~Tortured~
The alarm beeped. Seven in the morning. Mason groaned and rolled over as he slammed his hand down onto his alarm clock before opening his eyes painfully. For a moment he thought that it was another weekday but realised that it was in fact Saturday. That meant that he could have a lie in.
"Mason!" he heard his mother call.
Well, it looked as if a lie in was no longer optional.
"Mason, are you awake?!" his mother shouted as she walked up the staircase. She walked along the landing before pushing open Mason's door, seeing her son lying limply on his front with his arm hanging out of the bed as he always does in a morning before getting up. The woman sighed and shook her head. "Your father and I are going for a weekend trip with a few of his work colleagues to the Maligne Lake. You'll be able to look after yourself, won't you?"
Another trip? His father's company really didn't hesitate to award the employees. At least now Mason was old enough to handle himself without a babysitter or weird old relative watching over him.
Instead of answering properly the teen let out a muffled groan into his pillow. His mother smiled.
"Don't trash the house while we're away," she instructed. "And no parties. Now get up and get dressed - you can't be sleeping all day when you have work to do."
The older woman left the room and barely even made an attempt to close the door behind her. Mason let out a quiet grumble as he sluggishly sat himself up and stretched, unleashing a long yawn. In all honesty he hadn't slept well which explained why he was so tired. That and also the fact that he hated getting up early on weekends, anyway.
...
Wesker stood calmly with his hands behind his back as two of his workers opened a container which resembled both a portable cooler and a bath tub with a large lid covering it. Steve lay trembling in water practically overflowing with ice cubes. His arms were folded and he had attempted to pull his knees closer to him for warmth. The redhead was shivering violently and his teeth were chattering, his eyes wide. His skin was practically a grey-blue colour.
"A regular human would be dead by now," Wesker commented thoughtfully. "He seems to be able to survive in extremely cold temperatures."
The man stared down at Steve, seeing as the boy only stared back at him with wide and desperate eyes. He felt nothing towards him. No emotion. No care. He didn't even pity the boy in any way. But his next decision could be considered as merciful.
"Get him out of there," he commanded, stepping back to give his men room to drag Steve out of the ice. They dropped the teenager onto the cold floor, an echoed "slop" sound being heard as he landed. He was still trembling violently and his teeth were still chattering; the men who grabbed him all thought the same thing about his body temperature: he was absolutely freezing.
After whimpering and shivering for a while Steve managed to lift his head slightly so that he could once again look up at the man in the shades. Wesker was simply staring down at him with no emotion on his face at all. He seemed to instead be in deep thought about what to do next.
"Take him down to the decontamination chamber," he ordered. "There are a few experiments we can conduct down there safely. I will join you shortly; I just need to enter his results into the system."
Steve was lifted up and carried by two men. He made no attempt to resist, knowing that he physically could not move. Not while he had practically seized up. All he could do was dread his potential future here. If there was any future at all.
He was dragged down to an even lower level in this ominous facility. Still not one Umbrella logo in sight. Was this another company which acted in the same way as Umbrella? Just who were these people?
Eventually he was thrown through a door into a tightly-sealed room. He could see vents and fans and what could only be heaters. Already he had a terrible feeling about what was to come as he looked towards the observation window while still in his frozen position.
Nothing happened for a good while. He couldn't see much since he was lying on the floor but he could only assume that the scientists were either preparing one of the experiments, talking to one another or just mindlessly staring at him through the glass. Obviously these men were waiting for Wesker, their superior, before they could continue with his physical torment.
He lay there, thinking about what motivated him. Thinking about what kept him alive. The virus was only part of his return, but it was only responsible for his physical return. The revival of his body, but not his mind. His mind would be dead if he didn't have the willpower to fight the virus somehow. To control it. He was no biologically enhanced weapon designed to survive the mental effects of viruses so technically he should have been a zombie. A puppet. But his mind refused to die. He could not even bring himself to think about taking his own life because his mind was far from wanting such a thing. Something in there was preventing him from turning into another mindless monster. Something was keeping him alive.
Steve didn't hear the door open as Wesker appeared. He didn't even notice he was there. Not until the first test in this chamber began.
"Turn up the heat," Wesker told one of the men sitting at a large electronic desk. The scientist did as he was told and slid one button upwards very slowly.
The chamber began to heat up. At first it was almost a relief as Steve felt his body beginning to return to a bearable temperature, but very quickly the warmth became burning heat. He was able to stand himself up but immediately collapsed, panting heavily. He had to fight it; he had to prevent himself from falling unconscious. The teen pushed himself up to his feet again, this time leaning against the glass window as he caught he breathed heavily. His eyelids fluttered but he was able to stay standing, though he looked as though he was actually beginning to sweat. His body didn't produce as much sweat as a living body did but his pores were still active.
His knees were started to give way and the heat was becoming unbearable. He was seeing invisible waves emerging from the glowing oranges heaters. How hot was it?
He could barely breathe anymore. The boy fell to his knees before flopping onto his front, no longer able to even support himself against anything. His legs had given up on him. He felt like he was...
"Sir, the virus measurements in his body are going up," said one scientist who held a small device similar to a radiation detector.
Wesker turned his attention to this man thoughtfully before looking back at Steve, focusing to see if he was showing any changes. He just seemed to be close to falling unconscious, but a certain expression on the boy's face looked pained. Not in the physical sense but in a way that showed that he may have been internally fighting something.
"Heat makes the virus spread faster," the man in shades confirmed. "So that is why the t-Veronica virus was used in the Antarctic; the temperatures there are cold and can slow down the virus' effects on the host."
Steve was panting like a dog on a hot day, his eyes twitching and squinting a little. He grimaced and was able to slap one of his hands onto his forehead. He could feel himself losing focus. He thought for a moment that perhaps he was just falling unconscious, but this lack of focus felt different.
"Keep turning up the heat," Wesker instructed as he kept his eyes locked on Steve. His worker did as he was told and the group of men were all watching to see what Steve would do.
His sight was beginning to go blurry. His thoughts were beginning to simplify. He was starting to lose track of his own memories. Was he dying? No, he felt like he was waking up at the same time as falling asleep. This was a new sensation.
"He should be turning," Wesker pointed out. "If the virus is spreading he should be turning. No... not turning. Mutating. Not a single mutation has occurred yet."
Steve suddenly jumped up onto his feet and punched the glass, eyes locked onto Wesker.
"Wesker!" he yelled as his fist hit the transparent wall multiple times. He had a fierce look in his eyes as he bared his teeth, snarling. "I'll kill you!"
Not at all threatened, Wesker simply raised his eyebrow curiously. Steve still hadn't mutated, yet something had changed. His behaviour had changed and he no longer seemed focused on any damage to his body. He was purely focused on Wesker. He was focused on killing him.
"Hm," Wesker murmured as he thought about Steve's sudden change. He was almost acting like a savage animal. He was stronger. The man deduced that the rapid spread of the virus within him had finally got to his head and enhanced his body further, but instead of killing his brain cells it was simply merging with them.
Wesker cracked a small smirk to himself. This was a start. Steve was turning into a monster from the inside. With his body having shut down after his death he most likely wasn't going to physically change at all, but internally the virus could still effect him. It had currently activated his primal instincts. It was feeding on his rage - the rage he was feeling towards Wesker.
All Wesker had to do was figure out how to weaken Steve's mind further before he could turn him into a loyal weapon.
Only then would he let Steve see his beloved Claire again.
Wesker's shielded eyes met Steve's hateful ones for a moment before he glanced down at the scientist managing the controls on the desk. "Bring down the temperatures," he told him. "And bring down the oxygen levels. I want to see how he copes without being able to breathe."
Steve kept his wide and anger-filled eyes on his mortal enemy, grinding his teeth together. The hatred he had for the man was by no means false. But with the hateful and primal parts of his mind growing stronger he was starting to lose his human touch. If he stopped fighting the virus then he could no longer look at his reflection and recognize himself. He would no longer be Steve Burnside if he let himself deteriorate.
...
Later that night, Mason was cooking himself some dinner while playing his loud music through the living room stereo. He danced around slightly in the kitchen as he mumbled along to the song, turning up the heat on the stove as he shook the pan in his grasp.
The brown-haired teen put the pan back on the stove as he went to the fridge, opening it to find himself something cool to drink. He looked at the water and the energy drinks but quickly settled with one of the bottles of beer he found; it was best if he made the most out of his parents being away again.
Mason hip-bumped the fridge door to close it as he danced across the kitchen and opened a drawer, taking out a bottle opener to crack open the beer. Once he had succeeded he immediately took a large gulp, shuddering at the strong taste.
The music was so loud that he didn't hear his bedroom window open upstairs. He didn't hear the footsteps descending to the ground level. He didn't hear as someone walked up behind him.
He didn't expect to feel a sudden pain to the back of the head before blacking out. How strong was that beer?
...
Steve had spent the night sleeping in laboratory four. He eventually became weary and fell unconscious. Wesker had confirmed that it wasn't just physical tiredness but also mental tiredness; Steve's mind could not continue with the internal battle. At some point after the heat died down Steve had regained some of his civil mindset, but with the virus desperately fighting to take him over he could do nothing but finally fall unconscious. Some could label the experiments as overall failures but Wesker saw them as opportunities. He had to stimulate the savage side of Steve more if he wanted to keep him that way, though loyalty was tougher.
Perhaps he would never be loyal to Wesker no matter how monstrous he became.
It was rather strange; Steve had been left to rest for the morning. No scientist came into his room at all. Steve woke up briefly at some point but quickly decided to go back to sleep, not wanting to be awake in such a threatening environment.
But something groaned. Steve could heard it. Something was groaning. It didn't matter what it was; judging by the loudness of the voice Steve could tell that it was close. His eyes shot open and he sat himself up from his little resting corner.
A zombie was staggering towards him.
Steve remained with his back firmly pressed into the corner, a terrified expression on his face. How was he supposed to fight this thing? He had no weapons. All he had were his bare hands.
The staggering corpse was getting too close for comfort so Steve quickly stood himself up to run, but as he ran the zombie latched onto him and dug its teeth into the side of his neck, attempting to feast on him. Steve wailed and shoved him away violently, taking a few steps back as he held his fresh wound. The zombie stumbled back onto the ground but lifted itself back onto its feet. It began to drag itself towards him again.
There was nowhere to run. The large room was locked. Steve had to do something about this monster; nobody was going to help him and if he grew tired of outrunning it then he would become dinner. He couldn't let that happen. He had to see Claire again...
Steve kept his eye on the zombie as he made sure to stay at a safe distance. Every now and then he would turn around and look for some kind of weapon.
As if it had been put there deliberately for him to find, Steve stumbled upon a small axe. A hatchet. It was just lying on the ground on the floor of this dull laboratory.
Without hesitating, despite knowing that the tool must have been put there by someone, Steve grabbed the hatchet and immediately ran towards the zombie. He swung the hatchet so that the blade buried itself in the side of the corpse's head, but the monster still reached forward and grabbed him by his shoulders. Its jaw hung as it prepared to take another bite out of the resurrected boy.
For a moment Steve was too frightened to move but he was quick to snap out of his frozen state, swinging the small axe at the zombie again. This time he hit him in the face. The zombie fell backwards, Steve landing on top of it. It was still trying to bite him.
No longer holding back in fear of losing his own life (or worse), Steve began to relentlessly strike the head of the living body as he yelled out in anger. Blood spewed onto him as he struck the face multiple times, watching as the zombie could never be identified as human again. He heard the bones shattering. The sounds were unpleasant and the smell was even worse, but Steve wasn't focusing on anything like that. He was just waiting for this zombie to stop moving.
It twitched a few times before finally falling completely limp, but Steve knew that it was better to be safe than sorry. He continued to strike the deceased monster a few more times, yelling as he did so before finally he slowed down. His yells became breathless panting sounds as his arm fell down to his side, the hatchet slipping out of his grip. The blood-covered teen stared up at the ceiling as he caught his breath, processing what had just happened.
Little did he know that Wesker was watching right now, and everything was going according to plan.
~End of Chapter~
