Author's Note: Another of the pieces I wrote at school in my days of apathy. It might seem bizarre and might not make a lot of sense; it's just a product of sitting down and writing something... out of the ordinary, kind of confusing. Either way, enjoy everyone^^ Warning: character deaths, alright? xD

Resident Evil: Death Itself

It was a rainy day in New York City. The rain splashed the buildings, the glasses smeared with water, the smell of wet soil heavy in the air, almost like a fragrance, pleasant and calming. The noise in the streets had subdued, people walking home after a busy day. Claire Redfield was enjoying it all.

She was taking refuge from the rain under the roof of the stairs' landing, watching as a wave of mist menaced to swallow everything as if with hunger. She loved the smell in the air; it suddenly reminded her of the time she and Chris had gone camping in the mountain, when still living in Raccoon City. It had been an amazing day, until it had become cloudy in the middle of the afternoon. She remembered how good it felt being next to him, snuggled up against each other, talking, joking and laughing. And now that she thought of it, he was supposed to be coming in the morning, finally returning from his mission in Africa.

Chris had told Claire about everything that had happened, about Uroboros and Wesker's madness, TriCell, Excella and Irving; she'd clearly felt in his voice an usual tinge, a 'she has to know everything' kind of tinge. She hadn't believed her ears at first, but knowing both Chris and Wesker, it certainly wasn't a lie. And it was the greatest news she'd ever received in ages, Chris' feats. Finally he, they, wouldn't be tormented anymore. Claire knew Chris was coming out of his own personal hell.

Claire gazed up at the sky, letting her mind wander through her memories, and she found quite a good bunch of happy ones. Somehow, her mind stumbled across Leon's image and it became stuck inside her head. She smiled to herself, wondering where he'd be now, if she'd ever see him again and if she'd get to tell him certain things. She loved him without boundaries or shame, but the question remained. Leon had never been the type of guy to show his feelings, at least not fully; what could be said about him? Would it be reciprocate? Well, she'd find out when she saw him.

She decided not to think about it, yet didn't erase the matter, and checked her watch. It was 9 pm, and she wouldn't like to be late to meet Chris at the airport. Clinging to that thought, she gripped the handle, closing the door as she turned—

—and she stopped at midway as the image her eyes caught sank in, almost painfully. Claire's eyes widened, sudden horror rushing through her system, cold and paralysing. All colour drained from her cheeks as she could feel, and she wanted to back away, but the door had already closed. Worst than any massacre, viral spill or lived her, he was horrifying by himself.

"It can't be… No!" Claire exclaimed, tears welling up in her eyes, tears of horror and despair. Suddenly forgetting how strong she was, her legs felt almost like butter. And his widening smirk made things much worse for Claire. She ordered herself to move, but she was stuck in place.

"Did you really think I'd be gone?" he asked, his cool voice making her shiver. Right now, it was worse than even the sound of nails against a wall, "I wonder if Chris really saw what he saw," he continued almost passively… almost. Claire had sensed the always present tinge of hate towards Chris in his voice. Claire could still not speak or move, she had frozen in the spot. He took a step forward, his boot tapping the step as if gently, and Claire felt his gaze against hers, that inhuman glare of his… Claire tried to convince herself that it was just a nightmare, but everything was so real… too real to be mistaken for a figment of her imagination.

"Wesker…" Claire uttered, the name leaving her lips unwillingly. His smirk turned into a smile, gentle but dark, full of opposite concepts. Another step, another and another, and it was too late when she finally realized how close he was. Claire couldn't lie nor say on the contrary: Wesker was as real as before, his cold presence overwhelming and fear-inducing.

Claire took hold of the latch and opened the door, stepping under the pouring rain, water slapping her. Wesker followed closely, calmly retracing her steps, wicked dancing in his gaze.

"Don't you just love the weather?" he asked rather mockingly. Claire was till trying to cope with the situation. She had two options: fight or die. Plucking out her cowering courage, she forcefully changed her demeanour and adopted a defensive stance.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.

Wesker stood impassive, gaze fixed upon the Redfield, rain hitting him hard and almost cruelly, making a lock of his hair slide in front of his forehead, giving him a very different look. His rage was growing, his hatred brimming over the edge of sanity, but he just hid it as casually as always, no signs of distress ever visible. He watched Claire's trepidation grow but, at the same time, he sensed a typical rush of confidence through her: Chris'. She was the live image of her brother. And Wesker wanted, desired to take his life and watch him suffer in agony as much as he had, even more if it was possible. What a better way to do it than taking away what he cherished most? What a better pleasure than that?

His voice rang through the rain, "I think you already know the answer to that question. You've known it for too long, since everything started, and so has your brother," He started walking towards her, his brow furrowing and voice becoming steel, almost torturing, "I've longed to do it, waited for too long, and you've always escaped. Through you, I'll start killing him, very slowly and painfully, and I'll delight in it. And the best thing of all is that he won't even tell if it's real or not."

"You're mad!" exclaimed Claire, eyes wide open. Wesker smiled again, almost baring his teeth.

"Well, look at everything my madness has helped me achieve… and you can't imagine what it will." He shot back, his casualty giving Claire the chills. Then, he lunged forward, the blade of a knife appearing in his hand, and he slashed at Claire's face. Claire stepped back, trying not to slip with the rain, finding it difficult to move with her drenched clothes. Another vicious slash, she dodged and raised her foot up to his face as he turned around. Bullseye; he just turned his head away. Claire was and wasn't surprised at his indifference before pain, and as he looked back at her, his neck cracked. Talk about movies…, she thought.

Fast as lightning itself and as one flashed, slashing the air, Wesker dug his knee into Claire's gut, raising her a few inches from the air; another one, as if she were nothing more than a ball, and he stopped, letting her stagger away coughing blood, something he delighted in. Claire coughed again, and Wesker yanked at her hair, pulling her back and smacking her face. Claire fell, splashing water and blood spewing from her lips. A new rush of energy coursing through her, she sprang to her feet, wiping her mouth and straightening as Wesker paced around her.

"You disappoint me. Is this all that Chris taught you?" he scoffed as hurting as he could. Both locked gazes, moving in a circle, oblivious to the rain and their drenched clothes. Claire felt a knot of dread in her stomach, and a big one, and it wouldn't let her concentrate. Still, she knew what to do: lunging forward, she sent her fist to his gut and her knee to his right side, which he all blocked easily; then, he had to admit he didn't see Claire's next blow coming. He would have his powers, but she had gained some speed. Feeling her leg sweep the ground, Wesker fell on his side, cursing inwardly. He couldn't and wouldn't allow himself anymore distractions.

As he sprang to his feet with a swift movement, Claire lunged again, faster than she ever though, yet she still couldn't catch him by surprise. Who could, anyway? Wesker was lightning, and if he was using his powers, Claire didn't know. They continued exchanging blows, blocking them and getting hit, but not even falling onto one knee. He was about to give the final blow… or so he thought.

Claire ducked, dodging his vicious kick, and her fist connected with his face. Suddenly, without even expecting it, she heard Chris' voice in her head, the memory of their days of training instantly coming to her mind. "Come on, Claire. Give it all you've got!" he was telling her. As the good sister she was, she thought with sarcasm, she obeyed her brother's voice. "Body blow!" Score. It was a direct punch to his right side; "Another one!" This time, his left side, and then it was time for the three-hit combo he'd taught her. A knee to the stomach, an uppercut and a final punch; Claire didn't miss, not once, and Wesker staggered to his left, yet didn't hit the floor… oh, no, he wouldn't.

Claire stood panting and took off her jacket, feeling much lighter and freer to move, and she raised her fists again in front of her face, a fierce gleam in her eye. Wesker collected himself and straightened, eyes closed and shades knocked off. When he opened them, Claire didn't believe what she was seeing. He was certainly uncomfortable, but he wanted her to see the result of her brother's torture, what everything had led him to do, and he would see through the matter that time.

"No more games."

"Alright, c'mon!" Wesker smirked, rage coursing through his veins, already knowing how to attack… and everything would be over. He didn't motion a step, he moved in front of her, appearing behind a black blur, and knocked her to one side with a swift blow to her face. Claire felt her nose almost break and she tried to recover as soon as she could, but she felt dizzy all of a sudden. Shit… come on!, she urged herself. By the time she had stood up again, Wesker was gone.

"Sure." It was the last thing she heard. She suddenly felt pain through her neck, all air leaving her lungs, and she couldn't move anymore. And the last thing she felt was the soft touch of rain as her vision blurred, as she sensed her heart stop, and Claire hit the ground.

And Wesker smirked… his hand full of blood.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Claire hadn't picked up, and Chris' worries had increased at the sight.

She hadn't come to meet him as she'd said, and he had been waiting for quite a long time at the parking lot. He could understand if the traffic was bad —which would certainly be a reason—but not picking up the phone after three calls and not calling back? Chris had a bad feeling, and a very bad one. He'd taken a taxi and after a twenty minute ride and finding Claire's building, he approached the superintendent.

"No, haven't seen her coming or goin'," he'd said when asked about Claire.

"Alright, thank you." Chris went up the stairs, feeling a knot of dread and cursing problems, When will they end? Certainly never but, for once, he desired not even Claire had one, even if it was trivial. He stopped on his tracks, gaze fixed upon Claire's door: ajar. Okay… if she hasn't gone out, she wouldn't leave the door open like this. She knows better than that, he thought stepping forward. He examined the door, in which he found no strange signs, and cautiously stepped in as he silently called Claire's name. No response.

Chris checked the rooms, finding clues of Claire's complete disappearance: everything was tidy, perfectly in place, her house and car keys still on her bedside table. He thought at first of a kidnapping, but there were no signs of struggle; Claire would've beaten the pulp out of whoever came for her, unless… Chris didn't want to think about it, and he suddenly had a hunch: maybe she was on the roof. Something told him Claire would be there, and he followed his instincts. Exiting to the landing and climbing up the stairs in pairs, Chris noticed his heart racing in his chest, the knot of his stomach growing heavier—

—and what he saw was worse than anything he'd seen or lived. It left him almost breathless, as a punch to the gut. Now it was just him, him alone, adrift in a sea of sorrow and horror, trying to cope with the image that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Claire lay on a pool of her blood, a gaping hole right above her sternum, her glazing eyes void of emotion, as well as her expression. Her skin as white as snow, as still as a rock…

Chris didn't want to admit it, but she was dead.

Dead.

"Claire, NO!" he shouted as her ran to her bloody corpse. He knelt, taking her in his arms and feeling her blood on his knees and on his hands; it was already cold. Chris' eyes closed as he embraced her, rocking back and forth as he cried. Tears rolled down his cheeks and fell onto Claire's, who wouldn't be able to feel them anymore. He kept crying, sobbing and mourning his lost sister, unable to hold himself.

"Why? Who-who did this to you?" he said, his voice cracking. He remained there, crying silently under the stars, cursing whoever had claimed her life. If Claire were alive though, he would've known who waited in the shadows.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chris woke up with a jolt, cold sweat staining his brow and hands shaking. Had it been a dream? No, it couldn't be, he'd been there. He remembered Claire's call, her words, her voice… but she was gone, and quite literally: her corpse, once on the couch, was not there anymore. Chris' heart sank and he sprang to his feet, looking everywhere for her… and he failed to notice a grinning shadow in the dark which moved at the same time as him, muffling his steps with Chris'.

The agent ended up in Claire's bedroom again, searching for her desperately but somehow making himself realise she wasn't there anymore. Could she be alive? No… she's not… She's not, you imbecile. Who could survive a wound like that?, his inner voice nagged. Chris ran his hands through his hair, doing his damnedest not to break down again, and he looked at his right, catching glimpse of his reflection on the mirror… and somebody else's too. He gasped, not believing his eyes, and stood paralysed for a moment until he decided to turn around. He did, but found nobody, he didn't find his image, and started freaking out. Not that he wasn't used to hearing noises and not finding anything or seeing images and finding they weren't there, but that time was different… very different. Trauma, hallucinations? Chris swallowed hard and started for the living room, as cautiously as before, his heart almost menacing to burst out of his chest. It couldn't be, it couldn't.

But it was.

Chris was about to turn around again; as he started to, a hand shot for his throat. He felt its grip before he even took a step back, and his back collided against the wall as a choked gasp left his lips. It was even familiar, that grip, and looked into the eyes of death itself, or somehow close to it. Smirking, he spoke:

"It's nice to see you again, Chris." That voice, he thought, desperate, No, no… No, he's—

"You-you're dead! I saw—" Wesker's grip tightened, making Chris cough and gasp for breath. For once, Chris was more than afraid, and he couldn't do anything to stop the rush of fear that course through his body. In a sign of disdain, Wesker threw him down to the floor and Chris crawled away, coughing and a hand on his throat. Just then, he received a kick on his chest, and hard.

"Are you sure of what you did? Do you really believe it was real?" Wesker asked, pacing towards him. Chris raised his gaze at him in disbelief. Had everything been unreal? How, why? Thousands of questions hit him like hammers on an anvil. But had everything been a dream, and had everything been destined to be like how it was happening now?

"My condolences. I'm sorry about your sister." The sarcasm in his voice was so cruel Chris felt his soul shatter into pieces like shards of fragile glass. Tears welled up in his eyes again, but he wouldn't let them flow.

"It was you!" he shouted, "You son of a bitch!"

Wesker gave a throaty chuckle, "Yes, and you wouldn't believe how good it felt to do it."

"Shut up!" Chris charged, but Wesker vanished as if he had never been there, his voice coming from behind. His image appeared gradually, a deadly expression across his features, even deadlier than before.

"To see her die and see your image dying with her was a real pleasure. Her eyes lost their mirth, her body exhaled her last breath… Everything was delightfully cruel!" He hissed and, with one swift movement, his fist connected with Chris' chest again, sending him against a cabinet. The glass broke, sending dozens of shards into his back, piercing his flesh like hot metal. Chris yelled through gritted teeth. What a chance…, Wesker thought.

"Your sister screamed like that too, in goddamned agony as I claimed her life!"

"NO!" Chris' howl was full of pain, anger, rage and despair, as if his soul were a glass about to break.

"YES!" And Wesker's was maniacal, delighting in Chris' feelings, in his suffering. With a grunt followed by a scream, Chris rammed his shoulder into his gut. Wesker felt pain he'd forgotten long ago, and it was like receiving the blow of a rock. The Redfield attacked again, delivering a haymaker to his jaw, which made him stagger to one side. It was followed by an elbow into Wesker's back, and both exclaimed in pain; although Wesker didn't seem to have his abilities anymore —so thought Chris— the Redfield had sensed as if his body was made of iron.

"Why don't you die already?!" Chris asked, showing all of the rage that consumed his whole being to the very core. He felt as if going crazy, the image of his sister burned into his mind, and he took both hands to his head, releasing another yell that filled the room, his head throbbing. That made Wesker's rage reach the last corner of his being, his hate brimming again and some kind of animal instinct take over and cloud his senses. The only thing left now was that man and his life, and Wesker was ready to claim it like a long-sought prize. He was desperate to kill him, and that's what he'd do. He lunged forward, catching him again by the throat and pushing him to the wall, stronger than before. Chris, this time, tried to pull himself free of his grip, fighting against the hands that pulled at his life.

But Chris was unable to. He choked on his own saliva, his energies leaving him faster than he wanted. Wesker gave his last smirk, and Chris gave his last breath.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chris woke up with a jolt, wondering if everything had been a dream. It was weird, he felt weird, and everything was dark. Suddenly, he noticed he couldn't move, and something painful spread across his chest. He felt cold, cold as ice itself. His body worked slower than usual, his vision was taking longer to adjust, and it was as if he'd had a black ribbon over his eyes: everything became clearer, coming to a harsh and cruel realization. Chris gasped in surprise, forcing himself to breathe.

"So nice to see you again, Chris." Wesker was right in front of him, shadows engulfing almost his whole figure. Chris looked down to his chest and coughed as a reaction to his shock, something warm and liquid flooding his mouth. Unable to hold it, he coughed again; it was blood, spewing from his lips, and Wesker's hand was stained with lots of it… It was right through his chest. Oh, no… Chris thought, breathless. Death had come for him, taking his life away.

Slowly, with a wet sound, Wesker withdrew his hand, Chris groaning as he did, eyes wide open. Chris felt himself falling, air slapping his face, and then something hard against his face. He had fallen, defeated, bleeding to death and dying after fighting for so long… He tried moving his arms to lift himself up, refusing to give in; his body wouldn't respond. Oh, shit… Looks like it's my time now. The cold fingers of death reached out for him, darkness enveloped him, taking him into an almost kind and gentle embrace…

…and he knew no more.

A/N: Dramatic piece, but I'm sure Wesker's glad xDDDDD Anyway, do tell me what you think. This is just to keep giving life signs, since things are starting to look up^^