Born from boredom, too much Resident Evil 5, and inspiration from another's fan fic. Hope you like. Please R&R. Oh and I own nothing Resident Evil related and the like. Again this isn't a slash, paring what have you. Just a story.

Krauser was dead. That's what Ada had told him. The gruff American soldier had perished. Wesker couldn't help but find it hard to believe. Many resources had been invested in that soldier, a fact which was repaid by the soldier's undying, unwavering loyalty. He didn't even question Wesker when he had ordered him to be infected with the los plagues. He had done so without hesitation. Krauser had never once questioned Wesker, and asset that had made him so incredibly valuable. And now he was gone…

Pity…Such a waste…such a complete and utter waste.

Now all he was left with was Ada…The sheer thought of the fact made the vein in his head pulse. She had cost him, dearly, a fact that would not go unnoticed or unpunished. Despite what he said, Krauser was more than a grunt, but now, now he was little more than a corpse.

There was a disturbance outside Wesker's office door, a fact which made the already angry man even angrier. He had said that he did not want to be disturbed unless the matter was of the utmost importance. "This had better be good," he thought. "Enter," he hissed, his back still turned to the door.

Behind him he heard the door creek open ever so slowly. "What on earth are those idiots up to now?" he thought angrily as he turned around, impatience resonating from deep within him, but the sight that stood in his door way made him pause.

There, just in the doorway, stood the badly wounded, badly scorched body of a dead man, a man known as Jack Krauser.

For the first time in his life, Albert Wesker was at a loss for words.

The soldier was leaning heavily on the doorway, his left arm, mutated beyond recognition, dangled limply by his side. The entire left half of the soldier's body was horribly burned and riddled with bullet wounds. Blood drenched his body, his clothes, and the patch of carpet that rested beneath his feet.

Slowly the soldier lifted his head to meet Wesker's stunned gaze. The left half of his face mirrored the rest of his mangled body. His eyes were glazed, reflecting the barely conscious man behind them.

At last, the soldier spoke. "Told you she was nothing more than a liability," Krauser said in a weary, gravelly voice.

"She had her uses," Wesker replied. "Uses that have been exceeded."

"Hmm," was his only reply.

Krauser was fading, and fading fast. Wesker couldn't imagine how the soldier had managed to drag his mangled body all the way back here. Yet another amazing physical feat achieved by the relentless soldier. Man's will conquers again, it would seem, at least for now.

Wesker's eyes fell to the gaping hole in the soldier's chest. Something that resembled bone, though, because of the mutations, Wesker couldn't tell, jutted out from within the gapping whole.

A tremor shot through the soldier, something that wasn't missed by the ever watchful eye of Wesker. Krauser's legs were beginning to fade, along with the rest of him. Wesker was beginning to wonder if the soldier had dragged himself all the way here just to die all the same, only in a different place. It was to be respected, the loyalty that Krauser held for him, and respect it he did. That's why he didn't let the soldier crash to the ground when his legs finally failed him. He eased him down and supported his dying frame.

"Don't know why I bothered," Krauser spoke again. "Knew you already knew…Knew you had known…Still had to drag myself here…Dunno why…Just had to…"

"Unfinished business," Wesker answered for him. He knew the soldier better than Krauser would care to admit, knew his type. Even when Ada had tried to suggest Krauser's unreliability, Wesker knew he had nothing to worry about, knew the soldier wouldn't go anywhere. And he had been right, more so, apparently, then he had truly realized.

The soldier's body lurched, seizing in Wesker's arms, shivering as death began its final grip. Wesker would allow him one small comfort for his loyalty, the comfort of not dying alone. It was a simple gesture, one Wesker would allow, this once.

"What…happens…now?" Krauser asked between the tremors, smirking his traditional , bitter smirk.

"You'll die," Wesker answered honestly. "We will experiment, the virus will adapt, and research will continue."

Krauser laughed. "The cycle continues," he said. "Even in death, I have a use?"

"Yes," Wesker answered with a nod. "Even in death."

It was what the soldier had wanted to hear, and there was truth in his words. Assuming the virus adapted, there would be complete truth in his words.

Krauser smiled his smirk again as another, more violent tremor passed through his body. "Works for me…" he said.

And then he was gone. Dead for the last and final time. Perhaps, perhaps not. Only time would tell.

Wesker eased the soldier's body down to the floor and retrieved his cell phone from his coat pocket. "Send some men up to my office to retrieve a body," he said. "I want it brought to the labs for experimentation."

With that he slide the phone closed and returned his gaze back to Krauser's face, frozen in a bitter laugh. Wesker eased the man's eyes shut, and, as he did, his own eyes shifted to the knife Krauser so proudly wore on his belt. Wesker lifted the latch that kept the knife securely in place, and gently pulled the blade from its resting place.

Wesker examined the blade as he aimlessly walked back behind his desk and faced the window that peered out over the vast horizon. Wesker never carried a knife, never needed one.

There was a knock at the door. "Enter," he said coolly.

Four guards from the laboratory division entered the room. "Sir, you requested we move a body?" said one of the guards.

"Yes," Wesker replied, still transfixed on the blade. "He's over there," he said, with a slight motion in the direction of Krauser.

"Yes, sir," The guards answered as they hastily carried out Wesker's command.

Wesker turned the bladed in between his hands, intrigued by its simple yet efficient design. Undoubtedly it had served its master well. It would be a shame to simply toss it away. Then Wesker found himself laughing, laughing at the irony of this stupidly avoidable situation, somehow knowing yet still wondering how exactly it had all come to this.

Wesker carefully placed the knife in one of his coat's inner pockets. Perhaps Krauser really was dead. Perhaps not. Men like that didn't just die, but Wesker didn't have the energy to wonder anymore. But somewhere, deep down, Wesker doubted it. He truly, truly doubted it.