Whatever Chris had been expecting from the headquarters of the new Umbrella front company, it hadn't been this. The impressively built structure, located in a secluded spot, just a few miles from Zürich, was quite empty, but appeared to have been recently vacated. The front doors had been unlocked, and the expansive lobby was quiet and dark, the only sounds audible the quiet hum of computers on standby and the soft tap of Chris' own boots.
While the offices of the old Umbrella had been gaudily decorated in an elaborate abomination of baroque and rococo design, this building was modern and minimalist. Geometric shapes and right angles dominated the room, and everything was of the finest material; dark marble floors, counters and pillars, stainless steel accoutrements and glass were everywhere. The mansions of the old Umbrella had welcomed visitors with candlelight; this new home of nightmares was lit by huge banks of windows which let in the fading light of evening dusk and the scenic landscape just outside. Even with the lively green just a few feet away, the overall effect was still so chilling that Chris wondered if Wesker had designed the place himself.
Chris moved quietly though the space, his heightened sense of hearing detecting no disturbances in the tomb-like silence. At the rear of the lobby stood a bank of elevators and as he approached, the door of one slid open, whisper quiet on its track. Surprised, Chris glanced around, but it was impossible to see the location of any cameras in the shadowed corners of the room. Barely hesitating, he stepped inside, the doors closing automatically behind him and the car beginning to descend without his even having to touch a button. This was what he was here for after all, and there was no turning back.
The elevator moved quickly and when the doors opened he was at last faced with a familiar sight. In front of him was a straight hallway painted entirely white and brilliantly lit – clearly a laboratory of some kind. Several reinforced doors branched off from the main corridor, but no sounds could be heard from behind them, not even the normal rustle of live specimens. At the end of the hall, another door slid open, revealing a dark room beyond. As he walked towards it, Chris was overwhelmed by the feeling that he was marching right into the heart of the lion's den - the same feeling that had haunted his every action since the mansion incident. But he was confident now, and with every step his heartbeat retained the same steady pace it had never deviated from since he had injected himself.
In the few days between then and now he had taken a little time to push the limits of his new abilities, knowing that every delay would bring Jill and the others he cared most about into this very same danger. He wasn't a fool and, he knew, neither were they; it wouldn't take them long to piece things together and come after him. Even now there were likely closer than he would care to imagine. The tests he had inflicted on himself had only bolstered his confidence; his strength, agility, and stamina were easily enough to compete with what Wesker had thrown at him in Antarctica, and he would need every advantage he could muster to deal with Wesker in his own territory.
From the doorway Chris surveyed the room. It was a large, empty space, with bare concrete walls. The dim room was lit by grated incandescent emergency lighting spaced evenly along the top of the wall, but there was no other ornamentation, no furniture – nothing to be used to an advantage, nothing to get in the way. In the centre of the room, with his bare hands clasped behind his back, stood the man, the monster, Chris had dreamed of confronting for almost ten years.
Wesker turned to face him, his features still unchanged from the last time they'd seen each other, the red-gold cat eyes faintly glowing in the dim light, pale skin shining where it was exposed above his collar and rolled-up cuffs.
"Chris, you've finally come."
"Déjà vu," Chris stepped into the room, slipping off his jacket, leaving him in his usual, plain S.T.A.R.S.-issue shirt. It was tradition after all. The adrenaline was humming through his veins already, heightening his senses even further. Wesker eyed him with a smirk,
"It's nice to see some things never change,"
"I think you'll find our story has a pretty different ending this time. You're going to stay dead this time."
Wesker laughed, that same grating, faintly maniacal laugh, "you think so, do you? I was wondering how long it would take you to extract the information from her – poor little Mary Volsky, the girl who lived. I'm very pleased with both of you Chris, she was definitely the best little investment I've made lately."
Chris didn't allow himself to react, by now he was plenty used to playing Wesker's game. The element of surprise would be crucial to whoever hoped to gain the upper hand. But he was confused; he hadn't actually gleaned much information from Mary, her main use to him had been her skills as a virologist…
"After all, I couldn't make it too easy for you. You still don't understand Chris, do you? This is my game, it always has been, and it always will be. You never did understand this kind of power."
They were circling each other, so similar now, and yet so opposite, one dark where one was light, and one light where the other was dark. Their booted feet sounded softly on the concrete floor, shadows playing on their features as they moved.
"You're wrong Wesker, I understand perfectly," Chris said, and lunged.
