Thank you everyone who left a review, I'm sorry I did not answer.
I left the website for awhile, but I'm back. With an updated chapter.
Chapter 1. - Prologue: Unforgiving
The pleather of a seat crinkled under Albert Wesker.
He adjusted those sunglasses till they were to his standards, then leaned forward and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
The main source of light came from a small array of security monitors. The constant, blue glow felt like he stared endlessly into a bug zapper.
Truth be told, he would have preferred that.
At least it could be entertaining to see an insect pop and incinerate.
He rubbed his eyes until the irritation would mean his skin needed to be soothed with rest or lotion.
He looked up at the wall of screens centered over the surveillance console.
He'd been there years. His goal in this soul sucking room was to wait for the Ashford twins.
Or maybe that bitch to show her ugly face. Wesker started to think that no one ever would.
He'd give it a little longer, but if he didn't see them soon, the search would have to continue. He hadn't even heard anything from his men yet.
So far, there wasn't anything about Alexia Ashford that went anywhere. Nothing of the Veronica . . .
"Sergei should have reported back by now. If they aren't doing all they can to get their hands on this . . . They'll all have to answer to me." He muttered to himself.
The Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service - UBCS - were not the best source to find complete talent.
It offended Wesker that Umbrella would purchase prisoners and offer them contracts. It was just to keep their property safe, a little added measure. For Albert, it was an embarrassing practice.
He often filed reports that found talent formerly within the military, and soldiers from outside the US, to be more effective. That was in the past, before all hell break loose.
He made his choices.
Wesker sighed to himself as he pressed a button on one of the TVs. The image swapped to a different camera perspective, and so he kept combing through the feeds to help speed up the boredom.
He grimaced to himself then leaned back into the chair.
He thought he'd been past the worst of the pain, but the lonely sound of his own voice in the cold.
The cavernous chamber and the realization that there would be no answer, that there would never be an answer again, brought on a fresh, goring wave of grief.
William, who was Wesker's only friend from within the company, was a backstabber. Wesker lowered his head to the console, closing his weary eyes.
A pit in his stomach knotted up once the order came through the backchannels. Birkin was considered a hostile threat to Umbrella, and it came that day. The day before the Raccoon city outbreak.
Word is that UBCS mercs went on their way to collect whatever data he stole.
Wesker combed his fingers through the hair on the side of his head.
He can't find the answer for why Birkin did what he did.
It was as much of a surprise to him as everyone else. Especially since he'd had a discussion with William before the 'Spencer Estate' incident.
Now?
There was only misery, interspersed with fits of violent, helpless fury over what Umbrella had done.
No wonder he had to sacrifice S.T.A.R.S, even if they hated him for it.
What a bastard.
What a weakling.
How was everyone afraid of him?
Yes; he was alone in the world. He would never allow anyone to walk all over him like that ever again. Not that he didn't try to stop it the first time.
Another month, maybe two, and perhaps he'd be able to recruit more.
There was a faint squealing from one of the muted security screens.
Wesker looked up out of both hope and dread, but it was just a licker. It was one floor up, in what it seemed to be Alfred Ashford's room. He guessed it could play there for a bit.
It had dropped from its ceiling roost to snack on one of the men there, howling stupidly to itself as it ripped into the corpse's innards. After a moment, it tore them out from the abdomen in a geyser.
He could recognize the man from the uniform. It was John, a young man he met a few times months ago before all of this insanity started.
He sighed and chose to walk out of the room.
He went over to a red-steel door and found himself outside again . . . In the path filled with trees.
With a sense of caution jolting through his cells, Wesker's right arm reached into his holster and drew his pistol. It was a specialized M92F. Perfect for damaging head shots.
The side of the barrel had glazed black color to it with silver trimmings. The magazine was ejected and he viewed it from the side. It had about 4 bullets remaining.
He slid it back in, then searched his belt and took out a Red Hawk bullet box. Judging from the weight, it was half full.
At his left hip, was a MP5 submachine gun that hung off his uniform's sash. He noticed there was a slight crack in the barrel. No surprising given the combat he was mixed into an hour ago.
He aimed upward and fired once at the plant. A weird sound came out but the alignment of the barrel. The end result was clearly off by several millimeters. Better find something better soon . . .
He went on his way for the rendezvous point. Hopefully, his men would be waiting there.
Wesker sat on the curb lackadaisically, his hands buried on the triggers of his weapons as he waited.
He wore a black trench coat and kevlar-reinforced clothes of the same color underneath.
They fit well for him, and since he was who he was, he felt the attire would be befitting of a god.
Puddles of rain filled the gaps between the uneven concrete, reflecting the eerie glow of the house lights. The oppressive night air never failed to release it's grasp on him.
The hairs on his arm tingled as the chilling wind breathed into his face, whispering unnerving secrets into his ear.
He glanced at his wristwatch. At last with lights flashing, three men came through, their eyes searching everywhere to make sure they are safe.
Wesker sprang up and waved at them. The men exchanged looks and sprinted toward him.
"Finally, someone's gotten back. Look for the Ashford twins work place and do as we planned before. Report back to me with everything you find."
His usual, detached, but smooth voice got under their skin.
"Roger that sir." They said without hesitation.
"Make no mistakes . . . Or else you will have to deal with me." Wesker snarled one more time at them before he went ahead over the broken bridge, heading toward the small house for Alfred.
As he approached the stairs, increasing the speed of his stride, he started to feel a bit uneasy.
He couldn't hear any thing apart from his own footsteps, was he too late?
Did the outbreak already happen everywhere on the island?
He walked over a series of grey, stoney steps that led to a steel-lined gate.
The sound of a creek echoed a bit too loudly for his liking. The path inside was narrow and he could see trees leading to his destination.
The very moment he was near the front door of the Ashford's, he found himself surrounded with a number of shuffling, battered corpses.
They skittered toward him through the broken window, and a burned down, blackened tree.
Lickers. They were the same: skinless, long nailed creatures with elongated tongues. One accompanied the other infected.
Wesker smirked, his body swiftly ducked down backwards to avoid two zombies trying to grab him.
The licker stuck in the back and observed to see if the corpses would end this. It wanted to use the least amount of energy for a snack.
He aimed his heavily modified firearm upwards, shooting one in the mouth that separated its jaw.
The second bullet had skull fragments and brain matter decorate the floor.
The other had its nose cave in. Both zombies laid at the window frame as the man walked to it.
He slid over the window and kicked the closest zombie to him, he raised a submachine gun and shot it dead. The licker hissed and charged with its tongue toward Wesker.
He chuckled and ducked, the tongue missed him by centimeters, as he used the 're-dead' bodies to sit. The licker growled at him and prepared its left claw to swipe at him.
Albert smugly lifted his right leg upward as the licker prepared to lunge at him. The heel of his boot came down, smashed the creature's head to the floor. Not enough to kill it.
It scrambled to get back up and continue it's assault. Wesker aimed the submachine gun and unloaded everything into the head.
It spasmed wildly, then laid still. The head had become mulch.
"Wesker?" He heard a feminine voice behind him.
He adjusted his glasses and turned to look at her.
"Greetings." He smirked at the red head standing a feet behind him.
Claire Redfield, sister of one of his best men in S.T.A.R.S.
"You must be the lovely Claire. What a timely coincidence." He said casually.
Claire bared her teeth and aimed her pistol directly at him.
"You're the one who did this to me, didn't you!?" She asked with so much anger.
Wesker placed his hands on his hips and chuckled.
"Ahehehehmm . . . I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, dear."
Claire clicked the safety of her gun and moved a bit closer to him.
"Spare me the mind games, Wesker! My brother . . . He'll kill you for this."
The man sighed and went forward, aiming his gun to the side of Claire. The young woman did the same up ahead.
Through the broken windows, more lickers came. The colossal rains continued to pour down on them.
The two were back to back firing at the approaching enemies, soaking wet.
Claire looked toward the nearby buildings as several more monstrosities crawled on the walls. Their claws bumped along a brick wall, which only served to expose their location through sound.
He looked at Claire, who just grunted.
Wesker flicked his wrist while he walked into the open. Claire was forced to follow as zombies came from all sides.
He lifted his gun up and fired. The blue-encased zombie lunged back and rested on the ground as Wesker opened fire on the rest.
The other ones, were security officers, judging by their clothes, and went down without trouble.
A licker launched its tongue at Wesker, but he flicked his head to the right.
It struck empty air and he turned around. The creature growled at him.
'Why are these creatures here?' Wesker thought as he sprinted forward. The licker defended itself with a tongue whip to lash the air.
Wesker ducked and let the tongue recoil. Shifting beneath it to the side, he plunged his leg up, and launched it from its underside with his knee.
It writhed about on its back as Wesker took hold of one of its hind legs and flung it into a concrete wall. There was a building nearby, he had to take that opportunity.
Its entrails splashed on the wall as the impact broke it's body open.
Claire just shot the others, but made sure to watch Wesker's movements. Just from the speed and strength alone, the former STARS captain wasn't something human.
Once she focused on her own situation again, there was another mutant charging toward her.
Time stopped. Her own life flashed before her. However, as it pounced, the licker started bleeding midair, and it was thrown back away from her with a punch.
Once it fell lifeless, Wesker turned to face Claire.
A smug smirk wrote itself on his face.
"You will never make a monster out of me!" She shouted.
Wesker sighed.
"Whether you like it or not, we're both trapped on a virus infested island." He gestured around the eerily lit place near a port of boats.
"I don't know about you, but I won't waste more time here than I have to. I suggest if you want to see daylight again, you'd better drop that insolent attitude. Learn. To. Cooperate." His voice was deep, rough, and resolute.
"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll find my own way out, Vlad the Impaler." She said stubbornly, turning away from him with a frown.
"I would love to be the one who can wipe that smug look off your face." Claire snapped once she looked back at him.
Wesker would have laughed if he was in the mood.
When the time comes, it's going to be a pleasure to put her in her place.
"I simply suggested something simple for you. It doesn't involve you buzzing in my ear all the time." Wesker said flatly, regarding her with cold contempt.
"Since when have I agreed to help you, Umbrella tool!?" Her words had a mocking edge, causing her usually soft voice to sound harsher than it actually was.
Wesker was completely unfazed, his naturally aggressive, deep voice, darkly polite and distant as ever. Out of nowhere Claire felt a hand touch the back of her head and slam her in the ground.
"I see no reason whatsoever why you should resort to such crude means to express your objection.
You might not be familiar with the conducts of ladylike manners, but at least you can try to be civil; and not calling your God names is a good start."
Claire moaned in pain, she wanted to punch him so bad for that. 'Ladylike? How dare he!' But that speed! she did not even see it coming.
At last Wesker let go, giving her space to stand up.
She felt her legs shaking, however, her head was held high, despite the throbbing migraine she had now. No way she'll show pain and weakness in front of him.
Claire put the nib of her index finger on her chin, and she thought about this for a moment.
It is true, it'll help to have a partner that could know his way around.
"Lets get one thing clear. I don't trust you! If you try anything funny with me, I'll make you pay."
Oh-ho, how naive. He rushed forward, and slid his hand on her throat.
She tensed up as he kept that gloved hand around her trachea. He couldn't grab her, his own strength might pop her head off, and he didn't have that kind of self control yet.
"Ahehe! Oh, I'm sure you will . . ." He chuckled.
~Thank you for reading, please leave a review, what do you think of this updated version?
Special thanks to my Beta-reader Angel wolf.