Vows and Denials
A kiss to his son's forehead before he bade him off to school. The young teenager groaned in embarrassment, believing himself far too old for such displays of affection. Marco didn't mind as he watched his child wipe invisible spit from his head while waving his father away. His son out the front door, he returned to his place behind the kitchen counter where he was frying up a second batch of eggs for him and his wife.
"Maria, scrambled?"
"You know it."
He smiled. She had yet to bother lifting her eyes above the top of the newspaper. He really couldn't find it in him to care about her inattention. Life was good. Over ten years ago, he'd made a vow to his wife and his infant son, that he would be the father they wanted and needed. And he had been. He worked construction gigs and owned a small pizza joint in New Jersey that his wife spent her days running. His ancestry was of Italian descent, hence the Italian pizza place, but he'd lived in America the majority of his life. Most of them had.
His hand went to the drawer beside the sink, pulling it open and removing the sharpest knife available to him. He'd heard rumors, whispers amongst the intelligence network, of only the most informed, that those like him were being hunted. Truly he'd hoped the intel. had been wrong, or that somehow, he would avoid being affected by such knowledge. Denial of the evil that had made him what he was, the others too, would be useless though. Especially now that the evil he'd left behind had come for him, after all this time.
"So, which one are you?"
Marco sensed his wife startle at his sudden spoken inquiry. He understood she thought it was meant for her. The unwelcome visitor was just outside the front window. He didn't turn yet, though he yearned to comfort her, still waiting for an answer.
"I'm the one who will beat all the rest," said a man's voice, sounding like barely a whisper from the space and wall between them. "I'm better. And you, you are number eleven. The next on my list."
He smelled the heavy scent of fresh blood and spun around with horror, absolute. The front door was kicked open by such immense force that the wood splintered to pieces. The destroyed door and the man standing before it meant nothing. His world, bleeding and fading in the man's grasp, meant everything.
"No!"
The scream tore from his lips and then he whipped the knife at the man. It nailed him in the offending arm and the man stumbled and fell out of the doorway. Marco grabbed up his son and pulled him from the man's reach. He was aware his wife was shouting, panicked and terrified. He was aware his son's fully human and beating heart was slowing to a dangerous point.
"Wake up, wake up, oh God," his wife moaned, holding onto their child from the other side.
"God has nothing to do with it. He is an abomination."
Marco lifted his gaze to glare at the intruder, eyes venomous and making promises of retribution. This did not seem to bother the other man, his composure remaining much the same as he stepped into their home. A shrug was what he gave the enraged father, followed by cold words.
"We are not meant to procreate weaker beings, and humans, are weak. I do a favor by ending his existence."
"Shut the fuck up!"
He whispered for his wife to call 911 and was lunging for the man who'd hurt his son in the next second. Violent punches and kicks were exchanged back and forth, the rough motions of their bodies redecorating the interior of the house. Spotting the kitchen knife his enemy had discarded just beyond the opening to his home, he somersaulted toward it and scooped it up in one go.
As his opponent descended upon him, he thrust the knife up and into his stomach. Blood flowed, quick and easy, but it only served to tick the man off. A backhanded blow knocked Marco across the room and he stood in time to be stabbed himself, in the chest. His stab wound was not of the same tool, however, but a needled syringe.
"Wh-what?"
"Well, you lasted several minutes. Much longer than the ones I've encountered so far. Perhaps because you fight for your family?"
Marco choked and tried to pull away from the other with zero success. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his wife coming toward them and he wanted to warn her away. He couldn't even speak.
His assailant tore the knife from his own stomach and swept it horizontally through the air, neatly slicing his wife's throat open. She dropped to her knees and he would have yelled out to her, tried to get to her. Instead he was injected a second time, harshly through the chest, before he had the chance to do much of anything.
He let himself fall against the wall, sliding down to the ground. He couldn't move any longer, could barely think. His mental faculties were leaving him. Marco's eyes sought out his wife, his son, and saw all that red. There was so much blood. He knew he'd lost them. Nothing else was really left to matter.
Using the last of his strength, he forced raw and agonizing words out of his mouth. He spoke to the monster of a man who'd taken everything from him with no provocation, no real need to do what he'd done.
"I might not have been able to stop you, but someone will be able to, you self-righteous bastard. Believers like you, are always too blind to see what's right in front of them."
The monster was looking his way, crouching down in front of him to watch as the contents of the syringes took effect. "Is that right?"
"It doesn't take someone with super strength or super healing or any number of higher powers to win or be better. Who ever beats you, they just have to be determined enough to see you dead. You're going to underestimate someone and it'll be your demise."
Marco stared numbly up at his enemy, eyes no longer even blinking as he faded. The confidence behind the words stuck with the other man though. That he could see clearly.
"Such prophetic words. Do you actually think they'll amount to anything?"
No response from the now completely still man. Lex stood on his feet and glanced about himself at the bloodbath around him. It was certainly a familiar sight that never seemed to get old. He waited for Kincaid to come in and remove the Wesker child from the ruined house. Glancing down, he was pleased to see plenty of blood on his clothing. His target's words echoing in his head, he thought them over again, humoring the declaration. Wouldn't that be something? An ordinary man getting the best of him.
/
Chris firmly decided he loathed tests. Four days dragged by where he was poked and prodded by various instruments, given random injections, and he'd lost count of how many vials of blood had been drawn. He was mostly kept company by fully outfitted guards constantly on high alert, and a range of scientists. Excella grudgingly hung around the lab with him each day as well, appearing as bored as anyone could possibly appear. Krauser, on the other hand, enjoyed loitering nearby, and was anything but bored.
At present, he was grinning in Chris's direction and seeking to catch his eye. Not going to happen. He'd learned the hard way that all it ever amounted to was a leer, followed by a wink, followed by murmured promises of violence to be done to him at a future date. Instead of imagining all the sick things the man could do, he chose to spend his waking hours plotting his escape. He would get out of here. He just had to find the weak spots in security and wait till the super soldier wasn't lurking about.
Not that he was afraid of Krauser. Well, okay, he was a little afraid. The man was very strong and fast, almost like Wesker. Mention the whole issue about being brutalized and tormented by aforementioned soldier boy, and it made a bit more sense to be at least somewhat fearful. But he could take Krauser in a fight. Maybe, probably, well, he'd risk it anyway. It would be better if he was gone.
Krauser notably perked up. "It would be better if who was gone?"
Huh. Apparently he'd spoken that last part out loud. How unlike him. Could it be one of the numerous injections he received was actually having an effect? This wasn't good.
"Wesker?" the man guessed. "Yes, I imagine it would be better if he was gone. It can never be a good sign when the big boss himself comes for a visit."
Chris whipped his head around to see the man himself. He hadn't seen Wesker at all during his four days in captivity, living in the cold, dull medical wing of this place. He had yet to ascertain where the mansion was located and he figured he could concern himself with where he was, once he got his ass out the front door. That in itself would be a mission.
Turning away from the black-clad bastard, he didn't bother with any sort of greeting or acknowledgement other than looking at him for a moment. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how being cooped up in a lab was getting to him. Nowhere near as unbearable as the torture, but nowhere near inciting encouraging feelings of any kind. Ugh, and to think, he'd slept with him in an oh so pitifully pathetic moment of weakness. Never was he going to live that one down.
"I understand progress has been made." Wesker stated, tone dry and impatient.
"Albert," the posh woman positively purred. "How good of you to join us."
He didn't even have to turn to know she was currently leaned against his shoulder, fluttering her eyelashes up at him. Excella was anything but subtle in her flirtation and obvious desire to become a permanent parasite at the tyrant's side. Chris risked a quick glance toward a no-name female doctor heading his way, then looked away. Oh joy, yet another injection. Whatever side effect might this one have in store for him? He'd experienced cramping, burning sensations in his head and arms, and what was probably very nearly a heart attack at one point. He came to understand very quickly that they didn't care if he suffered as a result of their experimentation.
"I express my regrets on your lack of success of late, Albert. You are a brilliant man. Things will soon turn for the better."
Wesker growled, actually growled at her, and Chris shifted around in time to see him pull away from her grasp. She frowned and then forced a smile and it made him slightly happy. It would seem Excella was doubting her place in Wesker's world at the moment. As well she should be. The ambitious man kept what was of use to him and that was it. He didn't care for anything much outside of himself.
Right now Wesker was irritated by his current failure being broadcast to his enemy. It was making him a not so miserable captive in this minute. Anyone taking Wesker down a peg, however unintentionally, was okay in his book. Excella was growing on him.
"Progress, Dr. Jenner?"
"Yes," the doctor now standing in front of Chris seemed pleased to report. "See for yourself."
When he realized what was likely to follow the injection, he thought about making a run for it. Then he thought better of the idea. Even if he made it out the door, he wouldn't make it far. He'd be dragged back and injected by force. No, here was not the time to fight. He'd be ready when that moment came. He'd be ready.
He stuck out his arm and waited for the inevitable injection. When it happened, he sat there and felt his eyes dilate, felt the chemical surging through veins in his arm and to his chest. This one had a kick. For a minute he forgot how to breathe and woke up on the floor.
A hand gripped the front of his shirt and hoisted him to his feet, then back to sitting on the bed. Chris brushed away the offending hand, a hand clad in black leather per usual, and stared at his arm curiously. It felt funny. There was a dull thudding pain and the sensation of feeling a lot lighter throughout his entire body. How weird.
"Weird? What precisely do you feel?"
What the-with the prompt from Wesker, he must have said the last part of his thoughts out loud, again. He didn't like this lack of control. He answered the question, completely, without even thinking of the answer first, and knew it was a success. A success for Wesker. His scientists managed to concoct a P30 chemical that Chris's body accepted, and now his body was no longer his own.
"Stand."
His body jumped to obey.
"Sit."
He sat back down fast. Oh, fuck this.
"Stand."
Was Wesker really messing with him so childishly?
"Break Dr. Jenner's neck."
The doctor choked and took an immediate step away from Wesker and Chris. "What?"
He fought. His mind didn't want to do it but his body was itching to. A section of his brain was clearly wanting to obey Wesker's every command. But it was chemical. He was stronger than some chemical coursing through his veins. He concentrated the whole of his thoughts into one single action.
When his body lunged for the doctor, he forced it into a spin kick, nailing his boot against Wesker's chin. The man was caught off guard and stumbled slightly before regaining his balance. When he did so, Chris was satisfied to see a small bruise already appearing on his chin. The knowledge that the mark would heal far too fast, didn't lessen the satisfaction any.
Wesker looked disgruntled, maybe a minor bit put off, but his expression solidified into a calm and accepting stare seconds after his discontent. Ever the scientist he supposed. Honestly, he was surprised to have even caught the other man off guard in the first place. He thought Wesker knew him better than that. Chris would never stop fighting. He would never give up.
The tyrant's gaze shifted to the doctor again. "Keep working."
A sweep of his stupid long coat behind him, that managed to look stylish and yes, a tiny bit sexy, as he turned to go. Then he was gone from the lab. As soon as the door swung shut, he took stock of himself. He could feel it, his body was his. What a relief. He'd never much liked anyone telling him what to do. To have his willpower stripped away would be a nightmare come to life.
"I won't let him succeed," he promised, meeting Krauser's gaze with as much intensity as he could muster. "I will stop him before he can get far enough to try another Uroboros disaster."
Excella might have the "official" rank, but Krauser most certainly had the power and the leverage in regards to Wesker. Besides, the super soldier was the one who kept talking about how Wesker was working on something special in order to bring about a new, better world. Ironically, even though it was Excella who loved, or thought she loved Wesker, it was Krauser who believed in the man. These wanna be villains with their psycho visions of grandeur. They worked together but didn't even have the same endgame. The damage they could do laid in their misguided belief that they were right in what they were doing. It was so messed up. And Wesker had called him self-righteous.
Excella sniffed at his remark while Krauser seemed rather pleased. The woman strode off at a brisk and annoyed pace, only to lean against a desk nearby and stay. The soldier though, he stood right where he was, and crossed his arms over his chest.
"You're an action man, Chris," he said. "I would be disappointed if you didn't try."
Chris continued to stare back at the other man. "What Wesker's trying to do, it's bigger than any one person. I suspect what those four Wesker children want, it's far bigger than just me. All this bullshit about making the world a better place, bullshit. It's crap. It'll make things worse. So this is me, standing between the world I know, and the horror show others want to try and turn it into. Do what you will with me while you've got me. It won't make a difference. I will stop him. And you better remember, I'm not the only one like me."
His enemy chuckled softly but he'd had his desired effect. The words sunk in. Krauser was thinking. Excella had heard, too, and he knew she was truly hearing him as well. Let the planted seeds of doubt begin.
He smiled to himself and sat down in one of the chairs, feeling pretty good considering he was a hostage. It was temporary. He would stop him. He would remember his own words when the time came to act. The agent wasn't the only one like him. Others would never stand to let Wesker see his world become reality either.