Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil.

I'm sending you all an important message so look out for that.

Claire fluttered her eyes open, her ears picking up the sounds of someone moving about the room hastily. She sat up, rubbing the back of her head and watched Wesker muse around the room looking with a look of disgust no his handsome face.

"Wesker… what are you doing?" She asked cautiously.

He looked up at her, his eyes blazing that hellish red. There was sweat dripping steadily down his face and his fists were clenched tight, his fingernails splitting the skin and causing him to bleed.

Claire jumped out of the bed… something was very wrong with him, he looked like he was in some sort of pain yet he looked like he was ready to kill.

"Wesker…" She walked towards his hunched form, his breath coming in swift puffs through his nose and his chest heaved violently. She touched his neck, his skin like fire on hers and he flinched, making a throaty growl. His pulse, although he looked hyped, was slow and lethargic; the beats were unsteady, rapidly changing in pulse from slow to… too slow.

He coughed violently, spits of ruby blood forming at the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it away on impulse with the back of his hand. He gripped her shoulder tightly and bore his eyes right into hers and brought her ear to his heaving lips.

"G-go out into the… the car," His finger lifted to her hand and he dropped the keys with her. He doubled over, letting a roar of pain escape him. "Trunk… black bag…" His words were like whispers almost, barely comprehendible. She tangled herself from him and ran to the door; she turned around as Wesker crashed to his knees.

"I'll be right back, Wesker! It's gonna be alright."

Wesker waited… it seemed like forever… Claire's words rang in his head. "It's gonna be alright." He hoped to whatever god was up there it was. This wasn't good at all, he was in a weakened state and with his body on this surge anything could happen. Recovery took about a day, maybe even longer if treatment wasn't adequate. But he would be treating himself so all was well… for now.

Claire came bursting through the door, Wesker's black duffle bag in her hand. She bent over him and unzipped it, searching frantically for the contents. Her hands found a syringe… this had to be what he needed.

She panicked and looked at Wesker, "Where do I put it?" she asked frantically. He snatched it from her hand and stabbed the loaded syringe into his neck, pushing down the plunger with unsteady hands. His breathing started slowing down, his heart beat normally and his eyes regained the collection they once held. The thin layer of sweat covering his tanned chest, still shirtless from sleep was now receding; the small cuts on his palms weren't healing though.

"Why aren't you healing up?" She asked with concern.

"Because I have to recover… I was sick if that's how you want to put it. I was low, too low on my injections."

"You have to inject yourself to stay healthy? With what?"

Wesker sat up against the bed and sighed heavily. "My virus constantly tries to turn on me, it tries to overtake my cells and mutate me because that was what it was made for. Although my body and my blood adapted to it, the virus never really accepted me as a decent host. As unbelievable as it sounds…" he said remorsefully. "So I created a serum. A small dose of the virus that keeps the cells within my body satisfied knowing that it's getting a daily dose of life. It needs itself to live, when you take away a virus, although they are not living, when you take away a virus host cells you're killing it because that's what it needs to survive. If I don't take it daily, my body turns on itself, the virus taking over the major functions of the major cells."

"It's dangerous isn't it?"

"In this state I could be killed, yes."

A wicked thought popped into her head… if she could kill him she could get away. But she was willingly staying under Wesker's wing until he safely gets her out of harms way… and that was his enemy. Even if Wesker's body was at full human capacity he was still fully capable of killing someone.

"I'm gonna go get you some water and give you some space to cool down," She sat up and looked down on him, vulnerability flashing across his face. "I'll be back."

XXXXX

Claire returned to the room a few minutes later carrying two bottles of water and a magazine. Who knows how long they would be here.

She fumbled for the key to the room but she stopped when she heard a yell come from inside of the room. She dropped the water and the magazine and pressed her ear against the door.

It was silent.

She turned the key in the lock slowly, literally anticipating the worse.

The door creaked and she peeked in… nothing to be seen.

More importantly…

No Wesker.

"Albert?" It was the first time she had used his name and it came out soft and her voice cracked with fear.

Suddenly, something behind her had wrapped around her neck, chocking her and she tried to pry it off but to no avail. He attacker had her pinned against the nearest wall, holding her against it with their body.

"We don't want you to start screamin' now do we?" He asked her, his British accent thick. He dragged her by her hair and spun her around, shoving a cloth in her mouth for a gag. "Come on now, we gotta give to the boss."

He pulled her away from the wall and dragged her into the bathroom where there were two other men huddling around the toilet. "This was the other one; she walked in on our little tirade."

A man turned to face Claire, he was smoking on a fat cigar whose pungent smell wafted through the small bathroom, he smiled, and two pointed canines flashed and a wicked smile to go along with it. His brown hair was short and ducked in the front, and his thick fingers ran through it steadily. He was clad in a black suit with a deep blue tie, the cuffs of his shirt embedded with emeralds.

He looked deathly rich and deathly dangerous.

"Take that foul thing from her mouth, Ethan," He told the man holding her. He nodded and tied the gag from her mouth, on a rebellious impulse, Claire spat at the man's shiny black shoes. He only chuckled and took another long puff from his cigar.

"Where's Wesker?" She demanded. Again, the mysterious man chuckled and moved aside. Wesker was tied to the toilet with rope, duck tape, and zip ties. His head hung and blood slowly dripped from a gash above his eye.

Not healing.

"Ah so you're an acquaintance?" The man asked.

Claire shrugged bravely, "Maybe. What's it to ya?"

"It seems you'd like to go straight to the why of your little situation. My name is Mikhail Wolfrick… and I've waited a long time for this moment. Years ago Albert Wesker created and destroyed my company, HCF. He was the reason Rockfort Island went to hell, he was the reason for all of the lost research in Spain because he can't handle himself."

There was a deep, menacing laugh from behind Mikhail and he turned to see Wesker laughing and shaking his head. "You are forgetting one major aspect to your plan, Mr. Wolfrick… I'm Albert fucking Wesker!" His pride and ego got the better of him, and knowing Wesker he wouldn't let this man forget who he was and how glorious he was.

There was a pitch of fury that swelled in the room and Mikhail lifted the lid of the toilets tank, brining it up over his shoulders and smashed Wesker on the temple. His head snapped sideways and for a split second, Claire feared that he was dead.

The blood that leaked from his wound was dripped onto the tile floor and Claire could faintly see a trace of his skull.

She squirmed in her captors grip and tried to free herself. "No! Wesker!"

Mikhail dropped the lid onto the floor with a loud clang, blood smeared around the corner. "So sorry, love." He said, his Brit accent coating the words thickly. "But what this bastard deserves is death."

He snapped his fingers and the men dragged her away from the room kicking and screaming.

A/N: OH NO! Wesker is dead! Haha maybe. NO SPOILER FOR U!