Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil

The door to the...hospital room? Research center room? Wherever she was, the door opened to reveal two pairs of feet. Claire Redfield could only observe the feet of these people, as she had dove under the bed of the room's elderly occupant to avoid discovery. One pair of feet was housed in a pair of sneakers, the kind that are meant for jogging but are widely worn by people who want to make it look as if they actually go running or partake in some form of outdoors activities. The other pair of feet was wearing a pair of combat boots, the kind Claire recognized as belonging to one of Wesker's soldiers. She felt goosebumps form on her arms, and it wasn't just from the cold tiled floor she found herself pressed against. This is it. There's so many things I didn't get to do with my life. I wanted to grow old with a house full of cats, I wanted to finish reading that book series about the spies that my parents got me when I was little, and I never got to say goodbye to Chris. I promised myself if one of us passed, we'd get to say goodbye like we couldn't with mom and dad...tears formed in her eyes as she thought of how Chris would take her death. It wouldn't be pretty.

"Mr. Jacobs," greeted the sneakers-wearing person cheerfully. "You have a visitor. This is a friend of ours, and he's looking for a very bad person. Have you had any other visitors today?" There was a silence in which Claire could only assume the man was either shaking or nodding his head, or maybe...maybe even pointing to under the bed. Her heart skipped a beat as the booted pair of feet started circling around the bed to the other side of the room. She closed her eyes and willed herself to turn invisible. There was the sound of a door opening and closing, a closet perhaps, and the booted feet left the room with the sneakers. The redhead let out the breath that she hadn't even been aware she was holding. The room fell silent, other than the wheezing of the old man's breath and the beeping of his electrocardiogram. She didn't dare crawl out from under the bed for a good ten minutes, for fear that the door would be reopened. When she finally left her hiding space, she stood over the man in the bed, taking in his weathered face and his seemingly impossibly small form covered in the sheet.

"Thank you," she whispered as softly as she could. "What have they done to you?" The man only shook his head. "I'm going to get out of here. And when I do, I'm sending help." To this, the man only shrugged in disbelief. He didn't think she could escape. She knew he knew things that she didn't about this place, but he was clearly mute. Whether he was born that way, or perhaps lost his voice due to shock, he wasn't going to be telling her anything. His eyes suddenly wandered from her face to the door. There were footsteps approaching. Claire hurriedly dove back under the bed as the door slowly opened. She had a hand over her mouth to prevent any sounds from escaping, and was glad for it as her mind processed the presence that was now in the room with her. Shiny black shoes this time and black dresspants. Like the kind Wesker wore. The figure stood there for a heart-wrenching minute before striding over to the other side of the bed, as the soldier had done. The feet glided confidently across the floor, and the EKG beeped a little faster.

This time, the closet door did not open and close, and the feet did not leave the room, defeated. All of a sudden there were fingers being wrapped around her ankle, and Claire was dragged out from under the bed. She attempted to grab onto one of the legs of the bed, but she was easily wrenched from it by one effortless pull from shiny shoes. She rolled onto her back and found herself gazing up at her reflection in a pair of sunglasses. It was Wesker. And he looked...amused.

"What did you think was going to happen, dearheart?" he taunted, sounding like the cat that had just caught the mouse. "Were you going to hide in here for forever? As if I don't have video feed of the hallways and rooms, as if I didn't know exactly where you went?" Claire's heart dropped as her eyes scanned the room. There was nowhere to go. She was cornered.


Wesker's eyebrows knitted together as he stared down into the brilliantly blue eyes that belonged to Claire Redfield. Due to the virus, he had a very sensitive sense of smell. Every human had their own scent to them, and Wesker found this scent to be appalling in every person. The smell of people, to him, was every bit as unappealing as the smell of wet dog is to normal people. Their scent was revolting. Claire was currently moist with perspiration, and the scent that came off of her...he didn't know what it was, but his mind found it to be appealing. He found his head clouded by thoughts of her naked body, wrapped around his, sheets knotted about them as a result of their passionate writhing...he grabbed Claire Redfield by the shirt and threw her over the bed, crashing into the door. her eyes filled with disbelief, and she braced herself for whatever was coming next.

Albert Wesker was confused. He loathed the feeling, was used to knowing everything about every situation, and his body had become predictable as to how it responded to external stimuli. He had impossibly fast reflexes, and could kill effortlessly with his bare hands. But this...in the time after his "transformation," he had had no sexual desires whatsoever. Sex was an act for mortals, love for the weak. Even before, he hadn't had the time nor effort to be involved with women for anything more than pleasure when his libido became unbearable from lack of stimulation. So what was happening to him? What was this intoxicating aroma that was permeating his mind, making it hard to think? From a Redfield no less. He was better than that.

Wesker's eyes burned from behind his sunglasses as he struggled to resist the urge to violently tear this woman limb from limb. How dare she. How dare she, his mind repeated over and over. He should destroy this woman now. That would prevent all confusion, and things would go back to normal again. But no. He wanted to keep her alive. He wanted...no, needed to have this to hold over Chris's head.


Claire's hand went to the bruise forming on her back, surprised that she hadn't cracked any ribs. The man had wrenched her out from under the bed, then a look of...was it confusion? Whatever it was crossed his face, and suddenly she had been flying across the room, over the bed, and into the opposite wall. Her first thought was to try to leave through the door, but she quickly realized that he would have her in his grasp again before the door was even open. They stared eachother down, the only noise in the room being the EKG.

A/N: I know it's been a long time, but I've been busy with school and life stuff. I hope you like this new chapter, and don't forget to review!