Chapter 10- Complete Global Saturation
Albert Wesker arose, from his godly slumber, in his godly bed, only fit for a god. He gelled his hair, with the most godly of hair gels, wore the most godly of trench-coats, and wore custom sunglasses only fit for a god. He makes damn sure he looks like a god should look.
Godly. Wesker walked through his subpar resting place, knowing that the other rooms looked identical to his. Hmph. A god requires individualism. But now, Wesker found himself a little hungry, annd went to eat with the rest of the commoners.
For the past 27 years, Wesker has eaten one thing, and only one thing every morning. A breakfast fit for a god.
Wheaties.
Fit for a champion, fit for a god. Albert munched on his Wheaties, checking the newspaper.
"Hmph. The Knicks are bad at playing basketball, if I say so myself," he said, enjoying his morning. Wesker, believe it or not, not that bad of a fellow, despite the mass murder in the name of SCIENCE, and the whole god complex thing. He liked watching mortals play sports, loved poetry, and was quite skilled at catamaran surfing, if he wants to brag, which he always wants to do.
Then something to ruin his entire day, popped through the door.
Chris. Fucking. Redfield.
Wesker has always hated Chris. When they were in S.T.A.R.S. together. When they were put on the field together.
Wesker, upon seeing his eternal foe, folded the paper, and continued eating his Wheaties. Chris saw Albert, and brought an issue with it.
"Never thought I'll see a sociopath here," Chris said. Wesker shrugged off the comment.
"There's one always around you. His name is Deadpool," Wesker said, after swallowing his food. A god always has to look dignified.
"I should take you down, right now Wesker."
"Please. You aren't protected by plot armor here, Chris. Attempt, and you will have an arm through your chest, you steroid monkey."
"I've had enough of your bullshit, Wesker!" Chris said, grabbing the table. Wesker smiled.
"Threatening me? Oh, woe is me," Wesker said, smirking. Chris lost it, and swung at him.
Fortunately for Chris, the punch was halted, by the immortal Iron Fist.
"You can't just go around, and punch people," Danny said, smiling. Chris frowned.
"You don't-"
"I don't need to get anything." Danny looked to where Wesker was formerly sitting, and raised an eyebrow.
"Where the hell is he?"
Wesker did not have time for games. He had business to attend to.
Important stuff. Godly business.
"I am here, sir," Jill Valentine, one of Wesker's successes, sauntered to him, holding files.
"Your competence is most appreciated," Wesker said. He looked at the title label. "House of Rejects" was written in bold on them. How odd.
"Anything else, sir?" Wesker pondered. Then he smirked. A devious smirk.
A godly smirk.
He wrapped his arm around her body. "Come. We have to make a certain fool feel...inadeqaute..."
"Oh my god, he is wrecking that chick," Dante said, ear pressed to Wesker's door. Vergil walked by, looked down upon him, and asked him, "What are you doing?"
"Shhh. Wesker's banging that Jill chick. The one with the banging ass." Vergil narrowed his eyes.
"You are a lost cause brother," he said, while walking away. Dante waited for him to turn the corner.
"And Dante, you are a winner," he said to himself, shuffling the money in his hand. The seed of information passed, now the waiting game commences.
"Vergil," Trish up behind him.
"Oh son of a bitch," Vergil whispered, wishing he did not have to see the face of his dead mother, plastered on the body of some cheap whore.
"Where's Dante?" Ah perfect. A getaway.
"Wesker's room. Listening to him have intercourse with his servant." Vergil quickly teleported away.
"...Please be lying to me..."
Dante was enjoying a slushie, when Trish stormed at him. On a normal day, Dante would be quivering in his boots, but today, he merely smirked.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE!" Trish roared. Dante shrugged.
"Why not?" Dante said. Trish nearly popped a blood vessel.
"GIVE THESE TWO PEOPLE THEIR PRIVACY!" she screamed, attracting the attention of several other mansion members, including one Chris Redfield.
"And thank you, for doing my job," Dante said, bowing, then breaking off into a frantic run, laughing manically. Trish chased after him, shouting various expletives.
Three hours later, Wesker emerged, full of sweet, sweet, smugness, and walked right past Chris, and mutter a simple three letter string that made Chris Redfield, American Special Operations Agent to the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance, to tears.
"I fucked Jill."