Disclaimer: We do NOT own Resident Evil or its characters. (The rights belong to CAPCOM & MIKAMI Shinji.)
Warning: AU, Crack, Cursing, Male/Male relationship, Mpreg, OOC
Italics – Emphasized words/Thoughts/Onomatopoeia(s)/Over the phone conversation
Bold – the Nemesis' catch phrase
A/N: …Did we mention OOC? Written in a carefree style, and doesn't really have a plot. Fundamentally something cute and crack-filled because our other story (Gods Never Die) is so serious… Please excuse the single periods, because we couldn't (for the life of us) figure out how to add extra spaces. Thank you!
UPDATED [07-19-13]: This one shot has been REVISED because a single review of distaste peeved us to the point of being unsatisfied with the existing horror… Thank you, blah (Guest); we appreciate the critical response you gave about our writing, and feel it gave us the motivation to improve… We hope it's accepted as a good read now & still retains some of its humor… Cheers.
"Chris, come to bed."
"No." I didn't like repeatin' myself, but Wesker was obviously missing my logic for not wanting to return to his room— the bedroom— and why would I with circumstances frequently bordering dispute? Places like that are supposed to be foundations of comfort and stability, so why did it always feel like I was crawling into a warzone?
Although, it's not like his proposition wasn't tempting, the soft mattress and extra legroom would no doubt do wonders for my posterior n' yada yada, seeing as this settee could only support specific areas, but I knew better than to accept his offer... Wasn't ready to tolerate the suggestion or activities of a late-night rodeo and I know I was being over-judgmental, 'cause even though he hadn't said anything about intentions, I assumed the majority of his thoughts from his eyes, which scanned my horizontal form, hovering attentively on certain hot-spots—lips, ass, and situated bulge— purposely ignorant to pleasantries.
And under his unyielding stare, accompanied by silence, I found the best way to bypass further influence and entreats was with a fix to my overshirt and a roll; presenting my back before crossing arms with a mumble of, "Couch is fine."
But there was a grunt of disapproval— as I kinda figured there would be— as I heard him lean against the end of the sofa; thumb and ring of dominance rubbing his ducks with a heated growl, alleviating his naked chest with a sighed, "Why must you insist on being obstinate?"
Hmph. Same reason why he always assumed I was the one with the problem: it's in his nature. And I procured a corner pillow from the cushioned depth to mute further inquiry, easing it half over my face with closed eyes. Though it's not like my ignorance would be authoritative enough to warrant a leave and dropped subject, but still, "…I'm not in the mood, Wesker."
"I can see that, but you've been out here every night for over a week… Is sleeping with me really that bad?"
Pft. I'd be a fool to believe he was actually 'worried' about my routine, but this was a first. Not once have I ever heard him question his own competence and he essentially hit the nail on the head too… Talk about beginner's luck, but from my experience, understanding and respect held dually different outcomes, so I felt obligated to confirm with a cold, hard, "Yes." And added further by compellingly undoing my previous actions of cowardice, craning my neck to the foot of the lounger, "For once I'd like to have a decent rest without you rubbin' up on me every two goddamn seconds!"
Hrn.
Guttural recognition? Really? That's all I get? "I'm bein' serious here."
"Try uncooperative and selfish." He acknowledged my risen middle with a nod, labeling a smirk. "You forget you're not the only one suffering from these conceited decisions of yours."
Ha. Is that how he sees my resolution of wantin' some alone-time? Egotistical? Damn, I know I can be thickheaded once in a while, but arrogant?
What the hell did he know?
"Sure, Wesker," And I purposely curved in exposure, also motioning to my sizable lump, but in a provoking manner, "because this is SO hard to neglect!"
It was semi-meant along the lines of cynicism, but guess it came more serious than intended because immediately after, Wesker straightened with a warning scowl, "My, the disregard you have towards your status quo is quite unhealthy."
"So is this conversation."
And Wesker soon stepped into motion, slowly dragging his slippers in sync with his hand atop the daybed's bridge; only stopping when directly positioned overhead. "I don't think you realize how much I actually do for you."
Argh… Here he goes again, tryin' to make himself sound important… "Bullshit." And I repossessed the cloth-support, reconcealing my features with a grating sigh. Hopefully he would take heed of the gesture this time and drop the damn topic, because I wasn't gonna move, so either he had to make me, or let. it. go… And a tranquil pause followed, giving the notion I was alone, but I knew better 'cause I didn't hear movement of depart and when a soft,
"...Chris."
reached my ears, and the pillow shrouding my expression was fisted in a foreign palm, I kinda wondered if he was in the frame of mind to force it lower to suffocate me, or simply remove it, and I hid relief when it was lifted, uncovering an annoyed stare and a,
"Is that how you treat someone who's brought you a present?"
Well, this was surprising. He'd never been the type to gift others— not in an innocent way at least— so I was kinda worried about this… uh, bribe, and unequivocally stated, "I don't want anythin' from you." Besides, with his sick wit it probably had somethin' to do with artillery, poisons, or the infringement of my B.S.A.A. documents; which he seemed to be most interested in as of late… No doubt he was up to his old ways, researching and developing a new stain of viral weaponry behind my back.
Bastard's full of it…
And when the cushion was tossed just out of reach, I had confirmation of crooked chops and jesting orbs peering down with an intimation of ridicule, before he benched himself on his elbows. "Not even the slightest bit curious as to what it is?"
Ha. I was only human, so of course I was interested, but could easily deny my inquisitiveness with him, because in the past his charity was always a killjoy, so no; nothin' to look forward to… And silence carried my message flawlessly, to which Wesker responded unconstructively by withdrawing his lean from atop the sofa in a haughty huff.
"Come now, stop being difficult and get up."
His tone was extremely snappy, and I couldn't help but throw him a dangerous glance of, 'you're jokin', right?' while motioning to my belly in furrowed defiance, shortly surprised when he made his way 'round to me; palm unselfishly offered with sensitive shoulder roll.
Well, at least he was tryin'… and I really appreciated the gesture, but, "…Just got comfy." And was unable to hide my unintended delight at making him squirm; knuckles popping as his fist curled in rejection… Could'a sworn he stomped his foot like a spoiled child too, before a,
"I hope your reflexes are still sharp." was muttered.
"What? …Why?" And I felt a little on edge when catching his neck itch among a surly turn, shades pushed higher on his bridge before slipping the toe of his indoor shoe under the frame of the lounge— shifting up— and I let out a startled gasp when it tipped; my back meeting the solid floor in a hardly managed roll to my butt; knees knocked apart, soon resolved in low anger. Goddammit, Wesker! "Was that really necessary?"
And I could see him mentally contemplating my allegation; retort festering on the tip of his tongue, jaw muscles noticeably flexing like gills, thus I'd say he acted on more impulsive measures, so spare me the excuse— and he did; mutely settling the couch back onto all fours singlehandedly— letting it go halfheartedly near the end— before approaching in a tower, insisting again with another offered palm…
Fine… Gotta start somewhere.
And this time I took it willingly through a gritty exhale; however, maybe I should'a saved my breath, because the sheer force from his tug was enough to knock the wind outta anyone, landing me right into a strapping grasp; the warm scent of stale coffee staining his breath, along with zesty cologne and we stayed pressed together a little longer than I'd of liked, retaining the impression that he was letting hostility slip with time, but I just wanted to make one thing very clear, "I don't forgive you…" and I was thankful he heard that 'cause to my ears it sounded a lot more hushed and muffled, especially when my face was held hazardously close to his bare and crisp apexes, which tightened in acknowledgement,
"I'm not looking for your clemency, just cooperation."
Isn't he always, and I knew I was probably gonna regret this, but, "Well, you have my full attention—"
"Good." And without a moment to prep myself, he quickly spun me to face the kitchen doorway, buoyancy riding his tone when he firmed my posture in a small shake. "Now, behold… Nemesis-T Type II."
…T Type II? And before I had time to mull over the origins of the name, rigid clomps greeted my ears, and I didn't know what I was supposed to be lookin' at, but then it hit me… like a ton of bricks. "What… the hell?"
I'd heard stories from Jill about a B.O.W. that stalked her throughout Raccoon City— the one responsible for Brad's death— but that was back in the nineties! She told me it was destroyed… So how the hell could it still be alive? Or was I just jumpin' the gun, this thing a measly, recreational byproduct of the monster previously employed to wipe out the remaining members of our tactical unit?
Anyways, this 'Nemesis,' or whatever he called it stood threateningly in its silence; strictly immobile a few feet before me in the arch of the apartment's living room; memorable, desiccated lips permanently pulled back in a horse's grin, showing a perfect set of teeth and healthy gums…
But what stole my gaze from its overpowering features was the misshapen pipes hidden beneath a pink, frilly apron advertising the phrase, 'Kiss Me,' and amid my gape could only muster a parched, "You've gotta be kiddin' me…"
And Wesker's quality divulged amusement, open arms advertising his design with enthusiasm. "Marvelous, isn't it? I rebuilt the original body, utilizing the Tyrant's inbuilt potency and power, and infused it with an NE-α Type parasite, which allows complete control over the host's cerebrum stem, acting as a secondary brain to—"
Yeah, sure. That's nice and all but, "—I don't wanna hear the rest." And although I felt a little bad for cutting him off, my mental qualm had reached its limit, and I took a defensive pose, which didn't faze Wesker the way I thought it would; his customary expression pulling into a leer as he retraced his steps in a circle.
"Oh, but I assure you, Chris. Though his physique may be a bit callous, his intelligence and capability to follow orders makes up for it." And strong hands drew over my tense shoulders in serene manipulation with a pilfering hiss to my ear. "He's quite safe."
I bet… Probably more so than Wesker in this sensual mode.
And even though this massage was involuntarily promoted via my indiscreet groan, I made to shake his exploring fingers with an impressionable jerk, "And what's your version of safe? 'Cause there's no way I'm stayin' here with that… thing! In case you've forgotten," and I turned, capturing his freshly shaven chin in a grab, ripping him closer than comfort allowed, "I'm a member of S.T.A.R.S.!" which I thought was a pretty good point; until an irritated pass was pressed atop my cloaked pregnancy, weakening authority.
"I'm just concerned about your interests, Chris." And that same intrusive palm— now accompanied by its significant other— traveled rebelliously around my globe, regardless of constant objection as he cupped at every latitude and longitude, like he was hopin' to experience something different each time, but maturely settled for a solid grope to each side; chafing his proclivity against me with a smirk. "After all, I can't stay with you around the clock."
Ugh. Should'a known it was gonna escalate to this, and I immediately shoved him away with doubled dispense and a, "So this is basically assurance that I don't try anythin' funny while you're gone?"
And Wesker's dark glasses slipped from his nose with the jolt, revealing a citrine expression and tawny eyes to which he fully uncovered; uncouthly piercing from my actions and most likely considering them insensitive. "Well, it seems like you have it all planned out, don't you? Always labeling me the bad guy."
"But, you are."
And he stared at me like a mentor to a student who just failed to answer a previously-studied question wrong, only to edge me with a brow to try again, and I complied with a flexible,
"Were…"
before Wesker replanted his tinted lenses with adept reiteration, additionally flicking at negligible bangs. "Better… However, if that's the way you see it, then yes; it's for your own safety. And for clarification— it's Ex-S.T.A.R.S. The past is behind you."
As it should be for you… But that didn't stop my dread or mouthful of, "Oh, like it can really tell the difference!"
"S.T.A.R.S."
The dense tone of its voice came no louder than a whisper, harmonizing with an eerie rattle, and it was just enough of 'creepy' to send goose bumps in a chill and I shivered; however, that slight rise in sensation also brought about a strong twinge in my gut, to which I placed a compact hand atop of my lumbar's curve with a sharp inhale middling a lean-back, and finished association with a very measured exhale.
D-Dammit… and I closed my eyes, begging for the ache to subside, and gradually it did, but when sight was enlightened I caught Wesker's narrowing summit intense on mine, and couldn't help but try to take the center of his attention off affairs with a, "…What?" which was much shorter than my original thought of, 'unless I have somethin' on my face, you'd better have a damn good reason for starin' at me like this.'
And he creased his nose in an agitated groove, probably from not being able to hide his apprehension— if that's what it was supposed to look like— and there was a preoccupied scan; starting around my waist, ending with our eyes in a deadlock, "You did that last night too."
Wow. This guy doesn't miss a beat. "Don't… change the subject." And I knew it was a pretty weak brush-off, but it was all I could come up with as I indistinctly coiled under truth, and restrained from adding, 'It's the couch's fault.' because then we'd be right back at the beginning of this conversation…
"I wouldn't dare."
And his verbal guarantee came with no signature but surrendered palms, and I could only hope he meant it amid that sardonic tenor.
"But if it makes you feel any better, I programmed him myself." And he quickly bypassed my frown of, 'not comforting' before easing his hands to a vase— the one Claire bought me for Christmas— sitting on the shelf next to him, "Perhaps a demonstration is in order then?" and he turned, aiming at the Nemesis.
And regretfully my immediate outburst of, "Wesker— NO!" failed to stop him from propelling the porcelain urn across the room, and disappointingly my expectations of his aim bein' 'off' fell short.
CRASH! It struck the monster's head, embedding multiple shards in exposed flesh, and astonishingly there wasn't even a twitch, instead its focus hovered to the glassy mess below, status ostensibly updating with a growl.
…
NEMESIS ID-UW003
.
FUNCTIONALITY
99.1%.
OPERATIONAL
.
Target Confirmation
Error
Search…
Search…
Target Confirmation
Error
Search…
Search…
Search…
Search…
Target Confirmation
Clear
.
Scan Mode…
.
FUNCTIONALITY
100%.
OPERATIONAL
.
WEAPON:
Gatling Gun
M134
Magazine Capacity Infinite
.
OBJECTIVE:
Protect
Redfield, Chris
…
"S.T.A.R.S." And it gradually stalked from the room, seemingly under possession and I could only offer a subservient wrinkle to Wesker, who was busy beaming smugly over his design, like an evil scientist in those classic horror novels; so warped in proficiency, although excluding the cackle… For now, at least…
"See? Not a problem."
But as if to append additional distress to uncertainties, I heard heavy clops returning, accompanied by a metallic clunk, clunk, clunk, and by the time I refocused on the events around, the Nemesis was already back in the room, a Gatling gun in hand as it towered ominously over the scattered debris.
Harmless to my human eyes, but somehow its mere existence seemed pernicious.
…
WARNING:
Potential Threat
.
OBJECTIVE:
Eliminate
…
The obstructive weapon was poised, humming to life as the trigger was held; discharging consecutive rounds until only dust remained; powdery glimmers caught in the lamplight by the end table.
…
OBJECTIVE:
Complete
…
And in addition to looking satisfied, the Nemesis took a step back with a rasp; stance shifting to neutral as it glanced to us, and if I didn't know any better say it was probing for reassurance— like a slave begging for master's approval— and I looked to said heretic who was expediently musing at this whole scene with that archetypal yet delayed, throaty cackle and a,
"Good boy."
Well, at least one of us was happy… but seriously,"Why don't you just shoot me." And I wasn't askin', especially when his temperate gaze slowly traveled to mine,
"How rude. I did this for you."
What'a load of croc… "No, Wesker. You did this for yourself; for your own amusement. And when you can't sell your creations on the black market because your name is being monitored— and would most definitely be flagged— you have no choice but to relocate them somewhere else… and you choose here—" There was a skillful evade from my ex-captain as he made sure to avoid a blow from my opening arms when I motioned passionately to the room around, "your goddamn home—" before directing an accusing finger to his face. "And you may think I'm OK with this, but let me assure you I. am. not. Now get that thing outta my sight before I call the B.S.A.A.!"
Believable, I know, and it's not like I was bluffin', but Wesker must'a thought me staid because accompanying his approach to regain dominance, his chest purposely snubbed my middle as he took my extended limb and lowered it solicitously; adding with a very spiteful, "Really, Chris? I'd love to see you try and pull that stunt discreetly. More specifically, how you'd bypass their inquiries of where you've been these last nine months, and how you're the first— if not only person to have inside knowledge of a B.O.W. that hasn't even risen hell yet..."
And I'm pretty sure Wesker noticed the disturbance on my face when I hastily acknowledged the creature in question with a point, silently clarifying his justification with a, 'so this present was a farce for another one of your ploys,' kinda expression, and he must'a recognized my dilemma immediately, 'cause before I had a chance to verbally convey my disappointment and distaste, he flicked a placid smile.
"Not like it would though." And it wasn't hard to nurture the weighty atmosphere between us, drowning in mixed emotions until a small tone broke the stored commodity with a tedious blip, to which Wesker fished for in haste, withdrawing his phone from inside black cotton pockets in haste—possibly gratified to be distracted— and soon sounded with a mediating chuckle of, "Whether or not you believe me is entirely up to you, but I'll have to excuse myself," and after a snippy wave of his captured mobile he headed for the bedroom. "I've got more pressing matters to attend to."
And for a moment I thought he was runnin' away, assuming that this interruption was somehow planned and that he'd messaged himself in order to escape our darkening conversation, but when seeing that familiar look on his face—one captivated in self-importance— threw all blame out the window, deciding to let events run their course with a whispered, "Fine…" and placed a hand atop my expectant stomach; feeling a strong kick, which made me realize, "Hey wait, what am I supposed to do if— I don't know… somethin' happens?"
But occupied grunts answered first before a bitter, "Well, that depends. Is something going to happen, Chris?" The partitioning walls dulling most of his lack of sympathy and no doubt he was shuffling through his wardrobe of comparable shade; color matching his devious demeanor.
"N-No, but if—"
"Then it's your problem to handle." And a now-gloved pointer made itself clear through the archway with a including gesture of, "Or the Nemesis'. After all, that's what he's for."
For? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Actually, I think I already had the general idea, and felt speechless; well… almost, kinda similar to the brute I was just asked to put all my faith in, and couldn't fight an ill-humored, "You can't be serious."
"Quite. So do try to enjoy yourself."
Bastard… And this suddenly left me feeling very jipped, maybe even abandoned; which began to fester curiously, more like every time I watched Wesker— now fully dressed— pass the ingress of his room, walking to and fro from each side in careful preparation; fastening his gun holster one minute, mounting his coat the next.
And I considered dizziness… even slight envy at his pace. Though it's not like my gripin' would do any good, and contemplated whether to sit back down on the couch or stay standing, but finally settled for an opportune descend onto the adjacent armrest; massaging my bristles patiently while waitin' for him to make leave through the living room.
'N I didn't have to linger long…
Within seconds he was out, fixing the cuff of his left jacket sleeve before running the same hand through his bangs; almost hesitating like he had something to say, and it was the same for me… Except I didn't know how to— or even if I should— approach the subject, seeing as it pertained to what we were just fighting over, but timidly called out anyways when he ignorantly beelined for the front door, "Since you're… goin' out…"
And he must'a read my mind, because of all the things I could'a said he unlocked the entrance with a,
"Yes, you may have the bed tonight."
Good. That was all I needed to hear… and decided to show my appreciation by provoking his send off with a, "So, where ya goin'?" to which he missed my rusty half-smile, shutting the door in a harsh slam, but at this point I wasn't really gonna hold it against him.
After all, every couple had their own way of wishin' each other safe travels, and ours were words of… how to put it… motivation, 'cause no way I'd ask for a sappy kiss or hug. Besides, it's not like he wasn't comin' back.
"…He always does." And I paused, apprehending my verbal mutter and felt a bit sentimental; promptly crunching my somber manifestation to try and stop the self-pitying sway, til reminded of the Nemesis, who stood frozen in place where previously left; it's monotonous breath puffing heavily, soon the only sound I was focusing on— almost in a trance— and looked timidly in its direction…
Which made me realize the damn thing was starin' at me, eye contact permanent; the whole scene intimidating, and not just because of the slowly pressed distance of one step, two step— three, four; until it was transcending in braying intrusiveness, that grating grind still riding its scrambled whispers.
And I made to break the cumbersome awkwardness with a meek, "Don't you ever… rest, or somethin'?" Not thinkin' this massive creature would actually react, but it sure fooled me; dropping its heavy weapon with little civility, and I heard it bypass the extended area rug, crack the wooden floor, and indent the cement foundation beneath, giving me the cue to retreat—
to the bedroom—
alone— and I made damn sure my intentions were clear when shutting the door behind, ceasing the monstrous predator to a halt just beyond the frame. "You stay out there." And I could tell it didn't like my tone when there was a snarl, but didn't care less, 'cause I wasn't ready to let a mild heart attack induce premature labor.
Pft, not like it would though…
…
Pain.
That's how I was stirred from a sleep I didn't quite remember entering, only vaguely recalling the trouble I had gettin' comfortable when first lying down on the master bed; the softness incomparable when evaluated to the coarseness of the sofa, and I breathlessly cussed at my growing discomfort, barely managing to push myself to sit with a pant, feet planted firmly on horizontal support.
Dammit… again? And I tried to offer resolve with a purposeful stroke below my girth, pausing when feeling a violent punt against my anxious fingers, which made me reflect with an, OK already! I'll walk it off… as my first deliberation, because it worked so well the last few times and my mind fretfully began trying to acknowledge the optimistic aspect. The initial contemplation being that stress— accompanied by a switched schedule, no longer sleeping in a cramped position— could easily explain why I felt this way. But timidly straightening out my posture amid a stand created an even more powerful sensation of agony, and it hit.
Hard.
Causing me to crumble— along with newfound pessimism— but at least I made it to the door, which loudly gave way with my fall— no roll to save me this time 'round, and through shaken vision was only limited a glance up booted feet to that oh-so-lovely face.
Great, right where I left 'im… and decided to open the floor with a pleading, "Help… me out here." to which the Nemesis slowly looked down; but that was all it did, and I could only furrow in confusion, quickly assumin' it was still pissed about earlier and offered my best, "…P-Please?" thinkin' that would right all wrongs, but no; same old ignorance.
Goddammit, Wesker. You had to give it a conscious, didn't you? And I soon found myself wishin' there was a way to reset this bully, though it's not like it came with a user manual, so decided against it with a few concentrated breaths; also taking this moment as well to scout for an alternative solution, immediately catching the foretaste of my cell—
on a table—
in the next room.
Really? How the hell'd it end up there? Actually, that wasn't important; the more imperative issue right now was, 'how am I gonna get it?' 'Cause I wasn't crawlin'— even if I wanted to— my current predicament wouldn't let me, so I guess the only other option was…
"H-Hey, you." And it took more than a couple snaps to fully capture the Nemesis' attention prior to pulling myself to lean against the studded frame; its small, glazed cornea slowly peering lower before its head followed suit in a hollow gawk. "Look, you don't like me— and I don't like you— but the least you can do is bring me my phone."
Seemed like it was a pretty decent proposal too, yet after my gaze and purposeful point was followed, there was still no attempt to comply…
Dammit… And I know it wasn't a smart idea to entice this beast further, but wasn't one for goin' quietly; that, and I was done playin' Mr. Nice guy. "Come on. Lemme do us both a favor and get Wesker on the line, so he can come haul your ass back to whatever test tube you spawned in."
And the eye narrowed slightly with a soundless expression of aversion to my enticement, but hell, I wasn't ready for a stare-down with this monster— especially when I've never actually seen it blink— and patience was rapidly diminishing through discomfort, which became apparent with my next list of commands, beginning with, "Fetch…
Assist?
D-Danger?
…Glass?"
"S.T.A.R.S."
Well… it was a start.
…
Bang!
All it took was a single gunshot— carefully aimed and planned— to set off a series of explosions throughout an already rundown facility; the first oiled canister chosen for ignition when zombies, along with their hot-headed cousins, rose to greet their guest…
Their creator.
Who kindly watched the hungry flames in awe, eating ravenously at already decomposing flesh, and edged higher with the release of stored gases from the now ashing wounds; bodies crumbling simultaneously as a melodic tune vibrated from inside leather pants, and Wesker clicked his tongue ardently, timing a careful pass to his mobile as he answered, wedging it between his ear and shoulder, only long enough to reload.
"What."
A word that came more as a statement than question, but either way was countered with a censored outburst droned by inconsistent static, and there was a short-lived glimmer of interest with a lightly bemused,
"Hello?"
before his chin went down, back exposed to an unnoticed straggler, who used this opportunity to rush from behind, but was swiftly put to peace by another executed bang— pssh!
Headless.
…
Search…
Search…
Target Confirmation
Clear
.
Voice Recognition:
Wesker, Albert
…
From the look on the Nemesis' face I couldn't tell if it'd made contact with Wesker or not, and was limited to a dependent watch as it examined my device between pinched fingers, unwilling to bring it closer— taking matters into its own hands— and when there was no effort to correspond with further commands, I impatiently fisted the door's wooden border; regretting it seconds later, but that was the least of my worries.
"Oh, come on! Don't just stand there— do something! Say something! Anything!"
But the head just tilted in defectiveness.
…
OBJECTIVE:
Communicate
…
Wesker unenthusiastically recoiled his phone to check caller ID— which read blocked, a benefit of protection only given to one person—and soon switched to study his watch; observation indicating that not much time had passed since departing the apartment and arriving at his secret destination, so he was a bit concerned with the now-petitioning silence on the other end, and made to divide the veil with an inquiring, "Chris? It's only been three hours, what ever could you need—"
"U-Ugh!" "S.T.A.R.S."
Hrn. Now that was amusing, and although the first voice was greatly overpowered and semi-distorted, Wesker could most definitely recognize his partner's gripes— since he'd heard them on countless occasions over the years— but the second made his lips fold in a glower, focus cast to the floor with a stern, "I assume this is the Nemesis?"
And in less than a second there was a verified, "S.T.A.R.S."
"Care to explain why you have this phone?"
However— unlike its preceding response— this one held a lifeless pause; Chris' complaints now clearly perceptible in the background, which made Wesker tsk in apprehension; restlessly growing impatient for an answer and it eventually came low.
"…S.T.A.R.S…"
And no matter how pleased he was about the drive and… proficiency of this new creation— Nemesis T-Type II— there was always room for improvement.
Next time I'll install speech software... and he left the charcoaling cadavers to present elements, slicking at his hair with a free hand while heading for the closest exit, delaying his true purpose for the impulsive invasion as he pressed a button to call an elevator.
After all, this little visit could wait; the situation at the residence seemed much more… significant, and the thought of returning to find circumstances bordering conception tickled his fancy; all the while betraying his past pledge of 'leaving things alone,' particularly when, "How bad is it?" and there was a jerky ponderance of 'oh wait,' before a redirected and mired tick. "Tone wise."
But there was a discordant stillness on the other line again, to which Wesker pried with a premature, "Well—" before a long and intricate,
"S.S.S.S.S.T.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.R.R.R.S.S.S.! "
blared loudly in his ear, which almost caused him to drop his phone when hurriedly pulling away; drums pounding from the elaborate roar as he shook his head to rid the ring, and after a moment's pause indecisively repositioned the device in an unruffled demeanor with a precise,
"I see…" And despite the mild discomfort he was currently feeling, it was easy to let a smirk provoke the corners of his mouth, which rose concurrently as the lift docked for boarding. "Do let him know I'm on my way."
…
Crunch!
OK… I thought that scream was bad, but after witnessing the bulk of my cell— the only damn communication device I owned— compressed within an over-sized fist, really made me reconsider opinions, and I could only watch provocatively as some small pieces of casing slipped from the Nemesis' now-opened palm when it inquisitively inspected the damage.
And no amount of pain could force me to make this any less clear, but, with a body like that, "What… the hell did you expect?" Bastard should'a passed it to me in the first place… and without more ado there was an embarrassed glimpse in my direction, but I just waved him to look somewhere else because I couldn't handle the insanity. My inner turmoil. Moaning. Groaning.
It was already all too much, and I just didn't feel like adding an insecure ogle to the mountain of shit I was currently dealin' with, and only had one question… which I thought deserved a similar answer.
"Wesker… What did he say?"
However, the beady eye only glistened; absently hazing with desirable quality as it solely stared, and I could swear I saw its lip shudder amid its poorly mustered, "S.T.A.R.S." before slouching to its knees in defeat.
Sure, I could live with that.