tongue and putting them in his mouth. Taking the penis into his mouth, he sucked and swirled his tongue like tasting a lollipop. The hands tightened on the side of his face and Miles thrust into him.

Miles pushed shallow at first, and he was able to suck the cock as it pushed in. Growing impatient, his pace quickened and his thrusts became more brutal. The huge dick repeatedly dug down into his throat, until he wasn't even pulling it out, leaving it jammed in balls deep. He was choking and gasping, doing what he could to hold himself up with his grip on thighs so Miles could ceaselessly thrust against his face.

The other climaxed with a triumphant roar.

Far from done, he was helped up by his arm. Leading him over to the metal table, he was told to get on his stomach, legs hanging off the side. He did and Miles stepped close, telling him to wrap his legs around his waist from behind. Sweat pooled beneath him quickly from the previous bouts of sex.

The position put a strain on his back and legs but he focused to remain steady, rising up onto his forearms. Hands slipped beneath, raising his lower half to be level with the legs he had locked around Miles's waist. At this position he was forcing the cock into him with no room to go elsewhere. The man's length was already stiff and ready for action. How did they do that?

Miles pushed in and his locked legs ensured he remain pressed tight into him completely. He thrust in and out and the angle was glorious. Simple back to front, but the exertion of supporting them both sent his adrenaline levels spiking. Moaning frequently, he reveled in the perverse sensations of being molested like this.

He got an erection and ignored it. His lover was more important. He was a strong guy, however, the position was extremely demanding and must have lasted a half hour at most before he had to admit to his partner he couldn't stay that way.

Grunting, Miles planted a hand on his back and shoved him down. Pushing him forward on the table, Miles climbed up and straddled his waist. Tugging his hips upward so his ass was raised into the air, he clambered on top of his whole body.

Chest to back, face nestling into his hair a bit, Miles slammed into him really hard. His hands were on his shoulders, keeping his body from moving despite the forceful thrust. Chris was surrounded by the man's muscular and lean form, penned in.

“I'm going to bang you senseless,” he murmured into his ear.

“Do it,” he pleaded.

The first thrust hurt, the second hurt quite a lot, and by the third time he was moaning and bellowing with wanton abandon. Their lustful debauchery knew no boundaries and he encouraged the cruel organ hammering into his body. It was agonizing and exhilarating to be owned in such an animalistic way.

His mind murky and euphoric from intense pain and brutal fucking of all the peculiar things, Miles leaned into the side of his face.

“Told you I'd bang you senseless, needy whore.”

He ran his tongue along his cheek and dipped into his mouth briefly before withdrawing, sliding off the table. Chris laid there, incapable of stringing his thoughts into coherence just yet. He'd never even felt the climax. How long had he been screwing him into the table?

Finally recuperated enough to sit up, he altered to sit sideways, his ass too sore for sitting. Fresh ejaculate was smeared across his stomach and a glance saw there was more on the table. He'd climaxed without notice too. The entire thing had felt so good to him that he hadn't even noticed. Huh... This wasn't him. What was wrong with him?

Jonah approached with a hard dick. “My turn to claim you.”

He swallowed nervously. Jonah looked at him funny. Chris watched him walk to the other side of the room where he slicked his penis needlessly with lubricant. After everything they'd done, getting a big dick in him was hardly a challenge right now.

He was surprised when Jonah pulled himself up onto the table after returning. Smiling at him, he indicated he wanted him on his back holding his legs wide by the ankles. Extremely vulnerable and at the mercy of the man before him, a hard cock slid into his exposed entrance.

Lying across him, arms wrapped around shoulders, pulling them flush. Jonah nibbled at his ear, kissing and biting as he began to move in him. Their love-making was non-stop, and although from this position the other had all the control, he did his best to rock into him with every thrust.

It got rough, dick driving into him forcefully and unceasing. Their bodies were tangled into each other and with his hands holding his ankles up and apart, Jonah could touch and squeeze whatever he wanted. His abused ass took it and he wouldn't fail them.

Urging his hands to let go of the ankles, his lover thrust so hard they shifted three feet across the table. Crying out, his legs wrapped around the man's rear and they were back to exploring each other. This time he could participate and passionately stroked and touched his partner.

A few more violent bucks of the hips and Jonah took the lead, rolling them about on the table.

Gasping at the powerful man deeply penetrating and giving such adoration, he longed for more. A sharp thrust caused him to squeeze his sphincter in pain and Jonah moaned. He repeated the stabbing motion, shoving back and forth against him until their violent coupling threw them off the table.

Neither one missed a beat or separated. They kept right on rolling and humping and hungrily devouring each other. His penis stiffened, jabbing into Jonah's stomach. It didn't bother or entice him. Occupied in lecherous and desperate boning, nothing else existed for Chris.

He climaxed and a while later, Jonah did as well. Pulling out of him, he felt like collapsing. He hadn't realized how vigorous and lengthy that thing they'd just done was until outside the moment.

Grinning, Miles approached rapidly, thick erection swinging. He lifted him up by the armpits and Chris wrapped his arms and legs around his body. The penis slid in all the way and he groaned with pleasure. Their cocks felt like an extension of himself. He was certain he needed them inside to fulfill his purpose.

He started fucking him right there, supporting his weight, thrusting hard and fast. His strength held him up effortlessly. Panting and moaning, he squeezed his ass and ground down on the cock, as if he were trying to make it go deeper when it was already as deep as possible.

While he was riding Miles's climax, he decided he wanted to fix his earlier failure. When Miles tried to pull out, he clung to him and kept shoving himself back down on his shrinking dick. Looking at him questioningly, he regulated his breathing to normal.

“I want you both to claim me.”

He laughed. “Oh yeah?”

“Please.” His hand slid to indicate his ass. “Both of you. Now.”

His breathing grew heavy, lust shining clear. “Mine.”

“Yours,” he confirmed.

Jonah heard him, moving quickly to join them. “On the floor.”

Taking them to the floor, this time Chris readily spread his legs and arched his ass upward. Miles reached forward and pulled his asscheeks apart. Examining the sight, still standing, Jonah bent and started to insert his penis. Again it hurt terribly.

He forced his body to relax and a few more inches slid in, brushing tight between the other dick and his stretching skin. Slowly it proceeded, an inch every few minutes. He wasn't the only one who wanted it better this time. When he was fully housing two big cocks in his splitting and aching hole, Chris imagined how they'd made him theirs before, how it brought him to purest ecstasy.

Turned on, he begged them to fuck him. They slid out, heads of their cocks still inside, and timed perfectly, wedged them back in. He screamed, but it was in pleasure. Regardless of the throbbing and somewhat sharp pain, he liked it. He liked the pain, liked their possession of him, liked being helpless between them.

Setting a rhythm, they fucked in and out in sync. His moans and cries mingled with their groans of satisfaction. Although they displayed no signs of slowing, he pleaded for them not to stop. He was elated, high on the shameless sway and bumping of their naked bodies.

They were all sweat and semen, muscle and skin. It was baseness and corruption at its finest. He rode the waves of pain sweeping through him, screaming for them to continue as their interest heightened and aggression increased.

Harsh rods of flesh brutally plunged into his depths. The man on top began using his whole body to hammer down against him with each thrust, creating a full body humping effect. Rousing his need and barely able to move while two bodies pressed tight into him after every vicious ram, he made sure his own body successfully rubbed across Miles's as well.

The fierce savagery and overwhelming prostrate stimulation brought him to climax. He was hard again mere minutes later. There was so much friction and petting and thrilling enjoyment.

Out of breath and incapable of speech anymore, he was fatigued. Jonah said something strange.

“Nearly three hours. My, my, he is a tainted beauty.”

Movements jerky, Jonah climaxed. He picked up the pattern again in a matter of a minute's span of time. Speaking of time. What was he talking about? Were they tracking time in some manner unbeknownst to him?

“Wish we could keep him,” Miles said.

Weariness wouldn't allow him to open his mouth to assure them he would be theirs forever. Sometime later, Miles made a sound in his throat. Body trembling, his rhythm broke. He climaxed shortly after but Jonah had a second erection by this time and kept on fucking alone until Miles could join him again.

Disappointed he couldn't help them, he resigned to once more simply being what they could use to receive pleasure. He took to stroking Miles's cheek, feeling the muscles in his arm with the other hand. It was a long time before they wanted to stop double penetrating him like this and his second climax came with barely any interest on his part.

He was happy to serve. They were gaining so much pleasure and although he didn't get another erection, he was contented by how it felt. Tired and spent from the extended duration, he was almost asleep when Jonah trembled into his fourth.

Miles removed himself at the same time Jonah did, and he was confused at first. But then the hard cock was offered to his mouth and he eagerly sucked it to be useful. The thought only occurred now, that it was coated in new and old semen and whatever else was in his ass.

It didn't turn him off and he put his education to good use on the penis and balls before him. Miles didn't require fucking him, and merely slipped his cock partway into his mouth to rest the head on his tongue. The ejaculate from climax filled his mouth full of salty flavor and he gulped it down properly.

Removing his deflating member, Jonah took his hand and brought him to the floor. He laid on top of him, rubbing their flaccid organs together while kissing and groping. Chris mimicked his behavior and it was gentle and intimate.

When his lover became hard, the erect penis slipped into him with practiced ease. He spread his legs and raised his butt off the floor to grant him a deeper angle to penetrate. Lying across his front, Jonah fucked him slow and entrancing.

They were kissing when Jonah climaxed and he grew confused. Why was he on the floor like this? Why would he be with them this way?

His head hurt, thoughts unclear. His train of thought was foggy and irritation increased as he failed to concentrate. He was overwhelmingly anxious and afraid when he realized someone was pulling him close.

Chris cried out in shock and pain when a large penis slid into his sore and raw ass. It had been used a lot for a long time and he couldn't think why he would ever let them do so much, go so far. This was wrong. He wouldn't.

Chapter Text

Miles noticed the change in his plaything almost immediately. He was squirming and panicking, shifting around and searching the room like seeing it all for the first time. When the drug wore off and euphoria faded away, depression, confusion, and a lack of mental clarity were typical.

He pretended not to notice and pulled out, turning Mr. Hero onto his backside before sliding back in to the hilt. Leaning over his body, he made sure to make as much of their skin touch as possible. At this point they were covered in layers of each other's sweat, saliva, and semen. He'd hate that.

“What are you doing?” the hero managed to gasp out when he collected his mental faculties enough to focus on him.

“What you asked me to. You're mine, remember?”

He did remember. His expression was mortified. Anticipating he was going to try to disconnect them, Miles wrapped his arms around his shoulders and rocked his hips.

Tears were leaking out of his eyes. He never thought the big, brave hero would ever cry with such emotion. It was arousing.

Taking advantage of the exhaustion overwhelming the human, delaying his fighting spirit, Miles moved in him. He held them tight, made it sexual and resembling of a lover's embrace. The agent's face was turned away, eyes squeezed shut, trying to ignore what was happening to him, weeping for what already happened, for how he behaved for them.

Overexertion was costing him. He could see it in his weak resistance that soon gave up. The drug allowed him to tax his body far beyond a normal threshold. The chemical that helped create frequent erection and devotion to sexual contact which consumed him for a time, had passed. His mindless obedience was at an end.

A whimper slipped out of his mouth. Miles kissed it. His hand meagerly tried to push his face away. Miles latched their fingers together and humped against his front, expressing a loud moan of pleasure for show.

His pale face turned red with humiliation while a man was making love to his stationary body. He wouldn't be able to stop this and he knew it, so he was paralyzed, straining to figure out what to do. The act was unwelcome and repugnant to him.

Miles held careful control of his body, intentionally adding on time when he was nearing orgasm. He would still and wait until the immense stimulating sensations subsided partially, then continue. The hero whimpered and grunted softly beneath him all the while, gritting his teeth and struggling to ignore what was going on.

Noting the time ticking past the eight hour mark, he couldn't hold out anymore.

To add a final insult to injury, he bit deep into the man's shoulder at the moment of climax, exploding into the ass with a fury because of how long he'd denied release. The man's scream was exhilarating, and he detached his jaw to see bright red blood well up and steadily flow out of the mark.

He expected the man to be ready to collapse now that energy wasn't being supplied to him via chemical. Christopher just had it put to him for a third of a day after all. However, when Miles lifted himself up off the ground, the tired and wrecked hero climbed to his feet too.

Body from head to toe trembling and feeble, his solid expression conflicted. He was furious, glaring with venomous hatred.

“What did you do? You had to have drugged me. What did you give me?”

Jonah calmly looked at him.

“A control drug we mixed up ourselves, tailored specifically with you in mind.”

Bewildered, he asked, “But how? Why?”

“It was in the lubricant, metabolizes rather quickly, so we reapplied as needed.”

His eyes narrowed. “I was cooperating. I had sex with you like you wanted.”

Miles absentmindedly stroked his penis. “We got things we'd never have gotten without it. Don't you agree, hero?”

The agent threw himself at him, surging through his weak body protesting to collapse. A fist hit him across the jaw. He avoided the next swing and frowned.

“You saved a woman and a boy from an awful fate. Isn't that worth it to you?”

“I swear I'll bite your throats out before I ever let you close enough to use me like that again.”

“Calm down,” Jonah ordered.

He glanced at Miles, warning him to stay put.

“We protected your mind,” Jonah explained. “By not simply ordering you to do those things, to act in such a manner, you can be reassured intoxication caused it to happen.”

You caused it.”

Miles shrugged and grinned. “Semantics.”

The fool attacked Jonah and that was a line crossed for him. He could go with the flow, anything to have fun. Jonah had rules though. Christopher failing to obey any longer after giving his word he would for the boy's sake, broke the agreement. This late in the game, Miles knew he wouldn't punish the boy for it. Mr. Hero on the other hand…

Catching his fist, he twisted the arm so he was spun around and kicked him in the back. While the hero stumbled, Jonah darted forward and grabbed him by the throat. He threw him across the room where he bashed into the wall, tumbled onto the table, and rolled off to the floor.

Disorientation apparent, Jonah sped to his position and forced his face and shoulders to lie flat on the table. The hero was trying to speak but never got a word out before a penis was shoved without care into his ass. Miles smugly watched the entertaining scene unfolding.

Wailing, Christopher was fighting to free himself and stand up, but the motions caused him further agony. He fell forward and flat again when Jonah shoved him. Now he was screaming while his hole was reamed with rapid, cruel thrusts. Brilliant.

He punished his ass for a good hour before he came violently. Pulling out, the agent collapsed to the floor weakly. The moment he put in the effort to get up, moving onto his hands and knees, Miles moved in.

Using a foot to shove his rear so he fell onto his stomach, Miles straddled his ass from behind and pushed roughly in. Christopher screamed out. He started up, pounding into the hot ass fast and savage like an animal.

He draped his body so he was trapped beneath him precisely. The power and control it gave him increased his pleasure. He wasn't sure which he liked best. Forcing Mr. Hero to endure his slow fucking for an extremely prolonged session, or owning him savagely like this.

This occasion was special. He'd never screwed him when he wasn't messed up by some drug. Aside from the time against the table of course, but then the hero was reluctantly letting it happen. Here and now he was praying to be anywhere else, praying for it to end. He reveled in the viciousness with which he fucked to take that damned hope away.

The clock was at the three hour mark when he decided he could give the guy a break. He did obey their commands earlier while he was yet under his own control after all. The punishment was plenty for his minor infraction.

Allowing his climax, he slipped out and sat on the floor to rest. Mr. Hero didn't budge in his spot except to let his legs splay flat on the ground. A lengthy moment of silence passed before his arm dropped over his eyes to hide it when he started crying again.

Hm. They might have exceeded the leeway they'd granted themselves when it was decided to have a recreation occasion with the BSAA agent. He'd be dead soon and they wanted to experience him positively before passing him on to the next trial. They'd certainly kept him to themselves a long time. The others might be wondering what they were up to by this point.

Jonah must have been legitimately pissed. His eyes were cold, staring only at the agent. He waited for the moment the hero found the strength to turn on his side, working out how hurt he was physically.

An actual goddamn squeal came out of the man after being surprised and dragged across the floor quickly, then tossed into a chair. He bounced off it and since the thing was made of metal, smashed his chin against it pretty good before falling. Jonah picked him up, flailing limbs knocking into him unnoticed, and dumped him so his body draped sideways across the chair.

Clearly needing to vent, when Christopher refused to stay how he was put, Jonah growled.

“Bite our throats out, huh? That's what you'd do?”

Miles froze as his ally lifted him up by the hair and arm, and plunged his teeth into his throat. He could see from where he was that he was clamping hard, drawing blood. Agent Redfield wasn't moving, eyes shut, and he feared Jonah lost it and killed him.

He sighed and went to ease the tension. “Jonah? What's the plan?”

The other startled and released the man, who fell and crawled behind the chair as if to hide. Guess he was okay. There wasn't a lot of blood that he saw. The look was probably worse than the actual bite.

“You want him like this?”

Miles retrieved the hero from his hiding place, making him kneel beside the chair and lay his stomach across the seat from the side. His head and arms hung over the other end. Satisfied, he turned to Jonah expectantly.

“I… I don't know.”

“You want his ass?” he asked the guy who wasn't even looking at them. “His mouth? Well?”

Jonah was giving a fair psychotic-looking stare to the far wall. Ooookaaay…

He bent onto his knees behind Christopher and his backside visibly tensed. Snickering, he tugged the cheeks apart and entered undeterred. Hard, rapid slapping of flesh on flesh.

After a while he grew tired of fucking him like that and waiting for the other man to pull it together. He stood up, his erection raising the agent up with him. Huh. Neat trick.

Pressing a hand to a firm stomach, he turned and sat them down in the chair, a meek agent in his lap. A moan escaped the hero's throat with them sitting like this. It pressed his penis deep into him at the perfect angle for the sordid penetration he had in mind.

The long-suffering man wasn't an idiot. He knew what it would do to him and when his arms fell around his sides, Miles could see he'd resigned himself to the abuse. It was agreeable.

He started thrusting upward, drawing moans that Christopher tried to smother with a hand on his mouth. He hated what he was doing, but couldn't prevent the body responding how it was programmed to respond to such stimulation. To be certain of reaching his goal, he dipped into the lap and stroked the penis in time with his thrusts.

When he became erect, he let his hand fall away and let his thrusting do the rest. It was a nasty pleasure to be excited by the sight of the man on his lap feeling intense physical gratification unwillingly. The man's head had fallen back onto his shoulder after a while, simultaneously exhausted and overwhelmed by what was being done to his body.

At the moment of climax for the hero, feeling the vibrations and hearing him cry out brought him over the edge. Christopher gripped his legs tightly while he felt the seed spilling inside, ass clenching around his pulsing penis without thought. He smiled when he saw Jonah directly staring at their hero now, lust apparent.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

Miles was as caught off guard as the agent by his sudden action. He closed the distance in two steps, bent the knees up and back to expose the penis buried in the anal cavity. Then he shoved his rock-hard erection until it joined his inside, penises rubbing.

His face was manic, unnecessary rage boiling him to the breaking point. Had he been following his serum injection schedule consistently?

He just sat there with his hands on Christopher's waist while Jonah fucked in and out of his already stuffed hole. His hand closed over the man's mouth when he wouldn't stop wailing and voicing his opposition and pain. It didn't take too long, just under a half hour for him to reach climax.

Jonah pulled out immediately and muttered a sincere apology. What was that?

Christopher didn't take too kindly to the offering. He pitched himself forward off of the lap, detaching with an audible squelch. Launching for the man refusing to defend, he took a hit straight to the face.

Miles stood, stepping forward to remove the nuisance. His ally waved him off so he stood by and watched.

Punch after punch smashed into Jonah's face while he just laid there. When his right hand tired, he switched to the left hand and resumed turning his face into a mangled mess. The agent didn't appear to feel the pain his fists surely must have been experiencing. His eyes surveyed the man on the floor next.

He thought he deserved this. Thought he was owed it for what they did. Guilt? Remorse? Nothing could really take back an action or make up for it. That's why the better people were those who never let themselves do anything they didn't intend.

The man passed out mid-swing and Jonah carefully shifted out from under him. Miles was going to tell him what a dumbass he was until they heard the door being accessed on the other side.

Felicia stepped through the open door. She took in the state of the room and their test subject on the floor.

“Oh, god damn it!”

Jonah hurriedly dressed, probably worried Laura would see him coated in the evidence of his victim. Dumbass.

“We used a chemical that enhanced his ability and warped his mind,” Miles told her, hoping to appease her anger and unhappiness. “It shouldn't affect him long-term.”

“And why wouldn't it?” she questioned. “So help me if you broke another one before we have a chance for the final step…”

“He won't be,” Jonah told her, sliding his shirt over his head. “Not this one.”

Their other partner entered the room, eyes narrowing in on the unconscious man on the floor.

“You didn't need to do this,” she said, perplexed as to why they had obvious sex with him by the stench of the room. “We assessed and were moving to the next step.”

Miles shrugged. “He's an attractive man. It was fun. Mr. Hero had fun too, until the control drug wore off.”

Her eyes flashed red, fists clenching. This wasn't organized and serviceable for the project. Yeah, yeah. These people could be so boring sometimes with their refusal to talk on nothing else but the project.

“Did you dispose of the bodies?” he asked, strolling to his clothing to cover his nudity.

Laura gave him a disgusted look. “Felicia delivered them to the prison. Everyone doesn't need to be slaughtered for your convenience.”

He chuckled. “I was just asking. Shit. You need to have yourself a little fun too.”

Once his pants were on, he returned to the agent's body and checked for breathing. All good. Lifting him up in his arms, he headed for the door.

“I'll clean and clothe him. Where you want him after?”

Felicia sighed and didn't answer. Her gaze was watching Laura, who stood in front of the man feeling regret or whatever for what they agreed to do together. His face was a nasty collection of broken bone, bruises, and blood.

“Jonah, do you ever think we built this hero ideal up too much in our minds?”

“I don't think that's the problem, Laura,” he replied, turning and spitting out a tooth along with a wad of blood. “Did any of us stop to think, by our own standards, none of us deserve to live in our new world?”

She lowered her palm inches away from caressing his face, and met his eyes. “Don't think about it.”

Walking over to Felicia standing at the door yet, the annoyed woman pointed a finger at each of them.

“Go get cleaned up. We have work to do.”

Chapter Text

He woke lying in a futon placed on the floor. This room was new to him. Mostly empty, there were sparse furnishings. The ceiling light was blindingly bright.

Covering his eyes with a hand while he adjusted, he noticed it was bandaged. He saw there were plenty of pillows and blankets bundling him when his gaze flickered down to see his other hand wrapped too. An IV was inserted in his arm, bag nearly empty on the rack it was hung.

His brain was foggy and disoriented. It took him several minutes to orient himself enough to sit up. He shoved the pillows against the wall behind him and rested his back there.

Chris noted the only observable injury he could see or feel were the bandages wrapped tightly around his hands. Staring at them jogged his memory. Flashes of the last things he remembered popped into his head at a dizzying rate.

He'd beaten Jonah's face into a messy pulp without interference from either one of his attackers. When he first hit him, Miles moved to stop it but Jonah didn't want him to stop. He only quit hitting once he was too weak to persist, falling unconscious from immense fatigue.

They… What they made him do of his own volition… What they made him do using a variant of a control drug mixed with other physical performing enhancement drugs… Drugs that kept him awake and addicted to what his “masters” wanted… Unwittingly dosed…

If it would have just been forced sex with those monsters a single time to appease them, he'd be fine. Innocent lives were more important than his pride or personal trauma. Chris had been taking bad events his entire life. His parents dying, his military experience, the night spent in the Spencer Mansion, how they were treated after by Raccoon City and the authorities, Rockfort Island… The list could go on and on.

But the more his mind cleared, the clearer the events of the past days became. Blinking slowly at the plain white wall in front of him, he could recall vivid details and it made him sick. One particular image caused him to tear off the plain t-shirt he was wearing and check.

Removing the shirt made him feel a mark on his throat he couldn't see without a mirror. Teeth indentations. Lowering his view to where he could see, there were bruises and bite marks scattered across his chest and shoulders, some of them quite severe. Evidence of what they did. Marking him as theirs. He risked checking lower.

Massive bruising on his hips and thighs. How he hadn't felt them sooner was beyond him. His butt didn't hurt aside from an overall slightly sore feel. He'd obviously been washed and cleaned in the time since he was taken out of that room. Wrecking Jonah's face and saving a couple lives, assuming he'd actually saved them, was all he could think of to try and reconcile what was done.

He screamed out in rage.

Chris jolted when he heard someone fiddling with the heavy door. Probably a lock. As it pulled outward, opening wide, he braced himself.

A short Asian woman walked in. She left the door open, strolling across the room with a fresh IV bag in hand. She saw his alert stare on her and startled a little, revealed by the faltering of her passive expression for the briefest moment.

Laura smiled at him, gesture not reaching her eyes. Reaching him, she set the bag aside on the otherwise bare table next to his bed.

“Guess we won't be needing this. Are you hungry?”

“Go to hell.”

“Yes. That's going to help matters.”

He stared at his hands instead of her contemptuous look. He didn't need this shit. Why did he have to fight tooth and nail to get an edge over anything?

“I'll bring food.”

She turned to go. A question he truly wanted to know the answer to popped into his head.

“Wait!”

Pausing, she kept her body forward, head tilting in his direction, and waited quietly. He stilled a moment, not saying a word. The gesture reminded him of Wesker. It was exactly the sort of thing he would do, even a long time ago when he was captain of a special forces team based out of Raccoon City.

A city that didn't exist anymore, so one could see how well that career choice went for them all.

“Can you tell me how long I've been here?”

“In that bed, four days. In this building, a month and a half.”

What?! Six weeks?! He gaped a little before catching himself and closing his mouth.

She turned to face him, the bitchiness vacated from her expression.

“I'm sorry for what happened. It wasn't in the schedule. We were prepared to proceed to step two.”

Chris meet her eyes. What did she hope he would say to that?

Oh? Your buddies didn't just sexually assault me for a few hours like the other times. No, that was too nice. Somebody had an idea to force my temporary compliance and add a drop of psychological and physiological drug to keep it going. They had sex with me against my will for days on end, but I didn't realize it was merely a scheduling error. No worries!

His unforgiving look was not missed and she switched to examining her fingers one by one.

“Jonah isn't like that. Miles gets in his head sometimes…”

Was she seriously making excuses for that bastard?

Incredulous, he tried to catch her eye. “He enjoyed himself plenty once they had my bullshit consent. Then they went ahead and drugged me to take everything from me. My ability to make choices was taken from me. Will power is what makes people human. With all your ridiculous research, you should already know that, right?”

“Yes, choice is a human condition. That's accurate,” she admitted, still avoiding his eyes.

“Which means Jonah is one of two things. Either he made the cruel and evil choice himself as a faulty human, or he isn't capable of controlling himself because he's not human. Any of those options sound good to you?”

Sure, she could try to argue humans were rarely that simple. She could point out that countless people had trouble regulating their behavior, even if a certain behavior was hurting them. Humans were often both self-destructive and selfless. An endless contradiction. An unsolvable puzzle.

That was people. But he got the distinct impression they'd drawn very different conclusions because of their focus on heroic traits. He feared for the future if they ever vanished to complete their project and set it into action. Wesker did that without anyone having a clue, and it nearly resulted in the world becoming an Uroboros infested wasteland.

“The world is worth saving,” she said, meeting his eye. “Some humans are too.”

He could see the conflict resolved in her. Selective survival, like Wesker's plan would have done. These Weskers didn't just want a better world. They were genocidal.

Chris was left alone and the lights switched off, leaving him in pitch black darkness. Tugging his pillow flat, he rested on it, staring blankly above.

Eventually he became conscious of the fact they succeeded with him after all. He thought he avoided breaking and giving them what they want by the refusal to kill anybody. They won because they broke him into obeying. And he'd obey them again if they threatened a kid to be raped to death again. He had a limit.

But he still passed their test? Was it self-sacrifice they were looking for? Because they need only peruse his file of a decade spent taking on missions to help other people to know that.

He didn't understand any of this!

Frustration swirled amongst his thoughts, churning and dragging at his stamina until he closed his eyes and let it drag him into sleep.

/

The next time he woke, he was lying on hard ground. It was pretty dark in here, but there were rays of light shining in from a high window. It allowed him to see the room he was in was small and square. A pile of folded clothing and an assortment of weaponry lay out on a table.

Picking himself up from the ground, he realized his hands weren't bandaged anymore. He went to study what was the table had.

The tan pants, black boots, knee pads, belt, blue shaded BSAA t-shirt, and holsters were all his. Someone would have had to break into his apartment back home to retrieve this. Who would go through that much trouble? Okay, he knew who. But the why?

“Good afternoon, Agent Redfield. I trust you're feeling better.”

Felicia. He scanned the high part of the wall surrounding him until he located the speaker her voice was coming from. Adopting a scowl, he didn't bother to say anything, assuming she wouldn't be able to hear him anyway.

“Our preparations for phase two are complete. We are ready to begin.”

Hear him or not, he glared at the speaker. “You're just making this crap up as you go!”

Momentary silence. His gaze wandered over to the table with his standard equipment. There were weapons too. A handgun with three clips of fifteen bullets…

Picking up the weapon, he ejected and found there was a clip already loaded. Reinserting the magazine, he levered the safety off. It was a .45 Glock that could hold a fifteen round capacity. He pulled the slide back, chambering a round, and lowered the gun to his side.

“You have proven to us your spirit cannot be broken permanently.”

He eyed the .500 Smith and Wesson Magnum beside the handgun. There was a box of bullets paired with the long barreled revolver. Now why would he need such a powerful firearm? What were they planning?

“Should you survive every stage, you will have passed the final test. Your reward will be your sister's safe release from our custody. We promise she will not be harmed.”

Stage? He swallowed, not liking the sound of that. His rising fear was distracted when he accidentally rubbed his thighs together just right to aggravate the bruises. Wincing, he pretended like it didn't affect him physically or mentally.

“Your preferred outfit has been provided for you, as well as a reasonable supply of weaponry and ammunition.”

Looking at the standard combat knife on the table, he wondered what they planned to pit against him. That's what this was, wasn't it? Some kind of cruel joke to make him fight for survival until he could win Claire's freedom.

“When you are ready, step through the gate.”

A section of wall he hadn't realized was a gate began to open, mechanics pulling it upward. More light poured in from the area connecting to this. Turning his back to it, he set his jaw.

“Good luck.”

The speaker system shut off with an audible clack. Chris changed into the combat clothing, fuming. He was everybody's experiment.

Knife attached to the back of his belt, he holstered the Glock to his right thigh. He slid the Magnum into the left holster after checking there were five rounds chambered. The Magnum bullets went in a black pouch on his belt while the handgun clips attached to his other side. Shifting his body to assess how the weight carried, he did the math in his head.

In total, sixty .45 rounds, twenty .500 for the Magnum. He'd seen plenty of nightmarish creatures in Africa. What else did they feel the need to throw at him?

He slid the fingerless gloves on, sighing. Would these people even keep their word?

With great reluctance, he stepped through the gate.

Bright lights shone down from a high ceiling. The room was circular, a typically imagined arena. They really were planning to use him as some kind of gladiator.

When he spotted his sister, he forgot about the rest.

“Claire!”

Claire pressed up against the metal bars boxing her into a cage. “Chris!”

He ran across the large distance to reach her on the opposite side. Her cage was slightly elevated and attached to the other side of the bars where the audience would ordinarily be. Despite knowing it wouldn't do any good, he wrenched at the metal, strained to pull two bars apart.

Giving up, Chris found he could barely touch her reaching fingers. Claire stretched through the bars farther to enable their fingers to interlock. She was crying. He realized they were tears of joy, not fear.

“You're alive. You're here. Oh God, Chris…”

“What did they do to you? Where did they keep you?”

Claire was quick to reassure him, surprisingly calm considering her predicament.

“They didn't hurt me. They put me in some prison with other people they'd kidnapped. Nobody knew why they were there. We didn't know where we were. The guards acted strange… I think they were infected by something. I don't know…”

“Remember a few years ago, Leon talking about encountering a parasite that could control a person?”

Apprehensive, she told him yes.

“I read some documents in Kijuju, reporting about a type two version of Las Plagas. The infected were being used by Wesker as territorial guards. I guess those things can follow orders to an extent.”

“Those poor people… That's horrible!”

“Yeah,” he agreed, although his focus was on examining the cage. “Did you ever see where they put the key to this? Does one of them have it on them?”

“Ah, ah, ah. You have to earn that prize. Taking would be stealing.”

Chris whipped around to search for Miles. “Are you kidding?!”

His eyes fell to a section of the spectator seating where the man was standing with his three accomplices.

The agent understood then, why they tortured him the way they did. They'd done things that avoided permanent physical damage. They were keeping him in good enough condition to be here now. He remained fit and able to participate in their test.

Adjusting to the harsh lighting, he noticed there were others watching from the shadows. It was bright enough he could identify them. Alex and Kincaid. Laura addressed his curiosity, evidently witnessing his attention elsewhere.

“They arrived with an interesting revelation. They've ensured your friends will find their way here.”

His hand slipped out of his sister's grasp to better face the dangerous people gathered. He turned back to his sister when she murmured Jill, Leon, and Sheva were looking for him.

He scanned the audience section surrounding him. There were a lot of entrances they could come from. Five Wesker children present plus a dangerous regular human in his own right, would they get hurt?

“Our informant has said she's bringing the others you associate with. We can all have one big reunion. Air our grievances and settle differences in one go.”

She? Chris pondered on that but Laura wasn't finished.

“I suggested we enjoy a show as hosts before getting started. They've agreed.”

He jogged halfway across the arena to fix a glare on the two men he knew were in no way interested to see him fight.

“What are you planning?” he demanded.

“We're taking advantage of the situation at hand. That is all.”

Sending a look of disbelief Alex's way, he looked at the other four. He'd tried to wrap his mind around their potential goals and reasons during his weeks of captivity with them. Thinking on their obsession with him always came back around to an eventuality all of these Weskers seemed to desire.

“What's the endgame? What are you going to do to the world? Huh? What's your idea of an ideal world?”

They didn't answer, but someone else did, withdrawing from the shadows far to the right of the four.

“Wipe it clean of anyone who doesn't fit. We're too broken to fix anything that already exists. Sou desu ne. That's right, isn't it?”

Felicia took on a look of annoyance at Hiro's uninvited intrusion. “Well fine. Everybody's just joining in now, making themselves at home to our project.”

“Let me guess. A project that ends with billions of people dead,” Chris said. “Not happening.”

“Oh and I suppose you're going to be the one to do something about it,” she snapped, barely paying him attention with the hostile look she was sending in Hiro's direction.

“I am,” he declared. “I stopped Wesker and I'll stop you too.”

“Proud words from a man so recently..debased.”

Swallowing hard, he glanced Claire's way before directing his solemn expression onto Jonah.

“People are worth fighting for, no matter what. I'll never stop until I'm dead.”

Laura sneered. “That's the idea.”

Chapter Text

A door opened and Wesker strolled in like he owned the place. He was alone. Why would he come alone?

Actually, why would he come at all? Intrigued by the survival of other superhumans infected with the same virus as him? Even he had to be aware more than one of them might be threatening to his health. Why not bring Krauser or HUNK?

Many questions, few transparent answers.

He didn't say a word, surveying the room and its occupants in silence. When his eyes finally fell on Chris, they began glowing red. Shifting his glasses on his nose, he lowered his gaze. Wesker walked a few more steps before stopping up close to one of the bars dividing seating from arena.

Leon burst through an entrance two doors away from the one Wesker had used. He immediately located Wesker and shouted for him not to move, pointing his weapon. He must have witnessed the man entering the building and followed.

Two others came in, trailing him by seconds.

“Jill!”

“Chris!”

Racing to the edge of the arena, the solid wall ended above his waist, leaving the remainder extending to the ceiling to be solid bars. They could easily see each other and neither hesitated to grasp the forearms of one another. It was the closest they could manage an embrace.

Her hair was her natural color again and she wore a BSAA outfit. She was still pale, still exhausted looking. He worried how she could be here when protocol dictated she be in isolation. Pushing the unimportant detail away, he smiled at her relieved smile.

“Are you alright?”

Jill's expression was confessing it was a struggle, but she opted to reassure him with her words.

“It's alright,” she breathed, hesitating to get more air in her lungs. “Ada Wong told us where we could find you. We didn't know if we could trust her, but here you are. Six weeks you went missing after Wesker admitted he lost track of you.”

Could you go missing when you were already missing? God, his life was a shitstorm. Wait, they talked to Wesker about his disappearance. He'd honestly like to know what that conversation would look like.

He imagined Jill's side going something like this.

Hey, Wesker. You know how you saved my life because I had to crash us through a window and down a cliff to keep you from murdering my partner and friend? Remember how you used my DNA for experiments? And because my body had a high tolerance for viral infection that meant you couldn't infect me, so you decided to use me as Excella's personal slave puppet? Then you made the mistake of pitting me against that same partner and friend?

Yeah, well, we stopped your plan, you kidnapped Chris, and tried to turn him into your slave puppet next. That about right? So where is he? You “lost” him? I will shove that PG67A/W serum so far up your ass if you don't find him…

Chris broke out of his imagined scenario. Okay, that might have been a lot more of what he was thinking than what Jill might be.

“Is Claire..?” Leon started to ask, slightly lowering his gun to search around a bit.

He saw her in the cage. “Claire! Is she-?”

“I'm not hurt, Leon!” Claire called out.

Either their voices carried really well in the circular room, or she presumed it was something he'd want to know.

Frowning, it dawned on him only then. She was a busy girl. He wondered who she was working for this time. The agent filed the information away for later.

He looked at Sheva. “How you holding up?”

“I'm fine, Chris. I'm so happy you're okay.”

“Finished with the affectionate catch-up?”

Chris whirled around. “Shut up, Felicia!”

“Defeat the first three stages and your sister goes free as promised.”

His expression softened as he considered that. He was pretty ticked these assholes decided to put aside their competing interests temporarily, in order to watch him as entertainment. This was pure amusement for them. They so did love a good experiment.

He removed the handgun from the thigh holster on his right side.

“Whatever. I'll beat this. Then I'm gonna beat your ass. You're not gonna be the one to change the world.”

Finding some kind of dark humor in his proclamation, she smiled as she pulled out a handheld device and began tapping keys swiftly.

“Let's get started.”

“We did our research, Agent Redfield,” Laura shared. “We wanted your last moments to be meaningful.”

He glared in their direction. What did that mean?

“July 24, 1998. A night over a decade ago, when your life was forever altered.”

Three gates clinked alive, rising upward. The living dead immediately staggered out, limber and rabid. They were fresh, no decay to slow their movements. His instant anger at the tragedy dissipated quickly. He'd seen this too many times to get affected emotionally anymore. It was depressing sometimes.

A dozen. Four from each gate. He considered. There was a limit to his ammunition supply, and he suspected it was only going to get more dangerous from here on out.

His foot tapped, lost in thought. Meanwhile the unintelligent infected corpses smelled him, deadened eyes turning in his direction. He slid his gun into its holster.

“Chris!”

Claire yelled, alarmed. Yeah. The sound traveled really well in the large dome-shaped room.

“I got it, Claire.”

He withdrew his knife and awaited the zombies stumbling into a run straight for him. They were too dumb to require much effort on his part. Since there were twelve, he had to be cautious not to accidentally get caught in a stretching arm or gnawing jaw, but otherwise it was simple.

Dodging and sweeping his blade among the crowd of hungry, unfeeling creatures, he stabbed skulls and near decapitated several of them. His actions were practiced and steady. This was disturbingly second-nature for him.

The final barely collapsed to the ground when the noise of more gates opening reached his ear. He spun around and Claire screamed. The deformed tyrants he'd seen in only one location, Rockfort Island in December of 1998, were inside the arena. There were two of them, one slowly meandering toward him, and the other attacking Claire's cage with its overgrown right limb.

Damn it! Did these people preserve every screwed up thing Umbrella created? For hating the company that made them what they were, they sure perpetuated the very same crimes.

Sixty handgun bullets, twenty Magnum rounds. He didn't hesitate longer than that thought. Sliding the knife back in its sheath, he whipped out the revolver and tossed it into his dominant hand. He aimed and fired at the head of the one attacking his sister. She might be safe in the cage, and she might not. He would never leave it to chance.

Its hulking shoulder rolled into the way adjusting position. He succeeded in knocking it off the bars but now he had two tyrant rejects heading his way. No problem.

Narrowing his eyes, he stood his ground and aimed for the eerie face of the nearest one. Its head splattered apart, blood and gore spraying everywhere. He stared at the Magnum revolver in his hands, impressed by the sheer force of the weapon despite theoretically knowing it would be powerful.

He swung his arms around and fired a shot into the skull of the other. It went down just as easy, and then the third, previously unseen monster slapped him across the back from behind. The gun slipped from his fingers as he was thrown through the air, smashing into the hard floor.

“Shit...”

It stepped for where he'd fallen and then used its huge fist to latch onto the side of the arena, flinging itself into his space. He scrambled backward and got onto his feet. The hand stretched across the distance, grabbing onto the top of the head. Grunting, he was lifted off the ground and held high, feet dangling.

The crap he had to put up with...

Chris pulled his handgun out, all the while wincing at the painful grip, and unloaded the clip easily into its face. He was dropped, the thing roaring. Prepared for such a result, he managed to roll with it into a standing position.

Recuperating, it flung its dangerous arm at him and he threw himself sideways. Back on his feet again, he slapped a spare magazine into the gun and drew the slide back. A step backward and he fired a bullet, another step backward and he fired a bullet. This repeated, slowing its implacable progression before finally keeling over with the piercing of the fifth bullet.

He let out breath he'd been holding.

Hearing somebody shout about an American, he spun to face a gate halfway risen. A dark skinned man in a t-shirt and shorts jabbed a finger through the bars at him. They grabbed some of the infected from the African village? Why the hell?

Other gates were rising somewhere beyond the original first gates. He could hear the mechanical noise of the mechanisms. There must be layers of gates dividing the already opened ones, releasing more enemies. Just spectacular.

“Your BSAA can be rather incompetent,” Jonah said, apparently noting his quizzical expression. “It was simple to slip in and coax a number of them out unnoticed.”

“It's a big area,” he tried to say in defense of the organization.

“And that's a big thing to miss.”

Chris clenched his jaw to prevent the scowl at the truth of the statement. But it was hard to control an infected zone, especially one so wide and open. He gave the BSAA soldiers credit if they risked going in, and a great deal more if they got through alive. Raw hatred and thirst for blood was scary shit, whether the creatures were humanoid or not.

He had been forced to put down plenty of violent and out of control infected during his time investigating Ricardo Irving's location and weapons dealing. This stage made three. It wouldn't be too difficult to kill them and end the third and final round. Which was worrying to him.

They'd make it easy on…

A really big majini wearing a red hood with spikes on the backside emerged from a gate opening on the far right. He closely resembled the executioner that killed their contact from the butcher shop with an enormous axe. This one had pale skin of its upper half showing, but it was the similarly dragging axe he carried with him that caught his eye. It was burning flame.

An assortment of regular sized infected people were filling the edges of the arena, watching him and shouting intermittently. Probably yelling about how they wanted to kill him or sacrifice him or some bullshit like that. They always seemed keen on the annihilating outsiders part.

The axe man was faster than the one he and Sheva encountered in Kijuju, rapidly crossing the distance. And Chris was cursing the misfortune he probably brought on himself by thinking it was going to be easy. Axe man halted in front of him and raised the enormous blade to crush him bloody.

He stepped to the side when the momentum was too far along to be altered. The perks of combating someone with an oversized weapon. There was only so much speed or direction it could be used.

A small axe narrowly missed his head, which he swerved out of the path of almost a half second too late. What the-? If there was a fate, it could read minds and had a sense of humor.

Chris jogged past the overgrown enemy retracting its axe to come at him again. Okay. Two, four, seven, ten… There were fourteen additional majini he would need to take out along with the big guy.

Limited space would make avoiding the infected seeking his death while simultaneously trying to stop from getting dead, just so much fun. He did scan his eyes at the enemies among the audience then, scowling. Hoped they were enjoying themselves at his expense. Damn parasites the lot of these Weskers, wishing to use others like him for personal gain without caring how it affected them.

A blade swung at his head. He stepped back and then forward, punching the majini in the face. It flew backward from the strength behind his blow, lying on the ground. He approached and stomped on its fallen form. It cried out and died, heart ruined beyond fixing.

He turned away to confront another three coming toward him, two unarmed and the third carrying a long staff. He already knew he would have nightmares for months having to put down creatures that used to be people, sounded like people, and seemed mostly like people when he had to kill them. The agent accepted that fact after discovering the locals were hostile, surging to murder two agents in a mob attack.

Okay, they were too many. He raised the handgun and fired headshots into several to decrease the number. Their heads exploded, dying parasite emerging out of the gaping and gory hole to shriek a death cry. He lowered his eyes to the floor. A disturbing sight every time.

Survival surpassed his distress.

He broke from the amassing enemies eager to see him die when the axe man swung the blade through the air. The weapon smashed into allies, flinging a few away from Chris and slaughtering two that got hit mostly head on. He barely moved out of the radius of the second wide arcing swing.

Jogging to put space between them, he was followed. Five ran quickly after him and the axe man was pausing, reorienting itself to his location. Oh, crap. One of the majini that didn't follow had a crossbow aligned with him perfectly.

He tried to relax his panicking breath and aimed the gun. The arrow was fired and he breathed out, squeezing the trigger. The arrow split and fell to the ground. The next bullet he popped into the shooter's forehead.

Annoyed, he saw it spin around clutching its face, still very much alive. He put another into the back of its head and it went down with finality. The bizarre, disintegrating effect made the once person all but disappear.

“Chris!” Leon yelled.

A shovel slammed down on his back, dropping him to one knee. He cringed in pain. After a moment, he stood and was grabbed from behind. Straining to wrench his arms free, he eyed the fast arriving axe wielder. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

He slid an arm free and elbowed the woman who grabbed him in the face, sending her stumbling away with a shout.

“Chris!” screamed Sheva.

The axe was above, swinging down on his exact spot. He threw himself sideways into a somersault, springing to his feet. Still too close to the giant guy, a gloved hand reached and swiped him off the ground.

His gun fell from the force of the grab and momentum that lurched his body up into the air. Held over its head, legs dangling, he pried fingers at the harsh grip on his neck. His fists smacked at the big hand, desperate to break free.

He managed to swing forward and kick it in the face with both boots. It dropped him back onto his feet, staggering away with a wailing protest. The majini nearest sought to latch hands on him, charging, and he drew his knife, slashing it across the arms and then chest.

While reeling back from the injury, he took a step closer and landed an uppercut. Spinning quickly around, he searched the ground for his fallen handgun but couldn't get to it yet. They were surrounding him, several with blunt instruments held ready in their hands.

A wrench glanced off his cheek and he groaned, shaking his head to keep focused. He punched the infected in the face and then hearing another behind him, took a wide stance and spun, using the momentum and muscle of his body to shatter bones in his opponent's face. While those two were trying to overcome the damage, he slid forward across the floor, picked up his gun in the same sweeping motion.

Balanced on one knee, he unloaded the remainder of the bullets, aiming for headshots. The gun clicked empty on the fifth shot and he had to pick up and run. Four more were down while the final shot hit an arm instead of the intended skull.

Still running, he ejected the empty magazine and slid a new one in place. The axe man was coming straight for him again and he searched the area for his missing Magnum. He'd forgotten he dropped it earlier fighting the yellowish, creepy tyrant type monsters.

A shovel whipped past his head. He looked at the one who threw it and wished he hadn't. The parasite emerged from its mouth, a hissing noise made before retracting into its host body. He figured he could get a quick headshot on this one before putting distance between him and the flaming axe.

The arm holding the gun was smacked with a wooden plank, diverting his bullet into the enemy's thigh. It fell onto its knees, and Chris chose to make the mishap work for him. Holstering the gun as axe man loomed close, he ran forward and slid behind the kneeling enemy.

Grasping the head with both hands, he twisted, snapping the neck. It fell and he made a dash for the revolver laying several yards off. He ignored angry shouts behind him.

He picked it up and identified the remaining threats. There was axe man headed directly for him, a majini with a piece of wood, and two unarmed ones keeping back for the moment. Chris lined the hooded face of the creature up in his sights.

The gun barked and the towering man fell onto a knee. Rushing forward, he uppercut it beneath the chin, causing it to stumble back with a howl. The other three were racing for him, he blocked them out temporarily to fire another bullet into the bigger threat. Fallen to a knee again, he copied the same punch, sending it stumbling a second time.

Sliding the empty revolver into its holster, he kicked the nearest with a foot in front of himself. With limited time, he still tried to use the knife to take out the three surrounding him. He only managed to get one permanently down before he had to run.

Now on the opposite side of the arena, he withdrew the revolver and loaded the chambers hurriedly. Glancing up to view his enemies locations, he was pleased to see they hadn't gotten any smarter. They approached quick, direct, and with zero sense of strategy in this area.

Hm…

He lined up the revolver toward the big guy and pulled the trigger until his movements stuttered. It started making startled moaning sounds of dismay and pain. The axe man exploded in a shower of indescribable goop, axe falling flat and abandoned on the floor.

The remaining two faltered and hesitated, staring at him with their wild eyes. Inevitably they came, and he used the knife to dispatch them. Sighing, he slid the knife back into the sheath. Such a tragic waste of life.

Wesker did this to them.

“You've defeated the three stages. Your sister is free to go.”

Bars on her cage retracted, providing space to crawl through. Claire did right away, sliding out and onto the floor with a slight stumble. Now among the audience of spectators, she eyed Wesker cautiously while bypassing where he stood relatively high up on the rows of seats. Once joined with Jill, Sheva, and Leon, he breathed relief.

“You saved a loved one. Congratulations,” Laura said, not remotely sounding like she was authentically congratulating him.

Now what would happen? He beat their stupid game, right? Why did he seriously doubt they would just let him walk out to freedom?

His gaze found Laura and her companions. She smiled in his direction from across the arena.

“Initiating stage four.”

Chapter Text

“What?!” Sheva exclaimed. “You promised three stages.”

Felicia stared at the BSAA agent across the distance, impassive. “I promised Claire Redfield would go free after the first three stages. Now we move on to the next step.”

First three stages. Ah. There was the key word he missed earlier. Her attention was switching to him and he rubbed at the swelling bruise on his cheek.

“Ada Wong is the kind of agent who works for herself. She holds no allegiance to anyone and would leave you to die if it suited her present objective. She is your enemy.”

Alex and Kincaid, Wesker, Jill and the others, even these people making him fight for entertainment similar to the gladiators of old. All had been contacted by Ada Wong in recent days. The woman was passing information to everyone like candy.

She was playing with his life in order to get what she wanted. They were right. Ada was no friend to him.

“We're curious if you would save your enemy,” Miles said, announcing the point of this stage to them. “Save her, let her die. Your choice.”

Choice. The word coming from that man's mouth made him bitter. His eyes lifted, surprised to see a smaller metal cage descend, a well-recognizable woman in a red dress sitting inside.

She tried to keep hold of bars at her back with hands behind herself. Ada's head turned right to left, struggling to figure out her predicament. They put a blindfold on her. Although it was hard to get a certain read on her because of this, she didn't seem especially panicked or scared. Chris guessed her captivity came about very recently.

He cautiously approached, noting her hands were cuffed behind her. There were leg cuffs connecting her ankles too. Rising to her feet, she stood very still, listening.

Angrily confronting his captors for this unnecessary treatment, he sealed his mouth shut without saying a word. He did this because an unpleasant sound stole his indignation away.

The sound of a revving chainsaw. Great. These ones were especially crazy, getting visibly excited when they thought they were about to cut a head off.

A majini carrying a chainsaw appeared in the arena through a far gate, clothed in jeans and adorning a hood to hide what was probably one heck of an ugly face. The cage was narrow in width. He could stay out of its way and it would go for the easy prey. It wouldn't get to decapitate her, but if it was smart enough, it could shove the blades through the bars and kill her that way. A horrible way to go.

This was pointless speculation. Of course he wasn't going to let someone die if they didn't have to. He helped people, he didn't abandon them.

What the fuck was that?!

A pair of tall, gray skinned humanoid creatures were stalking slowly out of the gate directly behind him. They breathed loud and raspy as they wobbled progression, dark and sunken eyes fixed on where he stood. Their mouths were huge and full of razor sharp teeth, fingers clawed and sharp. Fun.

He was standing next to the cage now. The chainsaw noise had fallen quiet, majini stopping in its tracks. It didn't appear to have noticed them.

“Ada, it's Chris.”

Her face tilted in his direction. “So it was Felicia and her friends that grabbed me.”

“You're pretty brave for someone kidnapped.”

Ada shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know yet what they want. Should I be worried?”

His incredulous expression couldn't be seen by her. He reached into the cage through the bars and she shied away a bit. The first sign of her reacting sensible.

“Come to my voice. I'll remove the blindfold.” He eyed the inactive chainsaw majini standing dumbly by its gate, then the extremely creepy monsters on his other side. “Quickly. I don't know how long it will be until chainsaw guy spots us.”

She complied and he pulled off the piece of cloth obstructing her sense of sight. Blinking to adjust to light, she scanned their circumstances, taking in her cage and that he was armed and in uniform. Ada shook her cuffed wrists.

“Anything you can do about this?”

“No, but the cage gives a little protection at least. Those ones are slow, so I'll take out that one first,” he told her, jabbing a thumb back toward the majini.

Her eyes surveyed the potential dangers. Then one side of her cage unhinged and dropped heavily onto the floor. It was not a silent action.

An enthused, laughing shout came out of the chainsaw man. He swerved around, heading straight for them with the chainsaw raised.

“Damn.”

“Hm… Well this makes things less fun.”

He looked at her. “You still got bars on the other three sides. Stay in there unless you have to run.”

“What are you planning to do?”

Chris gave her a reassuring smile. “My job.”

He took off running, waving his hands in the air. “Hey, you!”

The chainsaw guy came to an abrupt halt, twisting to look at him, mere feet away from the open cage.

“Yeah, that's right ugly. Come and get me!”

It charged and he shot it in the head with the Magnum. Squealing grunts of pain, it clutched its head and faltered to the side. He considered, then ran to it, smashing his fist into its bleeding face.

Another cry and it staggered away, straining to deal with the damage. He turned. The creepy ones were dangerously close to the cage, and then one of them suddenly lunged. The jaw detached, gaping wide rows of teeth. It flung bodily, headfirst, to latch its mouth onto Ada.

The cage got in its way, trying to go through the bars. But it was wising up, rotating around to the opening, teeth gnashing and spit spraying. Ada backed into the far wall, obviously contemplating a dash past the thing coming to eat her, kill her, or cause whatever painful demise that would inevitably result if she stayed.

The second one put an end to that possibility, effectively boxing her in. An arm dove into the cage, slashing sharp nails at her and she ducked. Chris jerked sideways when the chainsaw swept down at him.

Whoa. Too close. Focus!

Okay. Priorities. He shoved the Magnum in the holster and withdrew his handgun, backing away rapidly from the chainsaw man. Shifting around, he raced for the imminent threat on the bound woman.

As he was sprinting across the arena floor, he realized Leon was shouting something. The distance, his pounding heart, tension mounting, he couldn't make out what was being said. It sounded like a warning.

Refrigerator? Huh?

Two bullets into their backs seemed to distract them like a flea to a human. They turned and started for him, and now he was sandwiched between them and chainsaw guy. Chris jogged backward a bit in a direction farther from both threats, hesitant to go too far in case they changed their minds and attacked Ada.

He checked the Magnum. One round left. The chainsaw was held above its head, infected giggling in joyous anticipation. The parasitic infection made a person a grade A jackass apparently.

Raising the gun, he fired into the chainsaw man's deranged face at point blank range. Huffing relief that he wasn't minus a head, he punched the thing in the head as hard as he could. It went reeling away and he hurried to reload the empty weapon, backing up all the while.

The creepy shark mouthed ones were a little close for comfort. That chainsaw noise was deafening in this room. His finger was a half second from squeezing the trigger on the nearest when he caught a word that gave him pause.

“Regenerate!”

He glanced toward the other side where Leon was pressed to the bars dividing audience from arena. They could heal? How much healing were we talking here? Did he want to find that out? Not likely.

Ada was clanging her metal cuffs against the bars, drawing attention to herself. What was she doing? Ah.

Her eyes urgently sought his and he got the message. Sidestepping the chainsaw guy orienting to come at him again, he jogged for the open cage the woman remained inside as per his advice. He didn't think she would listen to him so it was somewhat surprising she was still there.

“What?” he asked, monitoring the locations of the threats.

“Las Plagas, Chris,” Ada said calmly. “You need to go for the parasites to kill them since these particular things take a lot of damage to die, and they can regenerate. There are usually three or four and they can be anywhere in the body.”

He groaned. “Forget that.”

“Enjoying yourself?” Miles called out.

Lips pressed tight, he gave him the finger.

Chambering a round, he swung his arm around and fired into the chest of the persistent chainsaw man. Letting out a howl, it shook violently and began to balloon from the inside, suggesting organ turmoil with the parasite flailing to survive. It exploded into gory splotches on the floor, chainsaw hitting the floor after it, broken into several parts.

Chris put the revolver away in the other thigh holster and wielded the knife in its place.

“Be careful.”

He saw her worry with a glimpse before focusing on the double threat approaching. Moving off to the right, they followed. They were pretty close together so he'd have to time this just right.

The first lashed out, trying to grab him. He avoided it and went low, slashing its leg. The second one grabbed at him while he was doing that so he swung about and slashed its leg too. Chris retreated to a safer distance, waiting for them to reach him again.

One reached the proper distance to try and grab him. Stepping out of the way of the single arm in use, he repeated his previous attack, cutting its leg. The other missed latching onto him but nails raked the front of his shirt.

Breathing labored as he quickly got out of the way, he checked and saw through the tears his skin was yet smooth and unbroken. The agent went for the first one again and slashed the leg twice, rewarded when a sickening plop announced the limb had come off. As the monster fell onto its back, Chris avoided the grab of the other and stabbed as many areas as he could on the fallen.

Blood stained the body, spreading outward, and it expired. The rasping breath fading into nothing. He spun to attend to the final one but was grabbed and pulled against it. His front smacked into it and immediately the mouth reared back and made to plunge a deep bite into his shoulder.

He let it eat a knife instead, thrusting his arm into the mouth, breaking through the skin and out the back of it. Dropping him, a rattling noise emerged and he jumped up, slamming into it with the full force of his body shoving forward. The creature toppled over and he straddled it, reaching into the mouth cautious but quick to retrieve his blade.

Chris yanked the knife out with some effort. It swiped at him and he threw himself off. Starting to wobble upright, he attacked, viciously stabbing any area there could be a parasite hiding. He couldn't see them, so he'd just have to perform a brutally inept surgery to put a stop to it.

Exhausted by the time it died and began doing the eerie incinerating, evaporating after death result, he sank to his knees. He was usually good at going and going regardless of how tired he felt, but it didn't mean he wouldn't appreciate the occasional break. The chains rattling together brought his resting head up.

Ada was outside of her cage, watching him.

“Stage four complete. Well done.”

His perplexed gaze moved over to Laura. It was odd when they spoke emotionless like that.

“Stage five initiating.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Your final challenge, Agent Redfield,” said Felicia.

His sister began cheering him on. Sheva and Leon added a few words of encouragement as well. Somehow it made this all the more embarrassing.

He wondered where Jill had gone. Glowering at the people responsible for setting this elaborate thing up, he was pissed. The BSAA agent was worn out and a little concerned his remaining ammo supply would not be enough for whatever they threw at him for their final challenge.

“Tell me you aren't just taking bets to see which monster might take me out!” he accused. “What is this supposed to prove about anything?”

They continued to stare, silent. Fine by him.

“This is what's wrong with you Wesker children. You think you're so different, like you can't possibly live a normal life. You feel you should have a purpose. Each of you think you can't be fulfilled by anything less than some big change to everyone and everything else. Then maybe you'll be satisfied, complete.”

His eye contact expanded to look at Alex. “You do what you want because you're actually directionless, not feeling like you fit.”

Chris's gaze fell on Wesker. “That's as human as we come!”

“Whether we conceal it inside or not, we all wish to have purpose, to do something that means something with the time we have alive. You're not unique or freaks, not any more than the rest of us.”

“Suitable for final words I suppose,” Laura uttered, but her heart didn't seem quite in it.

He smirked. About time these assholes listened to what he wanted to say.

Jonah cleared his throat. “You saved a friend. You saved an enemy.”

His distance from the four of them wasn't too much from where he was standing, so he could see the frown creasing his forehead. Did he make them think? If only that would be enough to cancel their plans.

“What of an enemy that caused harm to your body and mind? What of the man who captured and tortured you?”

It was unclear his meaning until the handheld device in Felicia's hand was used to open an unseen gate. A sulking Jack Krauser strode into the lit arena, searching the surroundings. He was flipping a knife hand to hand, scowling at every person he laid eyes upon.

When the eyes finally noticed him in the arena, and then Ada, the expression became vacant.

The man wore his regular military clothing but appeared to solely be armed with the knife. He didn't seem injured, although someone like him healed so it could be a factor for what he was seeing.

“He's hurt you, held you prisoner,” Laura said. “Here's your chance to kill him.”

His hand fell to the side with the Magnum, imagining what a bullet like that would do to this particular man's face. But he didn't have any interest in cold-blooded murder. Unless he was planning to kill him or recently killed someone else or was trying to destroy the world, there was no reason.

Personal grievance couldn't matter. He wouldn't let it. If he ever did, he knew it would be wrong.

He looked at Krauser, who was gradually drawing closer, knife tossed up into the air and caught while he moved.

“Are you going to try to kill me?”

The question was asked simply, to business. He wanted to know if he was somebody else to fight.

A shoulder shrug after snatching the knife out of the air again. “Nah.”

Standing opposite him, separated only by a few feet, Krauser went for profound, asking, “What is it you fight for?”

He took his hand off the revolver and squared his shoulders, standing straight. That was a question he thought on constantly, often to his distress after he believed he lost Jill.

“For people to be free of the fear that haunts me every day. For a future without that fear of terrorism and monsters and the stuff of nightmares.”

There was yelling in a foreign language, echoing. They both turned to look, and Chris's eyes widened. A group of majini dressed in military gear were entering through three separate opened gates on the far side, not far from Ada. They carried either electric stun rods or wore grenades on their belts, and oh good, it would seem they had pet lickers.

Huge, thundering steps caused the ground to tremble. Exchanging glances, they looked on as something huge broke through the too small entryway very close by. Chunks of the wall rolled off its back like it was nothing.

Chris saw this type of hulking monstrosity before. It took a truck with two machine gun turrets to take it out. How the hell were they supposed to fight it on the ground level, holding limited ammunition, and at the same time they had a bunch of majini and lickers to contend with?

Was Claire panicking? He sought her out to confirm she was indeed freaking out at what had just been thrown at her brother. Good, because he was freaking too. On the inside. There wasn't opportunity to express it on the outside.

The creature stood tall and roared into the air above.

“I do believe they're trying to kill us.”

“Now's not the time for jokes,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

Krauser adjusted to look him in the face, grinning. “On the contrary, we can't tell jokes if we're dead.”

His expression hardened. “Let's show these bastards we don't die easy.”

The man's eyes lit up. “Wonderful.”

Shifting to stand back to back, Chris drew his handgun and declined to share guns. Krauser didn't ask for one, tugging off his shirt and punching his left hand forward. He would be fighting side by side with his rapist and tormentor, and this was the least peculiar thing to happen to him in the last decade.

He stared at the rapidly mutating limb forming a sharp instrument to replace Krauser's left arm. It was potentially a jagged blade made up of bone and tissue. In the other hand, he held the favored knife.

T-Veronica virus was it? Huh…

“You more of a crowd pleaser or a solo act?”

Chris realized he was staring at the mutation while Krauser was looking at him.

He jerked his head upright. “Uh…”

An arm smacked friendly against his shoulder blades, only his back was rather sore from taking a few hits so..ow.

“I got the boy who ate too much,” he said, striding quickly toward the giant creature presently determining who to target.

It was high enough to the room that it was contemplating the people watching beyond the bars. Hiro came up to the bars to stare at the monster's face. He looked sad and regretful. Who was this Wesker child and why did he alone among them seem to bear sympathy for others?

Ada was calling out to him, sliding steadily in his direction despite the cuffs limiting her speed. No wonder. The majini bearing weapons would soon reach her, and the lickers swarming behind would likely overtake them and get to her first. He was genuinely amazed she wasn't too prideful to call for help.

The ones with grenades on their belts so far hadn't used them, approaching barehanded, but no less threatening. He did a quick count of his bullets. Twelve rounds in the gun and a spare magazine.

A majini with an electric rod held tight, used the other hand to point at him, saying something he couldn't understand. Three lickers crawled past and he aimed his weapon. He shot them, hitting each time, until Ada was standing beside him.

Blocking her with his body, he told her to stay close. Her wrists twisted against the restraints and she breathed loudly through her nose and mouth, giving away her frustration with the situation. A woman like her was almost constantly on the move, never sticking around anywhere for long, and never relying on others. This must have been an especially irritating situation to find herself in.

One of them flipped over when he shot it just right. Thinking fast, he put the gun away and ran forward, pulling his knife out as he did. There it was, the beating heart.

He stabbed the exposed organ, killing it instantly. Swerving to the side to avoid a lengthy tongue shooting out at him, he had to throw himself into a forward roll to miss the second darting appendage. Back on his feet, he shot a majini drawing near to Ada. Its head went bye and he flinched at the parasite flowering out in a shrieking death cry. People…

Clenching his jaw, he concentrated on where to attack next. The lickers. He drew the Magnum, firing into a licker sneaking up with loud clicking claws. It died in one shot.

He dispatched the next two with as much ease as the other. If it carried more bullets, this would be his new favorite gun. A tongue wrapped around his neck from behind and the revolver fell out of his grasp.

While he was struggling to free himself, struggling to get a grip on the slippery rope strangling, a majini with an electric rod approached slowly. He grabbed his knife and slashed the tongue, making it retract swiftly. His other enemy made his mark, slamming the rod to his chest.

Body jerking with electricity, he screamed out in pain. Stuttering forward, he fought to focus and grabbed the arm when it tried to bring the weapon down on him a second time. He remembered Sheva's response to enemies from time to time and slashed the man's throat open.

The once human being collapsed and he pretended not to care. Ada had moved to her cage and rotated around it, carefully surveilling enemies in case any attacked her. For now they seemed to prefer attacking the one causing them trouble.

He located his gun and with a little time to spare before another would reach him, he loaded the empty chambers. That left him only a single round to spare. If they were truthful and this was truly the last stage, step, or whatever, then it would hopefully be plenty.

The ground quaked beneath him and he turned, freezing. Giant ugly was blundering in his direction, head tucked down into its lowered arm, an elbow outward. He supposed what probably happened.

In trying to ram Krauser, a man that almost matched Wesker in blurring speed, he would become pancake by accident. The former U.S. soldier was standing by the edge of the arena watching it missing him by a wide gap. He shrugged visibly with the normal arm in the few seconds Chris had before trying to run out of its path.

He made it, barely, and the monster crashed into the side of the arena where Alex and Kincaid were observing. They were far enough away and still enough, that it took no notice of them. Dragging itself back into the arena, it rotated heavily about.

So distracted by the huge blunderer, a barehanded majini almost snuck up on him. Inches from grabbing onto him, he spotted the enemy and punched him in the jaw. As it was reeling backward, he lifted his eyes in time to see the grenade thrown.

Oh shit!

Chris didn't really feel the explosion, only feeling himself thrown off his feet. He smacked into the floor, rolling several times. When he came to a stop, lying on his side, he used an arm to push upward and sprawled onto his back as a result. Arms and legs flopped loosely on the floor. He blacked out.

Chapter Text

It was noisy. That annoyed him. He stirred, someone touching his arm, shaking it. Chris opened his eyes to find Ada staring down at him.

Sitting up, he saw his shirt was ruined further, the left sleeve shredded, along with a fair portion of the same side of his shirt. Blood welled and leaked out of shrapnel cuts, and he wondered if any were embedded in the skin. He felt something sticky and warm on the right side of his head. Running fingers across his scalp, they came back wet and red.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

She helped him stand, lifting him by the arm and then places hands on his front and back until confident he was stable. Grunting thanks, he surveyed the area and ascertained he hadn't been out long. He was still counting three lickers and five majini remaining, along with the giant.

What was Krauser up to if he wasn't eliminating the big ugly?

He spotted him. Something was wrong. His movements were less coordinated and he was slower. He looked to Ada.

“What's going on?”

“Bastards sniped him with a tranquilizer. It must have been tailored for special types like him, because he's having a hard time resisting its effect.”

Chris turned back to Krauser taking on all of these enemies simultaneously. He must have distracted or goaded them into attacking him during the brief time he was knocked out. He helped him.

“Guess it leaves a bitter taste in their mouths when we can easily beat their stupid tests.”

“I wouldn't tell them that.”

Looking around once more, he looked at her. “Alright. Get to the edges and try to stay out of sight. Maybe in one of those empty gated openings.”

“You want me to hide?”

He examined her yet bound hands and feet. “Yes…?”

“Careful, Chris. You worried about me?”

His eyes narrowed at her cool and distant demeanor. “Just do it.”

Giving his entire focus to the situation at hand, he wiped the blood starting to leak from his hairline to his forehead with the back of his arm. He noticed his whole left arm was a bit of a tapestry of bruises and minor cuts, and the glove on that hand was hanging off partially. Tearing the glove off with his teeth as he drew his handgun with his right hand, he decided to distract the giant issue foremost.

He ran across the arena floor, hearing Claire and Sheva making noise. Sounded like possible shouts of encouragement. Or possibly they were warning him not to be an idiot and run straight for an overgrown monster.

Krauser managed to bring it down onto a knee, parasites sprouting out of arms and back. He was impressed to see there were three remaining, one parasitic implantation already destroyed. But now he was staggering, faltering in the fight as lickers scrambled in to attack.

There was a choice and he didn't even think about it. Chris targeted the leaping critter and shot it out of the air. He fired on the other two, diverted their path and befuddling them temporarily.

With a stumble, Krauser glanced at him, sprang onto an upended licker, and stabbed it in the heart. He fell flat on his face afterward, and Chris caught sight of Jonah lowering a sniper rifle, having put another dart into his ally. Searching the rest of the onlookers, he was angry nobody was doing anything. They all just watched him put up with this crap.

Guilty for blaming his friends, he continued forward at a jog, gradually coming to a stop. The big ugly was rising, parasites returning into the damaged body. A flash grenade banged off to his right and he squeezed his eyes shut, turning away. God-damn-it.

He grabbed the arm of a majini thinking to hit him with an electric rod and kicked it away. Spinning, he fired shots quickly into two approaching fast. One took its head and the other shot deflected off armor.

The giant monster was stomping toward Krauser's unmoving form. Dashing past the other enemies, he pulled the trigger and swore. He'd forgotten his bullet count. It was empty.

Shoving it into the holster, he kept running closer. It worked to distract, the creature shifting to look at the moving thing. And a licker tongue wrapped around his arm, yanking him to a halt.

Chris slid the knife out and cut free, turning to catch a huge sweeping arm against his body. The force of the blow tossed him across the ground. He berated himself, knowing it wouldn't have happened if he wasn't so dead set on protecting everybody he could.

His head lifting from the floor, he saw his knife laying not far in front of him and snatched it up, dragging onto his feet. He looked around at the lumbering threat, the two lickers, and four majini. They all were coming for him.

Time to get creative. He removed the handgun, loaded the last spare clip he had, and prepared to move fast. Chris was tired, but he could push himself. He had to.

He took out two majini in three shots and dodged the lunge of a licker, racing past to the remaining pair of majini. They were unarmed except for the grenades on their belts, and he tunneled his vision to staring at that. On approach, they hissed, and he punched the nearest in the face.

While the infected was stumbling back, he used the knife to cut its belt off and then elbowed the other in the face when it tried to grab him. He mimicked the action of cutting the belt and then smashed the face of the fallen one with a boot. It died and he put a bullet in the face of the recovered infected now seething at him.

Holstering it, he drew the revolver and twisted around, shooting the two rapidly crawling lickers. They died too.

The relief was short-lived as he ducked a giant fist punching through the air. Chris abandoned the grenade plan for the moment. He rolled out of the way when it tried to hit him with a swipe. It roared, furious to be missing.

He aimed upward as the thing drew lethally close. Shooting it in the neck, it flailed backward, clutching its head. The three parasites burst through the ruined flesh when it fell on one knee. He holstered the gun, leaping stupidly onto the arm. Another leap landed him on the bent and broad shoulder.

Chris stabbed and slashed at the giant exposed parasite until it was drawing back into the body. But he wasn't having any of that bullshit. He drew the Magnum and blasted the disappearing problem. Thrashing and spitting fluids, the vile creature shriveled away.

The trembling monster squealed, arms hanging limply to its sides. It fell over and Chris held on until he was nearer to the ground, leaping off. Lowering the empty weapon to his own side, he watched the big ugly breathe its last and go still.

It was finished. He dropped to his knee and then let himself fall onto his rear, exhausted. The knife and revolver were put away. Guess he didn't need to acquire the grenades after all.

“Wonderful performance, Agent Redfield,” Laura declared, sounding like she meant it. “We've concluded your kind are worth saving. Heroes and the like, the ones who sacrifice.”

“Our desire is to preserve the human race,” Jonah shared. “As it is, humans are destroying the planet. We'll find or make better humans, and the others who aren't suitable will die. Then there will be a perfect world.”

Chris laughed. “You're dreaming! What a human quality.”

Fixing the four of them with an intense glare, he didn't bother standing. “Everybody has faults. You can't go around killing anyone who isn't perfect. You'll be left with nobody.”

Undeterred, Felicia rested a hand on Laura's shoulder. “Unfortunately, who you are specifically, makes you a liability and threat to our world.”

Laura gave him a smug smile. “Initiating cleanup.”

There it was. They always intended to kill him. He wasn't surprised, but pretty angry. Such bullshit.

Gates were rising somewhere unseen. He glanced around, no trace of where Ada had gotten to and Krauser was still asleep. His eyes turned to look at his friends and allies. Would they see him die?

He frowned. Jill wasn't with them. Why? Where would she go?

Something big was coming. Chris slightly gawked at the two creations resembling men walking into the arena from opposite sides. It was a good distance from where he currently sat on his ass.

He remembered them well because they popped up as bio-weapons from time to time. T-103 or some variation of it, dubbed Mr. X by Claire during her hellish trial of surviving Raccoon City long ago. Two tyrants dispatched to kill a single, worn out BSAA agent low on ammo.

His eyes sought out Wesker. Was he going to watch him die too?

Oh. Glowing eyes met his searching gaze. Wesker was standing in front of the bars on his far left side. So he would watch.

“Chris!”

He jerked his head about, lips parting to gape a bit. Jill was running to him, ignoring the tyrants ambling forth on either side of her selected path straight through the center. His old partner and friend had gone looking for a way into the arena.

Chris got to his feet, smiling at her. “Jill, what are you doing?”

“Need a partner?”

He studied the towering tyrants in black leather coats, gloves, and boots headed for them. “I assume you mean to run for the exit.”

Jill unslung the strap of the machine gun worn to her back. “Think I believe you'd leave someone behind?”

His eyes tracked Ada, stooped on one knee halfway out of a gate opening to his right. He checked on Krauser's limp body and sighed. She knew him well.

He took out the revolver and loaded the single bullet he had left.

“That was pretty amazing, Chris,” she said to him. “I can't believe you beat everything without much injury. They threw so many at you.”

Confident of her own strength and ability, he immediately replied, “If you had to, you would be able to do it too.”

She looked him in the eye. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Together they examined the tyrants who were close.

“Make every bullet count,” he advised.

“Don't get hurt,” she shot back, serious, while at the same time making a critical remark on how he tended to take hits in a fight.

She was smiling when she turned away to face their enemies.

Chris raised his Magnum and lined it up with a head. “Let's take the one on the right first.”

Without looking at each other, he heard her say, “Got it.”

He shot the tyrant on the left in the skull and shoved the empty gun into the holster. The one on the right unsurprisingly reacted by picking up speed to reach them quicker. Chris jogged a couple feet and squatted, placing one hand on top of the other, palms up.

Jill darted forward. As soon as her foot planted into his hands, he lifted. She gracefully sprang high and landed on the shoulders of the rushing tyrant. Losing balance, it stumbled and she brought her machine gun forward, firing into the back of its skull and neck.

Nearly decapitated, the creature began to mutate and she flew off, rolling across the floor before jumping to her feet. Chris couldn't enjoy the small victory, however, because number one was stalking toward him, fists clenched. He stood and withdrew the handgun, Jill joining him with her machine gun at the ready.

Chris remembered the grenades. “Jill! Get the explosives. These things aren't a fan of fire.”

She didn't seem pleased to leave his side but relented, spraying a wave of bullets in the marching tyrant's direction to make it past. The tyrant he was now dubbing number one, watched her seemingly fleeing. Creepy eyes fixed to him again and it broke into a run.

Finished mutating, the sexless and heavily muscled body of the other tyrant turned in his direction.

“Right,” he uttered, and tried to move out of the way.

Number one turned with and punched him in the stomach. The power behind it sent him flying airborne until his back hit the wall of the arena perimeter. Groaning, he was fairly sure a couple ribs were fractured as he dragged himself upright.

He unloaded his magazine into the upper body and face of the leather-clad tyrant. Eleven bullets and it was hardly fazed, still coming. Chris tossed the useless gun at it out of spite.

The agent swore the damn thing smirked at him. Jill to the rescue, she tossed a grenade which erupted the mutated tyrant in flame for a few seconds. Seeing him literally back to a wall, she aimed the machine gun at number one and blasted it in the side until earning its attention.

But now the BSAA agent had two tyrants focused on her. He only had his knife left. That would be suicide probably, and definitely would be in his present battered condition.

“Chris.”

He jumped, spinning around in shock at the sudden voice so close to his ear. The twisting movement jostled his hurting ribs and he winced, a palm resting against his stomach. Wesker stood a foot away, staring at him through the bars separating them.

“I require you to trust me.”

“And I wish I could afford a better apartment,” he snarked. “Not trusting you.”

An arm extended toward him from between bars. In his outstretched hand was the Samurai Edge handgun he'd stolen from a weapons shop. He last had it in the room where he slept in captivity to this man, unloaded of course.

He checked Jill was handling herself okay and turned to eye the gun being offered. Chris grabbed the gun and took a step back. A quick exam found it was fully loaded, fifteen rounds.

“You're exhausted, barely standing. Recall my promise that I won't let you die unless it's on my terms.”

“I don't recall that,” he said with a scowl, forcing himself to laugh at the preposterous request for him to trust the bastard.

“I believe it was when you let me fuck you on my desk.”

Wesker intentionally spoke loud. In the hollow nature of this room, it reached everyone's ears. The tyrants drew to an obedient halt, stiffening and staying in place. Chris saw a confused Jill slow and catch her breath, peering up to where the four kidnappers stood. Made sense. They must have ordered them to stop the assault somehow.

His jaw dropped, realizing they ceased the attack because they were interested to hear what Wesker was talking about. He had to physically remember to shut his mouth a few seconds later, when the asshole started speaking loudly some more.

“Perhaps you had a fantasy of a time when I was your captain.”

Chris's avoidance of a blush failed as his sister, Sheva, and Leon moved closer to look at him. They were on the same side as Wesker, along with Hiro, although the latter didn't appear entertained by any of this. Why was he here again?

Apparently oblivious to their captive audience, or not caring, Sheva asked him a question, very loud and very alarmed.

“You slept with that man who's lost his mind?”

Well that was an awkward and unflattering manner of putting it. There wasn't really a good way of explaining the situation, but he tried. Jill was staring, he could feel her eyes on the back of his neck even when he turned back around to back out of that statement.

“While he was holding you captive?” Leon inquired. “He didn't force you, did he?”

He glared furiously toward Wesker at the thought.

“Oh, no, I can assure you, it was all very willing.”

Now he was glaring at the guy. “Shut up, Wesker!”

“Chris, what is the truth?” Claire asked.

Oh, come on… He knew they were worried about him and it was concern driving their curiosity. Mostly. There was suspicion of perverse interest in his potential sexual exploits among each of the friends, who knew him as the hardcore, obsessive BSAA soldier and agent.

His expression lightened as he looked at them. “Yes, I slept with the guy, okay? I was kinda messed up from being tortured by your old buddy, Leon.”

The man squinted, shifting his gaze to the unconscious Krauser before peering back at him. He didn't seem to know what to think about it, but seemed to accept it was possible for a bad circumstance to lead to something unwise or out of character. That is, until Wesker opened his mouth further.

“Now, now. That was when I had you in the bed in Africa. So go on and explain your reasons for suggesting sex in my bed in Wisconsin.”

“I-I-I…” he stuttered, face blooming bright red. “I was working an angle, planning an escape.”

His sister was aghast, Leon confused, and Sheva looked mad at him. He glanced at Wesker, mortified, and knew there was something to worry about when a side of his mouth curled upward, arrogant and smug.

“Hm.. It required the time on my desk? In my bed the second and then third time…?”

“Shut the hell up!”

“Chris, why?” Sheva demanded. “After what he did to your old partner? Those villagers?”

The embarrassment was fading, shame and guilt replacing the feeling. Wesker could always get to him. It was always personal, always had been. That was truth long before they set foot in a mansion outside Raccoon City.

“He put us in that forest all those years ago,” Jill said sadly, wandering closer to him. “Lured us into a mansion he knew was full of infected employees and other freed experiments. We had to lose our friends one by one, find them dead or watch them die. I'll never forget that night and I know you can't either.”

She didn't even mention her own captivity and being made into a slave for Excella, unable to control her own actions. How she saved Chris's life and almost died. The shame was becoming unbearable and his anger grew in direct response.

“I'll admit I'm surprised you perpetuate a relationship with an enemy,” Laura said. “I'm not sure what to say, knowing you had consensual sex with a Wesker child.”

“What does that matter?” he snarled in the heat of the moment, and realized it sounded like he was defending the man.

“He insisted on face to face every time, so you know it can't merely be enjoyment of the high quality of our sex.”

Chris stepped forward, pointing the gun at him. “I'm going to kill you!”

He meant it too. Bastard used him and toyed with him and tried to hurt him whenever they met. His finger started squeezing the trigger.

Chapter Text

Wesker stabbed him in the heart as fast as he could blink. Stunned, he stumbled back, pulling out an empty syringe. Tricky son of a bitch revealed all of it, ignited everyone's bemusement, just to get him close enough for this.

“You bastard!”

The man leaned into the bars with a content smirk. “When have I led you to believe I'm anything but what I am?”

“Unrepentantly devious monster,” he spat.

“Resolute man,” countered Wesker, meeting his eyes and sounding happy.

Refusing to be outdone after getting injected against his will, he snapped, “Comic book villain.”

Wesker's expression gave nothing away as he retorted, “Humanity's champion.”

He could feel the drug beginning to affect him. It wouldn't take long with an injection to his heart like that. So while he had control, he seethed at the man.

“Fuck you!”

“Gladly.”

That gave him pause, a warm feeling expanding throughout his body, stretching across his every inch. He sounded authentic, like maybe he'd let Chris fuck him. And why did that sound good?

He shook his head in a desperate attempt to clear the blurring vision, knowing it had to be obvious he was losing it outwardly. Gritting his teeth, he reluctantly accepted the drug would control him for a period. He looked over his shoulder at the silent tyrants and back to Wesker.

“You better make it good.”

“When have I not?” he asked, referring to the aforementioned allusion to sex instead of the battle command he knew Chris was expecting from him.

Ugh. He managed to blush red right before he fell on a knee, clutching his burning head. He hoped his allies would blame the drug as it became more difficult to hold onto any solid thought.

“Listen to me.”

The voice was serious, dominant. He knew he should obey this voice. It was everything he existed for.

“I command you to survive. You do not have my permission to die.”

Chris rose to his feet, sore and tired body a thing of the past. He stared ahead of himself, blank and waiting for a reason to move. There was an underlying, yet oppressive desire to please that voice.

“Kill the tyrants. And enjoy yourself.”

He smiled, superior. He could feel the strength expanding into his muscles. Spinning around, he practically flew in the direction of the motionless tyrants. The speed and ease of movement felt great.

He'd slaughter them for his master. Master? Why did he think that?

It was pleasing when they burst into motion, wheeling about to face him. He fired his gifted firearm, hammering bullets into an empty stare. He preferred a fight.

His head and heart and whole being pounded foreign sensations, intense and hot. Soon he realized after the initial wave, he was aware of his actions. Wesker made it so he could know what he was doing as he did it and this thrilled him.

The agent moved more swift and agile than he ever had before, no longer restrained by the limitations of his hulky frame and weight. When one of them threw him to the floor, he didn't really feel the pain he knew should have come. The big fist cracked the floor but missed him as he was rolling away and up. Startlingly flexible, he flipped backward out of the charging path of a mutated tyrant devoted to murdering him in turn.

A woman ran by, shooting the mutated one until it halted its attempt to ram. Her other hand revealed a glint of metal catching beneath the ceiling light, and she tossed the object toward the tyrant. The grenade exploded in the air, burning the creature's upper half.

Jill. It was okay to have this ally right now. His gun clicked empty and he holstered it in favor of drawing the knife.

As he was parrying the huge arms and fists of an opponent much bigger and stronger than him with only a knife, Jill yelled his name and tossed something. It clattered in front of him and he flipped forward to reach it fast, ripping the item from the floor to find it was a correct magazine for his firearm.

Satisfied, he gained some distance with a short run, and loaded his weapon. The mutated tyrant went down and stayed down. She was a force to be reckoned with.

He hurried to rejoin the fight against the other, who was presently mutating, clothes shredding in the wake of it.

A man appeared in his way, preventing him from attacking the tyrant. It was Miles. He would like nothing more than to shoot him full of the bullets in his gun, but he had orders to kill the tyrant. Succeeding at his master's command was most essential.

Miles was suddenly up close in a flash, backhanding him across the face. He fell and flipped upright quickly. Shoving him away, the man reacted by swinging his lower half through the air, kicking him into the ground again. He grunted and clenched his fists.

He had orders to survive too. If this man would try to kill him, then he had every permission to kill him first. Chris rolled aside to avoid the foot slamming into the floor, powerful enough to crack it and leave a small indented hole.

The agent was pleased to kill Miles. Raising the gun, he fired multiple shots but his enemy became a blur of color, dodging the bullets. Appearing to his right and very near, Chris threw a fist and his wrist was caught by a different Wesker child.

Yanking his arm free of Felicia's grip, he glared between the pair of them. They were in his way. He had to kill the tyrant, had to survive. He'd kill them all.

He fired the gun and they parted to steer clear of his shots. Arms wrapped around him from behind and he found himself tossed over a head of dark hair. The woman standing above took his arm, twisting, and he turned with it onto his stomach to try and lessen the strain.

Squirming and struggling to break out of the hold, he angled his gun and fired. The shot hit her in the shoulder and she released the painful grip. Rolling onto his back, someone else appeared in Felicia's place. His latest assailant straddled him, taking his forearms and planting them flat to the floor over his head.

Jonah. Growling at the man, he felt intense need to get up, to complete his commands. His opponent was far too strong, and he couldn't do it.

Fury and violence overwhelming, he kicked his legs out, shifting constantly to try and knock the body off him. He'd scream and demand Jonah get out of his way, except he couldn't seem to use his voice. A glimpse of Laura passing out of the corner of his eye had him baffled as to what was going on.

He felt it when the drug was nearly finished leaving his system. Exhaustion spread, replacing the warm feel of power the drug gave him. Every bruise, cut, and discomfort came flooding back all at once. It was shocking and agonizing.

Blinking slowly, he understood it was just him under his own faculties, and stopped fighting. Jonah took notice of the change and released an arm, testing. Chris assumed when he didn't try to punch him, it was safe to check, and fingers held an eye wide open, peering at it.

Breath puffed against his cheek. He didn't think Jill's eyes were any different when they'd fought to bring her back to herself. How could he forget Wesker was responsible for the hell she likely endured being constantly injected with a controlling drug? Did he forget or push it out of conscious thought?

A bullet got Jonah in the arm and he responded well for such a thing. He flipped through the air in a blur and Chris turned onto his side, reaching for the gun that had fallen so close to where he'd been held down. Metal a reassurance in his grasp, he sat up and looked around.

The other tyrant had fallen. He wondered if Jill accomplished the task. His four kidnappers were to his left and behind him. They were slightly spread out from each other, looking at…

He swung his head back in the direction of the defeated tyrant. A little farther swiveling his head to the right and there was Jill, standing with Wesker. Was that right?

Chris reversed the direction he was facing, resting on his knees to get a better view of the two sides confronting each other. Farther away, beyond Jill and Wesker, was Claire and Leon examining Krauser's limp form. Ada appeared in his line of sight when Leon knelt down, and he had to smile a little to see she'd finally gotten rid of the cuffs.

“He's yours,” Laura told them. “We won't pursue him anymore.”

Wesker was looking content enough by this, but Jill was angry, refusing to lower her sidearm. She was the one who shot Jonah to get him off in all likelihood. He frowned, noticing Sheva standing near an open gate, speaking into her earpiece.

Was there an HQ to talk to? She seemed upset, like she was straining her voice arguing quietly. Something was urgent.

“We can't fight them all,” Wesker pointed out. “You know what it feels like to push your body past its limits under the drug's influence, or to fight enemies when it's a struggle to simply stand.”

“Then why did you give it to him?” she yelled, putting some space between them.

The reply came quick and flat. “To save his life.”

She didn't believe him. Chris wasn't sure he believed him either. But what did he know?

Wait… The four project survivors who gave him so much grief, who stole him away for six weeks, were just getting to walk away?

He pushed up onto his feet, swaying out of balance. He managed to steady and the arm holding his gun level did not waver.

“No!”

The four walking away paused at the intensity of his shout. Jill, who had lowered her gun to walk over to him instead of remaining where she was monitoring a dangerous threat, drew to a stop.

“Those two don't get to leave. They don't!”

No one except the four understood what he meant.

“What is this?” Leon questioned, arriving with Claire, Ada, and a groggy Krauser accompanying him.

Chris observed he had his normal arm back, but didn't linger on the thought. He would prefer Claire not be here to see him kill someone, however, he wasn't letting them go. No way.

He was fuming inside, eyes wide and locked on his targets. Staring at them for an extended period was bringing the horrible memories into his head. Now that he wasn't worried for his life, it was easier for images to slip into his thoughts. Images he loathed and hated.

“You didn't have to!” Chris yelled, aiming at Miles's heart. “You didn't have to!”

“No,” Miles admitted, watching the gun. “No we didn't. But you're a good-looking man, and we wanted to.”

“Oh, God…”

His eyes darted to Jill, who had uttered the expression. She knew. No, no, no. He didn't want them to know.

He brought a finger to the trigger, slowly squeezing. Chris scanned the others quickly. They were variations of confused, uncertain, or blank. Harder to read what they could know.

“I used to think I knew what evil was. I used to think Wesker was the epitome of evil intent.”

He was ranting. He let it go on, needing to verbalize the feelings and reasons to get it out of his mind.

“But I was wrong. You're that thing. The thing kids start to fear is under their bed at night, before they realize it can be found in the faces of another person in the daylight. It's the reason people can feel paranoid when they're walking alone in the dark.”

“Chris.”

Jill was seeking to calm him. He knew he wasn't quite thinking straight and it didn't matter. Furious, sad, afraid it could somehow happen again if he didn't act now… Unflinching was what he had to be.

“You enjoy making people suffer. You go out of your way to do it. It drives your existence. At least Albert Wesker doesn't usually enjoy the bad he does. In his twisted mind, he has reasons for every action and reaction. Yeah it's screwed up. It's bad. He doesn't feel things like people should. But you? You feel joy only when someone else suffers as a result.”

When the man sniggered at him, sneering a remark about how he loved what they did, his brain checked out. He lowered the gun a few inches and fired repeatedly into the bastard's crotch. Three bursts and several seconds later, he realized he was clicking on empty.

“Monster,” he whispered, thinking at least the other had a chance to survive and he couldn't be called a murderer then.

Crumpled on the floor clutching his crotch, Miles screamed in rage and pain. In a blur, he ran for an open gateway and disappeared from sight. He was surprised the man could run.

His gaze turned to his comrades. The other three were contemplating violence. It was clear as day on their faces.

“Wesker!” Sheva yelled out, far from where the rest of them were gathered.

Chris looked at the man in time to witness him fire his Desert Eagle, hitting Jonah in the center of the forehead. Shocked, he watched as Wesker tore Jill's machine gun off her by the body strap, and unloaded into the fallen body. It literally sawed head from neck in a stream of rapid-fire bullets.

A high-pitched and piercing wail of woe came out of Laura. She burst into a dead run for Wesker, almost faster than the eye could follow. Chris watched as he fired the gun and hit her a few times. She dodged the remainder and kept coming. Flying into him feet first, they whipped into a frenzied fight, difficult to observe at their speed.

The machine gun was tossed aside in preference for fists. It was obvious they didn't have the same training. Wesker had the edge on her. She was putting up a hell of an offense though, because she was fueled by mindless grief and rage for her fallen partner. He should be able to empathize with her pain, having experienced something similar, but he couldn't seem to care.

A blaring siren distracted everyone but the two Weskers locked in heated combat.

“The self-destruct sequence has been activated. Please evacuate to the nearest possible exit. All doors are unlocked to expedite evacuation procedure. This sequence may not be aborted. I repeat-”

He started ignoring the looping message. Why did these people insist on setting every building to blow? A shrill cry answered his ponderance a little too soon. That fate with a sense of humor again.

Hunters dashed into the arena, spilling in from at least three separate open gates that he could see. They were on the side right by Sheva, close to Claire and the others. Not a one of them stupid, they took immediate notice and action to confront the incoming threats.

Chris saw Leon pass Claire a handgun and was proud to know his sister could handle herself. She was a crazy, brave sort. Emphasis on the crazy.

He wondered what to do without ammunition to aid his friends. Scouring the area and feeling shaky on his feet at best after everything, he caught a glimpse of Felicia which drew his eye. She was fiddling with her device, pressing buttons, and he guessed she was responsible for the destruct sequence activation. The release of hunters was presumably her stunt too.

The woman's gaze sweeping the arena floor, she spun around and departed for an open gate. The same one Miles went through, which meant it was most likely a certain exit. She clearly didn't want to be followed, so he followed her.

A tunnel connected rooms like the room he woke up in. He was walking past the third gate when he had to hesitate, leaning into the wall for a brief respite. What exactly was his plan here?

Chris determined to see where she went, and then return to the others. Pushing off the wall, he resumed his gradual and quiet pace. In a matter of minutes he was standing under sunlight and paused to soak it in.

He was starting to think maybe it would be okay if she slipped away when he spotted her again. Careful to stay out of sight, he moved to a pair of large garbage containers and crouched behind them. She was talking to someone on the phone, pacing impatiently back and forth.

His eyes were slipping closed, lulled into comfort by the still posture and warm sun. The BSAA agent berated himself for the error and searched the area where she had been and was no longer. Fearing an ambush, he rose slowly, stooped to remain hidden. He wondered how well the empty guns holstered to his thighs would do as blunt instruments.

Coming out from behind the containers after all he could hear was silence, he covered the yards to Felicia's last sighting. A regular street, a couple parked vehicles, and he was standing outside an unremarkable looking warehouse. Scanning the area and finding nothing, Chris thought he should probably just go back to his friends.

One step and he stumbled forward, too exhausted to keep upright. Maybe he could wait here for them to get to him. This was their rescue of him and Claire, yeah? He wasn't too prideful to be saved.

He endeavored to reach the sidewalk and a foot stepped shorter than he intended, scuffing awkwardly and jerking him off balance. Hands caught his shoulder and arm before he could even start to fall, straightening him. His arm was thrown over a shoulder, a hand gripping it securely in place, and the other hand settled on his waist, arm wrapped around his back.

“Thanks,” he muttered, heavy eyes threatening to close again.

They were continuing to the sidewalk and Chris got sidetracked in identifying his silent helper by seeing an unexpected sight. Alex was in the process of putting Felicia's limp body in the trunk of a black truck. He couldn't tell if she was dead or alive.

An attempt to stand on his own was prevented, hands holding him up unyielding. He turned his head and met Kincaid's gaze fixed on him.

“You're the knight, Agent Redfield. In the action, powerful against close enemies, sticking to the center in an effort to make a difference. But you need your support to win.”

His eyes narrowed. Was this guy giving more chess analogies?

“Time to go before that happens.”

Huh?

Chris let himself be walked to the truck and man changing position to watch them approach. He was barely standing as it was, and he knew he wouldn't be getting out of this one. His eyes were beginning to shut against his will.

He was brought around to the side of the car where Alex strolled up to open the back door for them. Kincaid got in first and reached forward to lift him in if he couldn't do it himself. He glanced toward Alex, who met his gaze, fingers tugging on the brim of his ball cap.

“Are you trying to die?”

Despite knowing the question was rhetorical, he responded with a weak smile. “It's more of an effortless thing, really...”

His audience wasn't the easily amused kind. Two expressionless stares. What a fun crowd.

Sighing audibly, he dragged his protesting body into the truck alone. There was a syringe being prepared by Kincaid, taken from a case on the floor. It really wasn't necessary.

His body was a tired mess, struggling to deal with sustained injuries, forced motion, and coming off a drug that had him exceed his normal capabilities. The moment before he slumped against the seat and passed out, minus the sedative they were intending to inject, he had a final grudging thought. It was goddamn ridiculous his life at present consisted of being a prisoner traded between Wesker children.

Chapter Text

The BSAA agent spun around for the fourth time and swore. Her partner was gone. She didn't see him anywhere.

“Damn it!” Jill exclaimed beside her. “I can't find Chris.”

“Doesn't she know we're not the ones who murdered her boyfriend?” Ada grumbled, sweeping to a stop nearby, and glancing to Leon, who had become the latest target.

Sheva frowned, looking for someone else this time.

“Where did Wesker go?”

Ada Wong heard the question and spoke in a tone that told her she'd noticed far earlier. The woman liked to keep things to herself. It was irritating.

“He split when he saw Chris wasn't here. Krauser went too.”

“Aren't you with them?” Jill demanded.

The woman slipped her empty gun into her leg holster. “Sure. In a way. But it didn't feel right to leave the rest of you to deal with a berserk Wesker.”

What a strange claim. Why would she care about any of them?

Sheva reacted out of reflex more than anything else, shooting a hunter springing for Claire in mid-air. It dropped onto its back and her partner's sister finished it off with a few rounds to the face. The woman searched about until she spotted who assisted.

“Thanks for the help!”

“You need to be careful!” she called back.

More than a dozen hunters taken out and they were still coming, arriving from wherever else in the building they'd been kept before. It was a fair guess the noise was drawing them in. The place was remote but she worried if any of these creatures were to get outside.

She keyed her earpiece. “Where are you?”

“Be there shortly,” the pilot responded. “Get out of that building!”

Virtually groaning her annoyance, she tapped the mic again. “No! I repeat, no! Do not destroy the building. We've lost visual on Agent Redfield. He could be in here somewhere.”

“Well how do you suggest we proceed?” Ryan asked her, sounding testy.

Sheva huffed and responded quickly. “Keep close by. We'll bring the target to you.”

“Roger that, Alomar. Watch your asses in there.”

Leon was on the receiving end of a pretty hard body slam and Jill seemed to be recovering from a previous blow, holding her chest and grimacing. She hurried forward to rejoin the fight. It was bad enough fighting a composed and brutal Wesker, more interested in toying with them than actually inflicting damage. This Wesker was crazy, hardly pausing for a second between attacks.

A claw almost raked her back leg. She switched direction to put down the hunter tracking her. These nuisances certainly didn't make it any easier either.

Ada lunged at the creature from behind with a knife. Sheva looked on while she hacked into the scaly back until it fell motionless in a pool of blood. The dying shriek was disturbing. These things were terrifying.

Hopping smoothly off the creature, avoiding the blood, she regarded her stare.

“We got a plan or are we gonna fight every last one of these things?”

She didn't sound enthusiastic about the latter idea. Sheva's attention was ripped away to Claire and Leon. Laura was choking the latter, holding him off the ground with a single hand, and the former was out of bullets. Jill was occupied with a pair of hunters circling her. The agent raced to intercept the focus when she realized Claire's plan was to charge with a knife to free her male friend.

Were they all this reckless? It was a wonder none of them had been killed yet. And she was including herself in that number of foolish idiots.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Wesker ran outside to the front of the building to finish off the rest of you insane freaks! Think I'll go lend him a hand.”

Continuing to run past the three paused in the fight to consider her yelling, she prayed it would work. She couldn't exactly wait around to find out. And then a figure barreled into her, knocking them to the ground.

Laura. Glowing red eyes, snarling face, rising to her feet. Sheva stared up at her from her position on the floor, and breathed relief as the woman turned and darted for one of the gates. She followed her path with her eyes and assumed the gate she chose must be nearest to the building's front.

She sat up, and promptly screamed out as a hunter landed on her. Jill cried out to her, warning coming a little too late. Sprawling flat to the floor, the heavy weight was crushing her ribcage and left arm trapped between it and the ground. A bone cracked, talons digging into her vulnerable skin.

Gritting her teeth, she glared at the creature and lifted a leg, kicking it hard. It leaped from her and trying to push herself up with both hands had her gasping in pain. As she fell backward again, a knife flew into its sort of neck, and a close grouping of bullets to the side took it down.

Ada appeared to collect her knife, and Leon arrived to help her to her feet. He examined the bloody and torn arm she was careful not to move much. Then he stepped back to take in the rest of her, resting on her determined scowl.

“I think it's broken.”

“There's gotta be an end. Let's finish this.”

A small smile came onto his face. “Something waiting at the front of the building?”

“Yes. Let's go deal with that crazy bitch.”

He grinned. “Roger.”

She managed a smile in turn, surveying the room for danger after picking up her pistol with the right hand. No sign of incoming monsters. Ada bypassed them, Claire and Jill close at her heels.

“Coming?” the woman in the red dress called over her shoulder.

Pressing her hurting arm to her stomach, and tightening the grip on the gun, she gave Leon a confident nod. They went through dark tunnel until emerging into afternoon light. Laura was attacking the other women with relentless and mad dedication. She wanted to hurt someone and didn't care if they deserved it.

Sheva could hear the rotating blades of helicopters and soon enough, one rose into sight above an old, long abandoned firehouse. This location was a town decades ago, that dried up when the oil did. No casualties to worry on. Except for them if they didn't get out of the way.

“Target locked, preparing to fire,” Ryan's voice announced in her ear. “Get those civilians outta there!”

The helicopter swung to the side, hovering, and a man could be seen in the open doorway. He had a big launcher propped onto his shoulder, another man beside him to hold steady. She sought out the others.

“Claire, move! Jill! Ada! Run for cover!”

Ada heeded instantly, breaking away from the fight to evacuate the grassy area. Jill also acted automatically, retreated rapidly to leave the woman's radius. Claire was busy trying to keep her skull intact by moving out of the way of deadly punches. The agent saw Leon was itching to get involved and she warned him from doing such an action. So he raised his gun, aimed carefully, and fired.

The blur solidified, arm bleeding out of a new hole, and Claire scurried toward the two of them as fast as she could go. They might have seconds to use the opportunity. She keyed her earpiece.

“Fire now!”

“Firing.”

Sheva threw herself to the ground, jarring her arm agonizingly. A missile traveled straight for Laura's upturning and irate face. Chunks of ground exploded into the air and then the second missile hit. She curled in as pieces of earth rained down on her.

Coughing into the dirt and smoke as she sat up, she staggered to her feet. Leon and Claire next to her, they slowly approached the crater. Jill approached cautiously from the other side. They didn't have to get too near before they sighted smears of blood and..other less savory parts of a human body.

“Target eliminated,” she spoke to the air support. “Good job, guys.”

“Roger that. Ground backup will be at your coordinates in five.”

“Roger. Stay on alert. Sheva out.”

The BSAA agent worried now for the lack of visual on her partner. She looked around in vain, hoping the big man would somehow appear. Of course he didn't. It was quiet out here.

“Glad that's over,” said Claire, showing enormous relief.

Leon's eyes searched the perimeter. “Where's Ada?”

Jill put up her hands, letting her handgun slip out of her grasp. Frowning at her, she tried to see what she had. A frustrated groan came out. A BSAA unit was moving in with rifles held on them. They did not lower them upon reaching them like she presumed.

She patted her sleeve. “What are you doing? We're on your side. I'm the one who called you in.”

A man stepped forward and pulled his visor up, speaking pointed and not exactly friendly.

“You have no jurisdiction to be here. You didn't make an official request, nothing. Only reason anybody showed up is because of respect for Redfield. Do we have him?”

Her heart sank a little, having to reply in the negative. “We did. I can confirm he's alive. But we lost him.”

“Was he taken prisoner again by the terrorist, Albert Wesker?” a female soldier on the leader's right side asked.

Their guns weren't aimed straight at them anymore, but they weren't lowering the weapons. Over their shoulder, she viewed a second unit arriving. She was grateful Chris was worth it to these people to send significant backup considering the illegal nature of their presence and activity.

Claire shook her head emphatically. “We don't know! And we can't find out unless you people get out of our way so we can search.”

He looked at her a moment. “Right.”

Glancing at his subordinates on either side of him, he turned his attention to Jill.

“Jill Valentine, on behalf of the BSAA North American branch, I am taking you into custody for quarantine.”

Leon edged forward, clenching his jaw and glaring furiously. “You can't do that!”

Surprisingly, Jill was quite calm about this development.

“They can and they have to, Leon. I was in enemy hands for an extended period and was used in experiments that created a lethal virus. Until they can be assured none of my actions were performed of my own free will, I'm not infectious, and I'm determined to not be a threat to society, I remain quarantined.”

“That's not fair!” Claire insisted. “She's helping get my brother back! She-”

Jill interrupted. “Claire, I know you're worried about Chris. But he's gonna be okay. You saw him. He was fighting like the same old Chris. And the organization has already looked the other way on this for a while. So go find your brother. I'm alright.”

A soldier behind the woman who spoke earlier was eying Claire. “We should advise against a civilian taking on such a dangerous mission. Agent Kennedy has permission from the government to investigate and take action, but a civilian has no place doing the same.”

The woman raised her eyes at the man, unimpressed. “You're joking right? I've probably survived more insane, insurmountable odds than you ever have. How old are you?”

Reddening, he positioned his head toward the ground. “I'm just saying…”

Sheva checked his uniform before addressing him. “Captain, there are bioweapons inside the warehouse. I can't confirm there are any left alive, but there were quite a few.”

The man briefly looked to the building. “We'll have air support destroy it. I'm not risking lives to discover a place like this has a whole lot of nothing.”

Unfortunately, he was probably right. It was doubtful the team of Weskers kept anything of value in a location they intentionally gathered enemies. Glowering as she watched two of them start to lead Jill away, she gestured to her arm.

“I need medical attention.”

He nodded. “Ikeda, get Agent Alomar on one of the choppers. I want her delivered to a hospital pronto.”

The agent turned to what remained of their search and rescue effort. “I'm sorry I can't continue. I wish I could.”

They met her disappointed and upset look with smiles. Of all the expectations she had for their reaction, that wasn't one of them. She forced a smile in return.

“You and Jill don't have to worry,” Leon said.

“That's right,” Claire agreed. “We won't stop until we bring Chris home.”

“Captain Fischer!”

The captain departed to speak with the other unit, standing around to discuss. She was walking away now too, accompanied by Jill and the two escorting her. As the distance mounted, the agent felt guilty despite their words of reassurance. Sheva peered down at her arm torn open to the bone and winced, but didn't avert her gaze. This wouldn't get infected, right?

Waiting around the open field where the helicopter was to land and take her away for medical care, she saw the vehicle they'd taken to get here. She stared at it out of boredom and to appease her conflicted mind. She couldn't fight anymore, she knew this, but hated leaving the mission incomplete.

Sheva frowned, squinting across the lengthy space between her position and the car. Leon and Claire were walking up to the vehicle with a third person. They were talking to them, seemed civil and nonthreatening.

She couldn't make out who it could be from here. A blob of black hair, relatively short stature, and wearing a long black coat. This was everything she could distinguish and little else so she stopped trying to puzzle out clues.

Inevitably, her thoughts returned to her missing partner. Someone had him. He wouldn't leave unless he wasn't given a choice.

Let it not be Albert Wesker who has him. Let it be someone who hadn't lost their mind.

She kicked at the dirt angrily and Sheva could feel Jill's enquiring look on her. The agent stared at the ground, absorbing the colors into her brain without comprehending them. There were no better options for the kidnapped BSAA member. The teeth that laugh are also those that bite.

Chapter Text

He sank his teeth into the steak, savoring the juices and delicious texture. Bastard never fed him like this. Maybe it was a sign he was moving up in quality of captivity. Great.

Chris swallowed and finally prompted what they definitely sought. “What do you want to know?”

“What makes you think I wish to know anything verbal from you?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “'Cause your plan is to kill me with kindness. What do you wanna know?”

“A blunt creature, straight to the heart of the matter. I like that.”

One shoulder shrugged. “You seem the type to get off on hurting someone. A real sadist.”

He was met with silence and took the opportunity to indulge his monstrous appetite. Digging into the meat with knife and fork, he cut off a big slice and shoved it in his mouth. Oh yeah, this was good. Chris stabbed a potato with his fork and dumped it on his plate, reveling in the mouth-watering smell the food created in the room.

“You'd enjoy doing all sorts of awful things,” he continued. “Probably imagining them while you watch me eat. But you're not gonna do any of them.”

“You sound confident. Why, may I venture?”

He'd just stuffed a huge, juicy piece of meat in his mouth. It took him a lengthy half a minute to swallow. For the first time since he began eating, he set his fork down and looked the man seated across from him in the eye.

“You don't got the time, and you'd want to take your time with someone of my caliber.”

“Cheeky bastard,” Alex observed, red of his eyes beginning to glow. “But you are unique.”

Kincaid appeared in the doorway. “Shall I bring the liquor?”

“Hell yes.”

Alex glanced at him, gaze speaking volumes of how peculiar he found him. Ah, he had enough of being afraid, of suffering, of fighting without end in sight. Goddamn right he would enjoy every last second he was afforded a break.

A nod in the affirmative to Kincaid and the man was gone. Alex examined him further, hands folding in front of himself, elbows resting on the table.

“You're no stranger to tactics. I assume you are aware of why I've decided to feed you well, provide time for you to rest, a room to clean up, and new clothes to wear.”

“Kindness,” Chris said, shoving a forkful of vegetables into his mouth.

“You know I've been a lab experiment, tortured and worn out. More of the same would get you nowhere. Good cop's turn.”

“Correct. One of your tormentors you've begun a consensual intimate relationship with. Is it as you said, a play to earn privilege in order to escape one day?”

“I said it, didn't I?”

He'd cleared his third plate. Sadly, there was nothing left to be eaten. For the best. Saved room for the copious amounts of alcohol he intended to consume if they let him. Chances were they would, encouraging his tongue to loosen. So be it. He didn't have anything dangerous he might let slip. Hopefully.

“You're clearly feeling emboldened. Answer plain.”

“Huh. And you won't hurt me. Bad cop sure was quick to come out.”

“Don't test my patience, boy.”

An eye roll before he responded, “You that quick in the bedroom?”

“Are you trying to get hurt?”

Chris tapped his steak knife audibly against the empty plate.

“You got that failure to visibly age thing going on too. How old are you really?”

“Redfield.”

“Ask plain if you want a plain answer.”

Alex was refusing to show his true feelings or reaction. It was entertaining. He hadn't seen a movie in forever. Make his own fun was what he had to do.

“Why did you instigate a sexual relationship with Albert Wesker?”

He leaned forward to start counting off reasons using the fingers of his right hand.

“One, never slept with a man before but he was there to give me a positive experience for once. Two, we got history and I know somewhere buried beneath layers of psychosis is an admirable human being. Three, he's a very attractive man, like you. Four, he's completely honest of his opinion, no matter how despicable. Five, he's a fantastic lay.”

The other man studied him, attention lingering on the knife his left hand was rolling. Chris only noticed he was playing with the sharp utensil then, and dropped his grip. He wasn't attempting to conceal his truthfulness or pretend he didn't care about the subject. Now Alex surely suspected it as well from his subconscious need to have a weapon to defend himself while he shared private thoughts aloud.

“I care little for the pile of reasons not to. I'm curious... Would you kill him if he threatened the world again?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately.

“Would you have sex with him again?”

Silence. He had a knee-jerk response to that question also and his answer didn't sit well. But, he would. He was angling another Wesker child into it and he didn't know precisely why he did.

“Yes. Probably. Crazy guy that he is...”

The liquor arrived and he was only too grateful for the momentary distraction while glasses were filled. It gave him a moment to consider this line of questioning. Lifting the glass of amber fluid in hand, he sipped, and then drank deeply. An idea occurred to him.

He perked up, smiling. “You like Wesker?”

“No.”

He had a look like he thought Chris was an idiot.

“You like sex?” he suggested instead.

“Did you think we were asexual creatures because of our infection?”

“I think you're all mostly asexual because you're narcissistic assholes.”

That earned him a chuckle. “Delusions of grandeur.”

Chris pointed at him. “You said it.”

He went back to granting his beverage full attention. As soon as it emptied, Kincaid appeared by his shoulder to refill the glass. Alex hadn't touched his own drink yet.

“Does Albert Wesker have plans for the world?”

“Nothing concrete anymore. Do you?”

Of course he did.

“Oh yes. Maybe I'll let you see part of my plan.”

“Maybe?”

“Mhm...”

The thoughtful head tilt made him scarily reminiscent of Wesker, especially without the baseball cap and sunglasses covering his face. Dark hair similarly slicked back like him too. He dropped the empty glass down harder than he intended when Alex brought up history he didn't like talking about.

“That night, he led you and your team into the mansion, like lambs to the slaughter. He didn't have to do that. But he wanted combat data.”

Chris watched empty become full again and picked up his drink, staring into it. “Umbrella wanted combat data.”

“And he followed their orders. For what? What was he after if not the data?”

He didn't truly know the answer. He had only his suppositions and reasons made throughout the years of hating the bastard. It would be what the other was looking for anyway.

“The first tyrant model. I think he wanted to get his hands on the research data contained within the labs of the mansion to use for himself.”

“He's responsible for countless lives lost.”

Chris drained his glass in one go before stating firmly, “I hate Wesker.”

The corners of Alex's mouth ticked upward, teasing a smile. “But it's not a simple hate, is it?”

What was this, a therapy session? Why were they talking emotions? What did he want from him?

“Would you kill him if you had the chance?”

Kincaid stepped away after filling his glass, moving to the other side of the room to refill the glass Alex had emptied. Maybe it was a morality quiz. Whatever his intention was, it seemed pointless to him.

“If he was a threat? If he was trying to destroy the planet again? Yes, without hesitation.”

“Do you think he would kill you if he had the chance?”

He had the chance. Plenty of them. He never killed him. Left him in dangerous situations plenty of times where he could have died. But Wesker knew his skill level, knew he was good at surviving horrific and tough situations. He toyed with him. Hurt him. Didn't actually see to the killing though.

Wesker was going to kill in Spencer's Estate, when he and Jill fought him, wasn't he? Why didn't he kill him all the times that came prior? Why not kill him the times later? He tended to watch and observe instead. Why? He wasn't a real threat so why bother perhaps. That still left him wasting time on him. What for?

His fists clenched beneath the table. He hated how confused he was becoming.

“Do you feel better in your attempts to protect the world?”

“Do you feel better making everything about you?” he snapped back, thoroughly irritated. “Goddamn Weskers...”

Kincaid refilled his glass, standing at his elbow. He blinked. When did he finish the last one?

“I wish to free humanity. Yes, many will die in the transition. The end result will be a better world. The world we have now is primarily suffering. Humans chase temporary indulgences because they are made to feel there are few choices. There is no real meaning or happiness for them. They convince themselves that there is, but this is a lie.”

“I've never seen a tyrant rule go well for everybody.”

“It can. Absolute order, and lives that have true worth to them.”

Chris drank. It allowed him the freedom to stop discussing this bullshit. It also allowed him to pretend like he didn't feel as though he was the prey and a predator held him in its sights.

“Good intentions aren't always a good idea, you know.”

“Neither is sex.”

Red piercing into his leveled dark eyes could have held him there an interminable length of time. His face flushed against his will and he broke the stare. Kincaid pushed a full drink into his pliant hands, encouraging him to consume the liquid until he did just that.

Sputtering a little from the sudden ingesting of burning fluid, he reclaimed a steady disposition. He thought he did anyway. His head wanted to go a tad fuzzy on him. Too much liquor in too short a time frame.

He startled, glass falling out of his grasp. It was caught in the hand of the reason for his surprised reaction. Alex gave him a small smile, setting the glass on the table. Fucking fast bastards.

His hand was grasped to pull him to his feet and Chris staggered upright but recovered balance fairly well. The hand was still held. Kincaid hovered just behind his chair. Was that a genuine smile on the face of a man who never appeared to show authentic expressions?

“You gonna show me your plan?” he tried, remembering the suggestion made earlier.

Alex smugly regarded him. “After.”

After?

/

Kincaid finished lecturing him on ideal outcomes right about the time they reached the city's center. The man lost his silent demeanor once they'd gotten more closely acquainted in the home he'd been taken. Chris could tell he didn't often make such allowances for himself, and therefore became brazen now while alone in his company.

Personally, he was feeling audacious, not that it was a very unusual thing for him to be. He strolled along with just a slight hitch in his step, satisfied to be packing his loaded Samurai Edge and a combat knife. The time had come for them to part ways. Things were looking up.

“It's not my place to question orders, but it's a miscalculation letting you go.”

He sneered at the blank face watching him and declared, “Next time I see Alex, he'll try to kill me cause I'll be stopping him for good. Whatever it takes.”

“Enjoy your victory, Chris, as fleeting as it will be.”

“I don't rack up the wins and losses,” he shared. “I figure out what needs to be done and I get it done, end of story.”

The other glanced at his phone when it made a beep. Chris peered around their surroundings, noting the position of the sun beginning to rise, breaking the city out of its slumber. An older woman was headed their way, walking her dog. A car passed by two streets over. People were waking up, beginning their day.

“Your owner has tracked us according to schedule. Saves the trouble of waiting. How convenient for me. Have fun with the trauma.”

Focusing on a single part of his statements, Chris glared angrily. “He isn't my-”

Fingers wrapped about his throat, squeezing harsh and painful. His back hit the brick wall of a narrow alley just behind them.

“Easy to kill,” Kincaid murmured.

The grip loosened as quickly as it had latched on, fingers lightly stroking his neck. “Difficult to kill.”

When the hand pulled away, he rubbed at the spot, disgruntled. Kincaid turned to go, glancing back to meet his gaze. He seemed thoughtful, considering. Chris figured for a guy like him, it was as near a compliment as one could get.

“You're a paradox, Agent Redfield. See you soon.”

He took off running and disappeared around a corner within seconds. Out of sight, he didn't bother looking in his direction any longer, shifting a hand to his gun for reassurance of its existence. Content, he walked onto the sidewalk where the dog walker existed. Nice proof that he was in the real world again, and free.

“Chris.”

“Damn it!” he yelled, whirling to the alley he was preparing to put far behind.

Albert Wesker stood mere yards from him, dressed in a thin, black sweater and slacks.

“Did he tell you where I am?” he demanded, fury growing in the blink of an eye. “You assholes really are just passing me around!”

“Cease your incessant shouting, Chris.”

“Oh fuck you.”

“Very well. When we return.”

He swallowed his follow-up retort. Wesker didn't wait to let him recover, spinning on his heel and striding back the way he came. Chris reached for the gun again. His bullets would probably miss anything vital but maybe... The woman and her dog were yards from walking past.

“Witnesses are a casualty I'm willing to make.”

Wesker turned halfway, looking at him. “Come along, Chris. I'd rather not carry you.”

Grumbling to himself, he kept his hand resting on the gun in his thigh holster while coming to Wesker. Given an opening and he'd be high-tailing it as far from the guy as he could. He didn't like the idea of running away, but it sounded miles preferable compared to staying a goddamn prisoner.

A block of walking and they reached a black car with a driver he didn't recognize. He slid through the door when the stranger opened it for him and Wesker got into the backseat too. Chris sat pressed to the opposite side of the car, doing his best not to slump and thereby admitting defeat.

The driver shut the door and moved around the vehicle, climbing behind the wheel. Engine turned on, the car pulled away from the curb. Thoughts drifted in and out of his mind, pondering every conceivable possibility of getting himself out of this perpetual captivity predicament.

“Did you sleep with him?”

He continued staring out the window at passing buildings. They were making their way out of the city, moving farther away from potential help. Goddamn Wesker.

Deciding to humor him, he asked, “Who?”

“Don't play naive. You're not good at it.”

Chris could feel penetrating eyes on the side of his face. He saved his glare for the window. It would be lost on Wesker, or worse, met with arrogant approval.

“I honestly can't tell if that was a compliment or an insult.”

He persisted. “Did you?”

His gaze drifted toward Wesker despite his internal declaration he wouldn't let him win. “Why do you care?”

“Chris.”

“Wesker,” he returned, matching the flat tone.

“Did you have sex with Alex?”

“Do you intend to use that drug on me again? Take my will away permanently?”

“Chris.”

The name was growled.

“Guess we both have our answers then,” a pause, “Asshole.”

Silence permeated the air. When they eventually arrived at their destination, he perpetuated the lie that he was drugged at some point and couldn't remember everything that took place in Alex Wesker's custody. The asshole wouldn't let up until he gave some kind of answer and so a drug fabrication it was to shut him up.

Giving up on acting like he had the upper hand against Wesker at the moment, he trudged behind the man unhappily. He debated how he would rank his imprisonments. Krauser would have to be the worst, initiating him into the concept of brutal torture methods like rape. It was a cruel mindfuckery of an act. He had a whole new perspective on the fear women displayed at the prospect of a sexual assault ever happening to them.

Jonah and Miles were a close second. If he would have been kept by them longer, they'd definitely shoot to the top of the list. Wesker sucked. Arrogant, condescending... Wesker was looking at him. He made sure to pretend not to notice the frequent glances. Hm... His captivity to Alex bore the most fruit. He got a look at what he intended to unleash on the world. It might work. Chris didn't think his plan would stand a chance. He'd never let it get far enough to be a concern to anybody.

Their procession came to a stop in an inner room of the latest building Wesker was utilizing for experimentation.

“You expect me to believe you were drugged the entire duration of your holding with Alex Wesker and Felicia and her Wesker children followers?”

“Yeah.”

“I don't.”

“Too bad.”

“Chris.”

Let's fuck, Wesker.”

“Avoidance? How long do you think that will work? Once I administer the latest modified P30, you will answer me.”

“Nah. That drug can make me act out of my control but speaking is a little more difficult. Action obedience is like a reflex. Speaking on the other hand, requires some presence of mind to draw out memory required responses.”

Wesker raised his eyebrows at him. “You've been paying attention.”

“I'm not as stupid as people seem to assume I am.”

He started removing his clothes, glancing around the kind of study or office they were in. Well, he'd prefer a bed but the carpet looked soft enough...

“I'll see you tell me the truth.”

“Huh?”

The other man was on him, making him forget what he said, kissing and nipping at his neck. A tongue dove to lick the shell of his ear and his legs went funny. It didn't take long before there was nothing but skin between them and he was pressed to the floor. Chris was kissing right back on reflex. This felt good so why deny it?

Wesker's body was covering his, a heavy presence over him. He couldn't think straight. Fingers ventured between his legs, seeking entrance. The tip of one barely pushing in, he freaked out, clawing at shoulders to let him up. The hand retreated and Wesker sat back on his heels, watching him with a knowing satisfaction.

Why? Why now? He'd been fine before. After Krauser abused him, Wesker was there and it was fine. After Jonah and Miles Wesker abused him, he was okay. The other night, all fine. Why now? Why affect him in this moment?

“PTSD. A soldier like you has experienced it a few times, no doubt.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he snarled, forcing his body to relax and shuffling forward again. “Keep going.”

Bemused, Wesker watched him lie on his back and spread his legs, but didn't say anything. He sucked on two fingers and stuck them between to open him up. The muscle was fairly pliable already and it wasn't much time until Wesker was lining himself up, pushing inward.

Chris sucked in a breath, wincing. Somehow it didn't feel like Wesker. It felt like Miles. He turned his head away when it began to move in him. This was awful. His eyes were welling with tears. How embarrassing. He tried to blink them clear without being noticed.

A chill entered the vulnerable area as he became empty. He looked up in surprise. Wesker was rock hard. He had to want to keep going. The other answered his confusion.

“I made you an offer. Do you accept?”

“Eh?”

“I'll prepare myself.”

He stared while Wesker soaked a pair of fingers in spit and lowered them to press into his own ass. That's right... Earlier he offered to let Chris be the one doing the fucking at the arena. On the sidewalk where he picked him up too. He didn't seem keen on fulfilling that promise a minute ago. Why change his mind?

“I'd be your first man like this, yes?”

“Uh..yeah.”

He sat up, continuing to watch a sight he never thought he'd see. A blush tinted his cheeks pink. Chris could feel the heat burning beneath his skin. The new view was physically arousing.

Wesker lowered himself to the floor and beckoned him over. He went, foolishly attempting to conceal his erection like they both didn't know it was present. It was an appropriate situation for one as well, making him feel even more idiotic.

Chris fell on his rear at the sudden mouth drawing close to his penis. He was given an impatient look which made him go still. Gaze lowering to his crotch, he looked away again when a warm mouth swallowed him whole.

Fighting to swallow the noises, a loud pop and Wesker was rising. He watched the man hover above his lap and folded his legs automatically. A groan leaked out when his entire dick slid into the tight and hot insides of the other man.

It felt really, really good.

Wesker fucked himself up and down on his penis and he started thrusting his hips upward in time with the set pace. Shit, he should have done this a long time ago. Then again, he never considered sex with a man ever. Never had much available free time to get laid to be concerned about sex with anyone. That was before the sexual torture, before Wesker accepted his advances.

Pleasurable sensations overrode his saner thoughts and he let them go, seeking pure enjoyment and mindlessness in the present. His chin taken into hand, their lips met and he got lost in feeling his partner's interest and attentions. Wesker brought himself completely down onto his lap one more time, insides tightening around his throbbing appendage enough to make him choke out a cry.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he strained to bear it and failed. It felt too good. He burrowed his face into the other man's chest, gripping those narrow hips tighter as he came. Well, he didn't last very long. Should probably feel embarrassed but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Wesker jerked his length a few quick strokes and ejaculated all across his chest.

“Forget about me, Chris?”

He fought to catch his breath. “How could I?”

Chris only realized what he implied when he saw the corner of the man's mouth twist upward.

“I meant- Oh shut up, bastard!”

“I didn't say anything.”

He was left to fume alone. Down the hall, he heard a shower switch on. At least his sexual ability remained intact. He was determined to take it from Wesker the next time without incident.

Goddamn it. What the hell was he saying?

Struggling to his feet, he glared at the open door.

“I know you can hear me super ears! Your plan will never work!”

A huff and he staggered to the desk and plopped into the chair.

“I'll never be yours the way you want, Wesker!”

Of course, silence met him.

Chapter Text

P30 is an ancillary chemical. Progenitor virus based. It is known as the ultimate performance enhancer as it increases physical abilities to unnatural levels of the user, as well as makes them very easy to control, essentially making the ultimate soldier.

Unfortunately, the effects of the chemical are extremely temporary as they are metabolized and expelled from the body so quickly, it would require frequent injections of the chemical to be of any long-term use. The way that was created to counter-act this drawback was to attach a device to the subject that would continuously administer the chemical in a very timely manner. Despite its effects being very brief, P30's effects were powerful and effective. It is unknown what side-effects could be caused by continuously injecting a subject with the chemical over an extended period of time.

Modified P30, Version 61. Drawback solution. Less frequent injections required. Every six hours sufficient. While older versions rendered the user unaware of actions, the new version allows awareness of action. User has control to a degree unlike earlier versions, however, exhibits complete desire to obey the commands of the perceived “alpha male” or “dominant” presence.

Wesker looked away from the computer to see Chris approach, hand held out to accept a fresh injection. He opened the bottom drawer and retrieved a dose prepared in a needled syringe. Placing his hands beneath his chin, in silent satisfaction, he observed his new ally and partner pushing the drug into his own body. There was something he admired about the very chemical which placed Chris Redfield under his control, also keeping him desiring to loyally remain on the drug's influence.

It was what his master wanted. His master got what he wanted, or so he said. Three days ago, when he first put the younger man under the control of a modified P30, he ordered him to write a description of the effects. Chris described a constant overwhelming pounding in his head and heart. This occurred during times of high stress, when the drug was most potent. His whole body perpetually felt it must complete anything he believed Wesker would desire of him. He was urgent to please him now. It was..interesting.

The empty syringe tossed in the bin, he came around to join Wesker on his side of the desk. He seemed to have an extra sense for knowing when he was preferred in his presence or not. Sometimes he really wondered if there was somehow a mind reading element, but in his writings, Chris never mentioned it.

A hand went to his holstered sidearm. Wesker glanced in his direction and he relaxed, releasing the grip on the loaded Samurai Edge. Excella swept in, mouth flapping the instant she passed the threshold. She complained more than she did anything useful of late.

“When are you going to share the plan, Albert? What is the plan?”

He'd given Chris his preferred magnum type to keep holstered to his other leg as well. There were Wesker children about. He wanted him capable of self-defense and he wasn't concerned it would be used against him. The man was enthralled to his side, obedient and docile. Perfect.

Chris was perusing the documents scattered across his desk. He contemplated whether this could be considered an act of rebellion or simple mimicry.

“Are you listening to me? I have obligations I tire of. I was supposed to be at your side, bringing on the next world. What happened to that? Why aren't we doing anything now?”

“In case it has slipped your mind,” he drawled. “The BSAA shut down our operation and destroyed the supply of Uroboros.”

“Yes, and since then, you've been wasting your time on your little servant!”

“Envious?”

Excella sputtered a brief period and turned to conceal her growing frustration. The envy for what she could never have was clear as day. A minuscule smile graced his lips before he shuttered it off. Perhaps the woman was nearing the end of her usefulness once again.

“I have ambitions, Albert.”

“As do I. My work has not ceased.”

“This Felicia and her friends,” she began, coming to sit on the seat in front of his desk. “They have plans, too, right?”

He reclined back in his chair. “They seek a kind of perfection. A selection of the strongest would commence, no doubt via viral attacks for swiftest infection rates and results. Except they wish to find what is truly perfect foremost. Such an endeavor is misguided, but similar to my own.”

Chris's gaze had gone vacant, staring straight ahead. His displeasure at the document reading must have been received by a single sharp glance he was given. Interesting.

“How much can a human endure? That was what they did to Chris. They sought what made him how he was, what made him tick, what drove him to make certain choices. How do different humans turn out so different? What is he?”

Excella stood up, huffing, hands folding onto her chest. “Pointlessly barbaric.”

The woman didn't find fault in her line of thinking. That she could say such a thing, when she had no issues with infecting a significant number of innocent people in Africa for their short-lived benefit, was hypocrisy. His tolerance lowered while he began considering the schedule for today.

“Indeed.”

The temporary building secured was insufficient for long-term usage. He would require a better equipped facility to make any real progress in research and experimentation. Alex had a view worth studying. After all, in his necessity to keep moving forward with purpose, he could admit a personally adopted, yet short-lived delusion.

Wesker was certain he was nearest to perfection a living being could be. The surviving humans the project director named Weskers, were an actual evolved species. Artificial though they were, reliant on serum as they were, their superior intelligence and physical abilities ranked them above all others.

“Chris, sit.”

The request earned him a scowl. What was the bother? Did his head pound now for the discrepancy in what his “master” would prefer?

His lips thinned, patience evaporating. The man slipped under his skin with such ease. Problematic. Tolerable.

Chris sat in the leather chair set against the wall. It put him out of his peripheral vision. He felt himself settle. After his death and rebirth, emotions were a tricky aspect to control, and he insisted on control in all areas of his life.

“Is there something I can be doing, Albert?”

His fingers steepled, elbows resting on the desktop. “Perfection is an ill-advised accomplishment. It doesn't exist. Their research never amounted to anything because of this.”

Excella hung onto his every word. Pitiful creature. He sorted the papers on the desk, peering through his shades at her. Wesker would appease her ignorance for the time being. He was feeling content having Chris on his side. Although he did think it would bring a greater sense of supremacy than it had.

“Does it matter it's not real?” Excella asked. “Should the drug wear off, he would become someone else.”

“Are you implying I am erroneous in my decision?”

“You said perfect is not possible. But isn't this what you are aiming for with your precious Chris Redfield?”

He was feeling hot suddenly. He knew his eyes were glowing, betraying his strong mood. Spencer instilled in each “manufactured” Wesker child a need for resolution. It made him think Umbrella was worth more than it ever actually was. It made him search until he found the old man who designed him.

“Creating a person that is obedient and loyal, and who is consistently these things no matter what. This is as close to perfect as someone can be for my venture.”

His thoughts were inevitable to lead to Chris. Not his controlled man, but the man he truly happened to be.

Before the drug put him in his command, he spent too much time studying him. Thus far, he didn't have the information on the conditions of Chris's captivity to the four Weskers working in concert. But for a while now, he was captive to Krauser, then him. Taken by the four, he was then snatched by Alex Wesker, and presently he was in his custody once more.

Taking all of this into account, he was handling the stress and trauma exceedingly well. Unhappy, angry, motivated. Chris was these things until Wesker used the control drug to gain a partner. He could still feel on his own, but an aspect of the drug left him often experiencing thoughts and emotions belonging to Wesker. It served to improve compliance, but it was an aspect he didn't care for.

Wesker leaned into the backing of his chair, tilting his head to look at the rigid man in the chair behind him.

“Speak.” He remembered he had to be specific. “At will.”

The outburst came immediate.

“Stop treating me like a pet!”

A pet, hm? The sentiment of humankind was a nuisance. Bringing emotions into everything, making everything subjective instead of remaining objective. He wanted someone tolerable and competent. Chris was plenty proficient in many areas. An impressive specimen to behold for a human.

“What else?”

“I've spent a lot of time thinking about it, bothered by how our relationship is much the same and very much different now.”

He feigned indifference, but he was listening. “And?”

“Hypersexuality can happen following a traumatic sexual experience. You knew, didn't you? You got in that bed to 'comfort' me as manipulation. Tell me I'm wrong.”

“You're entitled to your conclusion.”

Wesker didn't give anything away in his voice. Even at present, he couldn't completely explain why he got intimate with his former subordinate that day. Krauser did plenty to break him apart, committed a despicable act, though what he did wasn't much better.

It began as a manner to hold power over Chris like he believed. It did. Somewhere along the way when they repeated such contact, only including less trauma and more pleasure...

“Am I?” he asked. “To what do I owe this generosity?”

He stood from the chair and turned to him. Chris was more bitter and sardonic than he remembered. Drawn into a world of monsters and viral outbreak disasters were a certain factor in such behavior.

“Accompany me to the lower level. We're going to the gym for a practice.”

Excella stood when Chris did, slight glower crossing her face. He was prepared for her discontent and smiled in a subdued manner. She was an easy one to work around.

“I would like you to go and have a conversation with Ms. Wong. Evidently she needs reminding of wisdom.”

“Oh? Is that concern I detect?”

He remained expressionless during his response. “Ms. Wong has been playing all sides, sharing information with an associate of Alex Wesker and a government agent searching for Chris.”

“I understand. I'll..see what I can learn.”

Wesker started for the door and added, “She seems to be hoping we'll end up killing each other. I do wonder what it is she's after...”

The two of them walked to the elevators and took one to the first basement level where the gym was located. There was an adjacent shower and changing room. They went in together and traded outfits for more loose-fitting and ideal clothing for a casual workout. Weapons were put inside lockers for temporary storage as well.

Once they were face to face, Wesker adjusted his sunglasses with the tip of a finger. A wave of quaint nostalgia breezed through his mind before he discarded the thoughts as superfluous. He pointed downward at the matted area they stood on.

“To the ground for five consecutive seconds for the win.”

He observed Chris flinch when he took a single, small step forward, reflexes kicking in. His victory was assured. And sure enough, the P30 rendered him soft. The soldier let him put him to the floor without a fight.

Wesker stood back up and pulled the other to his feet.

“You have my permission to fight of your own volition. I want you to come at me with everything you can to defeat me.”

Without any weapons to forestall the inevitable, he brought his opponent flat to his back on the mat almost as straightforwardly as the first time. How? How did someone so weak manage to get as far as he did through the obstacles Wesker set for confrontation? How did someone like him hold his own in a fight? Yes, Chris got thrown about a bit during the appointed seven minute time limit, however, he survived and managed to get a few licks in.

He contemplated the man.

“Can you envision a win hand to hand?”

Chris was free to engage him physically, but his speech was not commanded to be said freely, thus his retort came immediate and plain.

“No.”

Not terribly surprising. The younger man hadn't been able to beat him in sparring sessions when he served as his captain in their specialized unit. While Chris packed on muscle over the years, now that Wesker was no longer human, the additional strength alone wasn't enough to surpass someone of his speed and skill. He relied on weapons to survive and gain the upper hand. He selected an allowance.

“Retrieve your knife from the locker.”

When he rejoined, he gave his junior a smirk before beckoning him to come with a hand.

This time it took an extra minute since he was avoiding damage to his clothing or self. Beneath him, Chris squirmed and glared up from where he was trapped on his back. He leaned across and met his eyes.

“Do better.”

He loosened his grip and Chris made him proud by instantly twisting his body to bring himself upright. Knife held even with the other hand, the weapon hovered near his face. His gaze didn't break from Wesker and he moved in looking for an opening.

Chris kept from being pinned a full two minutes. Perhaps he had a reliance on his partners more than he realized. He would lecture him on that later. For now...

“Again,” he commanded.

Less than two minutes and Chris was trapped, legs twisted awkwardly beneath him. Wesker maintained a firm grip on his arms wrenched behind his back. He leaned into his ear, closer than necessary, and provided advice.

“Next, stop trying to get me where I am, and work to predict where I will be.”

His disgruntled stare spoke volumes of what he wished he could say but wasn't able.

“Someone with my abilities can stop someone like you, nine times out of ten,” said Wesker. “We can endure a lot of pain and damage, however, our hearts and brains are just as essential as an ordinary human being. Aim there.”

He could tell Chris wanted to speak. Wesker leaned away and stood, extending a hand to lift him up. Chris accepted and eyed him like he wanted to lunge, but the conflicting signals of previous orders and present demeanor rooted him to the spot.

“Speak what you will.”

“I aimed for your face the time when you made Jill fight me and Sheva.”

Wesker nodded in agreement. “Yes, well, attack.”

The resentful gaze morphed into serious focus. He retreated to give him space and Chris immediately surged forward to close the distance. The combatant was better with a gun. He went to the ground too quick.

When he concluded training, his opponent was sweating and exhausted. Smoothing any possible stray hair back with both hands, he lowered his arms to his sides. Before they were to leave the room, he gave a final reminder.

“Use the gun as distraction and defense to set up a close quarters attack, but rely on your gun or a knife and put your enemy down. You switch to weaponless combat too often. A knife or bullet to the heart is your aim for an assured victory.”

Chris wouldn't meet his eyes while he was speaking and leaving it open for them to make eye contact. They walked into the changing room and Wesker instructed the other to undress and shower. He stood beside the wall opposite, watching him go through the motions of obeying without fuss.

He expected smug satisfaction. He got confusion and uncertainty.

The man was beautiful to behold. He loathed him. He felt a desire to kill him, snuff out the inconvenience. He had thoughts about embracing him. His hands curled to fists, lips set thin in displeasure.

Wesker was aware Chris didn't like to go for the kill when it was somebody he knew. It was a stupid weakness that put him in more danger. Ill fortune brought the younger man into his grasp. He wanted to be the one to decide his fate.

Chris Redfield. Someone who doesn't give up despite any odds, dedicated to finishing what was started. He held strength against apparent insurmountable odds. He had a built in desire to improve the world for others.

The water shut off and he moved to block the man's path to the lockers, his action involuntary. He looked at him, face blank. He hated that. He hated having Chris, but not having him.

He gripped the man's jaw lightly. “I promised I wouldn't touch you when you are incapable of true consent.”

Wesker released his hold and turned around, walking in the direction of the gym. At the door, he paused, realizing he didn't hear Chris's footsteps moving away from him like they should be. He waited, and after a long six seconds, the footsteps began that he'd expected the instant he removed himself as obstacle.

Glowering ahead, he strolled aimlessly into the gym where he didn't care to be. Why did a single individual affect him so? He pondered on the four Weskers, who tried to conduct a project on the human condition and how to select the fittest for their ideal. He dwelled on whether they would find Chris perfect as he is now.

Chapter Text

The human race requires judgment. Overpopulation, crime rates, human tendency toward self-destruction. Humanity was gradually killing itself off by destroying the planet bit by bit. This was Wesker's view of the world. He told it to him often these past days. This was the reality the man lived in.

He didn't quite disagree. At the same time, he hated this viewpoint. It was a perspective that led to countless lives lost in Kijuju, among other areas. Wesker was on one of his rants now, pacing back and forth while he was forced to hear the pessimistic lecture.

“Why can't you see?” he growled, glaring at nothing in particular. “I just want to be rid of the chaff.”

The man stalked out of the room he used for an office as though he hadn't just been mid-rant. Mere seconds later, Excella sidled in, visibly sulking. Unhappiness didn't look good on her.

“Lonely again?”

“Must you be so blunt?”

“Sorry. Side effect of the drug.” He went over to the opposite wall, leaning comfortably, and rethought the quick excuse. “On second thought, no it's not. I've always been like that. Either I say nothing or exactly what I wanna say.”

The woman smiled a moment. “It's nice of you to mind your manners, but I don't want pity.”

Excella's company was miles preferable to anyone else he was stuck around. His head hurt, heart beat deafening. He walked to the desk after glancing at the wall clock. Time for another injection.

When he finished, he sat down on the sofa and Excella came to sit beside him. She rested her head on his shoulder and surprisingly fell asleep within minutes. Her soft breathing filled the quiet room.

What were they both doing here?

He drifted to sleep and woke with a start some unknown length of time later. Chris was shocked on account he wasn't supposed to sleep outside the hours scheduled for him, yet managed it anyway. He scanned the room and found himself alone.

The pounding was rising throughout his system. Probably what woke him. It was strongest at the beginning of a dose, when he attempted to defy an instruction, and when the allotted six hours were nearing their end. It was reminder he had to follow the previously given order for continuous self-injection.

Chris was up and moving toward the desk before even realizing it. He had to have another dose. Hurry. Hurry. Obey.

“Don't take it yet.”

He removed the gun from his thigh holster and aimed for the skull of the asshole standing there.

Krauser barked a laugh. “Aw, come on. Now that you're under the boss's thumb, there's no real opportunity to be alone the way I like.”

Compelled to obey his master, he kept the gun trained on the threat while moving for the drawer. The other crossed the entire room in a single leap, shoving an arm into his chest. They both collided with the wall nearby, his gun slipping out of his grasp to the floor.

“Krauser!”

“Come on, Redfield. You enjoy yourself some of the time, don't you?”

His words left his mouth cocky. The enlarged ego pissed him off. Leon was right about him. A virus granting the opportunity to fight for a cause again, created a man convinced of an infallible power that doesn't exist.

For the BSAA agent, he'd developed an obsession. Krauser believed he had a right to Chris as his own since the torture allowed him to think he knew everything about him now. In prior days, he let the abuse go on because he didn't see a way out. They each made an impression on the other then, an unfortunate thing. The virus lowered Krauser's resistance. It wouldn't allow him to let go of this dark and sinister attachment.

“Aren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on Wong?”

“Aw,” the man murmured, mouthing against his neck. “A sacrifice I can make for some quality time in your company.”

“Get lost.”

“Heh.”

Chris kneed him in the thigh, narrowly missing his target. Leaning back, Krauser examined him and he shifted his head away. The pounding was becoming unbearable, giving him a migraine and making his very bones ache. He needed to obey commands.

“If you were entirely willing, it'd be nice.”

Appalled, he threw a punch and Krauser grabbed the arm, twisting them together and then throwing him bodily into the desk. Falling face down on the surface, papers flew everywhere while he scrambled to get a solid position to free himself. He was stronger with the drug, which felt pretty good, but Krauser was a strong guy with a viral infection granting superhuman strength. They might be evenly matched if he could get an angle to alter his position.

Breathing heavy behind his ear, that man's weight felt like an immovable force. The self-control and ability to make judgments became clouded by his virus sometimes. It was what infections do. But right now he couldn't find it in him to sympathize with the man presently trying to rape him.

“Get off me!”

His body felt like it was burning. His thoughts screamed he was to protect himself and stay alive. It was not a choice. It was easy as breathing. He had to obey for his master.

“Redfield...”

“Damn it! I'll kill you!”

Krauser's hands were all over him, touching, smothering. He got an elbow up and smashed it into his chin. Freed, he spun around and drew his secondary weapon, aiming at the staggering assailant. His finger squeezed on the trigger.

“Stop.”

His body froze.

“Return your gun to its holster. Have you taken your dose?”

Chris found his body responding, automatic. The gun back in its prior placement, he turned to the desk and retrieved an injection, taking care of the order. He could do nothing about the rising anger.

In anticipation of further orders, he let the emptied syringe drop on the desktop and waited.

“Tell me your thoughts.”

Bitter annoyance filled him. His teeth clenched, but almost as soon as they did, they reset to resting while he followed the command. There were no choices.

“I'm everyone's fucking pet, aren't I?”

Wesker strolled over and had the gall to pat him on the head, uttering, “Good dog.”

“I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual, dear. Still, it doesn't make you any less of a good fuck.”

Krauser frowned, reaching to pull his knife from his belt. He began tossing it into the air and catching it. His chance was gone. Chris wasn't all there any longer, which at least lessened the lust issue. The Wesker child present, canceled his desire entirely. Something to be thankful for, he supposed.

“Share your thoughts.”

He walked past the man to sit on the couch, Wesker sitting beside him. A gesture was enough to send him hurrying to complete the task. The rage grew but he couldn't do anything.

Chris didn't want to, but it didn't matter what he wanted. Immediate private thoughts of late entered his mind and he would reveal it. He couldn't stop.

“I don't think I'm gay. I've always been attracted to women.”

A not wholly unrelated thought spit out of his mouth in addition to what was already said.

“I hate what you do.”

“Continue.”

The need to obey was so strong, he thought he might be sick.

“I don't know anymore. Sex is good with men. When they aren't trying to torment me.”

A heavy thud as Krauser plopped into the desk chair, stubbornly refusing to go despite having no requirement to be there. Chris made it a point to control his head, preventing it from swiveling to look at him. He looked at the one next to him instead.

Wesker smiled. “And you're wondering what? Why? How?”

“Why did you have sex with me that time, after you took me out of that hellhole?”

“From Krauser? You think it was something special? It wasn't.”

The smile had disappeared. “I did it to own you. It was something to hold over you, to torment you with later. It worked too if you're wondering even now.”

“Are you gay? You were clearly experienced.”

A slight shrug. “Meat is meat.”

The reminder of his inhumane nature echoed too assured. He turned to fix his gaze on his lap.

He could often hold his concentration when the throbbing beat of his heart wasn't drowning himself out. It was primarily what he spent his time doing, trapped inside his mind without a real will of his own. Thinking was tiresome. He preferred to be busy and active to avoid such constant streams of thoughts.

“Krauser. You will see to your duty and keep your hands off what isn't yours. I might despise Chris, however, he is an experiment I am not willing to ruin.”

“Roger, boss.”

Krauser strode close to hand him his fallen gun lost earlier. Chris holstered the primary weapon.

For the first time, he observed Wesker's appearance. He must have recently gotten out of the shower. His hair wasn't gelled back, strands cascading over his forehead and eyes. It made him think about what those eyes used to look like, the color blue they were.

“Rape is distasteful, and unnecessary.”

“Rape. Such an insufferable attack on the human condition.”

“Bizarre pillow talk.”

Alex covered his body with his own. “Would it bother you if I admitted I've imagined in detail what it would be like to take you apart physically and psychologically, piece by piece?”

He groaned and shifted, clutching at the sheets. “Lately, who hasn't?”

Kincaid clamped down on his ear, and he released a whine to his immense embarrassment. The teeth slid from his earlobe to collarbone. Damn. If he moved inside him anymore...

Chris cried out and Alex put on a broad grin. “Keeping you full like this, only one of us has to move even an inch and we make you putty in our hands.”

It was so hot. Flesh against his back and flesh pressing down on his front, he was overwhelmed by the contact and their touches. They wouldn't pull out. For hours they held him this way. They were really good. Shit. Oh.

His arms wrapped around Alex's body while he could do nothing with his legs. Kincaid kept them held firm to the mattress using his own limbs. They both made a thrusting motion, remaining deep inside. Ah...

Impossible to think. Feeling good and forgetting the world and his life for a short while. He'd done worse things to stay sane.

“Chris, follow.”

He blinked. Oh, were they moving? His body in auto, he was leaving the room before his brain caught on. The anger piled up and was pushed down. What could he do? He prepared for this possibility. His plan. Remember the plan. Remember.

“Focus on me and listen carefully to my commands. Nod to confirm.”

Narrowing his eyes, he nodded affirmation.

Behind him, he could hear Krauser still flipping that damn knife.

“You ever ask about his time with the other Wesker while he's under the influence of this drug? Guy going by Mason?”

“No.”

“Why is that?”

“I don't wish to,” he replied. “It's unnecessary.”

He chuckled low. “Yeah, right.”

They turned into an open doorway and there was Excella sprawled on the floor. She was moaning and twitching, spasms racking her helpless form. He recognized the signs of T-Virus infection from the door.

Chris swept his eyes across the room. Where did she get infected? When and how?

The questions were read straight off his face and answered with pleasure.

“Excella Gionne outlived her usefulness. Sure, she continued to fund my every need and provided this building for research purposes. She was an excellent asset. How sad for her then. She tried to steal the supply of injections I have for you. Tried to excuse her actions, saying how we were to be partners. The woman confessed in the end, before she was too far gone, how her life had done nothing for anyone, and she wished to help you escape to aid someone else for once. Foolish.”

Wesker observed him a lengthy moment before saying, “Speak what you will.”

The words practically spewed out of his mouth.

“You didn't have to kill her! She just wanted to help you to be somebody. No one deserves this. Why?!”

A motion brought him to stand with Wesker.

“She was horrified the same as you when I injected the virus. Looked at me like I was betraying her. She shouldn't have been surprised. She was smart enough to know not to cross me. I could see in her expression as the sickness worsened, how she'd known deep down that truth.”

“Excella denied it to her death. She's guilty of a lot, Wesker, but you're worse.”

He was struggling with the cold act. The artificial thoughts were convincing him he was obedient and in favor of everything Master wanted. His real thoughts, rationality, informed that yes, Wesker always had his “reason” for misbehavior like he argued against Miles. But..it's morally wrong and plain cruel, evil. He didn't believe the man was evil any longer, however, he did evil repeatedly. It was hard to stand by that. He won't. Ever.

“Kill her.”

Obey. Obey. Obey.

Chris drew his handgun and strode forward. Hearing his footsteps, Excella rotated her neck, tilting her head to gaze in his direction, arms shifting to climb up from the floor. Not Excella. Her eyes were voids.

Rasping, her thin arm rose, fingers reaching for him. Hunger reflected in pale orbs. God, that hunger haunted his dreams far more regular than he could take some days.

These past days had been difficult. He was exhausted. Keeping his wits about him was arduous under the strain of fighting to protect his mental fortitude. He was tired of people getting hurt or dying.

Chris raised the weapon and fired. He closed his eyes. How many? Would the deaths ever stop affecting him? Hell. Trapped under Wesker's command was hell.

“What the hell is this?”

“Surprised?”

“They're not dead...”

He followed Alex deeper into the large laboratory. The place was rather dark, lit solely by the dim glow of the cryotubes and pale lighting surrounding the perimeter. There were a dozen of them, lined up in three rows. Most of them were empty; four were occupied with sleeping people. Wesker Project survivors.

Kincaid weaved between the rows, seeming not to be monitoring him, while still being obvious that was what he was doing. Carrying the minimal weaponry he was, he wouldn't be starting anything against these two today. Now was not his moment.

The Wesker child behind their captivity walked among them, pointing to each as he named them.

“Hans, he was my first. Irma and Marco came next, and of course, you know Felicia.”

Chris stopped in front of the container which held the most recent addition. She headed the research project that caused him to be victimized repeatedly by her and her allies. He loathed the lady. Also at the same time he wondered what it was driving their kind to search for meaning, meaning for themselves and the world they lived in.

“Trying to collect them all?”

His attempt at humor was ignored.

“Do you recall the list of Wesker children you uncovered in Spencer's estate?”

He frowned. “How do you know about that?”

Alex gave a smile and no answer, choosing to go on with his own stream of thought.

“We are ordered by value.”

Chris trailed the man's movements with his eyes. He woke a sleeping computer monitor and tapped a few keys. Brief noise announced the printer's activity and Alex slid a sheet out of the tray.

Coming over to him, the paper was handed off. Lifting his gaze to the woman asleep in the cryotube, connected to a silent machine by numerous wires and attachments, he turned his back to it with finality. A morbid sight that bothered him.

He lowered his attention to the paper in hand. All thirteen Wesker children's pictures and names were on the print-out. He checked it, names listed in the following order: Alex, Albert, Derek, Felicia, Hans, Hiro, Irma, Jonah, Ken, Laura, Marco, Miles, and William.

Was Alex saying he believed he was the most important? It did seem like Spencer relied on and worked to create a method of immortality with him. Every Wesker child was originally meant to lead him to eventual eternal life, as well as operating as his loyal, powerful soldiers. The old man underestimated them as individuals though, and it left him alone. Alex cut off contact for unknown reasons, and Albert Wesker gave him his eternal life all right.

“Three remain and then my collection will be complete.”

Wesker's palms clapping together snapped him out of his memory.

“I have somewhere to be. I'll leave you in Krauser's capable hands. You will obey him unless it's something I wouldn't approve.”

He shut the screen off of his PDA and slid it onto his belt. A couple men in black combat gear entered the room and set about cleaning the mess. Excella's body was placed on a sheet laid out on the floor to be wrapped for easy disposal. All the while, he kept his focus at face level.

“Krauser, you have your final warning. There will not be another.”

“Wesker.”

Krauser sounded like he was looking to protest.

“No harm will come to him, Krauser. Do take care.”

“Chris,” he said by way of farewell, and departed, mind obviously elsewhere.

“Damn shame. She was loyal.”

He turned around to find Excella being carried out. Her face wasn't visible anymore. Krauser was watching them leave, putting his combat knife away.

“You have a problem with Wesker killing her?”

The idea surprised him.

“Yeah. It's not my thing,” Krauser said. “I hate those who can't be trusted. She would never betray him where it mattered.”

“She tried to help me escape. That would be considered a betrayal by most.”

Krauser scoffed. “Wong put it in her head to do it. Stealing your doses has that bitch's name written all over it.”

He was wandering closer. Chris stiffened but refused to react further from the contact of fingers tracing his arm muscles. The other actually appeared in thought, so it wasn't probable he meant any harm by the touch.

“Well, well, that's what this is. The bitch in the red dress is making her move.”

The smile made him think the notion was something he was hoping would happen.

“Let's go, Redfield. Can't let her get away.”

He was caught off guard when Krauser broke into a run outside of the room. It was an effort to stay on his trail, even with the drug coursing through his veins which granted him a higher level of speed than his normal capability. An alarm rang through the halls amid their progress to reach the main floor via stairwell.

“Security alert! There is a security breach in basement level three. Security personnel is requested to respond to level three. Security alert!”

Skidding to a halt outside the fourth floor door, he paused. He had a feeling he couldn't quite place. Instinct...

Chris yanked the door open and jogged down the hallway. Reaching an intersection, he hooked a left upon hearing a noise. He was in time to see Ada passing through a door she had just kicked open, striding into the same hall he stood in. The distance between them wasn't much and their eyes met.

She lifted the gun hanging loose by her side to point at him when he moved to pull his own weapon.

“I don't want to hurt you, Chris, but I will.”

His expression contorted in a half-smile. “Think that's my line, Wong.”

He brought the weapon up quick and fired. The shot winged her, sending her spinning. Exhaling her pain and displeasure, she put the hand holding her firearm against the wound. She was backing away, eyes darting around their surroundings, looking for an exit.

Her eyes returned to him. “What are you doing, Chris? Fight his control. He doesn't own you.”

“I am. But this I agree with him on.”

“What?”

“You sell weaponized viruses on the black market. I can't let you take them out of here.”

Ada shifted, giving away his supposition had been correct. Chances were the dangerous items were attached to a case on her leg beneath the dress or inside the red leather jacket she was wearing. Maybe both spots held them.

“I provided information to several parties involved in all of this, including your sister and Leon. I gave information to a man by the name of Kincaid, who works for Lex Mason..Alex. I informed on him to Wesker too. I'd planned multiple situations where the two would meet and could kill each other. In either case, it provided distraction for us both.”

Chris narrowed his eyes. “You're trying to say you did what you could to help me? That you're not so bad?”

She only looked at him, waiting.

“You might not be a cold-blooded killer like they are, but you're indirectly responsible for an innumerable amount of lives lost. Playing games to make money; it's not right.”

The gun came back up to point in his direction.

“I needed you to be here since you're so effective at stopping evil mad men and their monsters. You're relentless and get the job done. Seeing Wesker couldn't keep you safe like I'd thought, I offered Excella opportunity for some redemption by telling her where all of your doses are stored. She might be putting that plan into action as we speak. You'll have a chance to escape.”

“She's dead. Your plan killed her.”

If she felt any emotion at the news, she didn't let it show on her face. The woman was looking around again, until her gaze locked on a sight beyond his shoulder. He glanced backward.

“There you are,” said Krauser, joining them. “Think Wesker and I were stupid enough to trust you after what you did in Europe?”

“I do recall I nearly killed you, Krauser. Leon did a pretty good job on you too.”

“If I wanted you dead earlier, you would be.”

Ada smiled a bit, retort ready for the man unsheathing his knife.

“Tough words for somebody who was trailed and beaten in stealth by a Wesker. Hiro Wesker, right?”

“Today's the day, bitch. You die.”

Chris shook his head. “You're not killing her, Krauser. You don't have to.”

A trio of soldiers in black outfits turned the corner, assault rifles raised. They were there to back up Krauser, and one of them wore a gas mask. HUNK. He was curious what kind of deeds the man had done to warrant the habit of usually wearing that full cover and protection. Then again, he had worked for Umbrella.

He held his breath. Should Krauser figure out a mere order to kill was all it would take to force his obedience, he probably wouldn't be able to fight it. The guy brought his knife up in front of himself, eyes only for him.

“I don't care if Wesker has sentiment for you. I'll do whatever it takes so I can finally get that bitch.”

“I told you once, we'd have our fight. I might not be completely myself, but close enough. Looks like now's the time.”

Ada flashed a smirk in their direction before spinning on a heel and dashing the opposite way. HUNK and his companions took off in pursuit of the thief. He was torn by the choice to prevent her from leaving with stolen property or to kill Krauser. His mind decided so automatic that he knew it wasn't him, but an artificial decision prompted by the drug. Kill Krauser. Wesker's desire was for Krauser to be wiped from the planet. Obey.

Chapter Text

He cleared the second floor, Krauser on his tail. It was increasingly challenging to concentrate on his own goal while in the process of serving Wesker's wishes. Get out. Get free. Kill Krauser. Kill. Kill the rapist.

His body did a flip backwards to avoid the sharp weapon the guy's arm had become. It was impressive to feel his body moving in ways he would never be able to without the P30 increases to his agility and flexibility. It was also reassuring since he would be in poor shape if he was drug-free right now.

Chris didn't have the necessary incentive to take on an inhuman type of being like Krauser. He understood Wesker's desire to erase the other man's existence, however, and therefore fought on, unabating through the compelled loyalty. It freaked him out how he knew with zero doubt this unspoken fact for what he was to accomplish in his service.

The enhanced and modified P30 designed to control him, forced his cooperation and unwilling alliance with Albert Wesker. After the second day trapped beneath the interference of the drug to his mental faculties, he'd begun to suspect retaining a higher ability to interpret subtle signals and behaviors in his master. Gah! Master... He despised when the title leaked into his thought-process like it was his own free thinking.

Krauser punched him in the stomach with the arm lacking mutation and he buckled temporarily. They parried and exchanged blows into the stairwell and Chris managed to dodge in a manner that left his deadly limb stuck in the wall. He removed his own combat knife out of the sheath, having realized fast the inefficient effect regular bullets had on the abnormal human.

Wesker wanted Krauser dead for the things he did to him. No one messed with Chris Redfield unless he wanted them to. Anger at the entitlement mixed in. He roared forward to plunge the knife into the man's heart with all his might.

The arm wrenched out of the wall and almost severed him at the shoulder. He'd barely moved in time and he was still within dangerous proximity. A primary command given ahead of anything else overrode the desire for his death. Survive.

He ran to put distance between them, but convinced his body to go farther down. It was possible. Chris wasn't anyone's pet or slave.

Krauser sped up in a single mad dash to crash into him. Narrowly stepping to the right, his attack ceased as abrupt as it began. He didn't stick around or look around, keeping on his dedicated path down the last flight of steps and pushing through to exit on the ground floor.

His leg suddenly felt like it was on fire and his arm rotated to send his knife spiraling in the enemy's direction. He rolled in the next moment, somersaulting across smooth and slippery floor. Spinning about and rising to one knee, he checked the source of the agony. A combat knife was stuck in his calf.

“You want me dead?” Krauser taunted. “You'll have to do better than that.”

/

“Do you want me dead, friend?”

Wesker glanced to either side but there was no other enemy in sight.

“We're not friends.”

It had been simple enough to find the flaw in the electrified fence design, slipping through a weak point without incident. The hunters encountered bowed to his presence and steered clear. He slaughtered any infected humans and creatures too unintelligent to keep a wide berth.

Eight minutes of searching warehouse after warehouse and finally Alex Wesker came to him. They stood in one such warehouse now, vacant of anything of identifiable substance. He had his sunglasses, and the other had his ball cap and sunglasses.

“You and I... We have plenty in common.”

“Well,” Wesker responded, absentminded, “We have at least one thing in common. That much is true.”

Where... Where would he keep something of value? The area was very close to the spot he found Chris, following his disappearance from the arena building. Which was why Krauser had little trouble finding Alex's location yesterday. It was a significant expanse of property near a waterfront. Plenty of spaces to hide underground laboratories or storage faculties should one be motivated to build such places.

“Yes, we desire power.”

He tilted his head to peer over a shoulder, a sneer firmly planted.

“Hm... I was going to say we favor black.”

Alex sniffed and took a few steps to decrease the yards in between them. No longer wishing to have his back to his enemy, he turned around fully. There was really only time that needed to be killed, but he'd accept this man's death should it occur in convenience with his visit.

“I don't believe our concept of what the world could and should be is that different.”

“I have no interest in aligning myself with other members of that cursed project,” Wesker stated. “I hate the reminder of what I am. Someone else created us, someone else manipulated our choices and lives, our futures. We were subjects dehumanized and controlled more than we ever knew.”

“Spencer was a weak and foolish man. You'll hear no argument from me. The decrepit old human was a failure of the highest order considering what he set out to accomplish, and how his miserable existence ended.”

He was continuing to lessen the distance between them. It was obvious he saw him as an intruder and prey. A hunter knows when he's in the presence of another hunter.

“You weren't in favor of an alliance before, and you aren't now. Why have you come?”

A sly smile appeared on his face. “So slow to catch on...”

/

He brought his opponent to the floor with a resounding whack. The mutated arm shrank and retracted until the limb resumed a normal human appearance. Krauser was bleeding pretty heavily. The sheer wall of uncontrollable rage faded and his consciousness filtered in. It allowed him to prevent himself from dealing a fatal hit and he staggered back, fighting the drug's hold.

“Just-Stop! It's finished, Krauser!”

Breathing hard, the pair of them locked eyes. Krauser adjusted his position and sank more comfortably to sit on the floor. Somewhat out of commission like he was, the thoughts were visibly circulating through his head.

“I don't know why I do the things I do.”

“Krauser?”

The inhuman, superhuman, whatever, broke the eye contact and studied his cut up and bloodied arm.

“I've always thought differently from other people. I kept it inside, pushed it down for a long time. But when my arm was damaged, and I stopped serving my country the way I had... I snapped, I guess you could say. The world was as ugly as I'd repeatedly seen it to be, and it was throwing me out. So I went looking for a new mission.”

“I..see.”

Krauser met his eyes again. “Can't say I ever did find it.”

“Jack,” he began, but wasn't quite sure what he meant to be saying.

He groaned and scratched his jaw, staring off into nothing. “I don't know what it is about you.”

Chris let out a small laugh to fill the awkward talk born from the violent combat's wake.

“Don't I know it.”

The guy jolted his head upright, reestablishing eye contact, and actually appeared sorry for uttering the thing out loud. Jack Krauser was seeming especially human and it was unexpected when they'd come so close to killing one another in animalistic fashion.

A sudden ding distracted and they situated their attention to the elevators not too far away.

Ada stumbled out of the elevator on the left and entered perfectly into their line of sight, and the sight of the guns they both turned on her in the next moment. Chris glowered a couple seconds at the reminder Krauser had gotten hold of his handgun and reloaded the damn thing which nearly shot him a few times during the fight. It was lucky she hadn't found her exit yet and walked right into them.

“Disarm. Put the stolen items carefully on the floor and then go, Ada.”

HUNK spilled from the second elevator alongside one of his comrades. They settled their weapons on her and just like that, she was boxed in. It would be a risk shooting her with what she might be carrying. But he was confident any one of them could make a headshot if it came to that. Which it wouldn't.

“Chris, we-”

He cut her off. “Now. The world's best without this crap circulating among warring nations and the like. Do it and you can leave.”

She sighed loud. “Fine. Have it your way.”

The gun with a silencer attached was thrown aside. A hand reached beneath the dress, unfastening a pack attached to her upper thigh. She set the case on the floor in front of her. Her hands rose to the air in a show of empty palms.

“It's what I took. Trust me.”

“I wish I could,” he replied, motioning to HUNK. “Search her.”

He told his fellow soldier to do it and the other cautiously approached to conduct the search. Ada turned slow to face him, smiling sweetly as she did. She enjoyed this shit or was a fine actress.

Given the okay, Chris relaxed, although the drug wouldn't let him relax entirely.

“Go, Ada.”

“You should kill her,” Krauser said.

He dismissed the suggestion by watching Wong with patient intent.

“It's pointless to try for the ideal in everyone, Agent Redfield,” she said to him, strolling past to the front doors which were tantalizing near. “Hope is an expectation of positive outcomes. It's a kind of trust. Some people are beyond saving. Save yourself.”

Chris gave her a sad smile, replying, “Some people say the whole world is beyond saving. But they haven't given up on a better world, which means they hope for a positive outcome despite the problems they see. I can work with that.”

The woman turned to meet his eyes, her hand on the door, a knowing look playing across her face. “They?”

Ada pushed open the glass door and smiled softly. “See you around, Chris.”

They... No. Him. Why was it always him?

/

“Don't use that name. Mason, if you insist on using a surname.”

Red eyes glowed, especially evident through the dark warehouse, signifying how he did not like to be referred to by “Wesker”. He wasn't trying to get closer any longer. Suspicious.

“Why do we wear sunglasses, even in dark places?”

Alex regarded him with mute curiosity. But the interest was there.

“We hate ourselves and what we've become. We'd rather risk oblivion than to be seen clearly by someone else.”

“Is that what it is? Agent Redfield can see you clearly?”

“I didn't come to discuss a pawn.”

Alex was spinning an object between his fingers from behind. Identifying it was impossible with it partially concealed by his body. Wesker assumed it would be important and shifted, preparing for an attack.

“Then you won't mind his necessary death.”

“Hm?”

He was feigning disinterest, but his mind was at work. Of course. Why didn't he see this move coming?

“Redfield is too good at what he does. He suffers beautifully, but in the end, fortune smiles favorably upon his missions.”

“Where's Kincaid?”

The other man's mouth curled into a smirk. “Oh yes, where is Kincaid?”

A shot rang out and the bullet almost took his head off, putting a big hole in the wall past him. Whatever gun he used was like a cannon. The aftermath of the discharge echoed throughout the room.

“You might be right about these concealments of ours, Wesker. But when I'm alone with someone, I let my true self out. I prefer the dark.”

Wesker snarled and raced forth, finding the other tiresome to wait on.

“You talk too much!”

Alex practically danced out of his immediate attack range, smiling. He brought the gun up and Wesker swept his hands forward to block and disarm. The other hand surged to strike his neck, something held between fingers.

He reacted just in time to spin low, knocking him off balance enough to lose his aim. The syringe that nearly pierced the skin of his neck missed by a wide margin, and the gun fired. The sound boomed, deafening so close, but Wesker ignored the annoyance and jabbed an elbow into his opponent's spine.

They flew back away from each other and his lip curled in delight. He charged the enemy who straightened, awaiting him. Merging into violent combat, neither could land a solid blow. Fast, strong, and skilled, Wesker would have to do a little extra to get the upper hand.

Wesker withdrew his magnum and fired off a couple wild shots, intending to distract in order to move in close.

“Chaos will triumph throughout the planet,” Alex claimed after successfully whirling out of the path of the bullets. “Any who stand in the way of true free will shall perish in the flames of a new world.”

He growled and rammed his knee into the other man's stomach. It bothered that he sounded a lot like himself a few weeks ago. Dedicated to unleashing an incomplete Uroboros unto the world to be rid of the pestilence consuming this planet, he ranted much the same. To hear similar words out of another's mouth, angered and humiliated him to an extent. Unacceptable.

Alex twisted and tried to stab him with a needled syringe again. What was in that? Had he figured out an efficient method to kill someone beyond human like them?

Lashing out and tearing the surroundings to pieces in their struggle to eliminate the other, he made it his chore to relieve his opponent of the syringe. He comprehended what Wesker was working to do and sought to shut him down. Rolling across the floor when Alex got an effective strike in, he swung his body up, but chose not to rise entirely. He swept forward and flipped through the air, kicking as far as possible.

The syringe broke on impact with the ground.

He stilled when Alex stopped attacking, going motionless. They stared through the gap separating them. Wesker thought he seemed finished, as if now finding this tedious.

“It's raining. I hate the rain.”

With a contemptuous smile, Wesker watched him walk away. He wanted to dismiss his presence. Alex Wesker's downfall was as inevitable as it was boring.

/

It had started to rain. Chris stared at the drops he was desperate to feel. Freedom was right there, but the drug clouded his mind, trapping him inside himself. His mind really wanted him to kill Krauser. It was taking everything to stay completely still while watching the man get up, covered in blood and yet seeming no worse for wear.

HUNK recovered the stolen virus samples and looked in his direction, He retreated to the elevators with the other soldier. He might have been waiting this long to take them because he expected him to do something. Did he think he would try to take them himself? Did he think he would give an order? What authority did he have? He was a drugged-out nobody now.

He sensed the danger too late, turning away from the moving elevator to hear the shot before he saw a shooter.

Kincaid stood in the lobby. He couldn't have arrived from the elevators or front entrance. Which begged the question of how he got in. Unless he had already been here and they never noticed.

Then he saw what he should have seen first. Krauser crouched in on himself, bleeding profusely as he crumpled to the floor. He was feeling content, but he wasn't feeling content. Wesker would be. Chris just felt tired.

“That shot was meant for your heart, Agent Redfield. A perfect shot. I can't believe I missed.”

Chris returned the stare, furious he couldn't react like he would. Kincaid picked up on the disconnect when his foot snapped forward to charge and snapped back, arms remaining firm to his sides without raising the gun in his right hand. A major downside to this control drug was as much as he was able to interpret Wesker's will to follow, uncertainties existed which practically shut down his muscles. The strain of battling the chemically induced physical hold was painful.

“Tragic that you are not yourself when you die.”

He leveled the rifle to take a second shot and the survival order kicked into gear. Full mobility of his limbs and renewed strength flooding his system made him grin. Kincaid fired and Chris flipped backward to avoid the shot. Wesker must feel a little something like this when he moved so smoothly in a fight. Cool.

The bullet shattered glass and wood of furniture beyond him.

What the-?

His would-be assassin was running out the door. He left the gun behind. Why give up so soon? Didn't he have a job to do?

Chris reached the weapon and picked it up. Oh. The rifle allowed for two shots. The ammunition fired must have been capable of massive damage considering the damaged lobby and..Krauser.

He turned and ran to Krauser, mind telling him to ensure he was dead, when he truly wanted to see if he was okay. Chris was wrong in the head. He couldn't keep anything straight.

Krauser looked awful. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the protest of the leg that had taken a knife minutes earlier, and rolled the man onto his back. There was a gory hole for a chest, and he wasn't sure the heart was present anymore. It definitely wasn't in one piece. A regular person would be dead in an instant. Even someone like Krauser...

“Don't worry. I'm done for.”

Chris tore his eyes from the gaping wound to the blood flecks dotting the mouth and cheeks.

“It's not what I was thinking.”

“Course you were. You wouldn't have tried to kill me like that if Wesker didn't want me dead. Can't say I blame him.”

A frown creased his brow. “I don't understand you.”

He laughed and started coughing and hacking on blood as soon as he did. The dying man spat away from him before returning to settle flat on the ground.

“Yes you do. It's just screwed up. It's why I saved you.”

“Krauser... Jack?”

The man wasn't moving. Chris leaned over and saw the glazed stare he loathed. He reached to shut the eyes and stood up. He walked to the shelving unit against one wall, trying not to put too much weight on his injured leg. He lucked out and found a t-shirt folded in one of the storage cubes.

Tearing the fabric in half, he stooped and wrapped the cloth about his wound. When it was safely covered, he straightened and made himself walk on it in spite of the pain. He reasoned pain helped him think straighter.

Wesker wanted Krauser dead. He's dead. Wesker wanted Alex Wesker out of his way, and that meant killing him or putting him out of commission. His master wants control above everyone and Alex is the biggest threat with what he had below that residence. It was a loophole which would allow him to leave his latest cage.

Chris stepped outside and felt no resistance. Raindrops fell on his head and shoulders. It was cold, the evening giving way to night.

He looked to where there was a parking lot containing half a dozen cars. Help Wesker. Kill the threat. Hurry. Go.

Chapter Text

“Don't you ever miss your family?”

The Asian man halted his rapid footsteps. “Stop fishing for information.”

“Don't you ever want to see your home country?”

“It was never my home.”

“But-”

“Claire.”

She glanced to Leon before sighing. “Right. Well, forgive me. I'm just a little curious about the Wesker Project survivor who shouldn't exist, does exist, and approached us looking to form a team effort once the BSAA wasn't watching.”

“You don't have to trust me to gain.”

“We don't trust you,” Leon said. “But we're taking a message from Krauser of all people? The guy faked his death once. Makes him a confirmed liar.”

Claire couldn't help but smile. “And his trying to kill you in Europe when you were sent to rescue the president's daughter. That's a non-factor?”

She stopped walking to peer out over the lake. Lights in the distance made it look kind of pretty. At least this place wasn't an island. She didn't much like islands.

“Are you lost?” Leon prodded the Wesker child. “This can't be the area. It's too public.”

“Raccoon City had an entire populace living above-”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. There's nothing here though. Just a bunch of boats and warehouses.”

“I can't say for certain your brother is here, but this is where the man, Krauser, told us Alex Wesker will be.”

Together they came to stand in front of a locked gate. Claire scanned the length of fencing. Electricity thrummed audibly through the metal links. They were going to have to be creative in order to get on the other side.

Hiro stepped scarily close to the lock on the fence. She glanced around to be certain they weren't noticed. The black attire wasn't a problem. It was the sheathed sword slung over his body with a strap, the belt with dual gun holsters and ammunition packs, and the more than a few knives she was confident he had strapped to him as well.

“Denki, denki, denki, denki...”

They followed the murmuring superhuman as he strolled along the high fence, a critical eye mapping the electric current, or so she presumed. She was paranoid he'd be seen and the police called. Leon and her were at least less obvious about carrying weapons. The growing darkness would help conceal them at least, though it would also make it harder to see where they were going. Good thing Leon planned ahead and had a flashlight clipped to his belt.

“Asoko!”

“Huh? Wanna try that again?”

Hiro turned to them when he answered Leon. “Over there. Let's go.”

He led them to a spot where two tree branches laid on the ground near the bottom of the wall keeping them from getting in. Lifting them up one at a time, he jammed them into the lowest part of the electrical wiring. Claire realized it had been done before, judging by how damaged this area appeared on closer inspection. She glanced to Leon, who was observing Hiro slide through to the other side in one sleek move.

“I'll go next.”

She watched him go, copying how the other man did it. Her eyebrows rose a little at the sight. No way was she going to be able to do that. She opted to drag herself gradually through on her front, petrified a part of her would accidentally touch the fencing and cause a horrible shock.

Once on the other side, she stood, brushing off dirt and grass from her jeans.

“Whew. Let's not do that again if we can help it.”

Their potential ally was already moving, crossing the open field to reach the nearest spot of cover. When he reached the side of a warehouse, he stopped, apparently listening. She adjusted her jacket and Leon looked at her, listening himself. He was looking concerned.

“The fence had a purpose other than keeping people out.”

“What does that mean?”

Leon put his hand on his gun. “It was keeping things in.”

They searched the immediate area before them they could see. It was getting dark but there were lights coming on everywhere within the fenced in property. Multiple somethings were moving rapidly and she couldn't quite make out what the shapes growing bigger in the distance were.

“Are those what I think they are?”

Claire's eyes widened. “Dogs!”

Leon drew his weapon and lifted his gun to take aim.

“Don't! We can't draw attention to ourselves.”

She was sure they were both giving him an equally incredulous stare. Leon was the one to speak to Hiro.

“Guess we should just give up and go home.”

Tightening one of the wrapped bandages on his wrist, he shook his head. “Dame, dame.”

Leon kept on aiming so she pulled out her own gun. The dogs were getting closer. Three of them and they were fairly large in size. What infected them? Or... What if they were normal dogs working as extra security? Should they try to use her as a chew toy, she'd shoot them in either case.

“Dame yo!”

Hiro flew into their path and confronted the dogs himself in a violent brawl. The two of them stared with a bit of awe as he punched and kicked the canine attackers. A minute later and the animals were sprawled on the ground, the Wesker child spinning around to glare.

“No good. Do not use your guns unless you must to survive.”

She jabbed the point of her gun in the direction of the dismantled guard dogs. “Yeah. That's what we're doing.”

“No. You can do better.”

Sighing exaggeratedly, she looked to Leon. “We should see if we can tell whether they were infected by something. If they are, we need to call this in.”

Before he took more than two steps, Hiro filled them in.

“They are infected with parasite.”

Leon eyed him. “Good to know, Wesker. Maybe wanna keep the rest of the team informed?”

“Call me Hiro.”

“Right.”

“Leon,” she chimed in, reminder in her tone.

His posture relaxed and he reached to the back of his belt to retrieve the cell phone. He flipped it open and thumbed at the buttons, looking disgruntled. Claire didn't like the bad feeling she was getting.

“I can't get through. There's no signal.”

“Something might be blocking it,” she suggested.

“We need to find what that is.”

Hiro swept his black hair from blocking his eyes and she caught herself staring at the abnormal orbs. Looking away, she focused on whether she heard any other incoming danger. Nothing. Absolutely nothing other than the faint hum of the electric fence behind them. Oh...

She jogged to where they'd made their entrance and tugged the thick sticks free after some effort. This way they wouldn't accidentally let out whatever else might be wandering inside the perimeter. She knew her luck. There had to be other things in here. Absolutely more of those dogs. Never a shortage of monsters roaming when it came to her being stuck some place she would prefer not to be.

“I'll investigate to the left and the pair of you can take the right.”

“Whoa, wait,” she protested. “You're splitting us up?”

“You and Leon have several experiences dealing with bio-weapons, ne? It's fine.”

“Remember when we said we didn't trust you?” Leon still had his gun drawn and he wasn't quite pointing it at him, but he wasn't exactly not either.

Hiro's lips curled into a tight smile.

“You have nothing to fear from me. I believe in tomorrows. If there's a tomorrow, there is time. Another day, no matter the bad or good, gives opportunity.”

Claire frowned. “What?”

“I want to stop Alex Wesker as much as you do. He will destroy the world if he has his way. Let's stop this from happening.”

Leon lowered his gun to the side and turned toward the first warehouse. “Yeah, together.”

“Let's go,” Claire said, striding past them to the left, checking her surroundings for any danger or anything of interest. “Come on. We're wasting time.”

“You sound a lot like your brother,” said Leon, walking quickly to catch up and matching her pace. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

Her worry was reaching an all time maximum for her brother's safety and well-being. She turned about, hands on hips, tapping the gun in her right hand against her side. It reassured her just a little. Chris taught her how to use a gun years ago. She was only as skilled as she was with a weapon and making it through tough shit because of him.

“Good. He wouldn't fail at this. He comes through in the end.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leon uttered with a growing smirk. “You said something about going?”

They went on to the other side of the warehouse where a door was located. Moving to cover both sides, Claire nodded to show Leon she was prepared and he turned the lock and tugged the heavy shutter door up. It hit the top part of the mechanism louder than they would have liked, but there was only silence afterward.

Leon took the lead, Claire on his heels and on guard. Despite their caution and practiced clearing of a new room, Hiro waltzed in without a care. He wasn't being unruly, but he wasn't trying to maintain their effort to be quiet either.

“There's nothing living in here.”

“Yeah, maybe something dead alive instead.”

She snapped her head over to the government agent. He better be wrong about that. She could go the rest of her life without ever dealing with another walking dead creature. Claire vastly preferred helping the people affected by bio-weapon attacks, and left the missions for prevention and damage control to stronger persons. Chris was one of those persons.

“Nothing,” Hiro insisted, stopping at what would approximately be the center of the room.

It was really dark inside, Leon's flashlight the sole source to see by. Claire started feeling along the wall, hoping for a light switch. Too damn dark...

“Here.”

She looked at the flashlight Leon was handing her in surprise.

“Where did you get this?”

“I always carry a spare.”

He moved forward, the beam of his light sweeping around as he investigated. Big square crates filled most of the space, although there was plenty of walking room. She wondered what could be in them.

Claire began checking in the opposite direction and happened upon a row of cages large enough to fit a person. Every one was empty. She crouched lower, trying to tell if anything had been living in them at some point. She couldn't be certain.

“Okay. Let's keep moving.”

Leon agreed and the three of them exited the warehouse in search of the next one to look through. She was growing anxious, considering maybe they should go separate ways to look for Chris or Alex after all. Every minute ticking by upped her nerves and set her on edge. She could keep a cool exterior in these situations, but inside she was jumping. It wasn't fear, but more a desperate need to succeed.

Thunder rumbled and lightning flickered overhead. Her eyes drifted upward. The sky had almost turned to complete night, not a star in sight because of thick clouds. Rain was definitely incoming again. This time it might bring a storm.

Leon suddenly broke into a jog and she followed suit, glancing to ensure Hiro remained close. When she reached him, he was down on one knee, back pressed to the warehouse siding. Gun readied in front, he twisted his upper half to peer around the corner. She sank low too, waiting for his report.

He pulled back abruptly. “Two stationary shapes. Humanoid. Can't tell more than that.”

Shivering from the cold, she leaned in. “We should steer clear.”

“Yeah.”

A hand came up while he shifted to take a second peek. After a long moment, he motioned with the hand for her to move and she did, jogging quickly across the open field until she reached the cover of a third warehouse. Her back hit the wall with a solid thud in her hurry, and the sound of something falling from the interior reached her ears.

Whoops. No big deal.

Hiro and Leon on the other side were waiting for their chance to cross unseen. She rechecked the gun in her hand out of habit, satisfied it was fully loaded and there were two spare clips attached to her belt. The field wasn't her preference, but she was good at it, no question. I'm coming. Please be here, Chris...

Lightning flashed across the sky, shockingly bright. Deafening thunder boomed. The brewing storm was right over the lake. Rain fell to the earth in blinding sheets.

“Great,” she muttered to herself. “This is going to make things a little more complicated.”

What felt like a person dropped onto her from above.

“Uh!”

It brought her flat on her stomach in the grass. Completely wet in a very short period of time and now crushed by somebody, she rolled and the person fell off. She squinted through the rain and her eyes grew wide when she got a real look at who made her fall.

She backed away, raising her handgun, unable to tear her eyes from this..thing. A peek at where she'd been standing let her notice the rectangular vent opening near the roof. The freaky thing must have crawled out of there, pushing the metal cover to the ground with itself. Claire focused on its movements, seeing as best she could through the downpour.

“What the hell is that?”

It was a slimy thing, wobbling and toppling all over the place while it seemed to be gathering its senses. Tall and shaped like a human for the most part, its feet, however, were stumps with growths of sharp bone sticking out. The hands were formed into clawed masses. If it was once a man, it didn't have a face anymore. From nose to chin there were long teeth instead. They didn't look like fun.

The second it tried to attack her with its arms she was so done. Bullets impacted the creature, forcing it to falter backwards. She stepped up and swung her foot into the chest. Another of these things appeared on her left and she reacted, throwing herself sideways to the ground. This new one towered over her, bending closer. She blasted it in the face with two bullets which served to make an excellent deterrent. Fists through their heads shut them down completely.

She watched the two bloated non-humans shrivel into themselves. A wet mess that evaporated to leave clumps of slimy crud behind. Disgusting.

Hiro examined her. “Are you okay?”

“Yup. All good.”

Beneath her, the ground was feeling soft already. It was so wet out here. She was so wet out here. Miserable.

Leon ran up, slightly winded given his voice when he spoke.

“What were those things? Sorry. I had to take out the people we were trying to bypass when they noticed me. A couple guys infected with a parasite like the dogs. Some security Alex has got here.”

She realized she was staring off into the distance about the same time she noticed Leon noticing.

“Claire? You okay?”

She'd decided what they had to do next.

“I want to call for reinforcements right away.”

“The signal...” Hiro reminded.

She blinked through the rain, rubbing water pointlessly off her forehead.

“We find whatever is blocking the signal and call first thing. Seems like we always end up in a disaster on our own and take losses because of it. We couldn't get Chris last time we saw him. We couldn't do enough. The signal. That's the priority.”

The two men spun partially, hearing a shout somewhere nearby. Hiro threw up a wave, not even looking behind to them as he walked toward the sound. It sounded human to her. In all likelihood it was a person infected with one of these parasites that could control a human being.

“I'll take care of it.”

Leon turned back to her when he'd vanished from sight, hand reaching out to help her up. She would get up in a minute. The sudden combat dazed her, not that she would admit it. Her attention was drawn to a bolt of lightning zigzagging through the air.

“Chris must have gone through hell in those places full of infected people and monsters to find Jill, to save her.”

Claire shielded her eyes to really get a good look at him, curious where he was going with his address.

“I'm doing the same thing for him now. We few, who lived through endless nightmares better fit for fiction, have got to stick together. What do you say?”

She wanted to roll her eyes, but instead she smiled. Cheesy, yet truthful and accurate. That was Leon.

Accepting the tug to put her upright, she fixed him a determined look.

“We're going to bring him home.”

Tightening the grip on her gun, she held it with both hands and ran forward in the direction they'd been heading before the gross distraction. Leon hesitated to join her, taking a moment to retreat back the way they came, searching a minute. Giving up, he jogged the distance to stand beside her and she elbowed his arm to get attention.

She had to shout over the noisy rainfall battering the building rooftop next to them.

“Where's Hiro?”

“I don't know. Think he might have ditched us.”

Claire frowned but forced herself to look ahead. “Guess I'm not surprised. A Wesker usually has their own agenda.”

“Hey! Do you see that?”

Through the rain was a three story house. It wasn't far. They'd previously missed it because of the tall warehouse buildings blocking the view. She gave it another survey when she caught movement.

A hulking lizard looking thing stalked past the front porch. It rounded the corner, out of sight. Soon after it did, a second one came into her line of sight from around the other side of the house.

“I see them too,” she replied. “Umbrella's science experiments.”

She remembered what these were called. Hunters. Claire swallowed, recalling their deadly claws and frightening leaping ability. She glanced to her gun and tried to think why they weren't supposed to use their weapons.

The creepy, wet creatures made her fire her weapon. Might as well keep shooting to defend herself. Besides, the rain did a fair job of muffling gunshots. Alex set his infected creatures outside for security. He probably wouldn't bother to personally come out.

“Alright. We're heading into the residence,” Leon said. “We take those monsters out first or they might give us a rude surprise.”

They moved closer and kept their eye out for either roaming creature, visibility increasingly difficult. It was wet and cold, clothing sticking to her skin. Faint steps. She switched her aim to the hunter picking up its pace on the right, racing straight for them.

She took a shot, then two more. Leon's gun went off and she heard him moving away. Her focus stayed on the hunter in front of her until it was down and it didn't leap back on its feet. She looked for Leon and saw him sliding across the ground to avoid a sweeping claw. He was by the steps of the house.

A shrieking cry had her whirl around. Two more hunters to engage the intruders. With a city right next door, this was crazy. She reloaded, remaining calm despite the pressure of the imminent threats rushing her.

Multiple bullets pierced the closest danger and knocked it onto its backside. The hunter squirmed in the spot, whining in pain. The second one she shot once, but then got the hell out of the way.

It was struck from the side and fell over. Claire regained her balance and aimed at the hunter jumping back up that she shot before. Two shots into its shoulder and a couple more from Leon to the leg and face. A final gurgling rasp and the creature died.

Searching their surroundings for any further attacks, they found none and ascended to the porch.

Leon turned the doorknob. “Let's get the hell out of the rain.”

The door creaked as he pushed it open. Entering the house, she passed in front of him and he shut it behind them. The lighting scattered about was sufficient. They kept their own flashlights on for easier searching.

“Where do you think the signal would be blocked from?” asked Claire.

“A high point. The roof's a safe bet.”

When they located a staircase leading to higher floors, Leon took the lead, gun at the ready.

“Stay sharp.”

“Got it,” she responded.

I'm getting you home, Chris. I'm coming.

Chapter Text

The basement wasn't an ordinary basement. A tunnel dug into the earth by some sort of machine had created a round entrance leading into pure darkness. Miles ventured in, flashlight illuminating a small patch of area directly in front.

He perceived someone tracking him two minutes into his exploration of the man-made path beneath the earth.

“Are you going to stay six yards behind the whole way, or are you going to grow a pair and walk beside me?”

A man of shorter stature than himself emerged out of the black. The light caught his eyes for a moment and what he saw made him sigh out loud. Other than the two of them, there was quiet.

“You looking for the same thing I am?”

“Konbanwa,” he greeted. “Hajimemashite. Hiro to yonde-”

“Yeah, yeah. You're a freak like me. Hola, Hiiiiro.”

The guy nodded once, stiff, bowing his head a little. “Hai. Hiro. Onegaishimasu.”

“Do I look like I speak Japanese?”

Hiro just stared. He narrowed his eyes and poked a finger through the air to point at the guy's chest.

“I'm trying to find my friend. She's the same as us. Her name's Felicia. I assume this Alex bastard nabbed her like he did the other ones. Find them, find her. So I guess I'm looking for them. You?”

“Onaji.”

His hands tightened to fists. This fellow was playing dumb. If he wanted to be like that, then fine. He had someone to get out of this shithole. He could only hope she was still alive.

Miles turned and continued progressing along the passageway. Footsteps followed, this time a mere couple of strides behind him. He couldn't decipher if he was going to be a problem. He seemed aware there were project subjects being held here too, but what did he want to find them for?

He decided to make conversation. The silence and dark was becoming excessively dreary and unbearable. Talking made him feel more comfortable, more normal. He got the impression Hiro let go of these kinds of pretexts a long time ago.

“You ever make friendly with another Wesker?”

No answer. Color him unsurprised.

“I'm an angry guy. The kind who uses fury as a power trip. Jonah always said I was too smug. He's gone now. Dead.”

Hiro's footsteps picked up to meet his pace and they walked alongside one another. It was a close fit. The passage wasn't much wider than the two of them in a row.

“I'm gonna miss that guy,” he went on. “He was the most level-headed in our wannabe project group we were trying for. Jonah didn't like seeing people get hurt, but he was real good at hiding it. I do think he was as borderline a sociopath as the rest of us. Nothing compared to that Albert Wesker guy though, huh? Talk about a narcissist...”

He peeped at Hiro. Nothing. He couldn't get a read on him. He did appear to be listening.

“Laura died a few days ago too. She died the same day as Jonah. I think she wanted that. She loved Jonah and he loved her. Him dead, she wouldn't be able to function right.”

Miles lowered his head, staring at the ground for a while. It was probably a mistake to start talking about his friends. Their absence felt more profound when he did. Now that he was talking on the topic though, he couldn't seem to stop.

“She could be prone to overreaction when things didn't go her way, but she was our conscience, so to speak. Laura kept us on track, kept us focused on a goal worth our efforts and survival. She hated what happened to people we tested, hated the concept of mortality. I wish Jonah had died after her. I think it would have been better.”

Was he making any sense? He felt like he was filling the time with unreasonable chatter. What did his walking buddy care about people he didn't know?

They lapsed into silence, the scuff of a boot on hard ground the only occasional sound. He thought he heard something of an anomaly with their footsteps and was going to halt to listen. He was distracted from the idea when Hiro raised a question concerning his one-sided share time.

“The woman you look for? What was she like?”

He considered, rubbing a hand through his shaved hair until he was touching the nape of his neck. The other hand came up to rest on top of the one already resting there.

“Felicia... I'd say she's a bit poetic and very into science. The cause and effect of it all. She was heading our little project, the study and experimentation of the human condition. The mental, psychological strength people can be capable of was what really got her. Some people could behave heroic or self-sacrificing, while others seemed pretty much incapable.”

Miles could see a second source of light flooding into the tunnel. He smiled at the sight, lowering his hands. With a shrug to his company, he sighed softly.

“She's the only one left now. She's what I have. That's why I'm here. Were you listening to all that?”

He directed the question into the darkness behind them. Hiro tracked where he was looking and turned around when he did. Apparently he was the popular one to follow tonight.

Surprised to see who stepped forward to stand in the beam of his flashlight, he surveyed the man from head to toe. Chris Redfield, in an outfit suitable for combat, two guns and a knife on his person that he could see. Lowering his arms to his side, he elected on putting his hands in the air to show he meant no harm.

“You still mad about all the torture, Agent Redfield?”

The man looked them over, speculative gaze staying longer on Hiro. He didn't want to say he was jealous, but... Come on. They knew each other while he couldn't know much more than Hiro's name.

He took note of a bleeding injury on his leg. It was wrapped with cloth, red faintly showing through the makeshift bandage. Somebody had kept themselves busy it would appear. Still fighting after everything. Remarkable.

“Hey. Do you know how much it hurts to get shot in the balls? That shit was fucking agonizing waiting for it to heal.”

There was no fear, no anger, no courage. Nada. He was a blank slate. Okay, not totally. Miles could see the varied emotions warring to rise to the surface. None of them did. He reckoned not all of them were even his own emotions, but the emotions of an oppressor who drugged free action right out of him.

Wishing to confirm what was suspect, he asked, “Did Wesker drug you?”

“Specialized version of P30. I'm an efficient partner. Obedient and loyal. Near perfect.”

No fun to be had with somebody like him. He was disappointed. A waste of this man. He increasingly found this planet to be one of pain and distress. It was as though humans were built for suffering.

“Mr. Hero is gone. Sucks.” He glimpsed the other Wesker child grown restless, resume course like they didn't just pick up a spare.

He waved a beckoning hand to encourage Redfield to come along.

“We're looking for something your keeper would be interested in. This way...”

They caught up to Hiro inside the room which was the source of light leaking into the pitch black tunnel. It was a room with counters. Two of them were clear while the third connected to the wall had a variety of measuring instruments and bottled chemicals. A place for potential creation.

Felicia would be giddy, scouring every nook and cranny for any little thing that might bring intrigue. Laura would be jotting observations and thoughts into her notebook. She insisted on writing detailed information on everything related to the project. Jonah... Aw forget it. He was sick of reminiscing shit that didn't mean shit.

“Koko.”

“Huh?” Miles reversed direction and wandered to Hiro standing on the far side of the room. “You see something?”

“If I had a hidden secret, I would have it behind a door like this.”

He speculated on the locked metal door. There was a key card reader. His face broke into a grin.

“Well, hell, how fortuitous I happened to swipe this from a fishy book in an upstairs bedroom.”

The agent came to a stop next to him, staring directly forward at the door. What would it take to get this guy to snap out of it? The lack of engagement coming from this shadow of Redfield was making him mad.

Brushing Hiro aside, he used the card and heard an audible click. He reached for the handle and turned it with ease. He opened the door and ambled through.

They were in a narrow corridor. Soon he found Redfield at his side again, Hiro lurking in the background as the stranger he seemed fond of remaining. From what he gathered of the mash of complete and incomplete construction, it was probable there was another way in and out.

Walking together, they ignored the door on the right in favor of checking the door straight before them. He let Redfield take the lead and considered the emptiness he took with him. Although an invisible thing, the leash choking and tugging on his throat was there. It was bizarre how obvious it was to him that he was being controlled by an outside force. Not any fun at all.

Through the second door, space opened up into a wide room. Three rows of cryotanks had been positioned, some occupied by a person, some not. They were still breathing. The room was crappy to see great in. He intended to get a better look but ceased the thought when someone able to walk and talk meandered into view.

Alex.

“I don't recall sending out invitations,” he said by way of greeting. “Have the two of you come to join my other honored guests?”

Miles gazed searchingly at the tanks. They were alive at least. Felicia was alive. Seeing someone he knew kept like that; it didn't feel good.

“Temee!” Hiro yelled. “Shi ne!”

The guy was drawing his sword. Violence was inevitable. Miles lowered his head and squeezed his fists tight, concentrating on every single thing here making him mad, from Felicia's captivity to Alex's presumptuous egotism. Fury grew and spread fast, a feeling of warmth filling him as his eyes fixed on the enemy.

Alex was laughing silently.

“I'm afraid this will devolve quickly. I hope you give me a challenge.”

Redfield beat them all to the punch, running past them for Alex. A hard right punch that would knock most off their feet, slammed into Alex's face. While his head reeled, he kept his footing. He returned his head forward and smiled at the agent with a control drug pumping through his veins.

“Kincaid was right. We should have killed you when we had you. I'm astonished to see he failed his task.”

When Redfield attempted to kick away and resume fighting, Alex grabbed the leg and twisted to try and bring him to the floor. His opponent flipped forcibly but was able to stay out of reach of getting put down. The two squaring off, they prepared to attack or be attacked. Alex voiced an assumption.

“Are you perhaps under the thrall of a drug, Chris Redfield? A pity. Ah well, time to die.”

Agony surrounded him. He hated it.

The enemies raced for each other and Hiro ran in to join the battle, assaulting Alex. Ready to make somebody bloody, Miles smirked and started forward, planning to rip the bastard's head from his body or smash his face in. He really wanted to hurt someone.

/

The grandfather clock pendulum swung to and fro. Claire refocused and crept around the corner. She was alone, investigating where possible access to the roof might be. That was assuming there was access from the inside and they wouldn't have to go back out. She wouldn't anyway. Leon opted to head back into the rain for a quick check of the house exterior.

She smirked. “There you are.”

Pushing the wooden door open the rest of the way revealed a tiny room. It could have been mistaken for a closet. She saw the lock was busted and wondered if it was a recent thing.

Claire started up the metal ladder at a steady pace. The raindrops grew louder the higher she went. There was a latch to flip to gain access to the roof. She pushed the heavy square piece of metal open and crawled onto the outer surface.

Against her will, she flinched when lightning streaked through the sky. Wet enough from earlier, she internally groaned and accepted getting drenched again. She hurried across the balcony. Behind her was the sloping roof and for a brief second her imagination ran wild, thinking a monster lurked up there.

She peered down at the wooden panel covering a square box. Lifting the lid, she could see a computer screen, empty line blinking up at her. Claire stared at the keys on the keyboard.

“Not my lucky day.”

Claire gasped hearing the abrupt speech and whirled around.

“Leon!”

“There's a ladder on the outside leading up here. Didn't mean to give you a scare.”

He swung himself over the wet railing and she worried he'd slip and fall. Maintaining his balance fine, Leon rubbed at his shoulder. It seemed to be bothering him.

“Ran into a few infected with parasites. The way they were dressed... I think Alex has been pulling people off the streets to infect and use for keeping watch on this place.”

“I found this.” She moved so he could see the box clearly. “I don't have any idea what the password is.”

Leon came to where she was holding the lid open. She kept it at an angle to prevent too much water from potentially disrupting its operation. For all she knew it was waterproof. No idea.

The wind picked up and she stiffened, trying to allow mind over matter. It wasn't cold. Nope. Not cold. Damn was it freezing out here.

“Krauser mentioned something about Alex in the message when he told us the location. Spencer's obsession became Alex's obsession. They were supposed to be working together for a while. Chris wrote up a report after the mission to apprehend Spencer. There was a note on files read inside his mansion.”

“So?”

He tapped the keys and she watched him above his shoulder. I-M-M-O-R-T-A-L-I-T-Y.

She smiled happily when the password was accepted with a long beep, and the red light switched to green. Leon had his cell phone in hand and soon a pleased smile flickered across his face. He hit a number on speed dial and put the phone to his ear.

The harsh pouring rain softened. Maybe if the sky cleared she could take it for a positive sign. Things had to go right eventually, right? She prayed so.

“BSAA had surveillance choppers in the sky already. The city is experiencing an unusually high rate of disappearances and somebody thought it might have a connection to their missing agent said to be sighted in the state.”

“Chris?” she said, amazed. “It makes sense. We saw him a few hours from here.”

Leon searched the floor until he spotted where she came up to the balcony. He started over and she went with him.

“They need to refuel but then they're headed straight to us. Ground support will take more time but they'll be incoming too.”

“He's here. I know it.”

Descending the ladder, Leon pushed through the door ahead of her. She passed out of the tiny room and froze a couple feet at Leon's back. He'd stopped a yard from the door but he wasn't who she was looking at. Wesker stood on the opposite end of the hall near the stairs. Wesker was here. Did he take her brother away after he survived the monsters in the arena?

“Where's Chris?”

Wesker faced them and stared a long moment before saying, “You are in a home belonging to a man named Lex Mason. Have you seen him?”

“Mason?” Leon uttered.

“No! Now where is he? Where's my brother?”

He turned away and started down the stairs. No! He had to tell them!

She ran after, stopping at the top of the staircase when she spotted him halfway down.

“Wesker!”

He halted to read his watch. Surprised, she startled backward before catching herself and drawing upright. She gave him a firm glare, determined to get her answer.

Wesker peered over a shoulder. “He's under the care of one of my men. I usually don't leave him alone this long. Perhaps I should call to check in.”

Leon moved to stand next to her, his handgun aimed carefully at Wesker. “Do it. We wanna hear him.”

A small lift of his shoulders and he was reaching into his long coat. He brought out a cell phone and dialed, pressing one more time before raising the gloved hand holding the device. The audible sound of someone being called filled the mostly silent and dark house. There was a click and a voice came on the line.

“Yeah.”

“Chris. We haven't tried this so let's see. Do you know who you are speaking to?”

Yes. Master.”

Claire could see the barely restrained smile gracing the man's face. Son of a bitch... She forced herself to be patient, glad to hear Chris's voice. The gun twitched in her grasp and she felt secure having hold of the metal.

Were those sounds of gunshots and glass breaking? Metal warping? She frowned a bit. It was impossible for her to accurately detect what the noises were, but wherever Chris was, something was going on.

Wesker wore a different look now too. “Is Krauser with you?”

“No. Krauser's dead.”

Her and Leon exchanged looks.

“Wong?”

“Wong left.”

“Did she take anything with her?”

“No.”

Wesker switched the direction he was facing for no reason Claire could tell.

“Did she try to?”

“Yes.”

Something loud reverberated into the speaker, then it grew quiet again.

“Don't you want to know who killed Krauser?”

“Not particularly.”

Leon made a noise of disgust. She could understand it. Krauser worked for Wesker. Shouldn't he care what happened to his own people? Did he feel the same way about keeping Chris as his prisoner? If her brother died, would he linger on the death longer than a few seconds of callous indifference?

He seemed to think of something on the spot and turned in place yet again, asking, “Why did you ask a question? Have you realized your time is almost up?”

Silence on the other end for what felt like a full minute, and then Chris's voice sounding strained, said, “I can't. I... I'm following what you would want. I'm obeying. I-I... No.”

No? No what?

“Where are you, Chris?”

“Underground. I'll kill him.”

Wesker was baring his teeth, disdain apparent in the new expression.

“Are you trying to kill Alex Wesker? Is there a place below Lex Mason's residence?”

“Yes.”

“Who is there with you? What is the noise I hear?”

Claire looked at him in rising desperation. Finally questions she wanted to hear. What was going on where her brother was? He wasn't in danger, was he?

“Hiro Wesker and Miles Wesker are here. They are fighting Alex Wesker. I was also fighting him.”

“Leave now. Time is short. Come to me. I am in the residence.”

“Understood.”

Wesker ended the call and put the phone in his coat. “Shall we wait?”

She glared. “What the hell are you planning for my brother? What do you want from him?”

He laughed into the words he spoke. “Were you going to ask what I was doing this to him for? Are you so naive?”

“Are you?” Leon asked, gun still held steady toward his skull. “Chris will leave here with us. He's going home.”

“How do you know the two of you will go home tonight?” Wesker asked in turn. “You'll have to make it out of here alive first.”

Wesker's cylinder gun whipped out and fired at them before either could react. They dispersed, Leon somersaulting to the right while she ducked low to use the railing for cover. He was at the top of the stairs in a flash. She nearly shrieked, instead clenching her jaw tight and steeling for possible pain.

Leon fired overhead and their assailant backed off. She doubted the distraction would work long and opted to glance behind to make certain she wouldn't be shot. Hopping up, she remembered her weapon and hurried to join Leon for the safer distance.

It was a good thing too. Wesker was done retreating and waltzed directly toward them. Opening fire, he bobbed and weaved, imperceptive with his crazy burst of speed ability. She noticed he could sense when a bullet was in actual trajectory for him and when it wasn't.

The combat brought them into a large bedroom with a ridiculous amount of space and a king sized bed. Leon ran in to engage Wesker with a mere knife to give her time to reload. She took the opportunity and huffed in annoyance.

Seeing her partner thrown across the room to hit the far wall, she swallowed and steadied. Claire fired off two rounds before he was on her, gripping the wrist of the hand holding the gun and wrenching it painfully. She threw out her other fist and he caught it without looking. He shoved her backward and she stumbled, finding her balance as quickly as she could while curious why he didn't attack in the opening.

“Chris!”

Startled by Leon's exclamation, she jerked to see the door to the room. Chris was standing there. She thought she might cry tears of relief right then and there.

“Chris!”

“Thanks for joining us, Chris,” Wesker said, a smirk lifting one side of his face. “Now the odds are fair. Two on two.”

Her brother's empty expression visibly quivered, limbs jerking in an odd motion. The disturbance disappeared and his features smoothed into calm again. Something was wrong with him. He didn't seem okay at all.

He ran for them, intending to do violence. Leon moved into view and looked until she looked in turn.

“I've got your brother. Keep it together.”

“Leon-”

“I know.”

Her worry died on her lips. Of course he knew. He wouldn't hurt Chris. Watching him dash forth to lead Chris somewhere away from them, she focused on her own opponent. He was walking leisurely closer.

She shot for his contented smile, missed by a mile, and found herself thrown into the bed frame. She let out a pained cry but refused to really feel the pain in her shoulder. Claire rose and Wesker was on her, reaching to grab her by the jacket collar.

The tip of the gun put to his thigh, she squeezed the trigger. She saw the bullet had dug into the floor, Wesker whooshing out of the way in what had to have been a millisecond prior to the bullet hitting him. What the hell...

Claire heard Leon shout and muttering from out of her range of sight. She wouldn't look around or allow herself to be distracted. One false move and it could be the end of her. That was assuming Wesker wasn't toying with her, which he typically did to his targets.

Gaining space between them, it lasted only because he let it, strolling for her calm. He wasn't concerned in the slightest. She lifted her gun and fired, shooting multiple times. The third grazed his arm but he gave no reaction.

She sidestepped and lowered the weapon to search for a new position to shoot. When she tried to move past, she almost thought he was going to let her. His hand stretched out and grabbed her by the back of the neck. He'd moved so fast she didn't see the motion until he had her.

Uncomfortable grunts escaped her from being held aloft in such a manner. She fought to wriggle free and threw an arm to smack him in the head. He avoided the attempt and released her by tossing her to the floor. Claire scrambled to get up and he removed his revolver, pointing it at her. She froze, stricken, and he approached. He lowered the weapon as he reached her. His boot rose to come down on her in exchange.

Wesker ceased mid-stomp when a beep sounded on his person. She lowered her arms from where they defended her head and sprawled back, rising to a knee. He wasn't paying her any attention, gaze intent on the handheld device. It was possible he was reading something. She thought she could identify text reflecting in the lens of his sunglasses.

His eyes glowed bright red and she shrank away, subconsciously trying to appear smaller. It was so unnatural. He straightened his posture and returned the PDA to his coat. Glancing at her, he turned in a dismissive gesture, seeking out the hall where Leon and Chris's fighting was a deadlock.

“Chris. Time to get some air. Meet me outside.”

No! She couldn't let them get away!

Claire ran after them and discovered a dazed Leon lying perched on a forearm on the first floor. Reluctantly turning away from the door left open, she rushed to him. She didn't see any noticeable damage.

“Are you okay?”

He pushed up and settled, resting on his knees, shaking his head to clear it.

“I think we pissed him off.”

“We're going after them!”

Leon stood and nodded once in agreement. He seemed upset and irritated.

“I think the real Chris was coming out again. He was nearly back.”

“You can't be serious.”

He kicked a stray book laying on the carpet near him.

“Damn!”

Her eyes trailed to the doorway. The rain was picking up again, thunder boomed. She resigned herself to the storm and another intense fight to get her brother home.

“Don't worry. I'm gonna figure something out.”

She stared forward and Leon stood beside her.

“Don't count me out,” he admonished. “I wouldn't want to miss out on all the fun.”

Chapter Text

“It seems I may have underestimated you, Chris.”

He inhaled some rain, shocked at sudden complete autonomy and full sensations of the cold, wet, and wind. Sputtering and blinking rapidly, fingers curled around his arm, dragging him across grass. He began to push back when he realized he was off the drug and in control of his actions. It had been days since he was put on the drug regimen and left to fear he would never feel what it was to be himself again.

Pulled into Wesker's chest, he struggled to gain a hold that would let him break free. His wrists were gripped firm and a warm forehead pressed to his own. He got tired when he was coming toward the end of a six hour cycle. The drug kept him amped and hyperfocused. Already he could feel his resolve weakening and he couldn't let that happen. His sister was here with Leon. He couldn't let Wesker make him hurt them or the other way around. Either happening would be equally damaging.

“Pay no mind to those two. They were a means to an end. To get you outside with me.”

Wesker looked both ways and Chris slumped into him, body giving out. Internally he screamed. Lowering his hold to his armpits, he lifted him onto a shoulder and turned to the right, dashing at high speed. When he slid to a halt, Chris felt Wesker dipping substantially and heard a squeaking noise followed by a clatter.

The rain stopped. No. As he was shifted off the shoulder and settled on several crates pushed together, he comprehended they were under a roof. This had to be one of the warehouses he passed on his initial entrance onto the property. Practically reduced to a limp fish, he turned his head to see what Wesker was up to.

Wesker was pacing. He paused long enough to go and shut the door, but then he was pacing again. Chris laid his head back onto the crate and stared at the ceiling. His plan hadn't worked out so well.

Minutes went by and finally Chris ignored the exhaustion and forced himself to sit upright. He did recline his head and back against crates piled three high behind him though. He was in need of a twenty-four nap.

The pacing came to a standstill, Wesker standing with his back to him when he said, “You've really become quite an inconvenience for me.”

He sighed. He was so damn tired.

“Yeah, yeah. You win. You stopped my plan to get free. Be smug about it later.”

Wesker peered partially above his shoulder to see him.

“You were nothing, if not predictable.”

Chris grunted and sat up better, catching sight of the syringed needle in Wesker's grasp. He recognized his drug was in there. He would be enslaved to the man, this brief freedom all too temporary. His mind thought on his ammunition supply, the knife in its sheath, knowing it wouldn't succeed in saving him from the injection.

To say he was shocked when the dreaded item was dropped to the floor and stomped on would be an understatement. He stared at the puddle of fluid spreading around the boot, the broken glass scattered in fragments. He felt confident he must be hallucinating the wonderful sight.

“I received a document from HUNK during our encounter with your dear sister and Kennedy. He recovered it two days ago among other information, but only got to reading this particular one today.”

“Okay...”

“It's a journal written by the now deceased Laura Wesker, containing a detailed account of breaking the spirit of a hero. You claimed during the six weeks held by them, a drug was used which has caused you memory loss for that time. Do you stand by this account?”

His eyes came up. He had the feeling he wouldn't like where this went. Wesker removed his sunglasses to look at him more closely. He didn't remove those often.

“For a period of time, they doped you with a P30 variant. They administered the control drug in lubricant.”

The disconnect, the foreign sensations... A type of P30 explained it.

He shuddered, a cold chill sweeping through him. He blamed it on the rotten weather. His gaze locked on a spot past the man's shoulder.

“I knew it. You claimed not to remember. You lied.”

“I don't,” he stubbornly denied.

“Hm... Let's see...”

Wesker reached into his coat and switched on the PDA. He read from it as soon as he had the page open he wanted.

“Variation of P30 control drug retrieved from Africa, adjusted for use with the 'hero'. 'Hero' will be hereby referred to as 'subject' for documentation purposes. Variant drug tested and used by JW and MW to copulate with the subject in custody. Had no real value to our research, aside from gaining reluctant consent from the subject to save lives. Confirming by his reaction afterward, his spirit will not be broken indefinitely. Phase two begun.”

He shook his head, adamant to stop him right there. Shifting his body, he was too tired to get on his feet just yet. That spoiled his intentions for a fight. He really was fooling himself when it came to Wesker.

“Drug considered to be in potential early stages of effect by JW, although it is possible subject simply enjoyed activity. After an hour and a half, drug identified to be in full effect by MW.” Wesker browsed in silence for a few seconds and then said, “Here's a part where it mentions subject displayed complete obedience and addiction. Energy levels waning but rising with drug aid.”

“Shut up.”

Wesker spared a glance but continued, skimming through parts here and there.

“Subject in extreme pain throughout. Vocal pained sounds before quieting and letting body be used. Subject showed intense pain and pleasure because of the pain. Subject in pain from repeated sexual penetration and rough treatment, yet never ceased obedience and engaged in violent-”

“You bastard!”

Wesker wasn't one to let a little interruption delay him. He started scanning the document on his device. Turning to pace the area in front of where he sat, he picked a section to continue reading.

“Here it reads subject recognized masters despite unawareness of drug controlling behavior. Impressive endurance considering skill at beginning. Drug served as aid, however, subject clearly grew disturbing sexual preferences in comparison to the normal denizens of this world's typical societies.”

In truth, he had all the memories but no recollection as to why he would let them do the things they did. He couldn't understand why he acted the way he had. He remembered feeling an insatiable need to please them and they wanted pleasure. The desire, their desire, consumed him.

“Subject metabolized drug and became aware of self in the middle of intercourse. MW continued against subject's will. Subject lost erection and was visibly upset, fearful, and confused.”

“Okay. It's true. I'm not denying it anymore! Stop reading. Stop!”

Wesker's pacing never faltered, and neither did his reading.

“Manipulated subject and self to respective climaxes. JW experienced a psychotic episode.” He halted and spun to face him. “They did this to you for more than fifty-five hours!”

Chris flexed his legs, preparing to move. He wasn't going to sit hear and listen to this shit. He didn't know what he was talking about. He didn't get to say it out loud. Wesker put him in the position to be taken. Wesker put him in danger. Wesker did.

“Subject sexual preferences are intimate contact, skin to skin, as well as enjoyment of violent, rough sex. Believe with the recent introduction of anal sex, subject has a sexual fixation on being owned and violated by a male Wesker. Suspect the subject may have had sexual relations with the Wesker there is history with, including history in captivity. As Weskers and captors, when it was made clear the subject's obedience would save two lives, subject readily accepted terms and engaged in sexual deeds subject likely never would have without this history and prior experience. What makes subject special might be Wesker number two, AW.”

“Wesker!”

He threw himself into the man and ended up hitting him below waist level. Chris latched to his legs and they both fell hard. Wesker reacted to his attempt at climbing his body, to get to the neck he planned to strangle, quicker than he hoped. Flung to his backside, his waist was straddled, hands clenching his hair.

Groaning when his head was tugged higher, he stared full on into the eyes affected by mutation.

“Metabolized drug several times during this time period, requiring two additional administrations. Subject lapsed into coma.”

Wesker had recited from memory. That wasn't fair. Please let it be the only memorized selection of words.

“My experimentation served to keep you alive.”

“That wasn't your goal, asshole,” he grunted, tugging on the man's wrists.

“Wasn't it?”

“No!”

His head bounced back to hit the floor after his hair was abruptly released. Wincing, he rubbed his throbbing skull. Goddamn it...

Wesker lifted his PDA off the ground and looked it over. In apparent good condition still, he gave his attention to the device. He wiggled beneath the man's weight, testing his available movement, but found he was trapped.

“A final note is recorded at the bottom,” he told Chris. “We've achieved our objective and proved this “hero” is breakable in that he can be made to follow orders he is opposed to. However, this does not extend indefinitely and therefore his spirit is unbreakable. These humans are what belong in the world we seek.”

“Wesker, get off,” he tried.

“Step two initiated. Survival stage two. Final test. Preserved incentive ordered to be removed from prison area. Arena prepared.”

Preserved incentive? Had she meant his sister? Out of touch, insane-

“Chris.”

Their eyes met and he chose the moment to glare. His expression softened, seeing what might have been sadness in the other. He had to be mistaken.

The handheld device was put away and Wesker stood, stepping a few feet from him. Chris shifted and got to his feet on his own steam. He didn't want or need help to do it.

“I've wasted enough time on you, Chris. You're free to do as you wish. But don't get in my way.”

“No chance in hell. I should place you under arrest.”

Wesker turned his back to him. “This will be goodbye, Chris.”

“You're part of this, Wesker. You could do something about Alex. He'll try and burn civilization to ashes.”

“Not my concern.”

He watched him stroll to the door, bending to lift it upward. His stomach clenched and he took a step forward before he was thinking about doing so. The door ascended, hitting the top, and Chris threw a punch to prevent him getting outside.

His fist caught, he was pulled close to the man standing sideways. He stared into a lightly frowning face. Wesker hadn't put his sunglasses on yet. It seemed especially vulnerable a thing. Far from the blue color he was born with, they weren't so scary on casual inspection. Or could be he had gotten used to them.

“You've stopped thinking of yourself as human, but you are.” Chris said. “Yeah, you have freaky biology now. But still, you've got human qualities.”

Wesker reached into his coat and brought out his sunglasses. He put them on, releasing Chris's fist and moving into the rainy night. Droplets were coming down slowly. Shivering at the sudden chill, he ignored the discomfort and followed the other man beginning to walk the other way.

“You worried to be less than a human so you told yourself you were greater than one instead. Learning what your life was meant to be drove you insane.”

He got to walking next to him. Wesker would move faster if he wanted to go. Chasing him when he was being granted freedom wasn't on the list of things to do, but stopping Alex Wesker was most definitely.

Amusement arose on his features. “Grown attached, Chris?”

“It isn't too late,” he carried on. “Someone tried to control your whole life and purpose. That's over and you're free. Stop screwing up and getting lost in psychosis.”

Wesker stopped and tilted his head toward him.

“What are you trying to do?”

Chris took a breath, inhaling and exhaling in a measured manner. He wasn't even sure what he was saying. These were thoughts he had without thinking too much on them.

“I think you can be a force for good in the world. Someone like you on the side of helping the world without using total destruction as an excuse for your rage and loneliness? It would be a hell of a thing to see.”

Nothing but the sounds of wind and light rain. A few moments passed and a howl came from somewhere in the distance. Unpleasant memories of 1998 swirled through his consciousness. Blurs of images, nothing concrete. Of that he could be thankful for.

“Your self-righteousness knows no bounds.”

Wesker disappeared into the night in the blink of an eye. He was left alone and he couldn't comprehend why it bothered him. His emotions threatening to churn up and become an issue, he changed his thoughts to duty.

A future without fear of bio-weapon attacks had once been the mission he lost sight of when he thought he lost Jill. He was a special agent for the BSAA. There was a world to fight for.

/

The narrow passage below the ground brought them to a new discovery. An expansive room had been built here. A hidden place to store sleeping Wesker children. Among the tall cylinder cases fit to encase humans, there were men fighting.

Claire identified all of them were present at the arena building where she was held prisoner in a separate section for a while. Miles Wesker was someone she recognized as working with her and her brother's captors. Lex Mason, also known as Alex Wesker, she knew from her partnership with Leon searching for Chris. Kincaid too. He was practically the guy's shadow. And of course, Hiro, the Wesker who ditched them to pursue whatever it was he pursued.

It appeared Hiro had teamed up with Miles to battle Alex and Kincaid. Hiro was lagging though. Something seemed wrong. It was as though he was putting forth extra effort to compensate an unknown reason.

“Never saw this coming.”

Beside her, Leon took everything in too. “You're not kidding.”

A heavy thud prompted her to look across to the far side of the room.

“Claire!”

She rotated her attention right, where she somehow failed to see who came running through that door until then.

“Chris!”

The occupants of the room engaged in violence ceased any movement upon hearing their shouts. A shot fired from Kincaid's gun, bits of dirt sprinkling out of the cracks caused by the bullet embedded in the wall. It was a spot on the wall three inches to the left of where Chris was standing.

“Run!” she cried.

Alex rushed through a row of upright tubes and sped impossibly fast, headed straight for her brother. Leon joined in the fight, racing for Kincaid, who was lining up his weapon to shoot at Chris a second time. He wanted to kill him badly.

Her brother wasn't so easy to take down and he was able to move out of the way. Follow-up attacks tried to batter him to the floor. She got distracted by Leon cracking an empty tube with his back, falling. Kincaid was giving him difficulty?

Leon up and moving, appearing no worse for wear, she relaxed. He was a tough and amazingly skilled agent. He could take care of himself. She searched the room, wondering what she should be doing to help without becoming a nuisance.

There was a glass case opposite where she stood. Some grenades, some other assorted items indistinguishable from her current location. Time to move and be useful.

“Stay out of the fight!”

She gasped at the snarling yell in her ear. She was in the process of turning to see him when a handcuff clamped around her right wrist. Cursing, she watched Wesker close the other cuff on a light fixture.

“Wesker, what are you doing?”

He gave no reply. He wasn't looking at her.

“Chris!” Her worried shout of alarm transferred into one for his safety instead. “Chris!”

The momentary distraction put Chris in danger. Alex got a few punches on him before Wesker appeared behind them, slamming an arm down against his back. A kick evaded by Alex, the two spun into sudden rapid movements to beat the other. It was real work to keep up with the motions.

When they next parted, Alex dove through the air in a spiral pattern, going for Chris. It was exasperating. Go for each other and leave her brother alone!

“You're Wesker's weakness. I knew targeting you would bring him to me.”

Chris fell to one knee, forced to go still when he had a gun aimed dead center on his face. She was impressed to find he was serious and wary, but didn't seem afraid or worried. He glared right into the eyes of the man who could end his life with the squeeze of a trigger.

That's why you let me go?”

Alex smiled, enjoying the moment but remaining mindful of Wesker a few yards away.

“Your actions serve to delay the inevitable. Little else. This world consumes itself. I'm just speeding up the process.”

“You're as delusional as he is.”

A steel-tipped boot smacked him in the jaw, flattening him to the ground.

“He is mine to kill.”

“That's rubbish,” Alex said in response to Wesker's claim, lowering the gun to point at Chris's prone form. “We are alone. We don't need anyone else.”

Claire breathed a sigh of relief to see Wesker rush forward, a well-placed arm driving her brother's attacker out of immediate proximity. What the hell was this guy talking about anyway? Didn't he have someone on his side helping him? Of course, didn't Wesker have people helping him too? Where were they?

“We pretend not to understand, but we do, and that is what frustrates us.”

Hiro was speaking, confronting Alex in lieu of his violent encounter with Kincaid and Leon. She couldn't see Miles. She wasn't certain he was here any longer.

“Because how can we compensate the things we've done if it's true, if we're like anybody else despite our mutation. It's a “condition”, as many things are labeled these days. How can we even begin to atone our crimes against others, not only to them, but to ourselves?”

“Sounds poetic,” Leon commented, paying excessive focus on his handgun.

She realized he was out of ammo and probably deciding what to do about it.

Alex smirked, never tearing his gaze from his hostage stuck on the floor.

“Kincaid.”

The simple utterance of his name spoke much more to him than her or anyone else. His friend avoided those trying to box him in and made it past them by setting a timed charge. Automatically reacting to the loud explosion and smoke, she raised an arm in front of her face as a shield, blinking and looking in the other direction.

Oh God. Kincaid had knives ready and charged for her. She pulled her gun in the awkward position she was, struggling to aim and shoot well with her non-dominant hand. She got off two shots that went wide, and closed her eyes, turning away.

Claire peered upward sharply when she didn't feel pain or sense a person closer than a few feet. There were two people a few feet from her. Kincaid in his attempt to harm her, and Hiro in an effort to protect her. She didn't have time to register how startled she was to witness this stranger hurry to her defense. Hiro's chest was a mess of gore, splattered open by a powerful gun fired pressed to his chest.

She could only stare when Kincaid removed a grenade off the backside of his belt and dug into the gaping hole. He spun and kicked Hiro away from him, seconds prior to the explosion. Sparks flew while fire burned inside his chest cavity. Claire stared at the sight. Hiro collapsed to the floor, eyes closed. He wasn't moving.

Kincaid twisted sharply and shot a round Wesker narrowly sidestepped. Something other than a regular bullet hit the wall and dropped. What was that?

Chris rolled to the side and up on his feet. Alex stalked toward him while he took steps backward with caution. He had a gun, so why didn't he try to shoot? Maybe he just liked playing with his food. Because prey was how he was looking at her brother.

Alex suddenly reversed direction, pivoting to avoid a bullet when Wesker fired in retaliation for the unexpected assault on him. The distraction was enough for Kincaid to hit Wesker in the back with a non-bullet, using the unusual gun she now noticed he was carrying. Wesker reached searchingly until he touched the offending object. He yanked the syringe out and released an incensed grunt.

She watched Alex take advantage to eliminate the distance and stab him in the heart. He didn't have a knife, but a similar syringe capped with a needle. The one Alex had was longer, carried a bigger dose of whatever it was that was in there.

But Wesker already had him. He rotated his assailant's wrist to what had to be a painful extent, and forced the point of the needle to penetrate his chest, pushing the drug. Injected, Alex stumbled backward in his surprise and Wesker got around his attempt to restart a fight, reaching in his enemy's jacket. Recovering another syringe, he jammed it in Alex too, aiming for the heart again.

“This isn't what you were trying to inject me with earlier. Changing tactics?”

The man fell, brought to his knees, and Wesker sneered, relishing the triumph. She supposed he knew what was in the syringe, because moving back, the smile grew wider. She checked Kincaid, who had chosen inaction awaiting the result of the injections.

“Kill Kincaid.”

Bewildered, Claire watched Alex push forward to attack his ally. Everyone rendered equally puzzled or uncertain, they just observed too. She assumed it would be a short fight.

On the defensive, Kincaid made use of his knives and reflexes. Alex tried to punch a fist through his chest, missed, and swung around with a gun in hand to shoot him point blank between the eyes. Kincaid ducked, swerved, a hand gripping the gun to keep it angled away, and pushed a knife to the hilt. It struck him in the heart. The second knife pierced his ear into the brain. Releasing his grip on both knives, he stepped back and the Wesker child dropped. Already..dead?

Leon jogged over to her, keeping an eye on Kincaid and Wesker, but otherwise focused on her predicament. He worked on the cuffs, attempting to pick the lock while she did a whole lot of staring. A few seconds later and she couldn't resist.

“How did you do that?”

She meant how did he kill someone with astonishing abilities that easy, that quick. He turned to her, appearing regretful. The guy understood her total bemusement and the answer she sought just fine.

“It was a great job. Now it's over.” He addressed the rest of the people in the room. “This concludes business. Our paths will likely not cross again.”

Kincaid strode purposefully for the exit nearest him. It wasn't the way she and Leon arrived. He didn't seem to be feeling any remorse whatsoever. As a hit man he devoted his life to kill people, so he did. Whatever Alex Wesker's plan was for the world, it died with him.

“Kincaid!” Chris called out.

“New world would have been interesting to see,” he mused, never breaking stride. “Nothing lasts forever.”

Nobody gave chase when he left. They listened as the footsteps quieted. Leon succeeded in freeing her from the cuffs with a satisfied huff.

Rubbing her wrist, she scanned their surroundings. Two dead bodies, one body missing, one body standing near enough to her brother to make her uncomfortable. Weskers. She was not a fan.

She ignored the possible threat of Wesker and ran to her brother, hugging him tight.

“Chris.”

“Claire,” he murmured in her ear. “I'm okay. Promise.”

A phone rang. The device belonged to Leon, who tugged it out to answer. He didn't say much and then he hung up, looking to her and Chris.

“BSAA is two minutes out.”

Turning back to her brother, he pulled out of the hug but allowed her to keep a firm grasp on his shirt.

“You've taken care of things better than I could.”

She wasn't sure that was true. Her doubt must have showed on her face, because Chris nudged her cheek.

“What is it?”

Claire decided to let it go. She had her brother back. They were bringing him home like they vowed they would.

“Forget it. I'm just ready to get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Chris agreed, glancing toward Wesker, who stood stiff and formal close by.

“I guess I'll be the one to say it,” Leon said. “What do we do about them?”

All of them contemplated the four slumbering Weskers hooked up to life support in the tubes. They could let the BSAA make the choice when they arrived, wake them and give them a chance to go their own ways, or kill them before they were uncovered. Claire was aware a BSAA discovery would mean retrieval, where they would face experimentation in a laboratory, possibly for the remainder of their lives. She didn't like to admit it, but she was grateful to know the decision wouldn't be hers to make.

Chapter Text

In the underground laboratory constructed by Alex, Chris lost his partner. But this time it was a good thing. His partner had been Albert Wesker. He hadn't exactly become his partner willingly either.

While Claire and Leon debated over a computer allowing for a self-destruct to be initiated, he was peering into the cryotube which held Felicia. Miles didn't take her. He could recall how he shared things about his comrades when they passed through the tunnel leading to this lab. His sole purpose for coming here was to find her.

A brutal fighter, smug, and often full of rage, he truthfully seemed to care for his partners. He wasn't simply a straight psychopath. Why leave her?

Although she was being kept asleep by a steady intake of drugs administered by machines, Felicia looked sort of at peace. He wondered whether Miles could have thought the same, and couldn't bring himself to wake her. Chris shifted stances, growing uneasy thinking he was mixing thoughts of his former “master” with his own. It could be he was too fresh off the control drug to be entirely him. The potential reason he was trying not to consider, was that he understood Wesker a lot more after everything that happened, and this was why he believed he knew what any Wesker would think or do.

“Leon, have you decided?” he asked.

“Yeah. The BSAA is outside investigating and clearing the property above ground as we speak. We don't have a whole lot of time before they find this place. Their choices are life in captivity, where they might be kept asleep like this, or us finishing them off now.”

Wesker turned away from the machine running a tank with an unconscious man in it.

“Should we shut down the programs these are utilizing, they will asphyxiate in their sleep. As extra precaution, you can commence the self-destruct sequence.”

Claire and Leon narrowed their eyes at him in an oddly identical manner. Their gun hands came up a little also, as though they were itching to keep a weapon trained on him. Wesker in this close a proximity to them, he couldn't blame the paranoia. The son of a bitch was trouble.

He pushed his sunglasses to settle higher on the bridge of his nose.

“You're reconsidering because I said it, even though you're thinking the same thing.”

“Does that surprise you?” Claire demanded.

Wesker turned back to the cryotube containing the man. It would be Marco or Hans. He memorized the list of names a long time ago. Once he realized they were dead set on messing up the world. His guess was Hans, by the general pale appearance. He could be wrong.

“I spend every waking moment fighting against my more..detrimental urges. It's the same for them. We became like this after death mutated us to be unique and yet unstable creatures.”

Humble for a change. He must be dreaming.

“Leon. You're the uncompromised agent on the scene,” he said. “Decide.”

“We take care of them here. They were created by Umbrella. They had to have committed some evil. They were designed to be weapons serving their cause. There's nothing else to it.”

“I don't know, Leon...”

Claire's concern registered, but the government agent was firm in his decision. His eyes swept across the computer screen and he hunched to press keys. Wesker placed his palm flat on an empty cryotube, arm extended. The positioning caught his attention, and then his focus narrowed on the grenade he was grasping in the other hand.

“An enclosed space and gathered together like you have. I can blow you up. You have no recourse.”

He had no idea where the grenade came from. The arrival of the BSAA was imminent. This could be some sort of retaliation for it. Losing his mind wasn't exactly a one time thing for the guy. Great.

Wesker hummed in audible thoughtfulness. “Would rather not.”

The three of them practically gaped when the threat disarmed himself, tossing the grenade aside, pin intact. Chris searched his bored expression for reasoning. He could eliminate them but didn't. Wesker had numerous opportunities to kill his enemies quick over the years. Right now he was spinning on a heel and striding for the exit.

They glanced at one another before Leon went back to setting the self-destruct system. Claire was telling him to give them plenty of time to make it to the surface. They had to warn anyone who might be treading within the danger zone where the ground could be affected. It was smart thinking.

“Claire, go out the way we came in and meet whoever is in charge. Be careful.”

She let out a deliberate laugh. “I haven't forgotten the creepy things wandering around out there.”

He jogged to the door Wesker had gone out of, wondering if he could still catch him.

“Chris! Where are you going?”

Leon looked up, tapped a final key and stepped back. “Set for fifteen minutes. Claire, hurry. I'll go with Chris to pursue Wesker. He's a wanted terrorist. It's our job.”

Claire definitely wished to argue, but she saw the logic and was dealing with a time constraint. Her hesitation dried up when Leon promised not to take his eyes from Chris. He didn't stick around to worry about anything else. He entered the narrow hall and rushed through, spending brief time passing through the lab room. Reaching the most problematic area, he ran into the dark tunnel, praying he wouldn't run into any walls.

A light beam appeared behind him and met up to his current spot. It was very helpful. He could actually see where the hell he was going, and the solid wall that had been a few inches from colliding with his nose.

“I liked you, Chris, long ago when we were on the same team.”

Chris searched for where in the darkness the voice was coming from. The voice was echoing in the tunneled pathway. Leon drew to a halt beside him but he chose to keep moving in the next moment. The man and flashlight soon followed.

“You were the exception. I never really liked anyone aside from Birkin.”

“Show yourself!”

“I did call myself a god because I couldn't stand to accept being an experiment and nothing more.”

“What? Why are you telling me?”

He was pretty sure they had to be reaching the end of the tunnel. He couldn't see Wesker, but he sounded close. Chris tightened his grip on the handgun, expecting to find him around the bend a couple yards ahead.

“I've considered your plan. You tried to gain a captor's trust, to make me like you enough to let you go free. I suspect your act became authentic by accident.”

Getting impatient and angry, he rounded the corner. Despite his preparedness, the arm holding his gun was shoved to the side and he was tugged off balance by the shirt. He growled his disgruntlement but was at least happy to be in real light.

One of the light poles surrounding the perimeter made Wesker visible. Leon emerged from the tunnel, knife in the hand not grasping his flashlight. Loud propellers rotating through the air drew his gaze for a few seconds.

There were helicopters in the sky, searchlights casting beams across the ground. Fortunate for them, the rain had all but stopped, skies clearing. It would ease their coverage of the area for the teams investigating on foot.

Wesker looked between the two agents, amusement evident. “Aren't you supposed to arrest a wanted terrorist?”

He yanked his arm out of the hold. “Wesker, in a way, you might have been manufactured. But they're gone and you're here. You have choices.”

“Chris, what are you doing?” Leon asked.

He wasn't certain. His thoughts were rushing too rapid and his heart was thudding too noticeable. He was irredeemably compromised in the moment, however, he was unyielding as always.

“I believe you can be non-destructive. You can change your goals, be a force for good in the world if you try. Well, what I actually believe is that you can't change. That you're an Umbrella creation reject. You like to prove me wrong, don't you?”

Wesker gazed upward at a helicopter passing nearby. Was he even hearing him? Frowning, he squared his stance and set a determined stare on the back of his neck.

“I can't forgive you for the things you did in the past,” he said. “Maybe if you cut the bullshit that will hurt people or destroy the planet, and start working your intelligence on something good for the world, this won't end with me launching a rocket down your throat.”

He was given a slight frown, Wesker studying him. Chris kept talking, feeling nervous.

“You're a bastard but not evil. Keep your insanity under control, and stop working extreme means to shape the world you wish it was. When you were my captain, you were a good leader. Even if you were playing a role, you've never been much of an actor. Clever, strong, and an idealist. That was the genuine you.”

Chris was dedicated to whatever mission lay before him. He was freed and would return to the BSAA tonight. He had hope and an optimistic outlook, relieved he would get a break from the constant stresses brought on by hostile imprisonment.

“I'm more of a realist, accepting things for what they are and trying to help wherever I can to keep people in a safer world. You want a world where the bad doesn't happen and it's better for everyone. Your methods are flawed to the extreme, but the goal is a good thing. I had trouble reconciling that truth a lot.”

Wesker looked past him to Leon. “I suppose I could attempt avoiding a mass slaughter.”

Chris steeled himself. “You try again, I will stop you.”

He gave him what he wanted and looked at him direct. “You know, this will end with one of us dying.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Do you truly believe it will be me?”

“I don't know,” he admitted. “I do know, I'm not gonna stop until I'm dead.”

He smirked. “Perhaps.”

“I'm letting you go, Wesker. Guess I'm not entirely predictable.”

The smirk remained unchanged. “Until next time, Chris.”

Wesker started walking away again and he knew he wouldn't follow. A part of him wanted to and he hated that stupid, irrational part. It was the drug still leaving his system. It was spending so much time with the man in the last few months. He'd get wise again after he got some distance and sleep.

“Chris, you sure?”

“How much ammo are you carrying?”

Leon balked. “Uh..none.”

“He walks today. Doesn't mean he'll get to some other day.”

Chris shoved his gun into the holster, contemplating too many things to focus on just one. Leon suggested they rendezvous with the BSAA and Claire and he agreed. They'd force him into quarantine until they determined he wasn't a threat to national security or a liability. Jill was probably undergoing a similar condition. She was missing longer than he was, which made him think they might keep her isolated from the public for a longer period. That was a slightly depressing notion.

“One more thing.”

He would have yelled out if Wesker hadn't pressed a hand over his mouth. Wide-eyed, he stared into the sunglasses of the bastard gripping his throat painfully tight.

Smiling, in a low voice he said, “I'll be sure to drop a hint in order to bring you to where I am. Give you a chance, as I did in that special place in Africa.”

A jerk of his knee allowed him to get him to back off, Leon observing them carefully, ready to move in at the tiniest provocation.

“Wait. What? You intentionally brought me there? I was assigned. A picture that looked like Jill was...”

He trailed off, lost in his thoughts. How did Josh come by that picture again? Was it under suspicious circumstances? Too easy?

Wesker's smile grew. “How did you think the BSAA caught wind of a weapons dealer named Irving?”

Resolved to not be made a fool of by Wesker as his last laugh, the sought attainment fell to pieces when lips pressed to his own. Pulling back again, glowing red eyes bore into him.

“This changes nothing. Right, Chris?”

“Wesker!”

His shout amounted to nothing. Wesker had disappeared and it was unlikely he'd be coming back. Shaking his head to shake the moment straight out, he turned around to find Leon strolling up to him. Chris waited with bated breath for what he would have to say.

“Want some gum?”

An explosion rocked the earth beneath their feet, dislodging them into a brief stumble for balance. There were shouts in the near distance. Leon glanced at his watch, disapproval showing on his face.

“Less than fifteen minutes. Oh well. Game over.”

Chris smiled, content. “Yeah, I know.”