Your New DiseaseSeries/Disclaimer:
I don't own Resident Evil. I just like to pretend I can write fanfiction about it.Pairing(s):
Albert Wesker/Chris RedfieldStory Theme:
Without You - Breaking BenjaminBeta: palinka_femme Summary:
Hunting Albert Wesker was as natural as breathing for Chris - but maybe his reasons for such a relentless pursuit aren't as simple as he likes to think.
I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, first of all. I really appreciate every single comment I get on this story more than you could ever possibly know. Keep up the encouragement and I won't be able to help but write more, promise.
This chapter is a little bit long (about 6,000 words) but hopefully it won't lose your interest. There's some real Chris and Wesker interaction, which I'm both excited and nervous for. Hopefully I handled it believably and you all enjoy it. I got a lot of help from my lovely beta when it came to Chris, I'd like to thank her for the fantastic ideas formally, so thank you, Natalie! This chapter might seem a bit filler-ish but it was necessary to make the story flow with an inkling of sense behind it.
So, without further rambling, enjoy~!Edit
: I added a bit more to this chapter after a reviewer pointed out some things that could be included to help keep Chris, well, IC. :'3
- x - x - x -
Waking up with a headache always seemed cliché when he could remember what happened before he lost consciousness. While it was logical, completely and totally logical, it seemed so annoyingly predictable when everything was considered. His memory was hazy as he scrambled towards consciousness, remembering above all else that he'd fallen asleep somewhere unsafe. A mind already trained for self-preservation was running through how many things didn't make sense right now, the first of which being that he'd been knocked out in a volcano and now felt more cold than anything. His bare arms tinged with goose bumps now that his brain could respond to the situation without sleep blanketing it. The operative, pained and confused, rolled onto his side and heard the distinct creak of springs shift beneath him.
His stomach felt like it was hosting its own circus and if Chris had eaten anything worth throwing up in the past 48 hours, he was sure his insides would have been all over that plan and the floor. The acids bubbled and churned unpleasantly and he moved his hand to it instinctively, curling up faintly like a child with a stomach-ache until it settled. The analogy of feeling like he'd been hit by a truck seemed like an understatement, but he swung his legs over the side of the bed anyway. While the entirety of his body felt like Jell-O, he knew all too well that resting wasn't an option until he had a handle on the situation. Forcing open his eyes made him realize, however, that the grip he would need in order to relax wasn't going to come easily. Not that it ever did.
It wasn't exactly a standard room and looked more like something pulled out of those ghost-hunting television shows where they visit asylums. The walls were bare and the bed seemed completely out of place within the almost claustrophobic space. He was reluctant to head towards the door on the opposite side of the room, figuring that this had already started off so well that it was going to be locked anyway. Instead he started groping for his gun or PDA only to find that the only things he'd been left with were his clothes – again, not a terribly surprising development. His knee pads were also missing, however, which seemed slightly odd.
Despite appreciating the room's dim lighting, he dropped his head into his hands and ground the heels as far into his eye-sockets as they could go. The pressure didn't help ease the headache, but it did seem to make the annoying cloud of grogginess disappear long enough to think about the last thing that had happened. He and Sheva had pretty much finished the job, dropping Wesker into an immeasurable amount of swirling lava where he couldn't get a decent foothold to climb back out. In his flailing, Wesker had knocked the two of them backwards and he felt the searing burn of impact spread across his skull before the orange glow of their surroundings turned black. Sure enough, as he ran his hands through the short brown strands he flinched as his fingers came into contact with an unpleasant and sensitive bump.
"Good job," he muttered to himself, lowering his hand and looking around the room. It didn't look like anything he'd seen around the BSAA headquarters, which ruled out the idea that he'd been resting in the infirmary wing. Pushing himself to his feet he finally walked over to check the door only to find it completely smooth and unwilling to open even with a decent shove that made his head throb unappreciatively.
"I wouldn't recommend getting a running start either," a voice all too familiar to him slithered in from the other side of the door. "It's locked quite effectively."
There were no windows around the room or in the door for that matter, and the only light provided was from the small gap at the bottom where it didn't quite touch the floor. Wesker must have been standing off to the side because there wasn't any light obscured, but Chris punched the door anyway. He didn't do it with any intention of hurting himself, but he still felt the tremor up his arm and it made him shudder as though a bunch of little spiders had been crawling along his nerves and suddenly disappeared into his brain. The thoughts were fragmented at best, but they were gradually coming together after hearing a voice that had only meant bad things in his past. It was as though there was a switch in the back of his mind that was flipped simply by hearing it, and now all the important things were drawn to it like a magnet.
Starting with the people that weren't in the room with him.
"Where are the others?" It was more a demand than a question, his brain gathering up the pieces that made his friends more important than his own life. Now that he knew who was behind it, there was no question he was fearing for their lives - particularly that of Sheva. She'd been knocked out as well, had Wesker taken her too? Thoughts of something much worse than being kidnapped by Wesker started to form, as if he were keeping note of them on a list, but he tried to shove them away.
"Don't play games, just tell me where they are!"
Agonizing seconds ticked off between them and Chris was fighting not to scream or throw himself into breaking down a door he knew he had little chance of destroying. His brain felt like it was trying to create two of itself in the most painful way it could find and though his adrenaline was up, he hadn't rested nearly long enough to be of any real use. He needed sleep and food before he'd be anything close to efficient again - but he knew if he could get through this door he'd try to strangle Wesker with his bare hands. Every second that Wesker hesitated to answer him allowed five more gruesome outcomes for his friends to pop into his mind.
"I don't know," Wesker finally conceded, "I have no interest in any of your comrades and left the girl unconscious in the volcano."
"What about Jill? And Josh?" He'd asked before being sure if he even wanted the answer - the news of Sheva was enough to make his stomach churn in something between rage, worry, and guilt.
"I told you, Chris, I had no interest in any of your comrades."
He wanted to argue that Wesker had already kidnapped Jill once, but the words wouldn't come to him. It sounded like Wesker hadn't taken anyone else and he got the feeling if he kept pressing he'd just get the same reiterated answer until Wesker got fed up and left. He wasn't sure why he didn't like that plan, maybe just because if Wesker left then that meant that he'd have nothing to do but think about Sheva. There was a chance she was still alive, his partners seemed to have a knack for surviving impossible odds. Just like when he'd heard about Jill, he wrapped his mind solely around that. She was alive, he just needed to confirm it.
His forehead dropped against the cool metal in defeat, exhaling a long breath and feeling too sick to bother continuing the fight for answers. His recent surge of panic and the feeling he'd had a boulder dropped on him made his entire body ache. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw against the dead-end feeling of powerlessness and the realization that it was once again Wesker who was responsible.
"Why the hell can't you just stay dead?"
"Gods can't die."
Judging by the faint jump that overtook his body when Wesker responded, Chris hadn't been expecting to be heard. But it wasn't too surprising that Wesker's hearing would be heightened and, if he were in the mood for it, Chris would have cursed himself more for the oversight. While the reply was smooth, Chris noticed a faint difficulty to it - as though Wesker were having some trouble breathing.
"You're not a god, Wesker," he practically spat the name, pulling away from the door to shuffle back towards the bed. If he wasn't getting out of here any time soon, then he wasn't going to waste valuable energy by standing, "Your plan failed, remember? Just like all the others."
"A set back I have you to blame for, yet again, which undoubtedly brings up the question of why you're here to begin with-"
"Save it. I'm sick of hearing you talk."
He eased himself back onto the bed, keeping a hand over his stomach that was still flipping the imaginary food inside of it over. Some part of his mind was screaming at him that this was a bad idea and that he was being too calm for the situation, but it was lost in the rest of the nerves which were screaming at him for various different reasons. The only comfort he could take in this was that if Wesker really wanted him dead that badly he would have killed him already. Unfortunately it was a ridiculously small reassurance because there were a number of other worse things that Wesker could have wanted from him. Something to test on was only the first that came to mind.
"Unfortunate," Wesker said, the contemplation in his voice making it come out somewhat more level than the previous exchange had been. "I suggest you get used to it."
"Oh yeah? Why's that?"
"Because my voice is the only one you're going to be hearing for quite some time."
The words themselves were bad enough, but when coupled with the natural arrogance in the other's voice it made Chris's skin do more than crawl. It practically writhed against his muscles which twitched to do exactly what Wesker had advised him against – a running start at the door. He rested his elbows on his thighs, wrapping one hand around the other and squeezing until it practically hurt. Not being much of a masochist, pain was just the thing he needed to keep him from trying to take the door off of its invisible hinges and hit Wesker with it. His jaw clenched tightly and he felt the tension run up to his temples – if the room hadn't been so cold he knew he would have been sweating by now.
"And what the hell does that mean?"
Wesker hesitated and Chris hated himself for practically being able to see him rolling the words around in his head. He was well spoken and too smart not to take advantage of the available time to word whatever he had to say just right.
"Despite your considerable work ethic, I think the BSAA will find it mandatory to consider you permanently retired after our encounter in Kijuju."
His mind couldn't completely wrap around the words at first, in part due to the pain and in part due to the fact he tended to take things quite literally. In situations where that was an asset, it made him able to pick up on details acutely. But Wesker rarely ever came out and said what he meant and Chris was just about to ask what the hell that was supposed to mean when the question answered itself for him. Within seconds he was on his feet and back at the door, this time his hand collided with the metal more solidly and his nerves wailed in agony at him for it, but he pushed it aside. The feelings that had surged to the surface had now become a tangled ball of anxiety in his stomach. Arms latched out to every organ they could find and started pulling them inward, making his insides shrink and contort to the point it almost hurt and his heart was beating furiously with the struggle.
"Dammit, Wesker! What the hell do you accomplish by keeping me here?"
He always asked even though he knew that Wesker would never give him an answer or, if he did, it wasn't a direct one. Wesker derived too much pleasure in keeping him five steps behind to bother sacrifice his own enjoyment. In this situation it became even less likely that he'd get an answer, because Wesker couldn't see the reaction for himself through the metal between them. So instead Chris heard him chuckle, garnering what enjoyment he needed from Chris's attempts at forcing his way out before the lengthy stride of his boots on concrete disappeared down the hallway.
All he could do was punch the door again.
- x - x - x -
Either he had gotten too much sleep over the expanse of time during which he was unconscious, or he was having trouble sleeping in general. He wanted to believe it was the former because he didn't like admitting that he had anything psychologically wrong with him. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that he had seen enough horror throughout his thirty-five years to last anyone a life time, but that didn't mean that it got to him. The BSAA shrink was always trying to talk to him, like Chris was some nut he could crack open and then prescribe pills to so the pain would go away. But Chris was never in any pain, not really, and he had nightmares but who wouldn't?
He tapped his fingers near silently against the spaces between his knuckles, both hands resting on the expanse of his stomach. Now that he was awake he realized the bed wasn't particularly comfortable and he didn't smell so great. It wasn't anything too distracting, but his mind was busy picking up on everything it possibly could and lodging it in some imaginary file somewhere as if it would be important later. He tried to make his fingers go still when he thought he heard something outside but all it did was cause his foot to start twitching. Eventually he gave up lying down and sat upright, legs crossed in front of him on the mattress.
Nothing about this situation was putting him at ease and his head was still throbbing, not assisting in his attempts at sleep. He struggled to think beyond his limited realm of ideas of why Wesker would have not only let him live, but gone through the effort of kidnapping him and faking their deaths. There was no way Wesker suddenly thought of the BSAA as a threat and even if he did, it was more likely that Jill would be the only operative to pursue them if they thought he was alive. He was a decorated member of the Alliance, yes, but they had missions around the globe to deal with and Wesker wouldn't have left a solid lead. All of that was pointless in the end, however, because the truth of the matter was that Wesker made it appear like they had both perished in the volcano.
His thoughts flicked back to what had happened, how sure he had been that Wesker wasn't going to escape and that the nightmare of his existence really was over. His shoulders tensed as he recalled Sheva – what had happened to her? Had Wesker left her alive or killed her and the possibility that someone might have seen what he was up to? The thought of another good agent, another good friend, dying…Chris shook his head and erased the thoughts like they'd been written on an Etch-A-Sketch. Dwelling on what had happened to his partner wasn't going to help him get out of where he was now.
Then again, at this point, it didn't look like much was.
Unexpectedly a shudder ran down his back, making his head give an unappreciative swell when it reached the top of his spine. Chris, used to trusting his gut instinct, temporarily abandoned thought to listen for the sound of footsteps or anything out of the ordinary silence the past few hours had brought him. Nothing stood out, but then, towards the end of the thirty-second testing period, he picked up on something. His shoulders tensed and he fell still, tilting his ear towards the door. Whatever it was it had a pattern, but it was far too soft to be footsteps. His next guess was a pulse but then he realized it was more like a guttural breathing – and it wasn't coming from the door at all.
He whirled around to see some type of malformed B.O.W standing behind him, though his glimpse was only brief as he fell off the bed and slammed his elbow and head into the concrete floor. No part of his sore body appreciated the additional abuse, or the fact that he insisted on pushing it to move even after the fact. He rolled twice, putting some distance between himself and the monster before jumping to his feet again. Somehow it just didn't seem unlikely that Wesker would have done that – but the terrifying thing was that he swore the room had been empty. How did he get the thing in here in the first place?
Another agonizing throb, determined to split his head in half, practically blurred his vision as he looked in the direction of the monster again only to find nothing was there. The space where the hulking figure had been was now completely empty, and the room entirely silent save for the protesting pulse in his ears and his own erratic breathing. He slumped against the wall and sank to the floor, but his eyes wouldn't lose any of their acquired wideness.
Somehow, he was totally alone.
- x - x - x -
It took a while after the first scare for him to be able to fall asleep without the paranoia of something jumping out at him. But thankfully, after the first one, there weren't many other creeping things in the dark to spook him. In his exhaustion, it seemed like his mind was too tired to even handle the usual nightmares he might have had. He was thankful for it.
Eventually, however, he woke up with a blueprint style map slid under his door and the words "Door is open" scrawled across a Post-It stuck to it. It was surprising, all things considered, because Wesker had him in the perfect spot to either kill him or experiment on him – which were the only two settings he assumed the psychopath to have. The idea of letting him out brought up all sorts of nasty possibilities, like him escaping or killing the arrogant prick. But in that single thought he remembered just how full of himself Wesker was and realized he probably wasn't considered much of a threat.
There was the chance that Wesker had time to recover for a rematch and considering Chris had no way to keep track of how long he had been in there, it was completely possible. After their argument, he hadn't been let out the next day, or the day after that, though truthfully his definition of days relied entirely on when he fell asleep and when he woke up. Without windows or a clock, he had little else to base the passing of time on and decided that, of all the things he could be concerned over, what hour he was walking around his room wasn't one of them.
Still, every time he woke up he felt a little bit more level-headed and attempted to think the situation through slightly more. There wasn't some great plan to be made, the flat room with its locked door wasn't particularly inspiring of an escape attempt, but at the very least he tried to assess what it was Wesker wanted by bringing him here. With little more to muse on than his confines, his thoughts went more heavily to the idea of experiments despite the fact that nothing really hinted that was the reality. Wesker hadn't even been back to see him since their first encounter.
Or, more accurately, he hadn't been back for conversation. Judging by the suggestion that no one else knew they were here, it seemed unlikely that he would have some kind of maid-service running around, so the fact that Chris woke up with food in the room implied that Wesker had at least been back. The first meal wasn't particularly grand, but it came with a side of painkillers and that was really all Chris felt he needed considering the headache had yet to go away. Hardly trusting of his old enemy, he'd tried to sit near the door to make sure the pills looked like their description only to discover that the label had been torn off. It meant another five minutes of debating what the hell the supposed medicine could be before he decided he didn't care because anything was better than his brain's attempt at division.
The next few "days" continued like that, though Chris wasn't given any more pain pills with his meal. Thankfully dehydration and hunger seemed to be the only problem and the continued supply of food and two bottles of water was enough to keep the headache from returning. In the instances when he could push the fact that Wesker was keeping him like a pet out of his mind, he actually didn't mind the situation. He could catch up on much needed sleep he'd lost over his time in Africa and was too tired to have nightmares – either that or the pills Wesker had given him were suppressing them. Either way, he wasn't complaining and just before the boredom got to be too much to handle, he woke up with that map in the same general location a tray of food would have been.
Blue hues focused on the door a good fifteen minutes after he read the little note, frowning at it as though it were going to attack him. Not only did he have no grasp on the situation, but he didn't know where he was or what could have been waiting outside of it. At least within the confines of this room he was somewhat safe and his worst threat was Wesker, who seemed less than willing to attack him. It also appeared unlikely that BOWs were just roaming the halls outside, but even the toughest one likely wasn't a challenge for the tyrant and maybe he just liked a little thrill in his dwellings. Chris really wouldn't have held it above him.
But if his stomach was any indication, the time that he was supposed to eat had already long since passed and the idea was that if he left he could find his way to a kitchen. Pushing himself to his feet he wandered over the door, standing off to the side in a trained maneuver so that if something was behind it, it wouldn't be able to jump him. He held his breath as he nudged it open, quickly drawing his hand back to protect it from an oncoming attack that really only existed in his head. Thirty seconds of silence and watching the stream of light that poured in from the hallway later, he was fairly certain nothing was going to happen. He flinched in the brightness as he stepped into the hallway, which seemed to be little more than a long section of rooms similar to his own. Going on the lack of sound alone they weren't inhabited – maybe Wesker hadn't been kidding when he suggested they were completely isolated. Not exactly a comforting thought.
Once his eyes adjusted he looked down to the map, noticing a few key places circled and a number scrawled in the top right corner.
"Great," he murmured, "My own horror movie. Lucky me."
The places on the map were the same things provided for basic living apartments – bathroom, kitchen, and even something that was labeled "lounge." There was a fourth room circled but not assigned a label and Chris's stomach clenched to think what could have been waiting for him there. Besides, considering his hunger and the fact he had been in the same disgusting clothes for an undetermined amount of time, he decided that food and showering were his top priorities. Looking towards both ends of the hallway, he shortly discovered the elevator that had been circled and headed towards it. Naturally, however, simply hitting the button wasn't enough and he frowned, already on edge and willing to punch the first frustrating thing he came across. Before he could do so, however, he recalled the number scribbled in the corner of his handy little map.
Sure enough, the elevator gave an approving lurch and started pulling him towards the next floor up. He slouched against the back of the small box, crossing his arms and trying to think of anything this could have added up to. Wesker couldn't have wanted to kill him, or else there was no point in circling all the living spaces. It also seemed to rule out experimentation, since BOWs weren't exactly concerned with personal hygiene or making sandwiches. But what did that leave? If there was anything more unnerving than knowing what Wesker was up to, it was not knowing what he was up to. Despite all of the years of never having a clue until the last minute, Chris hadn't gotten used to the feeling. And it didn't look like that was going to change any time soon.
- x - x - x -
"Why didn't you kill me?"
The words seemed to surprise both of them. Maybe it was because they came out so quickly after encountering each other that one, or both of them, had been expecting a few moments of pause. But the second he saw the other face to face, Chris couldn't bite back the questions. He never could. He always wanted to know what the other was up to, what was going around inside that malicious head of his. Ultimately it was never anything he wanted to hear; never anything he wanted to deal with, but something that he had to stop. This was no different – Wesker hadn't turned him into ashes and he wasn't a B.O.W. So why?
Wesker broke free of his shock with a faint chuckle, laced with the same sort of intuitiveness that he had back in the Monarch Room. "You haven't changed," he'd said then. He was saying it again here and now, but with fewer words.
"You wouldn't comprehend my logic if I spelled it out on paper for you," he said, tilting his head towards the other. "So explaining myself is pointless."
He hesitated, frowning. Never in his life had he done well with being talked down to, which was part of the reason his stint in the military didn't work out. Natural defenses shot up through him and his mind closed around the first comeback he could come up with to counter. The first thing that flipped Wesker's remark on its side and negated the stupidity on Chris's part that he was insinuating.
"I'm too sane to have thoughts as twisted and wrong as yours are."
If Wesker had an inch of him that could have been offended by the monster he'd become, that would have stabbed. But he didn't, so Chris knew that his hesitation was just him musing over the right way to phrase his response. It wouldn't take long, but it did give Chris time to take in the other's physical state – which didn't seem to be as impeccable as usual. Most of his body was hidden in his typical dark clothing, indiscernible pieces melded together to one complete, black mass. But his sleeves were rolled up, exposing deep, purple-red splotches on his right arm. They resembled bruises except ten times worse than any bruise Chris had ever seen and practically melded to a single, uniform marking by the time they reached his elbow. He could only guess that it covered that entire side due to the fact that the same side of his face seemed afflicted with the same splotches. Were they left over from the Uroboros or leftovers of his regenerative abilities attempts at healing burns from the lava?
"My thoughts don't conform to your predetermined notions of what they should be so you naturally chalk them up to 'twisted and wrong.' That doesn't mean that's what they are, all it means is that's what you want them to be."
He didn't realize that he'd been staring until Wesker started again and he found minimal comfort in the fact the other didn't seem to have noticed either. Wesker's voice always had an annoyingly attention grabbing quality about it – Chris pegged it just on the fact the man was a psychotic threat. It was good to focus on the voice of someone like that; it helped him figure out where he should point his gun.
"If anyone thought that your ideas were right, then they wouldn't be trying to stop you from destroying the world," Chris replied, his fingers twitching for a sidearm that he didn't have. In something resembling fairness, Wesker didn't seem to be armed either, but if it came to a physical confrontation Chris still didn't stand much of a chance. His blows barely fazed Wesker, let alone do anything significant enough to gain any leverage. He wondered if those marks were any indication of weakness – maybe he wasn't at such a disadvantage after all.
"'They?'" Wesker cocked his head and Chris almost saw a flash of orange from beneath his sunglasses before it disappeared under the tinted plastic. "The only one that pursues me so purposefully is you, Chris. It's as though you think by destroying me the entire world will be set right."
"It couldn't hurt."
In that instance, Chris decided that the splotches across Wesker's skin were not at all inclinations of vulnerability. At the very least, the he still had that damned ability to dash forward faster than Chris's eyes could ever follow and he was startled to find Wesker so suddenly in his space. He took a step back, bracing himself for some type of offense and cursing that he hadn't been more on guard. Without a weapon there really wasn't a lot he could do anyway, but despite that he didn't think of himself as helpless. Even as the air rushed out of his lungs from the solid impact of the tyrant's foot against his chest he didn't think of himself as weak. Stupid, maybe.
"It very much could," Wesker sneered, "As you do have the most irritating habit of getting in my way."
He hit the opposite wall of the hallway with a thick crash and slid to the ground, his brain rattled and scattering the once coherent thoughts into bouncing fragments of confusion. The only thing he knew was that Wesker was still within proximity and had apparently lost his cool already. He blinked, struggling to disperse the unexpected pain that now blossomed across his bruised backside. It felt like he'd lifted his head quickly, but the tyrant was already well within range. A hand was coming towards him, but with dizzy vision he couldn't tell if it was aiming for a fatal blow or just to grab him. With a quick shove, he decided he didn't care and ducked under Wesker's arm. He didn't roll far, but Wesker wasn't usually the type to dart after someone he didn't consider particularly dangerous to his immediate health. Cradling a bruised chest and back, Chris must have been about as dangerous as an unconscious puppy.
The former BSAA operative scooted backwards across the cool floor, putting enough distance between himself and the inhuman male that he could clamber to his feet again. Wesker's voice sliced into his hazy mind, words connecting themselves while other thoughts still jumped around.
"Why is that, Chris? Why do you hunt me so relentlessly?"
"Because you've lost it, Wesker! You're trying to destroy the whole planet and I'm not going to let you kill billions of innocent people."
Wesker chuckled, rounding on him but not moving to allow himself within that personal bubble he had popped just seconds before.
"So you take it upon yourself to save the pathetic masses. Constantly playing the self-righteous hero and looking at the world through a black and white filter so everyone can be judged based on their actions alone."
Chris felt something more intense than rage swell inside him at that, his mind already piecing together Wesker's logic and wanting to silence it before it hung in the air between them, "I'm not like you!"
It was a weakness that he never admitted to himself – the fact that the other could always get under his skin and make him react before he knew what he was reacting to. Wesker had already deflected the fist aimed for his face and slammed his palm into the bruise forming from his previous kick by the time Chris snapped out of it. He was on his back again, coughing on the lack of air and rolling onto his side to push himself to his feet. The sound of the other's boots approaching from down the hallway echoed in his ears louder than his own heartbeat, and that didn't seem right to him at all.
"Of course you aren't," Wesker's voice was back to being that calm, almost amused sound that Chris was used to hearing from him. He hated it, and it was more than enough to make his leg swing up for the other's face. Anything to shut that god-awful sound off.
"You chased me long before Uroboros, Chris."
Wesker blocked the kick aimed for his head, shoving Chris up and over so he did a flip before colliding with the ground again. Chris barely dodged a foot aimed for his stomach by rolling to the side and getting to his feet.
"Before Africa and Spencer's estate."
He ran at the tyrant, adrenaline and fury going in his veins.
"Your pursuit was underway well before the world was at stake."
He threw a punch but Wesker caught it, twisting his arm down and under so Chris soon felt his own wrist between his shoulder blades. A sharp kick to one knee had him kneeling on the floor, the impact shooting painfully up his leg and making him grunt. There was a reason he wore those knee-pads, after all.
"Interesting, isn't it?"
"No," Chris snapped, practically before Wesker could finish. His wrist was given a sharp yank, making his shoulder creak in protest and causing him to lurch forward slightly to try to ease the pressure. It was difficult to say the tactic actually worked, but it felt better than just sitting there like a docile animal. His jaw clenched, eyes screwing shut briefly as Wesker's knee dug into his back, "You're a deranged egomaniac who's ruined countless lives for your own gain. I chased you because I hate you, the same way I hated Umbrella and every other fucking terrorist banking in bio-weapons and dead humans."
There was a moment of silence between them where the only sounds were Chris's heavy panting and the pulse in his ears. He couldn't even hear Wesker's breathing behind him, and the other had fallen entirely still. He didn't release him, but it was like someone had momentarily frozen time in that instance and Chris was left wondering what Wesker could have been thinking about. But it was short, Wesker's thought processes not only moving faster than his own but having a foothold to start on. Wesker knew what he was thinking about, knew what he had taken out of whatever it was Chris had said – but Chris had no clue. He only knew the instance had been short because when the other started laughing it didn't seem out of place. Wesker's amused chuckle broke through their stillness, functioning like a vacuum. But while it took the time with it, it didn't take Chris's confusion – like he had started to stumble across a thought but now couldn't remember what it was.
"Very good, Chris."
With a sharp jerk he was on his feet again, Wesker's free hand resting on his shoulder and steering him back towards the still open door. It had been the last, unlabeled room circled on the map and because of that, he hadn't been surprised to find Wesker waiting inside of it. He tried to fight being shoved, but it was a futile gesture because when he nearly lost his footing it was clear Wesker would have dragged him by a dislocated shoulder if he had to.
He snarled, trying to see over his shoulder just to find the endeavor as pointless as fighting being moved. "What the hell do you mean 'very good'?" He was getting sick of asking all these questions and not getting any legitimate answers.
Wesker's tone was nothing less than patronizing as he shoved Chris into the room where he stumbled and nearly hit the floor. He caught his balance just in time to turn and see the door sliding shut with an almost science fiction-esque 'woosh' sound.
"I believe you've had your first breakthrough."