Chapter 4

It felt like an ice cube on his cheek at first, only that ice cubes weren't supposed to be so slimy. His eyes fluttered open. First his left, then his right. For a moment everything was grey, then colors blurred in. He didn't wait for his sight to sharpen.

Wesker screamed - it came out as a gurgle due to the blood - and pushed the weight off him with all his power. He didn't regret the pain that came in place of the creature.

-chimera oh god chimera-

Using the wall for support he struggled to his legs, heaving twice in the progress, staining his uniform with more red. Dizziness overcame him briefly, but it was quickly replaced by a throbbing in his stomach and leg and a loud ringing in his left ear.

Across the hallway lay the Chimera, drawing its last breath. He'd thrown it right across the corridor after waking up with its ugly mug in his face. His stomach hurt. He put a hand over the offended part. It was warm and wet and he decided not to look at it for now.

When the intercom announced that time was a luxury he didn't have anymore, Wesker started the run down the hallway. It was a mix of limping and jogging and he had to turn his head to the left ever so often because the loud ringing didn't allow him to listen.

What the hell, he started to think but then decided not to continue. Whatever had happened was of no importance now. No. Get the hell out of here. That was important. Not figuring out why everything was red and the back of his uniform soaked wet, or what the Chimera did across the hall or why he could walk. That wasn't important.

Getting out, that was the only thing that mattered.

There was only one clear thought reaching through the crimson haze encircling his mind. Out. Out, out, outoutoutout. Everything was a blur of red and grey and a deafenying ringing in his ear.

The corridors were empty, apart from some items that had falled off a drawer. He tripped over them and nearly fell. But he didn't. He ran and pushed away things that were in his way, ignoring the pain and the fear, obeying only the one thought that was there.

Out, it said, so he did what it wanted.

When the intersection came, his feet didn't turn into the direction of the helipad. Instead they carried him back to the fountain lift. He pressed the button to call it and stepped in once it did. In retrospect, the entire flight was a blurred memory and he could never remember what had really happened.

The only thing that was clear in his mind was the ringing in his ears and the smell. He couldn't tell if it was coming from him, perhaps from inside him, but with every step he took towards it, it became more insufferable. And yet he didn't try to evade it. Some part of him enjoyed the intensity of the scent, but it was a part Wesker hadn't known before. It was a part that he wished he would never get to know better.

Behind him the mechanic voice grew softer and despite the urgency of the message, her tone didn't change. Wesker didn't look back. His feet had led him out into the forest. By now the pain in his stomach had intensified incredibly. It felt as if his organs knotted together, as if they would burst any moment under the pressure and spill their contents. He pressed the hand tighter against his midsection, but didn't look down. It was like looking down from a high tree. You lost your balance and fell. Wesker couldn't afford to fall now.

He was in a daze. He didn't know where he went or why he went there. Where was Birkin, anyway? At least the pain had bettered somewhat. The harsh spasms had stopped and were replaced by a kind of rhythmical throbbing that enclosed his whole body.

Like a heaat, he thought, but of course he meant heart. Like a big heaat sticking out of a chest, like a big hand sticking out of a heaat

But no, he had to concentrate. He had to get whereever his feet carried him, no matter how high the cost was. After all he had reached a point where cost didn't matter. There was only nothing and everything. He knew he wanted everything.

He told himself that he had to go on. The Mansion still loomed dangerously behind him and even though it seemed that hours had passed, he was moving at a snail's pace. He walked and walked, but didn't seem to gain distance.

At one point the better part of him begged for a pause, to sit down for just a minute and catch his breath. He knew he couldn't allow that. If he sat down now it wouldn't be for just a moment. And then, there was still that smell. That horrible, nasty smell he followed. It seemed familiar to a certain extent, and yet he had never perceived it this way. With so much want... and hunger...

The bleeding hadn't stopped yet. It worried him. But then again, the fact alone that he was walking worried him. He shouldn't be able to walk anymore. Not with that kind of wound.

Wesker hadn't dared to look down yet. He feared that the sight of it would take away these last reserves. He could feel the blood and flesh under the hand he had pressed against his stomach and that was enough.

Suddenly, he stopped. Blinking twice to assure he wasn't imagining things, Wesker found himself at the edge of a clearing - in front of him stood the Asian woman. For a moment he was dumbfounded, speechless. The ringing in his ear was overpowering. If there were other sounds in the forest he couldn't hear them. Then, Wesker's gaze fell on her gun. If she used it, he was dead.

That was it; the crackling in the woods wasn't just the wind. It was too loud and frantic to be a casual animal. She'd been hearing it for a while now, and it was getting closer.

Ada stood up from her ATV, then checked her gun. She hoped she had enough to drop whatever it was. It didn't sound like a carrier; it was moving to fast. It most definitely had to be a B.O.W.

Damn it, why didn't I just leave when I got here?

Now, she didn't want to turn her attention to anything else, lest she be attacked from behind. If she revved up the engine on her craft, it would no doubt attract whatever it was, and she wasn't entirely sure she could escape it at the pace she'd have to drive through the forest. Especially if it was a Hunter.

So she readied her gun, bringing it up to her shoulder in both hands. As soon as it showed itself, she was going to give it a lead shower. Hopefully, that would at best kill it, and at least cripple it so she could escape.

The rustling crept closer...closer-

-movement in the dark tree line. Something emerged from a thick cluster of foliage. Ada immediately locked onto it. It was a carrier! It-

"Wesker?" Ada gasped aloud.

She thought at first that it was the darkness of the impending dawn playing with her senses, but no. She recognized the blond hair and the STARS uniform. Wesker, alive and moving. The way he held himself indicated that he was in pain. His shoulders slouched, and his hand clutched at his gut. His clothes were bathed in blood, as was his chin and the bits of his skin that were exposed.

She found that she couldn't move, not even to lower her gun that was trained on his chest. Her face was twisted in confusion, an emotion she was not used to. There was something very, very wrong about this.

"How...?"

He didn't answer her mindless question, which was fine with her. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the explanation anyway.

Her internal alarms were still going off. Every fiber of her body was on high alert; her ears strained to pick up every audible noise, but there was nothing, only silent forest. The darkness didn't seem as black as it was before. She felt the sensation of cold metal on the back of her thigh; the frame of the ATV she'd been sitting on. A small breeze fluttered across the ground, the still damp blood raising goosebumps all over her body.

The blood...it was the same blood that belonged to the man in front of her, the man who was seconds from dying when she stuck him with that syringe. The same man she'd struck a deal with. They were were far from being friends, but they were past the point of pointing guns at each other.

Still, Ada couldn't bring herself to turn the muzzle of her gun away. It was almost as if he might suddenly attack her. That was it...it was fear. There was something off about him. He still looked like the Wesker she found laying in the hall, but now he was...different. And althought she would never admit it to anyone, it struck a chord of fear in her.

It doesn't matter! Just shoot! Shootshootshootshoot!

But she didn't. Her finger tightened on the trigger, then stopped.

"You're...supposed to be...dead."

She was right. He should be dead by all means. Still, he managed to swallow the blood that was in his mouth and murmur:

"Don't."

To clarify he raised his free hand (the other one was still tightly pressed against his aching stomach). "No guns, okay? I'm no... no carrier."

The sheer thought of it made him shudder. He couldn't be infected. He didn't feel any signs. No itching. Just pain, and that was normal he told himself. Such injuries had to hurt. He didn't want to know what new levels of pain a bullet wound would bring.

He wondered if he should ask her to just let him go. He'd turn around and they'd both go their ways, but there was a sudden fear of being shot in the back. And how much longer could he keep on his feet without help? The big wound in his abdomen didn't bleed so hard anymore, but that didn't have to mean anything. At most, it probably meant that there was no blood that could flow anymore.

"Put it down," he said again and the words oddly slurred in his mouth, as if he'd a few drinks more than he could take.

She shook her head. "No. Not until you tell me what I injected you with."

As soon as he heard her demand, his hand dropped to his side again. That was a question he couldn't answer. He hadn't even thought about it until now. He barely remembered what had happened. There had been a needle and a short sting, but that was all. The other pain had been too overpowering.

And he couldn't just tell her the truth. That would be the same as telling her to pull the trigger. The truth was that he didn't know the answer. The substance was Birkin's and he had slipped it into one of Wesker's pockets when he had been unconscious. Along with a letter, but Wesker had forgotten its content. What he did remember was that it had made only little sense. It was still in his pocket, and he could show it to her if she insisted, but he knew that it would never come that far.

He weighed his options for a moment, before something occurred to him. That smell had returned, the one he'd been following all along. And for the first time, he could place it. It was fear. That sweaty, sticky smell combined with something else he still couldn't describe. It was driving him mad. He knew what it was, thw word rolled on the tip of his tongue.

The worst thing was; the smell was coming from her. Wesker's eyes widened slightly at the realization. How interesting, the scientist inside remarked. The rest of him just begged for rest.

But Wesker couldn't allow that, not now. He was awestruck by that smell. He had finally figured out the last component. It was the sweet odor of blood.

He didn't answer her. At all. He just stood and stared. He seemed to be analyzing something...something about her...and she didn't like it.

Her mind made a side note: it was the first time she got a good look at him without the glasses on. His eyes, though rimmed with red veins of stress, were a deep blue. She'd even go so far as to say he was a handsome man, had her thoughts not been occupied with whether or not he was a man. He looked like something out of a horror story, covered in blood, clothes tattered.

"Alright," she said tightly, readjusting her grip on the gun. "Here's what we're going to do. First, you're going-"

-what felt sudden gust of wind shocked her body, followed by a loud explosion. Every muscle in her body tensed, and she actually jumped. It took her so off guard; she'd been so focused on Wesker and the situation that she forgot all about the pending mansion explosion. The blast wave rattled every tree and bush, filling her ears with the sound of destruction.

A split second later, she registered what had happened. Her hand clenched, and the gun went off.

She was still recovering from the shot when he was suddenly in front of her. Ada wasn't sure how he moved that fast, but he did. Maybe it was a sudden rush of adrenaline that caused her to lose focus, she didn't know what. All that she was aware now was the pain in her arm.

The grip he held her in was almost crushing. It felt like both bones in her forearm were actually bending beneath his fingers. She let out a gasp, first in surprise, which registered into pain.

"Drop the gun," he said, his voice suddenly cold and commanding. "Do it."

Despite his command, she held the gun, trying to point the muzzle back in his direction. But no matter how hard she tried, he began to twist her arm. Like an idiot, she tried to resist.

"Unh!" she grunted when her shoulder protested the change in direction.

Out of options, her cool broke, and she did the next stupidest thing:

She drew back her free arm and punched.

The knuckles of her hand hurt from her own strike, her punch landing dead on his cheek. It should have been enough to at least stun him, but he barely flinched. Her arm exploded into fire as Wesker wrenched it again. Ada cried out in pain, hating the fact that she was showing weakness by doing so. She turned her head, then saw the butt of his elbow coming down. It cracked her in the head; her vision blurred, then switched off briefly. She fell to one knee on the cool earth, much to the displeasure of her shoulder, which now felt ready to pop out of the socket.

Her arm couldn't take it anymore. She knew exactly what he was trying to do, and she didn't want to let him. It would take what little hope of controlling the situation away. But in the end, she valued her body more than a piece of metal. All he had to do was twist another fraction of an inch, and no doubt she'd scream.

Her hand opened, shaking, then let the weapon fall, the trigger guard catching briefly on her finger before it spun to the ground, out of reach. Her other hand shot to her shoulder, as if she could hold the mass of flesh, muscle, and bone in place before he could rip it off. She was sure he could do it, that he was going to do it.

It was then, for the first time in a long time, with both arms either trapped or occupied, that Ada felt helpless

As soon as she let the gun fall, Wesker released her from his grip. He kicked the pistol away from her, watching it collide with a tree. After giving her a few seconds to catch her breath he said with a heavy voice:

"I have no intentions of continuing this little tirade, Miss Wong. I am weary and in pain and certainly in no mood to play games." He paused, unconsciously brushing over the wound on his stomach that was causing him so much pain. The quick movements hadn't done it any good.

"We had a deal. You remember that, don't you?"

"Yeah...the deal...I remember," she gasped, then took a deep breath. "Yeah, I remember our little deal..."

"Good," he said, and his voice was calm. He took a step back, out of her personal space and stood on his good leg.

She was shaken, he could tell by the tremble in her voice. It was normal, he guessed. He didn't feel otherwise. The only difference was that he was too tired to mind. Wesker gave her a moment to regain her cool and stand up if she wanted to. He doubted that he could pull off another stint like that anyway, not even if he wanted to. The adrenaline had gone as quick as it had come.

"Whether your company is interested in this or not is their decision. The only thing I require of you now is a ride back to civilization. Everything else can be dealt with later."

Even if HCF didn't want him, Wesker had gotten out of uglier situations - not counting the injuries, of course. This had been his first impalement trauma and he was sure that he was still standing on his feet only because the initial shock hadn't worn off yet. What he needed now was medical attention, and that preferably not from Raccoon City's doctors. They were on Umbrella's payroll, like the rest of the town and for the first time in his career, that was bad

Ada paused for a moment, then rose, her legs shaking a bit from the balance of her heels. She still gripped her arm. "You want a ride into town?" she asked. "I guess I could manage that...as long as you don't bite me on the way back." She mounted the four wheeler and keyed the ignition. The engined revved to life, then settled to a low purr.

He never replied to her comment, thinking that if it was a joke, it wasn't funny. Instead he climbed onto the ATV behind her, gripping the bars for hold that were installed in the back for the second person. If not for the injury caused by the Tyrant, he would have preferred walking, but he knew that he wouldn't come far in such a state. The dizziness was kicking in again, anyway.

Ada started the engine and very slowly the thing that once was the Spencer Mansion grew smaller behind them, drowning in an ocean of fire.

Author's note: And thus ends the tale...or does it? Truth is, these events are still in motion right now on Project Moirae.

We still need members to cover the roles. Now, I know a lot of the most popular ones are taken, but our role play focuses on re-writing the events of Resident Evil. William Birkin, alive after Raccoon City? Of course. Monica being infected with the G-virus? You bet. The point is, just because the character is little known doesn't mean they can't change the outcome of the story immensely. So if you want to have some fun, take a look at the board and ask a few questions!