Uh-oh, what's this? I got bored and did it again? Gasp! Inspired by my last little bit that was inspired by another's fic (eek I'm rhyming). A few folks seemed to like the last one so I thought I'd give it another shot. Again, I own nothing Resident Evil and such. This is strictly a friendship story, no slash or what not. This one might actually end up having more than one chapter if people like it, if not, meh. I will count my losses and learn from them. Hope you enjoy! Please R&R so I know if I need to keep on going or stop before I combust due to severe flaming lol.
He hurt all over. The flames had scorched his skin past recognition. He felt as though he had fused with the very rubble that now incased him. Breathing hurt, knowing he was alive hurt, heck, everything hurt! The smell of burnt flesh tugged at his insides but Krauser found that it hurt too much to gag. He settled for a sneer instead.
How had this happened, he wondered? How had all of this happened? One minute he was in a helicopter, the next there were flames, then a blond in a trench coat with dark shades and an ominous message holding something that looked like a syringe. He had made promises, promises Krauser couldn't resist at the time, a chance to live, to fight again, a chance to serve a purpose, to have meaning, to make this whole useless wreck of his life have meaning again. Oh yes, Krauser nearly leapt at the opportunity. It had all seemed so promising, so perfect, but then, how in the world did it end up here? How on earth had it come to this?
Krauser had gone from one mishap to the next, left one nightmare only to walk into another. Even after realizing this though, he still couldn't bring himself to leave, still couldn't quite, couldn't break the promise he had made to the blonde as he laid beneath the helicopter's rubble dying. Wesker knew it too, knew that the soldier could never depart, knew that he was forever incased in this whole mess come hell or high water. He had known, he had always known.
And that's why Krauser was here, beneath the rubble of some half destroyed now completely demolished stone structure, trapped, as usual, and unable to escape. He silently cursed himself for his stupidity. No amount of warning would have swayed the bulking soldier, he knew this, but he still couldn't help but wonder why.
And then there was movement, just beyond the rubble tomb that he had been sealed within. The sound of footsteps, light and slow, almost calculative, seeped their way into the stone casing, echoing off the debris.
Krauser knew it wasn't Kennedy come back for some half-brained heroic attempt to save his former comrade and redeem him. No, not even Kennedy was that optimistic, that fool-hearty. No, Kennedy was probably running through some hellish swarm of infected town's people on a hopeless suicide mission to save the president's daughter. Idiot. Always was bullheaded. Then again, Krauser had no right to talk.
The footsteps stopped their pacing having found whatever it was they were looking for. Suddenly rocks were moving. Rubble and debris were being pulled away. And then there was light, slight at first, then growing, until finally it was almost blinding, at least to Krauser, who had been trapped in the darkness for who knows how long.
Squinting against the light, Krauser gave his tired eyes time to adjust. A tall, slender form stood over him, looking down. A cold, familiar voice rang out from the now diming light. "Why am I not surprised?" Wesker's cold, calculating voice called out.
Krauser found himself laughing bitterly, in spite of the pain. "What's the occasion?" he smirked surprised that his boss had graced him with an appearance.
"Making remarks now, are we?" Wesker replied coolly as he took off his shades, cleaning them from the dust that had been kicked up into the air. "Perhaps you've been spending too much time around Miss Wong."
The comment hit his mark and the gruff soldier clamed up, almost sneering at the remark. Wesker didn't say anything to Krauser's reaction. He only smiled as he carefully returned his shades to their proper place.
Krauser watched Wesker survey the damage done to him behind his typically cold expression. It was extensive, very extensive, and Krauser knew it. There would be no quick fix to this mishap, no simple solution. No, this one would require work. Surprisingly, Krauser found himself frightened by this, fearful that the benefits would not out weight the cost, but he quickly strangled the pang of fear, knowing that whatever Wesker decided was best.
Wesker continued his calculating stare before circling around to the other side of Krauser, to better survey the damage. After removing some more debris, Wesker found the source of the putrid stench that lingered so strongly in the air. Krauser's flesh had been so badly burned that it now stuck more to the rocks then it did him, but cling to him still it tried.
"Hmm…" was all Wesker could say. His chilled tone noted his displeasure.
Krauser laughed, knowing all too well that that sound from Wesker was never good. "That bad, huh?" he asked his boss with a side glanced, having found it painful to turn his head completely to the side.
Wesker merely glanced up at him over his shades and then returned his gaze to Krauser's arm, his mutated, melted, arm that now stuck to the debris. His brow furrowed as he frowned, disliking the extent of the damage to what appeared to be a wonderfully successful mutation. It wasn't until Wesker pulled out a syringe that Krauser became truly nervous.
Krauser looked up at his boss, as best he could, questionably. Wesker let his gaze linger on the butchered arm before glancing up at Krauser from over his shades again. His eyes were that blazing crimson again, the way they got when he was angry, truly, truly angry. Krauser knew that, whatever was about to happen, it probably wouldn't be pleasant, to say the least.
"Does your neck hurt?" Wesker asked.
"What?"
"Answer the question."
Krauser was taken aback by the suddenness of such an off the wall question. "Y-yes…"he answered hesitantly.
Wesker sneered, growling ever so slightly beneath his breath as he began pulling the plastic cap off the needle. Krauser knew what was coming next. His body was too badly damaged, he would require another injection, another mutation, if he was to stand a chance of surviving. Wesker made his way over to Krauser, needle in hand. He now stood over him, looking down at Krauser with a sneer on his face, a look Krauser didn't too much like coming from his boss, but then the look changed, suddenly and without warning, as all of Wesker's facial expression did when he actually cared to share one with the world around him. He now wore and expression of aggravated fatigue, a look Krauser was not accustomed too.
Krauser felt the needle touch the only place on his neck that wasn't scorched past recognition, felt it break through his skin. He tried as best he could to watch Wesker's reaction as he injected him. Wesker, as always, was impossible to read. He simply focused on administering the injection, paying little heed to the dying soldier.
Krauser laughed to himself, an action which earned him a disapproving glance from Wesker. Krauser was beginning to feel nostalgic, longing for the world he started out in, way back when, a world he was trying to pretend he still lived in. But Krauser, though he tried, was never very good at fooling himself.
In his own twisted way, he considered Wesker a friend, a comrade. He knew full well it was a bold faced lie, but still, he considered it. He needed to think that, to pretend that, but not to keep on going. No, that part was easy. He needed to think that to keep sane, as sane as Jack Krauser could ever be. Needed to think that somewhere in the world he was still useful to one person, however untrue it may be.
Nausea shot through his body as the virus surged through his veins. His muscles were beginning to seize up, tightening, relaxing, and then quickly tightening again. Wesker had walked around to where Krauser could see him now. He was studying him, studying him as he did everyone.
Krauser was nothing more than a specimen now, if he ever was anything more to begin with. He had once hoped that he was an ally, but now he knew that Wesker had no allies, only subjects, pawns. Krauser suspected that he was the latter. Now he knew he wasn't even that much. Now he was beginning to wonder why the world didn't just let him die in the helicopter crash.
Dazed, Krauser looked up to find a chopper landing not too far from where they were. He saw men baring a familiar logo pouring out of it, saw Wesker turn his back to him and head towards the second chopper that was now landing. Men surrounded him, pried him from the ground in an agonizing sweep. Krauser started screaming, from the pain, from the virus, from the frustration, everything, he started screaming, and somehow, over all the chaos, he heard Wesker say something.
"Don't die…"
Two simple words, not even that comforting in fact, two barely audible words heard, somehow, heard by Krauser over a wave of auditory chaos, and in some unexplainable way, it comforted him. He might not have been an ally, but at least he was, for the time being, an asset, and, for the wounded and weary soldier, that was enough.
Not much but I do hope you like. Again, please R&R so I know if I need to spare others from more or keeping going lol.