After two years of staring at this story, I've finally decided to rewrite it, to edit it and make sure it stood up to my current writing style and what I thought of this story. This is my favourite piece of writing and I'm glad that Resident Evil 6 inspired me to come back. The sequel is something of a question to me, because I want to venture back to it, but I think that I'll have to play through the sixth game to make sure I can fit everything together. This will be the only note I have for this story, until the end of course. Be warned that I am throwing up the chapters as I edit them, so the later chapters have yet to be fully edited.

Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did.

Setting: It takes place a handful of months after the events of Kijuju.

My Monster

Chapter One: Instinct

The night's silence was broken by a hiss of pain and a booming crash. Chris Redfield swore as he pushed himself up from the hardwood floor in his bedroom. He'd woken to a slight tapping, a flash of yellow and red and then the pain of hitting the floor.

He'd been sleeping, something that was rare since Africa. Waking to see the flash of gold and crimson had sent his body flying into a fighting stance, something that had not been accomplished due to the tangle of blankets around his legs. The fall left him senseless, wondering what the hell had caused the flash of meaningful colours.

The colours had become a reminder of his worst enemy, the nastiest monster he had ever faced and the self proclaimed 'God'. They reminded him of Wesker, a man who had cat like, gold irises, encircled by a ring of crimson. The dead man haunted Chris' thoughts, a dead demon who continued to torture him.

The man had been a constant in his life, an enemy to defeat since the man had betrayed the S.T.A.R.S. in the Arklay Mountains. Wesker had been an Umbrella experiment, a power hungry man infected with the T-virus, the S.T.A.R.S. captain and an emotionless backstabber, but now he was dead. He had been killed back in Kijuju, leaving Chris with the smirking bastard's memory's s not knowing what to do next.

Chris' breathe heaved out of him as he rested on his hands and knees, trying to calm his pounding heart. Before the Raccoon City incident, his mission had been to catch the bad guys, then when Wesker had betrayed his team; his mission had been to kill him. Now that he had been killed though, Chris was left with absolutely nothing.

Sure he had his job at the B.S.A.A., but fighting bioterrorism was no longer the same. He had no particular organization to focus on, no particular person. Everyone was happy that Albert Wesker was dead and Chris knew that no one would understand why he wasn't.

"Shit," Chris whispered, his dusky blue eyes fluttering closed. He pushed his hulking figure up from the floor, discarding the blanket that had hindered his movements on the bed. A breeze blew in from his open window, chilling the thin sheen of sweat on his body. He gazed at the window, realizing that the tapping had to have been the rain and the flash of colours, a passing car.

"This is insane," he muttered as he made his way out of the room. He walked through the living room, pausing before he entered the kitchen. His eyes looked out the sliding glass doors, avoiding looking at the figure that sat in one of the chairs. On top of his tumbling emotions, he was also going crazy.

The man who sat in the chair was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, a hallucination. The man was six foot three, slender, but well muscled. He was wearing all black, which contrasted starkly against his pale skin. A perfectly sculpted face; slicked back blonde hair and a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose completed the imaginary Albert Wesker.

"Awakened yet again by a reminder, hm?" The hallucination asked in an emotionless baritone. Yes, he had definitely gone bat shit crazy. A smirk slid across the images face, a perfect reminder of the real man. He had no idea why his mind had decided to give him an imaginary fiend who replicated Wesker, but it was one nasty decision.

"None of your damn business," Chris responded. After weeks of having him around, Chris had simply named him Fiend, because there was no way in hell he would call the thing Wesker.

"Tsk, talking to your self is never a good sign. Do you know why your reminders of him seem to scare you?" Fiend asked, before chuckling. "No, of course not, you're all muscle and no thought. You don't actually think he's dead, because after all this time, you don't want him to be dead. You don't think the lava truly did the trick; that would make things too easy."

"Shut up," Chris hissed in response, before going into the kitchen. He pulled a glass down from the cupboard, filled it with water, guzzled it and slammed it down on the counter. Turning, he glared at Fiend, who was now standing in the doorway, leaning against the door frame. His leather jacket blending with the shadows, making his flesh stands out.

"He's been your target for so long, you're lost not knowing what to do next. He was the reason you struck out against bioterrorism, because he wanted world domination and it was your goal to stop him. Umbrella, Tricell, they were both just steps to getting to him." Fiend smirked again, crossing his arms over his chest. "He's never going to leave your thoughts if you don't move on and find something else to set your sights on."

"Leave me the hell alone," Chris growled as he moved past the hallucination. He walked through the living room and back to his bedroom, slamming the door closed behind him. He wasn't quick enough to miss the last words Fiend spoke 'You know that I cannot do that'.

He glanced at the clock on his nightstand, the green numbers telling him that it was three twenty eight in the fucking morning. No better time to get out of here than now, the thought raced through his head quickly.

He pulled out a pair of black pants, a grey shirt, socks and boxers from his drawers, before drawing on the fresh clothes. He put on his gun holster, slipping the Beretta 92F/FS into its spot. Pulling on his jacket, he shoved his feet into his black combat boots and left his bedroom.

Chris was out of his apartment in a flash, grabbing his cell phone and keys from the counter, before getting out of the place that he had once called home. It was a short jog to the B.S.A.A. head quarters and then only a flight of stairs to the training room.

He worked away his thoughts through training, lifting weights, practicing his punches, jogging around the room and doing absolutely anything he could. Soon he had a rhythm, one that thoughts could not interrupt and one that Fiend could not intrude upon. There were few things that could break his concentration, but apparently, the shrill ring of his cell phone was one of them.

"Redfield," Chris stated when he flipped open his phone and answered it. He used one of the towels that were piled in the corner of the room to wipe the sweat from his face and caught his breathe as he did so.

"You've been activated," the voice on the other line stated. The feminine lilt gave him no indication of who was phoning him, but he knew that it was the B.S.A.A. and they had a mission for him. "Come in to be debriefed."

"I'm here; I'll be up in a few minutes." Chris folded his phone shut and stared at the wall. The clock that resided there told him that he had been here for a few hours and that it was now five thirty. He had lost track of time, but that hadn't mattered, he had no fixed work schedule.

:: :: ::

Chris sat down in the office of Barry Burton, his higher up in the B.S.A.A.. It was funny how far the man had come since the mansion incident, but now he was here and his family was protected, so that they could never be used to black mail him again.

"What do you have for me, sir?" Chris asked as he leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest in the process. Barry's face screwed up at the use of 'sir', because they had known each other long enough to be beyond it. It was also a reminder of the betrayal of the man they had once called sir and captain.

"There was a sighting out in the Catolian Mountains. Someone said they saw mutant frogs; creatures that looked like they were inside out and had long tongues. They also saw dogs, their heads splitting down the middle." Barry slid the folder across his desk to the other man. Chris picked it up and glanced down at the pages.

"Lickers and Adjule," Chris muttered lowly. Barry nodded, shifted in his seat and watched Chris.

The man nodded as he flipped through the pages in the folder. "The Catolian Mountains, yeah? Am I going to be heading in with a partner?" Chris looked up at Barry, a questioning look on his face. The other man shook his head.

"No, you shouldn't need on. This should be a clean job, not much to it. You'll have to put down the B.O.W's, find where they came from and then clear out. It's probably just one of Wesker's old bases on operation. Now that he's dead there was probably just no one to watch the creatures. While the masters away, the monsters will play." Barry shrugged and waved a hand. "You'll be heading out right away. Go get your gear and then take a vehicle. Remember, do not miss your check in's. If you do, we will send in someone else to determine if you're captured or dead."

"Got it," Chris stood up and left. An operation was just what he needed to take his mind off of everything. He had been on mandatory leave for the first month that he had been back from Kijuju and then he had been restricted to paper work. It was a good feeling to be on active duty again.

He made his way to the supply room, He grabbed a survival knife and a shotgun, counting out extra ammo as he did so. And he threw a few first aid sprays into his bag to go along with the weapons.

Chris reached for one of the spare flashlights from the shelf as he made his way out of the room, shoving it into the pocket of his jacket as he went. It didn't take long to escape from the B.S.A.A. building and that's exactly what it was, escaping.

He shouldered his bag as he walked to his car, pulling the keys from his pocket. He threw his bag into the passenger seat as he climbed in, quickly starting the vehicle. He didn't have time to waste, didn't have time that he wanted to waste. And he didn't, leaving the city behind and driving along a more country road.

The landscape swept by, changing periodically as he made his way to the Catolian Mountains. It was a nine hour drive, one that didn't make him antsy for once. While he drove, he didn't think, he kept all of his concentration on the road laid out before him and the few breaks he took in between.

By the time he finally made it to the city at the base of the mountain range, night was falling and the time had escaped until it was five seventeen. He parked his car in the lot of the only strip mall in the town and sat there, stretching his arms over his head. He loaded his weapons, before throwing his extra ammo in his pockets.

Swinging the shotgun over his shoulder and holstering the Beretta, he moved out of the car. He slammed the car door closed, not bothering to lock the vehicle. The town was quiet by this time and he didn't expect to be here long. His car was a piece of junk anyways, he doubted that anyone would put in the effort to steal it.

The mountain loomed in front of Chris, but the task at hand did not daunt him. He moved into the trees beyond the parking lot. A howl came from further in the forest, which made him reacted, drawing his gun without a second thought.

"Here we go," Chris muttered as he made his way through the darkened trees, knowing that soon he would need a flashlight. He pulled out his phone, quickly dialling the number of the B.S.A.A. head quarters. The phone rang twice, before someone picked up with a simple 'hello'. "Hey Keith, this is Chris. I'm checking in to let you know that I've started searching for the uglies."

"Okay, good luck Chris." Keith didn't waste words, which Chris was thankful for. Instead the other man hung up and Chris shoved his phone back into his pocket. He moved silently through the trees, wary of every sound the forest made. Forwards he moved, only stopping when he heard a low growl. Green eyes glittered ahead of him, a dog staring him down.

"Good boy," Chris muttered as he aimed his gun. A ripple ran through the dog, its head splitting right down the middle, teeth lining the edges where it had split. A plagas rested in the centre of the split, curling and dancing in a static rhythm. The dog bowed down, muscles tightening to spring forward. Chris let a shot go, hitting the dog dead centre. It flew forward with only a small howl as he let off another shot. It fell dead at his feet, before it finally made it to him. "Down boy."

He continued forward, ignoring the fallen body of the mutated dog. He cocked his gun as he wove through the trees. The rushing of water caught his attention, but it was a ways away and did not bury any other noises. More howls echoed through the woods and he knew that his gun shots had signalled all of the other creatures.

With the dog attack, the infection had been confirmed and it knocked out any reservations he had been feeling. Being out in the field was familiar, even if he wasn't working with a partner. He had questioned coming back; not knowing if he could do it now that he had completed his goal to kill Wesker.

Being back in the hunt gave him a sense of purpose, it pushed away all of his thoughts and left instincts.

He moved through the trees swiftly, gun poised to aim in an instant. He came across three more dogs, each falling under the barrage of bullets. Surprisingly enough they were the only creatures he ran into, but that thought came to soon.

Something wrapped tightly around his throat, cutting off his air and shocking him. One of his hands flailed to grab the thing around his throat, but to no avail. A flash of movement could be seen from the corner of his eye and he rasped as he recognized the licker.

Grabbing his survival knife from over his shoulder with his free hand, he pulled it free and pulled it in a downward strike against the tongue of the creature. It let out a screech as its tongue was removed and lunged forward with its curved claws extended.

Chris dodged out of the way, by throwing himself to the side and rolling. He pushed himself up with one hand, his other grabbing his shot gun. He managed to stand swiftly, matching the pace of the licker as it turned around to face him again. He aimed the Ithaca and pulled the trigger. He moved with the recoil of the gun as he watched the licker jerk back as the round made contact.

His throat burned where the creature had managed to grab him, but he ignored the pain. He dared not let his concentration falter; it could mean the difference between life and death. Plain and simple. So he aimed and shot the creature again.

He dropped his shot gun, having no time to reload, before the licker was getting up again. He aimed his handgun at its head and pulled the trigger until it stuttered empty, each bullet hitting its target. He backed up as the licker moved forward, not letting the creature have a chance of getting too close to him.

Chris let out a sigh as the creature finally fell to the ground and did not get up. They could take a beating, but they weren't the strongest creatures he had faced. He started forward again, this time not seeing any more creatures.

The light faded away quickly and soon he had to pull out his flashlight to see where he was going. Holding it over his Beretta, his pace slowed down, but his focus did not. The forest suddenly fell silent, nothing but the sounds of his own footsteps echoing through the trees. He came to a complete stop at the realization, knowing that something was horribly wrong.

"They have been called back to the base by now," a low baritone broke the silence. Chris spun around in shock, recognizing the voice. He blinked, turning to look at the man standing behind him. He had thought that Fiend hadn't followed him, that he would be able to get rid of the hallucination for the duration of the mission, but he guessed that he had been wrong.

"Fiend, what the hell do you want?" Chris snarled, wishing that his mind had never created the hallucination. It did him no good to have an exact image of his former enemy haunting him, annoying him constantly.

"Fiend, that is a new one." The Wesker look alike pondered. His lips quirked into a smirk and Chris felt a chill run down his spine. Something wasn't right but he couldn't pin point it. It was only when he saw another hand curl around his shoulder that he realized what was going on.

"That is not me," Fiend whispered in his ear. Shooting a quick glance at Fiend, who was standing at his side and back to the other blonde man, he felt his jaw fall open. Sunglasses hid the man's eyes as his smirk grew slightly. He wore all black as he always had. It was disorienting in the fact that Chris could see two Wesker's. "You're dead."

"No, you always knew that he wasn't." Fiend continued to whisper into his ear. He pulled off his glasses, revealing blank, ice blue eyes. Chris' attention was pulled from Wesker and back to Fiend. "Come on Chris, you knew it was too easy. You agreed to this mission because it was his work. You made me so that you didn't have to face reality of his death. With me it was just so much easier."

"No, it wasn't," Chris whispered to Fiend. He smirked, before moving away from Chris with a soft 'you don't believe that'. His attention turned back to Wesker and he noticed that the man had a perfect arched eye brow over the rim of his sunglasses. He didn't say anything; he just waited, like a cat watching its prey.

"Are you done, Christopher?" Wesker asked, telling Chris that this truly was Wesker. He was the only one that dared call him Christopher, something that not even Fiend had ever done. Last time Chris had seen Wesker, the man had seemed fucking crazy, but now he was calm and composed, like when he had been the captain of S.T.A.R.S. "I don't have time to deal with you."

"Well, then why the hell are you here?" Chris growled, coming back to himself. He aimed his gun at Wesker, his hands quivering slightly. He stood frozen, wondering why he was hesitating. A deep rumbling laugh came from behind him, but he kept his attention on Wesker, whose expression remained blank. "Shit, I don't care."

"Can you kill him, knowing the hell that you went through, thinking he was dead?" Fiend mocked, asking the very thought running through Chris' head. Having the question voiced out loud, made him pause, his gun lowering slightly. His confusion of emotions fell away, leaving him empty and cold.

"You deserve death," Chris whispered. His arms fell limp at his sides as he watched Wesker frown. To see the older man show emotions would have confused him at any other time, but now there was nothing.

"Then why don't you try to kill me, Christopher?" Wesker asked, curiosity lacing his words. He took a step forward, eyes watching Chris' every move, but all he saw was defeat. This was no trap he recognized, because Chris was to hot headed to try something of the likes. He was a man of action, of rushing into situations; not planning or going along with one. He was always one to defy orders and do things his way.

"I can't," Chris dropped his gaze. The Fiend was at his side, but his image was faltering. Skin melted away to writhing black, like Uroboros, but so much more. It was not tentacles, but just a swirling black mass that had a human form and ice blue eyes. Ebony fingers latched onto Chris' shoulder again, even as Wesker moved forward, knocking the gun from his hand.

"It's not over," Fiend commented. Cool, white, spidery fingers curled around Chris' throat. He did not fight the crushing grip, only fell into it. Fiends fingers retracted, contrasting starkly against Wesker's pale colouring. Chris vaguely realized that Wesker had taken off his leather gloves, before he was smothered by darkness. "This is not the end."

:: :: ::

The phone ringing woke Claire Redfield out of her light sleep. She flailed for it, tangled in her blanket, but managing to grab the annoying machine. " 'lo?" Her sleep laden voice asked as her eyes opened, searching for the clock. Four in the fucking morning.

"Claire Redfield, this is the B.S.A.A.," a masculine voice stated. It had her sitting up quickly, all remains of sleep leaving her. Her heart pounded in her chest and she inwardly started praying. Please let Chris be alive, please.

"Yes?" Claire waited for his answer, her palms sweating. She had always feared getting the phone call that told her that Chris had been in an accident, injured or killed. Was this the call that would shatter her heart and cause her lungs to stop working? She could only hope that it wasn't.

"I'm afraid to report that your brother has missed four check in's while out on a mission. We've lost all forms of communication and we are going to have to send someone in to get him." The man stated calmly, even as Claire's heart dropped into her stomach.

"Where?" She managed to choke out.

"The Catolian Mountains," the man responded wearily. Claire hung up on him, her fingers already punching in a new number. She put the phone to her ear and waited while it rang. Her breathing became ragged, the air leaving her in loud pants. Her fear continued to build with each passing second.

"Hello?" The calm voice on the other end of the phone immediately soothed her and she was able to swallow the lump in her throat. Her breathing slowed, a squeak finally escaping her. "Claire?"

"Leon, it's Chris, I didn't know who else to call. He's missing," she whispered finally. She heard the rustle of clothes on the other end of the line. "He was in the Catolian Mountains for the B.S.A.A.. I don't know what to do, what am I supposed to do?"

"Go there and wait for me. I'll help you find him," Leon stated, continuing to sooth her. It had been a while since she had seen him, talked to him, but she had missed him. "Pack up, Claire and get your weapons. If he was on a mission, there's bound to be infected."

"Okay, thanks Leon," Clair responded truthfully.

A pause, before he finally responded. "It's nothing. I'll see you soon."

She hung up and sat on her bed for a handful of minutes, before going to pack.