Uncertainty began budding within the gut of the young prodigy ever since the Machiavellian aristocrat of a man introduced himself, and Piers was naive enough to believe what he had done was for the good of his country. In reality, he was at the mercy of this iceman, not even Jack Krauser gave him the feeling which plagued him in the presence of Wesker. Krauser was just a skilled grunt, just as he himself was treated, but Krauser seemed not just to buy into this dangerous situation, he wholly believed it was some kind of crusade. Days grew bitter cold within the underground headquarters he had called home for 2 years. It was odd how just a year ago, it never felt cold due to the industrial heating system, but his heart weighed heavily, and he began to understand that this desolate place in Antarctica was nothing but a tomb for anyone but Albert Wesker. Piers sat on he edge of his bed, covered only by a pair of ivory boxer briefs, that which held firm against his round ass, bare forearms resting against his knees as he lowered his head. It would be a few hours until morning, but sleep had given him the cold shoulder.
Donning his tactical gear, it had become like a second skin after so many missions. He eventually became numb to the sight of a human head bursting like a squeezed grape with just the pull of a trigger; was he serving his country as he was led to believe, or becoming a sociopath? He'd killed plenty of people during his tour in the army, but those people at least had some kind of fighting chance. Dark rings had developed beneath his eagle eyes, there was no telling what he would have done to Krauser now for a Marlboro red to ease his nerves. He hadn't officially quit, but he hadn't had one in almost two months. Two months too long. Muttering an obscenity under his breath, he reached down to the magazine rigging wrapped around his toned thigh, plucking a spent .50 caliber rifle bullet betwixt gunner's gloved fingers, staring at it solemnly before he brought it up to his cock-sucking lips. Exhaling an exaggerated sigh as the end of the round dangled there, pursing his lips as they milked at that bullet enough to bring color to any man's face. At this point, he might as well knock on Krauser's door and give him that finish he deprived him of before, at least it would have been something warm. Reaching out to clutch the muzzle of his rifle, he hefted it up to lean it against his shoulder, setting foot outside of his room and sauntering down the empty corridor.
Few "employees" were allowed to wander the facility during the long hours of the night, unless summoned by Albert Wesker himself. Still, he could hear the sound of stumbling footsteps coming his way. Pausing mid-step, Piers waited coolly, back to the wall, as the footsteps neared the corner. Heavy breathing accompanied the steps, and he quickly slid a hand down to the grip of his sidearm, waiting for a creature to round the corner, had something invaded the facility? Under Wesker's security? It was unlikely. A white coat immediately flashed around the corner, causing Piers to scowl inwardly, it was just a pencil pushing scientist. As soon as the scientist came into view, the man looked absolutely frantic, with long, dark stringy hair clinging to the sweat dripping down his face. Piers allowed his hand to linger upon the sidearm for a moment longer until the white coat finally noticed him, earning a sharp gasp as hands were shakily raised in the air. "N-No.. please." Piers cocked his head to the side and chewed curiously upon the bullet currently doing a shit job sating his habitual fixation, removing his hand from the holstered weapon and crossing his arms over the flak covering his chest. "Don't shit yourself, your head's not on my list." Trembling like a frightened child, the scientist nodded his head while a sob escaped his mouth, looking as though he was about to have an emotional breakdown.
Piers watched as the white coat shuffled past him, urine trickling down his pant leg, soaking into the fabric. Piers wrinkled his nose at the scent, nearly decking the idiot as he passed and bolted down another corridor. Pushing away from the wall, he flickered the tip of his tongue to graze against the metallic end of the bullet between pouted lips while he continued in the direction the scientist had came from. What in the hell would have scared a white coat that much? Had Wesker decided to make the poor fuck his butt-puppet? Or maybe Krauser conned him into playing his favorite game of five finger fillet, where the man playing the game only lost a finger when Krauser was in an especially foul mood. Whatever it was, he was bored, and therefore would get to the bottom of it. Combat boots created echoing footfalls as the corridor he continued down soon had pressurized doors with numbers above them. Storage areas for the viral samples that were to be analyzed by Wesker himself, he was told. As he passed by the doors, he nonchalantly peeked into the rectangle pane serving as the only window into the rooms. For the most part, the rooms seemed empty, chewing still upon the metallic bullet as he rolled it between his soft tiers side to side. It wasn't until he came across movement in one of the rectangles that he did a double-take, he wasn't quite sure if his mind registered what his eyes witnessed. Furrowing his neat brows, he took a step back while lowering the rifle from his shoulder, his hand moved to the pistol grip of the rifle, the other hand steadily placed below the foregrip as the rifle was lowered.
Within the room, a naked man sat strapped to a chair, sobbing so hard his body shook, shaking his head continuously. Piers gripped the foregrip of his rifle tighter, and he could tell even through the window that the restrained man was sickly, his flesh was milky green, his eyes reddened and his face tear-stained. Piers couldn't identify the man, but he most certainly identified the figure standing across from the nude male. A posture which could put any soldier to shame, a black Teflon jacket, flawless blonde hair and an expensive pair of sunglasses gave Wesker away immediately. In the corner of his eyes, he could see the bonded man helplessly thrash in the chair, it looked as if he were begging. As soon as Wesker turned to the male, a black, open suitcase now showed upon a table containing vials. Piers recognized the vials immediately, as he was on the mission to retrieve them and eliminate the scientists, but they were to be analyzed, not tested. Feeling sick to his stomach, he simply watched as Wesker lifted a syringe filled with the very same substance in the vials, it was viral, a biohazard, and this man was chosen as a lab rat. Had the scientist fleeing down the hall been part of this? While Wesker swaggered towards his test subject, he lifted a leg and put his boot down upon the bare groin of the male, stepping down upon the shriveled cock and balls, the male could do nothing but open his mouth in a scream that Piers could only imagine. Wesker took advantage of the subject who froze in pain, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head to the side with enough force that it could have very well broken his neck. Wesker sealed the unknown male's fate by sticking the needle of the syringe into his exposed neck, his leather clad thumb pressing down to inject the virus into his lab rat before yanking the needle from his neck, removing his boot from the subjects groin and wiping it on the floor in a disgusted manner. Albert Wesker was a nightmare, and Piers wanted to wake up.