AN: *Calmly drinks coffee and pretends to ignore glares* Greetings, my friends. It has been a long *cringes* time. And I am so so so so so so sorry! So sorry it's ridiculous the level of guilt that's swamping me right now even as I type this because ah! It's been way too long, so long people reading this will be like, who are you again?
Sigh. I have my reasons for being out so long, it's been rough going for me, and yet I'm here now with another chapter, and to tell you that yes, I am seeing this story through to the end. I owe it to not only me as a writer, and Wesker and Chris, but to you, my awesome possum readers who have so supportive. :) I won't go into much more details about why I have been gone for so long, you can check out my profile to learn about that because well, I don't want to make this author's note too long and well, that's something that I think will be better off on my profile.
I've missed you guys, and I've missed my story. I know some of you have missed it to and your reviews me so much to me. So...before we start. This chapter, and the next two will be...weird. It's been a while and I'm still getting into the swing of things, and Wesker, well, getting into his head is really, really hard for me. I mean, I'm evil and have planned world domination myself but we're no two peas in a pod. XD
Please bear with me, I feel as if I changed somehow, as a writer, so we'll both be weirded out together, High School Musical style! *shakes head* I need a drink.
Disclaimer: It is because of coffee that I can say this at all, I do NOT own Resident Evil, the characters...anything to do with it except my plot and Adrian and the Three Ts. So without further ado, off we go!
Chapter Eight:
African Memory
Part 1
When he had awoken at first though, the sky was ashen, storm clouds that were in reality ash clouds blocked out any meager warmth the sun could offer when compared to the volcano. Wesker had no idea exactly how it was that he had emerged from his complete immersion in the burning lava. He could only recall the dim sensation of a presence in his mind, demanding movement, which his body quickly followed.
And so he had swam, waded up from the dark depths of the damn volcano that had dared to become his burial ground, the screaming fire attempting to melt his body becoming nothing more than a slight pressure on his body as it rose to the surface.
And then he was free of the hold death had attempted to restore over him, and oxygen, tainted with smoke and ash as it was, filled his lungs which inhaled it with sweet relief.
And after Wesker crawled onto dry, sturdy ground and collapsed onto it, numb and gasping for breath like a newborn or a barely revived drowned man, he realized that once again, he, Albert Wesker had been reborn.
In his mind's eye, Wesker could imagine the detestable Redfield and his lackeys celebrating inside the helicopter he'd almost sunk into the depths of the volcano. A violent flash of hatred, loathing, for his former subordinates caused Wesker to forget the pain that still gripped him, lapsing into a muted pained pulse as the Tyrant's mind flickered through images of various deaths he had planned for them all.
It was only a flash, it could only be a flash, for there were more pressing concerns at the moment.
He was naked for one, and while the extreme heat radiating from the rock surface he rested upon did not hurt him, it would hardly do as a shelter. A search team would undoubtedly arrive soon and sweep for any remains they thought would surface and staying there, outstretched on the ground was worse than a neon sign.
Though the chances were slim to none that Wesker would find any suitable clothing at the nearest village, if in fact, there was one nearby this cursed volcano, he decided that for the moment, this was the task he would set his yet awakening mind to for a while. He was loathe to admit it, but the blond was in some stage of shock after that final battle. There were so many questions, possibilities, theories roaring in his mind, not to mention those detestable emotions that had overwhelmed him when he was injected with the overdose.
Pain, obviously, was another companion, not only inside his mind but all over his body as well.
Wesker stared up at the smoke trailing into the sky as he willed all the noise in his head to cease, to fade back into the background of his mind, locked away until the right moment when he could examine exactly when everything began to go wrong (and no, it would have to be much more specific than Chris Redfield merely arriving in Africa to stop him), and how it had led to his 'demise'. There was no time for dwelling on mistakes, no time to plan his vengeance, no time to dwell on the exact moment when Christopher Redfield had touched him for the last time, body behind him, restraining him with hard muscles that trembled (whether out of fear or adrenaline, Wesker was not certain), or the last time they had locked gazes, seconds before the RPGs were fired.
Yes. No time to question his own reaction at the look of pure agony in those sky blue eyes right before he delivered his atrocious finishing line.
You are doing a poor job of clearing your mind, Albert. Wesker's subconscious murmured and the blond man's jaw clenched, but allowed the intrusion in the whirlwind that was now his mind. He may have been willing to deceive the entire world around him, but it would be lethal to do the same to himself.
He had learned that lesson the hard way back in—
Enough! Stand up, and walk. Walk away from this tomb before it becomes yours permanently. Before you truly die the death only a worthless, pitiful human deserves.
When had Wesker's mental voice become so…demanding? In fact, when it had become more of a presence, sounding younger, more emotional, so…present?
Yet another question he would have to stow away for future dissection. But for now…Wesker rose to his feet with none of the elegance he once possessed, stumbling to his feet, his body aching, wanting to succumb to the need for rest but refused to do so when everything was uncertain, especially his survival despite just having survived a volcano and a Redfield.
Wesker turned to face the bubbling pool of liquid fire below him. It was so sluggish moving, yet its heat oozed death, promised the most painful of endings to any who fell into its embrace. Even the air around it, so dry it made breathing almost impossible, appeared to be but the aura around the reaper that was the volcano.
And for a couple of seconds, it had succeeded in taking Albert Wesker.
And somehow, he had broken free of its clutches and had returned to the world. To life. To his ruin, it would seem like, but like his subconscious had suggested, there was no time for that now. Wesker would worry about salvaging what he could from this latest venture, but for now…
Thin lips lifted into a smirk at the sight of the volcano that had come so close to trapping him forever within its fiery depths. Without another word, the voices in his head now silenced (temporarily, he knew), Wesker turned his back on yet another grave and walked away.
AN: Yeah. Told ya so. Now I don't know how hard it is for everyone else to write Wesker here, I mean, I looked back at chapter four, Illusion, my favorite and still wonder how that happened. :) Anyway, it is so great to be back, and hope everyone else enjoyed it, kinda liked, this update. For any newcomers, hiya and hope you like this so far, for old friends, you are awesome possum for still being here with me :)
Reviews, likes, faves and all that are always welcomed and much appreciated. Until next time, next Sunday, *waves* bye bye!
