Disclaimer: I do not own the Resident Evil franchise; that dubious honor belongs to CAPCOM. This story is rated M for strong lanuage, gore, and strong sexual content....and anything else that pops into my brain...

Chapter One

I was drunk. I knew it, and the cop outside my window knew it, too. My grip tightened on the steering wheel momentarily, before nervously I reached for my license and registration. I smiled at him as I handed the items over. He didn't smile back.

"Stay where you are, ma'am. I'll be right back." His retreating footsteps were welcome, however brief the reprieve would be. I could breath again, at least. I looked in the rear view mirror, and as the cop opened his door on the patrol car, headlights came into view around the bend. The road we were on was otherwise deserted. The car that had come around the corner, a black Cadillac, seemed to be accelerating swiftly, dirt was beginning to cloud around it's headlights heavily, and the sound of the engine got louder and louder.

I watched, transfixed, as the Cadillac swerved right into the patrol car's side, sending a shower of sparks flying, and then I screamed as it rear ended my car, shoving the whole vehicle forward several yards. The cop car's lights, which had been on anyway, gave the whole scene an eerie ambiance. The cop was out of his car, heading towards the Cadillac that had so suddenly hit us both, when the stranger's car backed up, forcing the cop to move or be hit, and then the maniac rammed me again. I was crying, trying to grasp the keys to start my car, my heart hammering, my palms sweaty. I looked back again in the mirror.

The cop pulled his gun, shouted something I couldn't quite decipher, then began shooting at the Cadillac behind me. The car backed up again, and I saw the person inside, but that was impossible; goddamn IMPOSSIBLE! He was, oh god, no, it's a mistake; not him, can't be him! Too quick, the car revved forward toward the cop, and once again he was forced to throw himself out of harm's way. At this point, the cop had given up shooting at the car, and instead ran to his car, no doubt to radio for help. Again, quicker than I could think, the Cadillac backed up, trying to hit the cop. This time, he only barely missed, instead crushing the whole side of the patrol car like a sardine can under a heel, as the cop rolled out of the way again.

I had to get a hold of myself; it wasn't him, I had to THINK damn it! Quickly, I opened my door, unbuckled, and screamed at the poor cop, "COME ON! LET'S GET GOING!!!" I slid over into the passenger seat just in time for the cop to come crashing into the door of the car, and before he had taken a seat, I had the ignition fired up. The Cadillac slammed into the back of my car again, sending both of us a little bit out of our seats. That's all it took for the cop to put the car in gear and slam on the accelerator, the door still swinging open in all the haste. Dirt rose up behind us, and for a moment I dared to hope he wouldn't follow, but I groaned aloud as headlights came cutting like a knife through the dust.

The cop, a bit out of breath, said "Hang on.", before yanking the steering wheel sharply to the right, almost flinging me out of my seat, and then there the ground was, the bottom of the ditch; although shallow, seemed as if it was an inch from my face, the car bounced upwards, and then we were crashing through a corn field, the Cadillac's headlights further behind us now, but I could see it backing up, coming after us. Tears streamed down my face silently, and I looked at the cop, whose eyes were straight ahead.

"The lights! Turn off the LIGHTS!" My voice was strange in my own ears, a hysteric edge to it that made it seem tinny; strained and afraid. It had been so long since I had heard myself sound like that. I shuddered, remembering the last time I had heard that kind of desperation in my voice. It couldn't be him, he was dead and buried; but by god, the terror level was the same; It FELT like him.

The cop had cut the lights, and then we were both blind, stalks of corn slamming into all sides of the car, banging and scrapping and making horrible thumping noises that were all encompassing. We didn't travel a straight line; not with the Caddy following us. It seemed to be gaining on us, which was unthinkably improbable; but it was gaining, none the less. The headlights were becoming more and more of an irritant, and I squinted as I looked back.

"Get ready." The cop said, and before I could ask him what he meant, he rammed up the emergency brake, turning the wheel sharply to the left. The car swung sickeningly until we were going back the way we came, the Caddy's lights bearing down on us, eating up the distance that we had fought so hard to claim. However, the cop didn't hesitate and accelerated fearlessly; straight at the stranger's car. Both vehicles ate up the distance; seeming to fly viciously at each other. The cop grinned, sweat glistening in the caddy's headlights, and I shuddered at the maniac gleam in his eye.

The game of chicken proved too much for the man in the Cadillac, and he was the first to swerve, which gave us the advantage. The cop gunned it, and it wasn't long before we encountered the same ditch we'd met earlier. He took it at an angle, and then my car was barreling along the road we'd started on.

I was shaking, sweating, gasping. My thoughts kept returning to HIM. I looked back, and as we turned around the bend onto a paved road, I still hadn't seen the Cadillac appear.

"What was that all about?" The cop gritted out, looking at me sharply, before returning his eyes to the road. He ignored a stop sign, and barreled out onto pavement.

"I-I don't know...I thought I knew him; but it can't be him...He's dead." I said, shivers starting to run up and down my back. I was trembling, my mind reeling violently. How many times had he been dead, I wondered. It shouldn't be, but maybe he'd survived, after all.

Albert Wesker was the closest a human (I choked on that, he was BARELY human) could come to being a cockroach.

"Dead? He didn't look very dead to me. Let's head to the station, it'll be a lot safer there."

I froze, staring at the cop. Another time, another place; Leon had said that same thing to me. I almost groaned aloud at the memory. I didn't feel very drunk anymore. It felt like the sky was caving in on me. How the hell did I always end up in the middle of all this bullshit?

"Hello? Miss?" the cop waved his hand in front of my face, pulling me abruptly back to reality. He looked as confused as I felt.

"Sorry. Deja' vu." I paused, and smiled at him weakly. "I'm Claire Redfield."

"Deja' vu, huh? So this happens often?" The cop smirked, and continued; "Name's Peter Griffin...yeah, I know, like I haven't heard enough Family Guy jokes." I smiled at him; he had to be in his late twenties, with dark short cropped hair and kind brown eyes; his cheeks still had a roundness to them, even though I could tell that under his uniform, he was built. He made me wish that Chris were here...I sighed. It had been months since I'd seen my older brother.

The car slowed, and I looked away from the cop's face to see why we were stopping. There was another car, seemingly run off the road into a tree. The entire front end of the Lumina was wrapped around the giant oak, and it looked like someone was trapped in the driver's seat.

Peter cut the engine, and said, "Stay here, Claire." I watched, transfixed, my car's headlights still blazing, as he jogged up to the wreck, and with some difficulty, he pried the door open. The man inside the car was thrashing around wildly, reaching for the police officer, and something about his movements sent alarm bells whistling loudly inside my brain. I stepped out of my car, and took a step forward, two steps, when suddenly the scene in front of me became almost unreal....the man in the driver's seat had grabbed onto the twisted door of his car, and pulled himself away from the wreckage. At first, I couldn't grasp why the picture looked so wrong, and then the man began to drag himself...minus his legs.

"Uuuugggh!" the man moaned pitifully. My world spun, and I could do nothing as Officer Peter Griffin knelt and reached out to the man, the THING; I could only watch as the monstrosity tore open the young police officer's throat, blood spraying everywhere. I stood there, hearing Peter gurgling on his own blood, trying soundlessly to scream, my eyes on his shocked face as he tried to pull his sidearm weakly.

His hand never made it to his gun belt; and I felt my stomach lurch as the zombie began tearing open Peter's face, chewing ravenously, little slurping noises still escaping the cop's gaping wound as I watched his eyes roll back in his skull, his body convulsing sharply before it went limp.

Suddenly, I became aware of an engine roaring behind me, and I turned numbly to stare at the bright lights bearing down on me. The car didn't slow as I had expected it to, instead, at the last second, it swerved around me, and as I turned again to follow it's path, I heard a loud "THUMP!" It was the black Cadillac; he had hit the zombie full force, sending a mist of warm liquid flying everywhere. Peter's body began to twitch underneath the back tire, and I saw his eyes open again, bloodshot and glazed in the bright shards of light that my car still projected. He let out a strangled moan, his arms reaching for me.

The door on the black car swung open. Wesker's tall form stepped out, and began to walk towards me. I backed up for each step he took, wary and afraid. I had absolutely no weapon on me but my combat knife, and that would be little more than a nuisance to the BOW in front of me. I pulled it from it's sheath anyway.

"What do you want?" I spat out, hoping that he couldn't hear the shakiness in my tone. He didn't answer, just kept leisurely advancing towards me. I stumbled into the front of my car, and Wesker took advantage of my clumsiness, closing the distance that was left between us. I swung my knife at his face, only to gasp as his hand caught my wrist painfully; the knife clattered to the pavement below us.

Before I knew it, I was being thrown over his shoulder roughly. I fought against him, swinging my fists into his back as hard as I could, kicking and even trying to bite. It was useless. The man was unmovable. I heard a click, and then I was flying down; I let out a loud "UMPH!" as my back hit something solid, and before I could regain my breath, the Caddy's trunk lid closed above me with a dull click. It was then that I screamed. Outrage and hurt came poring out of my mouth; I felt like a caged wildcat. I banged, clawed, tore, and hit at the trunk, all to no avail. And then I felt the car moving beneath me, the tires humming loudly in my ears.

Time passed. I became tired, my throat sore, my body aching, and I could feel my hands bleeding, the slow, steady thrumming of the engine and the tires making my eyes droop. I slept.

I woke up in pitch black darkness, and the terrible memories came flooding back at once. I no longer felt that I was moving, and I realized that I wasn't in the trunk anymore. It was cold in this room, and I shivered as I sat up.

"Good morning, dear heart."

The overhead light suddenly flashed to life above me, and I was briefly blinded. Wesker stood at the threshold of a heavy looking metal door, his eyes on my face. Without the sunglasses, his eyes glinted red and gold at me, and I shivered for another reason entirely than the chill in the air. Quickly, I stood up, only to fall back again from the overwhelming dizziness. Before my body could hit the floor, Wesker was there, and quite suddenly, I was in his warm arms, held close to his body. The moment was brief, however, and as soon as I was righted and steady, he stepped back. I was dazed, speechless, and reeling. He had smelled good, and his arms were rock solid, but gentle. I was instantly suspicious. Gentle was not a word that I had ever associated with Wesker. I stepped back warily, trying to put a little more distance between us. His odor was still in my nostrils, and I found that it had a fogging effect on me; distance was best.

"What do you want?" I spoke, the volume of my voice unnecessary in the short space between us. I didn't care; I was angry, confused, and my head was aching like I'd been drinking heavily.....Oh yeah. I had been drinking the night before. So what, he didn't drug me. Just tried his best to destroy my car and kidnapped me.

"That answer will come...in time." Wesker's eyes held my gaze steadily, and I felt that eeriness encroaching on me again. "For now, though, dear heart, you shall remain here. I assure you, it is only temporary." He brought his hand up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and I flinched; the memory of his boot on my chest still vivid. "I will bring you something to eat, if you wish it." His eyes searched mine, and all I could do was nod dumbly.

"Something to drink." I croaked out; my throat was dry and scratchy from screaming. He nodded, and briskly exited the room; I heard the lock engage as it swung shut behind him. For a moment, I stood there, staring at the door; my mind slowly processing the conversation. I had to get out of here.

I turned around, and took stock of my surroundings. The room was large, and tall; the ceiling was a good seven feet above me. The furnishings were simple, a small sink in the corner, a toilet beside it. A shower head protruded from the ceiling a few feet to the right of the sink; no curtains, just a floor drain. A dresser stood on the other side of the room, close to the door, and there was a simple looking queen sized bed against one wall. The floor was linoleum, and there were no windows. Just a single vent at the very top of the ceiling; way out of my reach.

"Not the Ritz, but I assure you, your needs will be met during your stay." Wesker's voice was low and velvety next to my ear. I nearly jumped out of my skin; he had scared the shit out of me. I turned to see his smirking face, and he held out a bottle of water. It looked unopened...still, I sniffed it after I broke the seal; before finally sipping at it. The water was wet and ice cold going down my throat, and I took two long draughts from it, before capping it, and muttering a thank you.

"Your meal is being prepared; I hope you like pancakes." Wesker smiled, and I felt a cold chill race down my spine at the sight of his bared teeth. The gesture, while seemingly normal and genuine, didn't quite look right on the blonde haired man before me. It made his face seem a few years younger, the lines on his forehead had relaxed, and I realized for the first time how...comely his visage actually was. Years ago, I had met him. Before Umbrella; when Chris had first been hired to the S.T.A.R.S. Team. I'd thought Wesker was hot. It had been years since then, and I hadn't thought of it until now.

"Pancakes sound delicious." I barely whispered, my throat constricting. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and I turned away from him. This was all too bizarre for me to take in all at once. I was trapped; I had no idea where I was, why I was here, and why in the hell Wesker, of all people, was treating me decently, if not being downright friendly.

"Claire." Wesker breathed, sounding concerned. I turned to him, and just let the tears fall; my hands were clenched at my sides, and I could feel the color rising to my cheeks. I was being weak; I was scared, alone, and at the mercy of a sociopath. Suddenly, his arms were around me, pulling me close to his chest, his hand petting my head in a soothing manner. "Shhh...it's alright, Claire."

"No, it's not. Why are you doing this? What do you want with me? I don't understand any of this!" I sobbed out, leaning into his embrace and hugging him around his waist tightly. It was strange; he had become a life preserver in the short span of hours. Maybe this was what happened to captives; I'd read somewhere that sometimes they begin to assimilate with their captors; become empathetic to the cause.

"Dear heart, can you really not wait for things to be revealed?" He paused, and I looked up into his red-tinged amber gaze. "You have something, Claire. Something that only you can give to me. I cannot take it by force; that would be wrong of me."

"Since when have you worried about what's right or wrong?" I quipped back, instantly regretting it. Instead of being angry, he meerly laughed.

"I admire that about you; you always say what you mean. Crude, but effective." Wesker's voice had a husky edge to it, as if he were holding something back from me.

"What could I possibly have that you need?" I wondered aloud, stepping out of his embrace, looking lost. Wesker only smirked, and took his trademark sunglasses out of his breast pocket.

"We'll save the suprise for later, dear heart." My heart fluttered this time when he called me 'dear heart', and suddenly I felt angry. I didn't want anything to do with this evil bastard standing before me, and I didn't want to feel anything for the brute. He was unfeeling, cold, and violent! He replaced the glasses on his face, gave me a cursory nod, and disappeared out the door. I heard the faint 'click' as it locked in his wake.

I threw myself down on the bed, and cried until finally I slept.

His plan was refining in his mind. The girl could have easily been forced to his will, but Albert Wesker was enjoying toying with her. Besides, he prefered his women pliant and willing. This experiment could be enjoyable on both their ends; and he'd get his way, just as he always did. Still, it was rather odd, the way his cold, unfeeling heart had actually been pained to see her tears. It was something that would require further study. He knew that the pheromones his body produced was affecting her, he could tell that in the way her pupils dialated everytime he was near her. He had counted on that reation. Her genetic makeup was perfect for this; she was well suited. That's why he chose her.

The needle he stuck in his own arm didn't pain him; he didn't register pain the way a normal human would; his body was unreceptive to outside conditions, and bar a samarai sword slicing open his abdomen, or other seriously grievious wounds, he couldn't be bothered much. More testing was required on his end. He must know why his heart had felt anything at all. He would order a CT scan, perhaps an MRI, and various other tests; although he suspected that none of those things would give him a definate answer. Perhaps the younger Redfield was just as adept at getting under his skin as her older sibling was.

Wesker frowned at the thought of Christopher Redfield. He'd come looking for Claire; the moment he got news of her disappearance. If his timing was impeccably horrible, per usual, Wesker might be wise to just take what he wanted from Claire and get this little experiment going; but he disliked rushing such things. He was, after all, a subtle person by nature, rarely rushing his plans or actions despite outside interferance.

Claire. She was beautiful, he had to admit it. No, this wouldn't be an imposition for him at all...

He smiled as he thought of how she had felt against him. Soft and yielding, she was damn near impossible to resist; he had almost taken her then. It had taken everything in him, all of his will power and self-control, to walk out of that room; the raging hard-on in his pants only now subsiding. It had been too long since he had partaken of the pleasures of the flesh, and his will was suffering now.

He stored the blood sample carefully, and then sat at his desk, clicking on the monitor to her room. It had been only minutes since he had departed, but he was shocked to see that she was lying on her bed, curled up on her side clutching at the pillow and weeping bitterly. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, he had to stop himself from grabbing at it. What the hell was wrong with him? Was the virus changing him? Or was it something else? He stared at Claire on the tiny monitor, and disgustedly clicked it back off.