Chapter Text
He woke for the sixth time with a wretched scream that was torn from his chest.
Memories of unbearable heat touching every inch of his skin blanketed his mind like a nightmare. The taste of ash and smoke still sat on his palate.
He lifted a shaky hand and swiped his fingertips across his cheek, feeling the intact skin there before he finally let himself relax. Willing the tremors to leave his bones, he lay back against the tacky leather of the couch beneath him and stared up at the ceiling.
Despite however many times he would repeat this morning, this rebirth, it was always the same. Always, the sensation was akin to a tempering blade being boiled in a furnace, then the next moment being plunged into freezing water. Except he felt more like an eroding rock than iron the more he endured.
And no matter how he died, he always returned to that excruciating heat.
His eyes tracked the trail of rust above him that crept down the length of the room, all the way to the doors and the hook on the wall where his lab coat hung. The sleeves were rolled up, but the white material was still stained a pinkish-red from when he was elbow deep in a dissection the day prior to this one.
There were his shoes, tossed between the door and the couch he had collapsed on when exhaustion overcame him. To his left, the lab bench. Half of it cluttered by slides and various bottles of dye next to two light microscopes. One of which was still switched on. The rest of the bench was occupied by laptops running various analyses on samples. The one on the left blinking incessantly, waiting for him to come and see that the analysis of sample J3 had failed.
His virus, Uroboros, was almost ready, the mortality rate was just… higher than he had expected it to be this far into development.
The previous day, before all this, he had set up several tests to run through the night due to the unfortunate limitations of his body’s energy. He had inoculated three specimens with the latest alteration to the virus, his virus, which he labelled as ‘J-variant’ on the samples. Then he had taken a stain of the tissue samples taken from each subject and compared them to stains from the control samples. Which were taken from hosts, or more aptly named; victims, of the unaltered Uroboros virus. No noticeable differences had been detected with light microscopy, so the next step had been a DNA analysis.
Everything had felt much simpler when his greatest concern of the day was having to re-run the PCR analysis of sample J3.
Now he had to wake every morning with the reminder of his shortcomings. And his imperfect virus.
As he continued to look at the lab bench and the blinking screen of the monitor, moisture began to collect in the corners of his eyes and he blinked away the stinging sensation brought on by the light. He threw an arm over his eyes and let out a slow and shaky breath.
No. Everything was far more complicated now. As everything often became when he was involved.
The first time he had awoken here on this couch, he had wanted nothing but to spend his morning down in the labs underneath the facility. Taking samples and analysing them for any mutations in the newly infected individuals. It wasn’t overly complicated work and didn’t require his full attention, just practised movements and results with accuracy he could rely on. Unlike the endless, mind-numbing conversations he had to endure around the investors who hounded him like flies on a corpse when he set so much as a foot upstairs.
Since he had started work with Tricell, there had been far too much pointless drivel that ate up time better devoted to Uroboros. Especially his primary investor and ‘business partner’, Excella Gionne.
He had shuddered in disgust when she had first called him that. A business partner. He loathed the thought of having a lab partner, let alone a confidante in his business dealings. Having a steady income for his research was an unfortunate necessity and not something he enjoyed discussing in length. However, it always seemed to be the topic of the woman’s conversation.
Unless she was debauching herself with one of her tedious attempts to ‘seduce’ him.
He removed his arm from his eyes with his brows furrowed, squinting against the harsh white of the ceiling lights. They hummed, a low buzz that he used to find pleasant but now sounded like the drone of an incessant insect right beside his ear.
Truly, he was weary of waking in this room, on this couch. His body was weighed down with each cycle he spent retracing the same worn steps. Reciting the pattern like some macabre dance that only ever led to the same inevitable demise.
He could recount each instance in his memories, layered over each other and confusing him occasionally with the similar, repetitious steps.
The first day, after spending a large portion of his morning sitting and pretending to listen to the Tricell figureheads, he had flown to the control room. Overseeing the Uroboros project in its final stages had given him such sheer excitement back then. A high that couldn’t even be dampened by the announcement from Jill of the BSAA agents eliminating Irving. Then poking around the entrance to the Tricell facility.
The opportunity to meet with his nemesis face-to-face once again had been an unexpected delight he could hardly resist at the time.
He had relished the idea of seeing the shock on Christopher’s face as he realised that his old Captain was alive. Not only that, but his closest friend as well. Oh, and it had been so very sweet. A delicious encounter, which he admitted silently had been difficult to tear himself away from. But he had more important efforts to pursue.
Uroboros was more important than mere sentiment.
Of course, then Redfield had to go and spoil it all by hounding him like the mindless mutt he had proven himself to be. Him and his partner had tracked him down and tried to attack him. A laughable effort at first, but his mood was swiftly soured when he realised that somehow his own ‘partner’ had managed to let them get their hands on a sample of his virus.
The high dose of the virus burning through his system was an agony he had long forgotten his body could experience.
Pain, real pain, was a foreign concept since his ascension beyond the confines of humanity. And of course, it was Chris who forced him to endure the agony of the chink in his armour.
He recalled screaming, whether it be in anger or pain, he wasn’t sure. Most likely both. Everything after that had been a blur of sheer agony.
Like a wounded animal, he had fled. Everything in his world narrowed down to survival, to ensuring himself and his plan continued before Chris could destroy it all.
But in his pain, his usual one-tracked and precise mind had bubbled over into pure, unbridled rage. And all of it directed at the man dogging his steps.
He could admit looking back now that he had acted rather rashly. Every cell in his body had been directed towards annihilating the BSAA soldier from the surface of the planet. The addition of the incomplete Uroboros virus to his body hadn’t helped and instead only intensified those feelings until his world was further narrowed into just one pinpoint. Just one man.
It was pitiful really. He had let the man drag him down to his own level. Intense emotion controlling every action. Barely comprehensible yelling, imprecise attacks led by his fist instead of his mind.
After that first iteration and the… rather unpleasant demise he encountered. He had ensured not to let himself fall so low again. His plans, Uroboros, the evolution of humanity, were all far too important to jeopardise them for something as petty as revenge…
Even if it had felt oh so satisfying dragging the helicopter with Chris inside, down beneath the surface of the searing magma alongside him.
The first time he had reawoken on that same day, which technically was his second time overall, he had spent the majority of his time trying to determine why he was repeating events that had already occurred.
Dismissing the very notion that the source could be himself, he turned into a stone fortress. Defensive, and only growing more so as he realised he was the only one in the facility experiencing this déjà vu. That defensiveness had quickly ignited into anger.
He had questioned staff, torn the facility apart to ensure that it wasn’t some farce. That he hadn’t been revived after his untimely demise by some Umbrella pseudo-organisation and was being kept in some simulated purgatory for them to examine his response.
If he recalled correctly, at one point he had thrown a man through a glass window which he suspected was a false screen.
The only results he obtained were petrified staff, several threats from Excella and the rest of the next day, when he awoke on the couch for the third time, he spent the day down in the labs.
Logically, he had thought as he paced beside the countertop where his current DNA samples were undergoing analysis, if someone suffered from a unique experience, it usually meant something was wrong with them.
Impossible for a being such as himself, or so he had thought.
He ran test after test on his mind to determine what brain injury he had suffered to convince him that time was repeating itself. Perhaps it was a side-effect of some virus he had unknowingly contracted? Perhaps one of the recent Uroboros strains had developed the ability to spread through airborne particles?
Alas, he found nothing to explain the inexplicable phenomena. And when those damned BSAA soldiers burst through the doors of his laboratory and proceeded to rain down a hail of gunfire, destroying all his carefully curated work. Before yet again, inoculating him with that damned serum. Wesker realised that perhaps he wasn’t the primary source of this problem.
He had mapped out a rudimentary set of rules inside his mind. The one last place that was untouched by this nightmare he was trapped in.
It was almost like writing notes on a whiteboard, a practised task which he used to cement the facts in his mind that he was certain of given the evidence from each ‘trial’. If he viewed it as an experimental process, he hoped that the passage of time would only feel as if it were contributing to a greater understanding. Rather than weighing him down with negative thoughts.
The first observation, which he could say was fact, was that his death always resulted in the day restarting.
Whether that be just from his own perspective, he couldn’t be certain. But his death was a clear common denominator in each cycle, despite being such an improbable outcome.
So, he felt as if he could say for certain, tomorrow would never arrive without him to herald it.
The second rule was another fact he knew was true. He was the only one experiencing these repetitions.
He would have identified anyone else within his vicinity by now who was experiencing the same repetitious events with him. No, he was the only one.
He wasn’t overly certain of how he felt about that…
If the cycle was to repeat every time he should die, then all he had to do was survive. Something that was supposed to be guaranteed unless Redfield happened to be involved.
Then there was him.
Chris… the one aspect of this day he could never anticipate.
What had been a minor inconvenience at first had quickly become a nuisance.
Although he did manage to end the man’s miserable life in every iteration. He would only end up destroying himself in doing so. It was as if they were fated to collide, two asteroids hurtling towards each other at breakneck speeds with intent to destroy.
Not to mention that no matter where he was or what he was doing, the man always managed to find him. Every interaction with him resulted in their demise. Chris somehow managed to find a way to ensure his death, even after Wesker had ripped the man’s still-beating heart from his chest.
And choked the life from him.
And drowned him in super-heated magma.
It was tempting to call it unfair. Except he wasn’t a child.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t find the repeated results… irritating.
Infuriating.
So, the fourth day had been spent differently.
Had he known that the BSAA’s prized guard dog would be coming to Kijuju in the first place, he would have spent his time preparing for his arrival at the facility. Leading the hot-headed man down a trail of breadcrumbs that was sure to anger him, before the grand reveal where he would then step from the shadows. Putting his plan, his work, on display for him to see. To understand exactly what he had been working on for all these years. What he had spent his entire life working towards.
Chris would understand. Or he would die with the knowledge that Wesker had given him every chance he deserved and more.
But as it was then, he’d had enough of dying to the nuisance of a man in these joint-suicide pacts, only to end up waking in a cold sweat.
He decided to take the initiative.
Waking up on that fourth day, he had flown from the facility without so much as a word to Excella or any other staff. He stormed his way through Kijuju, a violent cloud of wrath that descended with a vengeance upon the unwary BSAA troops. He tore them apart one by one, uncaring, fuelled by bitter rage, all until he came upon him.
Redfield had been standing there with his inexperienced partner, the pair of idiots had faced off against him alone yet again. Like they even stood a chance in an even fight.
The woman, Alomnar, hadn’t even had the chance to scream before he had snapped her neck. A satisfying crack and Chris had whipped around, gun raised too late.
Wesker hadn’t been able to stop the tug of a grin on his lips as he stepped over the lifeless body of Chris’ felled partner. The mixture of horror and fury twisting the younger man’s expression made him feel alive.
There had been a few bullets that struck his chest, but he barely felt them as he hurtled towards Redfield like a man possessed. He snatched the pistol from the man’s own hands, pressed the barrel between his hard-as-flint eyes and pulled the trigger.
It wasn’t a victory. It was an execution.
Killing Chris Redfield before he could even set foot in his facility should have brought him peace. Should have brought an end to the cycle.
If only the infuriating pest hadn’t denied him the pleasure of revelling in his victory by dragging him alongside him back into the darkness of oblivion. Yet again.
There was piercing pain, and he looked down only to realise that in his heightened state Chris had managed to catch him off guard.
The syringe sat jammed between his ribs on the left side of his chest. Right underneath his heart.
There really was no other word for it but unfair.
Wesker recalled lamenting briefly, as he kneeled over Redfield’s corpse and yanked the syringe from his own chest to examine it dully, what was the purpose behind all this? If he was destined to die every time the cycle repeated, how was he supposed to achieve anything?
Of course, it could just be that there was no meaning to be achieved behind anything that was occurring. Logically, he knew this could be the case.
But another part of him unfurled with defiant pride at the thought that this was happening to him, only him, for a reason. To allow him the time and flexibility to plan the perfect day, and to eliminate any problems that were in his path.
Chris’ repeated interference, or his unfinished virus. Perhaps both.
If eradication wasn’t providing a solution… then perhaps it was not Christopher he should be focusing on.
Evolution.
Uroboros had to be the answer. His virus was the accumulation of his life’s work and purpose.
Perhaps what this phenomenon afforded him wasn’t just misery and a substantial blow to his pride.
It was time.
Time to perfect not just his virus, but himself as well.
Then his thoughts had once again been consumed by darkness. Steeped in heat, ash, intense burning pain. And he was back to square one.
This morning marked the fifth time he had woken on this accursed day.
There was a knock on the door of the room. The noise cut through the air and his dark cloud of thoughts, causing his jaw to twitch minutely. He had always hated people interrupting his musings. Luckily for whoever was behind the door, they at least had the common sense not to enter the room uninvited.
“Mister- Doctor Wesker Sir.” A male voice, unrecognisable and unremarkable. He sounded the appropriate amount of scared and Wesker idly wondered how the man had been burdened with the task of coming to speak to him. Perhaps they drew straws. “Miss Gionne is asking how long you’ll be. Says she’s been waiting an hour now…”
Three investors along with the woman who procured them were waiting upstairs in the facility’s boardroom. There had been a meeting scheduled at eight in order to discuss…
Wesker narrowed his eyes and squinted up at the ceiling.
He… couldn’t remember what the meeting was about specifically. Something to do with funding. He’d only attended the meeting once, on the first day, and his mind had been left behind with his work down in the labs. Just because he was forced through circumstance to entertain such trivial conversations didn’t mean that he should be expected to pay attention. Especially when the company he was forced to endure were vain, power-hungry pigs from whose perspective the beauty of evolution was but an exclusive club. One which you could buy your way into.
Another three short raps on the door.
“Sir? Are you there?”
Wesker let out a deep and long exhale.
He stuck out a hand to feel around the surface of the small table behind the arm of the couch. Grabbed his glasses and slid them on before he stood. His upper back flared with pain like it did every morning, right between his shoulder blades. He really wished he had decided to sleep on a bed instead of the nearest available surface for once after finishing his work.
He carded his fingers through his hair, combing it back against his skull, and huffed in irritation when a couple stray pieces fell back over his line of sight. He had enough self-awareness to realise he was on a rather short fuse at the moment, thanks to this… setback in his plan. Really, he should be treating it as an opportunity to perfect his virus. Yes, he couldn’t keep any notes or even write new developments with pen onto his arm (he had tried). But he had all the knowledge he needed stored in his memories from each day. Thus, he surmised, waking now to see his half-finished work on the benches in front of him. The solution must lie with Uroboros, with his plans.
There was yet another short tap of knuckles on the door, but he cut it short before it could continue.
“Touch that door again, and I will not grant you the courtesy of living to regret doing so.”
Not his most creative threat, but he was weary. Of these people. Of this day. Not even the muffled scurry of fleeing footsteps was enough to grant him the satisfaction it usually would have.
As he went about dressing himself for the day, ignoring the lab equipment on the bench, he shoved aside any unhelpful trains of thought. Wallowing in despair wouldn’t produce a solution to his problem.
It seemed he was the only one experiencing this phenomenon. No one else showed any indication that they were experiencing so much as déjà vu of the day’s events. Which meant that is must revolve around him. Not that he would presume himself at the centre of the universe, but it did make sense. Didn’t it? After all, he was the one trying to save the world. He would say it was some divine trial or test of his endurance or patience. If he believed in such abstract concepts.
The door slid open with its usual whine of protest when he stepped out of the small room. Such a decrepit facility, he mused dryly as he strode down the blank white hallways. The idea that Tricell believed him content in a place such as this was laughable. He would be away from the company already had he the choice.
Of course, there was always the option of simply avoiding Redfield and the rest of the BSAA mercenaries. Leaving the facility and sequestering himself away until the day ran its course. But the very idea made his blood boil. He refused to cower like a rat in front of Redfield of all people. He was just a man. He just had to find the right way of releasing Uroboros despite the man’s interference. This was just an opportunity to perfect his plan.
Yes. He reinforced the idea as he emerged from the hall into the control room, where several pairs of eyes turned to him.
An opportunity…
“Albert, where have you been all morning?” Excella spoke in a clipped tone as she crossed the room towards him. Her tight-lipped frown held back barely concealed anger that he knew he’d be able to reveal with a few well-placed words. He had done as much only yesterday. The memory was almost enough to bring a quirk to his lips.
When she wasn’t fawning over him, Excella was an effective businesswoman, and he knew she didn’t need him for these meetings. It was why he’d chosen to partner with her in the first place. She needed him here almost purely for his appearance alone. His name. His face.
She was lucky she had such a privilege.
“I was busy.” He didn’t need to explain that whatever he was doing held far more importance than what she had wanted him to do. It wasn’t as if she ever tried to truly understand his work anyway. Beyond what glossy, surface-level information was given to the investors.
“Too busy to speak to mention to your partner that you weren’t going to attend the meeting she organised and assured you would be present at?”
“Yes.”
Excella pursed her lips in a poor effort to school her emotions. But Wesker didn’t give her the chance to continue her pointless tirade.
“Where is Jill?” He asked and watched her face sour for a moment as was to be expected.
“Valentine? She has already left to go relay your message to Irving.” She waved a pale hand dismissively. Gold rings flashing as they caught the light. “She will be back soon-“
“Call her back now.” Wesker turned away from the woman to approach the monitor displaying multiple views from outside the main building of the facility. Without interference on his part, Redfield and his partner would arrive at the entrance to the old Umbrella laboratories at roughly three pm. He glanced at the watch on his wrist, which read eleven pm… had he really spent that long wallowing in bed? Or on the sofa, so to speak.
“What? Albert, we’re in the final stages of our plan and keeping people like Irving in our pocket right now is critical-“
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion Excella.” Wesker turned his head just enough to glance at the woman out of the corner of his eye. His delivery was perhaps a tad sharp, but he didn’t have time to waste tending to the vain woman’s feelings. “If the matter concerns you so, then by all means. Go speak to the man yourself.”
He didn’t let himself actually hope that the woman would act on his suggestion. It would make life far too easy for him.
Excella stormed away to the other side of the room with a huff, pulled out her phone, and sent off the order to recall the agent. He turned back to look at the wall of windows ahead of him, gazing over the large section of the underground caverns which had been carved into a large storage area. Floodlights dotted periodically along metal structures illuminated the bright, white sides of the missiles containing the original version of his virus.
Despite the fact that he was still in the process of developing promising strains of Uroboros, the original strain still proved to be by far the most virulent. He was certain that given enough time and a steady flow of both money and assets, he would be able to produce a strain which harnessed the virus’ ability to spread so easily, and combine it with the rapid growth rate inside of an infected individual. Unfortunately, current strains he’d been developing did this too well. Rapid cell decay and replication led to a higher mutation rate, which in turn led to the virus essentially taking over the host body and leaving little of the original material behind.
It had been the largest hurdle in the project to date, and he had thrown himself into the work wholeheartedly. As it were, he had just designed a new plasmid with recombinant DNA to insert into the latest subject. One which he was sure would slow the aggressive spread of the infected cells once transposed.
His fingers drummed out of rhythm on the console desk beneath his gloved hand. He itched to return to his work. It was beginning to feel like he just spent more and more time during these days just waiting.
Movement on one of the black and white monitors caught his eye and he tore his gaze from the rows of poised missiles, standing at attention before him. The small screen that caught his focus displayed a section of the temple area outside of the main facility, where infected guards; majini, patrolled. There was a blur of movement, a few of the guards ran and he was sure that if there had been any noise with the video, he would have heard them shouting as they pointed at something just outside of the camera's range.
He loathed that they were forced to use such inferior creatures as guards. Sending the failed experiments of Uroboros in the past had felt fitting. A sort of premonition of what was awaiting the BSAA agents. But after so many times seeing Chris and his partner burn the abominations like they were mere inconveniences, he had decided to just let them follow the already established gauntlet. It didn’t matter anyway, no matter what he threw at the BSAA agents, they always rose to the challenge. Not that he didn’t expect it. It was just a helpful reminder not to underestimate Redfield.
Not like he had the first time.
And the times after that.
Light footsteps marked Valentine’s approach and he didn’t have to turn to know she would enter through the right corridor. The P30 pump still attached to her chest, and that ridiculous outfit on to hide her identity from the BSAA. He’d considered ordering her to reveal her face to Redfield earlier. Perhaps it would break something vital in the man’s already rudimentary mind. Perhaps his resolve to complete his futile mission...
But… he needed Valentine to ensure the final stages of the plan went smoothly.
If that meant he was forced to suffer Redfield’s interference in his plans, then so be it.
“Albert, your puppet is here.” Excella drawled from somewhere near the back of the room. He glanced to his side, acknowledged the presence of the silent statue of a woman for a second longer than he had Excella, then turned back to continue watching the monitor.
“Agent Valentine,” It was strange how natural the weight of the words felt on his tongue. A familiar taste. “You are to focus and redouble your efforts on preparing for the release of the virus. Go to the laboratories and collect any samples of the virus that are still viable, including the samples in storage. Bring them all onto the ship and order anyone else down there to do the same.”
“What? Albert?” Excella was taken aback by the sudden push ahead of schedule, but like usual he ignored her outburst.
“Do not delay. Is that understood agent?”
Jill rarely spoke these days but to respond to his commands, and Wesker wasn’t surprised when she simply nodded in affirmation. He inclined his chin back at her in response.
“Good. Go.”
She left at an even, albeit hasty pace. Marching out of the lab on his orders alone. Strange how that used to give him much more of a thrill. Was that just to do with the fact that he was going through these familiar motions repeatedly? Or had he already been growing bored with the former S.T.A.R.S operative being under his thumb before any of this occurred?
Another blur of movement on the monitor caught his eye and he looked back down with his hands splayed on the desktop. It was the BSAA woman who was accompanying Redfield. All these repeated meetings and he still didn’t know her name…
“I thought we established a plan for the final stages of our mission Albert. You told me just yesterday.” Excella complained, her voice made a muscle tick in Wesker’s jaw, but his eyes were still trained dutifully towards the small screen.
Another miniscule figure ran into the frame, turning occasionally to fire at something behind him. The assault rifle in his hands jerked back with each hailstorm of lead. The man’s face was difficult to see due to the low resolution from the security cameras, but it was easy enough to interpret that his expression was twisted into a snarl of anger. Not heated rage, but that determined and oh-so righteous anger that the man prided himself in. Truly, he looked like that classic image of an American soldier. Heroically braving the unknown waters of enemy territory.
It made Wesker’s eyes roll beneath his reflective shades.
If men like that did exist, Redfield couldn’t even begin to bear such a title.
Hero? He was nothing but a selfish fool with tunnel vision so severe, it was a miracle he didn’t walk head-first into the nearest wall.
“Albert, are you even listening to me? Or are you thinking on other ways to usurp our prearranged meetings and appointments today?” Excella said from somewhere behind him with a scoff.
He wasn’t listening.
Redfield had caught up with his partner and they were exchanging words he couldn’t hear. Mouths moving, he imagined they were discussing how to get into the caves near the entrance of the underground ruins. They always found a way in, even if he ordered guards stationed at the wharves. Or tried to cave in part of the crumbling structure. He chalked it up to Redfield determination… or stubbornness.
Speaking of the man, his hands were moving in front of him, gun slung over his shoulder as he gesticulated wildly in his explanation to the woman before him. It was something Wesker hadn’t seen for a long while now. Chris had often talked animatedly when he was enthused about something or other. Something that he had done frequently back in Raccoon City…
The other BSAA agent smiled and said something back to Chris, and he watched them exchange a laugh. The slight smirk fell from his lips and he turned away as they began to walk out of the camera’s range. Fingers curled around the edge of the desk now at his back.
Why did the man continue to bring these women along with him during his missions? Surely, he knew he was placing them in harm’s way. Then again, Chris wouldn’t know exactly who he was marching relentlessly towards yet. Perhaps should he be made aware of who exactly was waiting for him, he would abandon his company and face it alone?
Somehow, Wesker doubted it. If he had learnt anything over these years, it was that luck was always on the Redfield’s side.
Underestimating the man was a mistake he wasn’t going to make… again.
“Albert!”
“In case it has escaped your notice Miss Gionne, there are BSAA agents en route to this facility. And I place more value in Uroboros than any meetings you have arranged.” His head rose to finally look at the woman again. Her arms were folded over her chest and she was putting a tremendous effort into trying not to look fed up with the man in front of her. Wesker had to commend her for her ability to keep a smile on her face when she looked like she wanted to break something.
“The meetings we arranged.” She corrected through clenched teeth.
“The meetings I have rearranged.” He shot her his own unpleasant smile and pushed away from the desk to stride across to the other side of the room.
They had to prepare the missiles and load all the samples and equipment before Redfield arrived to interfere. If they departed aboard the cargo ship ahead of schedule, then he would be free to deploy Uroboros as planned before they even made it to the ship. Some part of him prickled at the idea of running like a cowed dog from the likes of Chris Redfield, but limited options were forcing him to be creative.
Besides, he would feel idiotic if he eventually found that the solution to his problem was simply to leave earlier.
“Have everything essential loaded into the vessel within the next few hours. We will prepare for departure as soon as possible.” He commanded Excella in a hard tone that brooked no arguments. Truly, he was weary of her whining. Perhaps he could use her as a distraction again, like he had the first time…
“A few hours? It would be a struggle to have it done by tonight.” Excella, apparently, was tone-deaf. Wesker stopped in the doorway of the control room and turned. His eyes sought her out and he set his jaw with a tight-lipped frown. By the way the woman’s hands tightened a fraction around the papers in her hand, he could assume she was able to see the red tint of his eyes from beneath the dark shades.
“If you think it will be too difficult to accomplish, then perhaps I should ask someone more competent?”
Excella suddenly sounded a lot less frustrated.
“No. No, it’s… fine.”, she straightened the papers in her slender hands and sniffed a little. Eyes downcast, no longer meeting his own as her free hand moved to straighten the skirt of her dress. “I’ll oversee transport and ensure everything is ready as soon as possible Wesker.” Her tone was a lot more perfunctory this time. A tone that Wesker much preferred to her usual over-confident haughtiness.
“Sooner.” He replied in a low voice, then turned back to sweep out of the room and pace away down the bleached halls.
Tricell members, as well as the insult to be caught unawares by the BSAA. In his frenzy, he hadn’t realised the operatives were closer than the last time. It was perhaps at least partly due to his scattered state that he encountered a far quicker confrontation.
Which in turn led to a far quicker demise at the hands of Redfield and his partner, who managed to acquire the PG67A/W serum once again.
Absently, he trailed a hand down to his sternum, feeling around for the puncture wound he knew wouldn’t be there. When Chris and his BSAA partner had first injected him with the serum, he had assumed it another instance of Redfield’s sheer dumb luck. He had stumbled across the vial after Excella’s idiotic blunder, and someone had told him what it was used for. Unlikely it was Chris himself who figured that out, Wesker would be surprised if the man could even read the label.
However, no matter how unlikely it was, they had used the serum to kill him not just once, but twice.
So, he surmised, whatever this impossible phenomenon was. It seemed to be working against him.
He was feeling good about this one.
Everything was running smoothly so far. Transportation of the samples from the lab had gone without a hitch. No surprise contaminations, which would have been an annoyance. Or missing samples, which would have led to him tearing the labs apart.
It was imperative after all that the BSAA didn’t acquire his samples and notes from the Uroboros project. As pathetic as the organisation was, unfortunately they did acquire at least a couple somewhat competent epidemiologists. He wouldn’t allow them to create any kind of antiviral agent or vaccine before his virus could spread across the globe.
Majini guards worked in a flurry of movement akin to a frantic anthill. The only guards they had working at the Tricell facility were infected with the Type-3 Plaga. They weren’t especially intelligent, but what they lacked in innovation they made up for in servitude. Obedience was more important than creativity. He would rather have a soldier who followed every order they were given, than an unpredictable pawn who would jeopardise his plans.
His evolution of the human race could suffer no fools drunk on self-righteous individuality.
These pitiful creatures would not survive even the teething pains of the new world he was creating. But for now, they were useful for grunt work. And for stalling would-be saboteurs.
Jill walked over to where he stood on a metal platform looking over the operations down below. He didn’t remove his eyes from the ship and let her approach on his right, before he finally shifted his gaze to meet her blank expression.
“Report.”
“The viral samples, equipment, and weaponry have all been loaded into the ship.” She spoke in a dull and lifeless tone which sounded nothing like the true Jill Valentine. Not that he especially cared. He simply inclined his chin a fraction. An indication for her to continue. “The last missiles are being loaded now. The estimated departure time is another two hours Sir.”
His jaw clicked. Two more hours? The sun would be setting by then, Redfield would be here.
“That is unacceptable. Ensure it’s completed within the hour.”
Jill visibly hesitated. Her blue eyes flickered in her skull for half a second, like a computer stalling. The P30 serum was quite effective, but even it could not do the impossible. That wasn’t to say it still wouldn’t force it’s host to try. Jill would work herself to the bone to ensure the command was met, which is exactly what he intended to happen.
“Understood?” Wesker asked in a sharp tone, watching carefully as her expression smoothed back over into blank obedience.
“Understood.”
She turned and left without another word, as expected. It felt good having others working for him, slaving away to ensure his goals came into fruition. He watched them continue to scurry around as his fingers wrapped around the metal railing beneath his hands. His black leather gloves squeaked a little as he squeezed. It was also somewhat maddening being unable to do anything except wait and hope.
He would usually find himself holed up in his laboratory at this time of the day, but everything was disassembled for transport onto the ship. Being inactive while he had so much still to do was… infuriating. Which was part of the reason he despised these repetitious days. That, and being forced to relive the same mistakes over and over.
“Albert!”
His hands clenched around the pole hard enough for his thumb to dent the metal. He was sorely tempted just to leave Excella here to the mercy of the BSAA, depart in the ship without her. She would end up dead either way.
“It’s the BSAA. Two of their soldiers have just been detected entering the far side of the facility using the underground entrance.”
The scowl on Wesker’s face evaporated in an instant and he let go of the railing to turn and face the woman. It wasn’t unexpected that they would be fighting their way here, but this was sooner than before. They shouldn’t be entering the facility already, he thought he had bought himself some time. It was almost as if the man was pushing to match his own pace.
“Two BSAA operatives?” He asked a slightly out of breath Excella with a raised eyebrow. He needed more information than that.
“A man and a woman.” Her face twisted in distaste, like she had just smelled something off. “I thought the woman was a stunted boy at first wearing those military fatigues, and the man was from that picture you showed me two days ago.”
How adorable that she thought he cared about Redfield’s partner and what she looked like.
“Chris Redfield,” He supplied as he crossed his arms over his chest and leant back against the railing behind him. The sun was at the optimal level right now to be at his back, framing his figure while causing Excella to have to shield her eyes to look at him properly. “The BSAA’s prize lapdog to run their errands.”
“Yes, Chris, Chris, Chris,” She waved a hand flippantly and rolled her eyes, causing Wesker’s slight smirk to drop in displeasure at her cavalier attitude. She didn’t understand the threat just one man could be. “You said he was just a normal man, unlike you.” She gestured to his form, her eyes lingering for a moment before she continued. “How did he and that… woman, find their way in? They killed Irving, and that was after the insolent shrew of a man turned himself into an abomination.”
Excella sneered in distaste. Wesker couldn’t blame her, Irving was not exactly pleasant company. But to him, Irving and Excella were one in the same. Both entrepreneurs who would do anything for money and power, including compromising one's morals. And apparently their very beings, in Irving’s case anyway. He was tempted to applaud the small man for his faith in an unlabelled syringe delivered by a masked figure, if it wasn’t so brainless an action.
“Irving was never meant to survive. He was fodder to slow the BSAA agents. Only it seems he couldn’t even do that correctly.” Wesker mused, half talking to himself. He turned back towards the ship and observed the progress they had made. It was clear they were working quickly, but from the sight of the missiles still currently waiting at the loading bay, it would take too long to get all the equipment in.
It wasn’t absolutely necessary to bring all the missiles with him. It would just mean he would have to delay the launch of Uroboros until he could grow more samples of the original virus and load them into the containment units. The virus’ high metabolic rate meant that it would only take a few days at most, not even a week.
And as an additional incentive, he could set the missiles left at the facility to detonate and contaminate everyone in its vicinity.
Including the BSAA agents.
Certainly, the offer was appealing enough to stomach a delay to his plans.
Anything to break free from this monotonous day.
“Start embarkation and cast off when essential staff are on board. We will leave the remainder of the missiles behind.” He ordered in a clipped tone before turning to stalk off towards the stairs that led down to the loading bay.
He was no engineer, at least not in the mechanical sense, but rigging the bioweapons to detonate wasn’t too difficult of a feat to accomplish. He was advantaged also, having a rough estimate of how long it would take Redfield to muscle his way through the facility.
He smiled to himself as he ignored Excella’s bewildered stare and descended the staircase. A gloved hand trailing on the railing as he went.
It was almost unfair to poor Chris.
They were out in open waters before the front of the facility erupted into a ball of heat and flames. The sound was fairly muffled, but still audible even from the distance they were at. Muted by the choppy waves that crept up the sides of the bow, onto to fall back to the dark waters below.
The initial explosion from the missiles would have decimated the dock yard, but it was a focused blast. The rest of the facility would be largely untouched, apart from the virus that would be spread throughout the entire area. With the viral load aboard the missiles, it would create a high concentration that would expedite the rate of infection in the area. Anyone as far back as the marshlands behind the ruins would be infected. Which included both of the BSAA agents, who he knew from memory and from camera feed, would be near the docks now.
Just in time to watch them depart into the setting sun.
It was fitting in a way. Chris was always one step behind himself, whether that be arriving late to a facility, or being too slow to catch on.
However, Wesker couldn’t tear his eyes away from the smudge of smoke growing fainter in the distance.
It was a victory… but a bitter one. Chris was supposed to die at his hand, not keeling over to his virus from afar where he couldn’t see the despair etched on the man’s face.
The victory felt hollow. Wesker deserved to see his greatest enemy utterly defeated and on his knees before him.
The feeling of discontent grew the further they sailed away, his eyes trained on the horizon as it shrunk.
“Sir?”
Wesker tore his eyes from the column of smoke to look to his left where Jill stood, her back ramrod straight. He didn’t even have to change his expression or encourage her to continue before she did of her own accord.
“We’ve received footage from the facility. All living organisms have been contaminated by Uroboros.”
“Are there any signs of adaptation?” He realised his fingers were tapping idly against the ship’s railing and he forced his hand to keep still.
“No Sir. There were none genetically viable. No infected organisms adapted to the virus, including the rest of the personnel on base.”
The virus worked quickly once it was inside a host organism. Wesker had seen it with his own eyes on many occasions when patients were inoculated with high viral loads. It would initially cause symptoms akin to a common flu. Laboured breathing, a fast onset of pyrexia which led to excessive sweating, light-headedness, and delirium. After they finished stumbling around like brain-dead animals, the subjects would then enter the second stage of infection where the virus abolished the host’s adaptive immune response. Essentially tearing apart the immune system entirely.
At this stage, people compatible with the virus would begin to move into the lysogenic stage and stabilise in the host.
However, more often than not (always, if he was being honest), the virus would mutate the host cells and replicate at an inordinate rate. Tearing the weaker organism apart with its continued growth and feeding on the cells. Until nothing was left except a mass of viral matter that had come to be dubbed ‘Uroboros’.
He wondered what stage of this process Chris was in now.
Surely he would already be mutating at a rapid rate, black writhing tendrils would tear the man apart. Turning him into something greater, something more evolved than a simple human being.
If he was strong and was able to resist the change, he still might have been in the throes of a mind-numbing fever. Unable to help himself, let alone his partner who was likely already turned by this stage—
“The only remaining survivors have fled the facility and returned inland to the village.”
Wesker’s thoughts stalled quite suddenly as he heard Jill’s monotone remark. Survivors? No…
“What survivors?” Who are they? How many are there? Has that infuriating and insolent brat somehow managed to avoid destruction while being in the middle of a biohazard caused by an explosion?
“The two BSAA agents.”
Wesker felt the metal twist under his grip into a deformed and ugly shape.
“Redfield is alive?”
“Yes Sir.” Even though Jill was under the effects of the P30 device, even in that state she seemed clued in to Wesker’s sudden shift in emotions. Her posture grew more stiff and she didn’t add anything else after answering him.
Good. He was almost certain he would have reacted rather violently if she had.
How the hell was Chris still alive? Was this, some side effect of this phenomenon? Would the man only die by Wesker’s direct intervention? Or was it that he would only die if Wesker did too?
His teeth ground against each other as he glared at the horizon. His eyes narrowed in hatred beneath his dark lenses.
What he wouldn’t give right now to wrap his fingers around Chris’ pretty little neck and squeeze-
Wesker stopped his train of thought abruptly, a brief flicker of shame burned in his chest as he recognised just how far he’d let his emotions take hold of him for a moment.
As infuriating as it was to lose half his supply of viral material and waste a perfectly functional facility, as well as his time, for no reason. This still wasn’t necessarily a loss.
“Are Redfield or any of the BSAA agents following us?” He asked, prying his fingers from the newly shaped bars of the railing. He turned to regard her as he slowly calmed down.
“No. Surveillance suggests they do not have the necessary equipment after their aerial support was gunned down yesterday.”
Wesker flexed his hand and heard his knuckles pop as he eased the tension from his bones. If Redfield wasn’t following, this meant he had successfully managed to break the cycle of death between the two of them. He couldn’t touch the man, but Chris couldn’t lay a hand on him either. The day would continue without his death punctuating a dreary end.
He forced the image of himself retreating from Redfield like a dog with its tail between its legs, from his mind.
Wesker glanced over at the setting sun, melting onto the surface of the stretch of dark ocean. He still had a handful of hours left before he would reach the furthest point of the day he had come to. Technically, that would be in the early hours of the morning, but it was easier to catalogue the cycles as days.
If he could reach that point in the night without dying (something that he found hard to believe was difficult for one such as himself), then he was almost certain he would finally be free.
He just needed to keep Redfield off his ship.
“Put the guards on rotation patrolling the vessel, both on deck and inside. Set up sentries and floodlights as well, aimed down the sides of the ship.” He commanded and paced past Jill who fell into step, lagging just a foot behind him as she took mental note of his orders like she was trained to do. “Ensure there are gunners stationed at the anti-aircraft weaponry as well. I want no surprises.”
“Understood Sir.”
“I want everyone to remain on high alert throughout the entire night. And you Valentine,” Wesker whirled on her now, fixing Jill with a hard look that could only be seen through his set jaw. She stopped with him, hands behind her back and face as blank as a porcelain doll. Sometimes the way she stared was… unsettling, “you will be stationed in the hull of the ship, nearest to the command centre where I will be spending my time.”
Jill would make an excellent last line of defence. If not for her skills in combat, then for her face alone. Which was sure to stop Chris in his tracks just like it had before.
He wanted to tell Jill to guard the labs and spend his time there, but the setting was familiar enough to tempt the same results as every other cycle. Besides, his relationship with Excella was tenuous now and if this day was to continue, he would have to hold on to her continued support if he was to gather more material and enact his plan at a later date. Replacing those missiles wouldn’t be cheap.
“Yes Sir.” Jill spoke in a flat tone.
“Good girl.”
With that, he turned to enter into the ship, glancing at his watch as he did.
In just a few hours he would be able to relax at least somewhat. One of his largest problems would be solved, and he could redirect his attention to Uroboros.
The wait was almost too much to bear.
-
Keeping Excella in line was laughably easy.
All he had to do was suggest rather innocuously that they have dinner together tonight. An evening to celebrate the finalisation and imminent release of Uroboros.
Truthfully, there was nothing to celebrate. At least not for her.
His eyes moved to his watch and a warm feeling inside his chest expanded as he saw the hands once again, indicating it was fifteen minutes past the last recorded time of his death.
So, when he tapped his glass of red wine against hers, inwardly he celebrated the end of this excruciating day.
“This was a… thoughtful suggestion Albert, but we couldn’t have done this in your quarters?” Excella asked and looked up at him through her lashes from the other side of the desk.
They were sitting in the command room where the monitors showed everything that was happening all over the ship. He wanted to be privy to the goings-on on board the vessel. And he just as equally didn’t care for the idea of spending time alone with the woman. In either of their quarters.
“No.” He answered, his voice free of any kind of inflection. He turned the glass in his hand, held up to his face as he observed the blood-red liquid sloshing around inside. The wine was Excella’s choice, in the sense that it was her preferred drink which he had brought in.
He wasn’t overly fond of the taste of alcohol anyway. It was a depressive drug after all, designed to dull the senses and make the drinker more vulnerable to suggestion. Not that it would do much with his accelerated metabolism, but regardless, he would prefer something more stimulating. Like black coffee, or an injection of adrenaline.
His eyes dragged from the glass to peer at the woman over the rim who was sipping from her own goblet. Her sculpted claws wrapped around the stem in a way which he was sure was supposed to look dainty. She caught his eye and her lips pulled back into a dazzling smile.
“Then the setting suits, as long as I am sharing it with you.” She smoothed over the bump in the conversation as if it didn’t happen. No doubt intent to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment and intimacy she could from the evening he’d acquiesced to. “We should do this more often. We’re… business partners after all.”
He hummed in agreement, his eyes fixed on the plate in front of him again. A filleted steak sat in the middle of a small pool of red. He found himself craving meat rare these days, a side effect of the virus that was most likely linked to his increased metabolism. His body was attempting to assimilate greater portions of iron and phosphorus into his diet to balance out the energy spent by his continually developing abilities—
“Albert?” Was Excella’s voice always that shrill? He could hardly hear his own thoughts as she spoke again. His head was run through with a sharp pain that lanced up through his skull from the base of his neck. “Do you agree?”
“With what?”
“That we should talk over meals like this instead of over the phone.” She gestured to the food before them with her fork turned upside down in her hand.
“I don’t have time for such frivolities.” He was aware his voice was coming out in more of a growl now. His teeth were clenched to stave off the pulsing pain in his head. “If it’s company you seek, you would be best hunting someplace else.”
Excella’s face twisted into a look of shock and her skin flushed red as she spluttered out a reply, but Wesker was beyond the point of caring for her retort. His head was pounding. He had never had a headache like this, he wasn’t supposed to get headaches like this.
He squeezed his eyes shut and saw starbursts behind his lids, pulsing with each throb of pain radiating from the back of his head. It was like someone had a hand drill and was steadily cranking the thing to carve a hole into his skull. He reached back, brushing a hand against his hair and unsettling its smoothed shape. But he couldn’t find a source for the sudden pain, not even a bump protruding from his scalp.
“Albert, are you listening to me?”
Excella’s voice sounded muffled and it took him a couple seconds to recognise that couldn’t be good. Cracking open his eyes a fraction, his gaze narrowed in on the scene before him to look for any discomfort on Excella’s part. She looked back at him with the same look of frustrated surprise, but as he watched it quickly melted into confusion and concern.
Why was she unaffected? That must have meant it was internal. Something he ate, but he hadn’t touched his food yet… was it possible his drink was drugged?
Another excruciating burst of pain shot up from the back of his neck and he ground his teeth, clutching at his head as he swallowed a pained noise. Excella’s mouth was moving again and she stood from her seat, but there was no audible noise leaving her mouth. At least not one that could penetrate through the deafening ringing in his ears.
Despite his pain and confused anger, he loathed the idea of the woman standing over him. So, he attempted to push himself from the table and stand when she approached. His arms complied, gripping on to the table’s edge. His legs did not however, and it only took a slight misstep to send him to the floor along with the table and its contents.
“Albert!”
He at least heard that, stuck on the ground while the woman scrambled to drop down beside him on her knees. Tucking her white dress away so as to not get any wine or blood on it.
As he stared up at the ceiling with a contemptuous glare, he could not help but notice that this was exactly how the day had started. He might call it ironic, if he wasn’t so busy trying not to cry out in pain and undignify himself any further.
Despite the unbearable pain consuming his brain and connected nerves like a wildfire, through it all Wesker held on to his spite and shame. Oh, how he hated being incapacitated like this, on his back in a puddle of wine and blood without the ability to shove the woman away who was currently kneeled over him.
This death was the most unbearable one yet.
And that’s what it was his mind and body supplied. Death.
Whether it be by heart attack, stroke, or something else altogether, he couldn’t be certain.
All he was certain of was that he was thoroughly done with this loathsome day.
When he next woke, he would find Christopher and, one way or another, he would close the loop.