Massive, massive, massive warning. Torture, gore, this is your full M-rated chapter. Skip if you're uncomfortable with reading this.
Chapter XII
The first logical conclusion in her mind was that they had died, suffocated from lack of oxygen. Annette tried to put a hand to her head, to ease the pressure, but found that she couldn't move. First signs of panic registered. She tried to lift her head, to look up, but the place was too dark, and all she could make out were shadows. A rush of adrenaline came over her and Annette blinked the remaining darkness away rapidly. Before her was a stone wall, no windows, no doors and she realized why she couldn't move. Her wrists and ankles were shackled tightly to what felt like a large table, her body stretched taught, preventing all but the most bare minimum of movement. It caused an enormous strain on her injuries and she realized in terror that her gun was gone, and Wesker was nowhere in sight.
Some minutes passed in forced silence. She didn't dare speak, afraid that her voice would give her away to whoeever had waited for her to wake. Her rapid breathing and her pounding heart were the only sound filling her ears. Eventually she heard a whisper, and tensed.
"Annette?"
"Albert?"
She began to sob quietly at the sound of another voice in the room, tears spilling down her cheeks as she blinked them away. She bit back another wave of nausea, the taste of the gas still in her mouth.
"Are you...ok? Can you move?" she asked hopefully.
"No," his voice was full of anger and frustration, and she could hear the rattle of metal chains.
The struggle stopped abruptly. Annette squeezed her eyes closed as the room went from black to blinding, the sudden illumination cutting short her sobs. When she opened her eyes again she could finally make out the details of the room. The first thing she saw was Wesker hanging in his chains, and she gasped a little. He looked utterly dreadful, almost broken..His face was turned away from her, but his body was braced in pain, the tips of his boots barely touching the ground as he struggled in his bonds at the sudden change in their environment. Somewhere to her right she heard a grinding noise, as if a heavy metal door had just been opened.
And then she saw that horribly familiar red jacket, and her eyes went wide in horror. Familiar laughter filled the room.
"Welcome to the final round..."
"Alfred..." she began to babble, "Alfred this is enough, let us out. We've played this game long enough, you've gone too far. You can't seriously..." she trailed off as he picked up what looked like some kind of heavy metal impliment.
"Come now, Mrs Birkin," he said, a look of deranged delight on his face, and she still couldn't bear to believe that a person was capable of such things. Alfred proved her wrong "Are you really begging so soon? We're hardly even started." And with another burst of laughter, he swung the metal rod forcefully, impacting with Wesker's already torn stomach.
She wanted to scream, but found herself paralyzed, her eyes unable to leave the sadistic spectacle. Wesker yelled and lashed out at his attacker, more than once slipping on his own blood and falling against the chains. There was a second and a third blow. Alfred stood half turned away from her. In the light his face took on demonic traces, his lips curling up in satisfaction whenever his prisoner cried out.
Eventually Alfred ceased in his game and turned towards her, bloody rod swinging lazily. "Are you enjoying this as much as I do, Mrs Birkin?"
"Stop it!" she sobbed at him. She struggled wildly, but it was useless. Desperately, she craned her head, trying to see if Wesker was still conscious, still breathing. "Why...?"
"Oh, I think you know exactly why." Alfred suddenly stopped smiling, and his face darkened with rage. "You come here with the intention of taking away my power... you... you two forced me to do it, to let that carrier out to show you... and it's all your fault, it's your fault that my facility is overrun! And you're going to pay for it, dearly."
With a snarl, he strode over to what looked like some kind of mechanical device. She couldn't see properly as he turned a lever, but then suddenly, slowly, she felt the pressure on her limbs increasing, stretching her muscles painfully as her joints cracked in protest. She started sobbing again both in pain and the realisation that, if he kept this up, she would be torn limb from limb.
This seemed to irritate Alfred, as he slapped her sharply across the face and turned his attentions back to Wesker. "Now, where were we?" he asked, his smile returning.
"This is madness, Alfred!" Wesker bellowed and Annette was shocked at the sound of his voice. No power or confidence emanated from it anymore. This was despair speaking. "Stop it while you still
can!"
"You're going to feel the pain you caused to me," Alfred snarled. "Both of you, I'm going to show you!"
Then came the fourth blow, and with it, Annette thought she heard the crack of his ribs. He screamed, twisting in the bonds. He was mad with pain, and she wanted to tell him so dearly that struggling was only bringing more agony. Alfred hit him two more times, then the cries stopped. In the back of her head, mixed with nausea and fear, she hoped he was dead.
Alfred put down the rod. She watched him with haunted eyes, but he didn't move as if he had fallen into some kind of trance. Annette craned her neck to get a better look at Wesker. Shit, was he still breathing? There was so much blood, he couldn't possibly still be alive… and suddenly the worry for him vanished altogether. Survival instict overrode fear. She had to survive, she had to get away, her life was at stake now. Like a madman she began to tear at her bonds, her wrists and ankles going sore in the shackles.
Her escape attempt seemed to wake Alfred. He hovered over his torture instruments a moment longer, then made up his mind. When he turned to her, knife in hand, he smiled sympathetically.
"Did you ever cut yourself, Mrs Birkin?"
Annette shook her head frantically, Dozens of possibilities raced through her mind. God, god, god…
"Nonono..." she wept, "No, please, no..."
But he only smiled, a glint of pure madness glazing over his eyes. Slowly, almost gently, he ran the flat of the blade down the side of her tear-soaked cheek, before tracing it lightly over her throat and down over her chest, applying an even pressure as the blade bit into her skin, not deep enough to cause life threatening injury, just enough to create an explosion of stinging pain, a thin line that oozed crimson as he pressed down harder, taking his time and enjoying his work as blood started to flow steadily from the ever deepening wound. She gritted her teeth, hyperventilating.
Alfred stopped, smiled and she thought he was going to put the knife down, but then, with one swift, practiced motion, he plunged it into her right shoulder, the blade running all the way through, pinning her to the rack on the other side. She let out a strangled scream, howling frantically until she was hoarse, her vision swimming with pain. Alfred closed his eyes with an almost serene smile, as though he was listening to some particularly beautiful piece of music.
Annette couldn't see what was happening any more, couldn't move with the blade imbedded in her shoulder, couldn't do anything except take deep, struggling gasps of air and try to stay conscious. So she didn't catch the flash of contempt on Alfred's face, or see him pick up another knife and approach Wesker, this time poised for a kill.
"I'm bored of you," he announced flatly, petulantly. "Goodbye, Dr Wesker."
And with that, he stuck his knife in Wesker's stomach with an almost mechanical motion. Stepping over to one of his mechanisms, he pressed a button and the chains opened, letting the twitching body slump to the ground.
"Well," he announced with a smile as he approached Annette, "Now it's just the two of us, why don't we finish up our little game. It's late, and I really must be going soon." He giggled again to himself and she felt an overwhelming, crushing despair.
"You killed him?" she screamed, unable to even comprehend what had just happened, not even paying attention to what Alfred was busy preparing next.
"Fuck!" her shouts became insensible, sobbing cries, her eyes blinded with tears as she started to struggle again, ignoring even the knife that still tore at her shoulder. It couldn't end like this, it just...couldn't. If he'd killed Wesker, Wesker who'd saved her from numerous deaths, from infected and BOWs, what chance did she even stand? A sophisticated housewife against a deranged murderer? Annette cried and hoped that she would choke on her tears or be able to keep her breath long enough to suffocate. Any way of death was better than the one Alfred had prepared for her.
"It's a shame I have a schedule to keep," her new companion said in a singsong voice between fits of giggles. "Because I really could do this all day long."
