Chapter 21: Adrenaline

The crew was dead, and the bodies lay in a pile of dangling limbs and bloody clothing. It had been a simple task to dispose of them. Wesker simply ordered them to gather in one of the ship's gigantic cargo holds, and then he'd locked the doors. A single metal crate still sat at the room's center, now empty, but it had held a tyrant. Wesker had personally disposed of the creature once its task was complete, and now its corpse lay on the pile with its victims.

Wesker stared at the results of his work and felt nothing, not even a tinge of guilt for having caused so much death and destruction. Humans killed each other off every day, and for the pettiest reasons. People were selfish by nature, and they took advantage of each other in every way possible. If they fell to superior cunning, that was their problem, for the strong always dominated the weak. It was the way of the world, and Wesker at least had a vision when he caused destruction—unlike so many. He killed for a reason, and he hadn't felt sorry for ruthlessly pursuing his dreams in decades. He had been hardened and even bred to produce impressive results.

He would change this world. He could not have imagined that he'd come this far in his plans, but here he was, the inhuman creation, and there they were, the common humans. Nothing in life was sacred, and mankind had a way of feeding on itself, chewing and spitting out its own flesh. No, there was nothing particularly redeeming about humans to suggest that he should feel sorry for his actions, and his desire to become more powerful was far more important to him than ethics or morals. Perhaps there were some genuinely 'good' people, but they were a minority, and they tended to lose. If goodness meant weakness, he wanted nothing to do with it. Wesker did, however, acknowledge that moral concerns didn't mean weakness for everyone. He'd long known that Claire drew her greatest strength from caring about others and the world.

He leaned against the railing and stared at the pile of corpses and thought of how she'd react to this. She'd wonder if these men had families, if they kissed their children goodnight, if they had thought about what they were leaving behind before dying. Ah, his sentimental, hopeful, compassionate Claire. He knew that as much as he understood her mental processes, he would never be able to do so from personal experience. He sometimes wondered if the ability to do so had been bred out of him, but that would be too easy an explanation. He might have been a very different man if he'd stayed with Matthews and never gone to Umbrella, but the issue was neither here nor there. He was honestly indifferent to his own behavior and pragmatism. The carnage before him was merely a technical detail that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

He wondered if Claire was having any luck walking around—probably not. He'd given her a powerful sedative, although she would fight it. He smirked. Yes, she would fight it, like she always did. She was a strong woman, and she was his. Those compassionate eyes would seek out his and reach for him, even when he kept his face a mask, and she would wrap her arms around him despite the blood on his hands. He'd become what most people considered irredeemable, but the worse things became, the more Claire seemed to gravitate toward him. She always cared, and she always did the little things for him, like that time where she'd wordlessly taken his sunglasses, cleaned them, and put them back on his face. It was forbidden, but she made it look so effortless to break such rules, and the red of his eyes only attracted her.

It was good to have her here. He'd forgotten what it was like to have someone touch him and want him like she did. Had she actually been worried that his childhood bothered him? It was foolish, and Wesker had inwardly mocked her, but he didn't mind knowing how much she cared. The question was: how far did that devotion stretch?

Please. Her words sounded so crisp and emotional in his mind. Wesker could imagine the feel of the gun against his forehead, and he recalled his surprise at her actions. He had not expected her to violently resist him, and he'd initially been furious. He was not a trusting man, and had he not known Claire as well as he did, he would have broken her in two right then and there; however, he understood the contradictory nature of her actions. Her heart still belonged to him, and she wouldn't optionally choose to harm him, but nor had her surrender to him ever signaled weakness or submissiveness. If it had, he would have dismissed her as a pathetic and ignorant woman in her attachment to him. With Claire, there was an informed depth to her dedication that made their bond mean something to him.

Yes, Wesker had forgiven Claire for her gun display, but he hadn't let her win. In the end, he had turned it to his advantage like everything else. Killing Chris at that moment might have broken her, or at least made her rethink staying with him. Sure, he could lure her back, but if the hassle was unnecessary, he didn't want to bother with it. There was also the matter that he'd wanted to see if she was ready to admit her relationship with him before her friends. She hadn't disappointed, and he'd inwardly beamed with victory when she handed him the gun. It sealed the deal like nothing else had in his mind, because it was tangible. Words didn't mean anything if actions didn't reflect them, and Claire had now publicly branded herself with his mark. Satisfaction was an understatement.

I love you. Those words that she sometimes whispered in his ear…he wondered how genuine they were, but that was an idiotic concern. Claire spoke with conviction when she said them, and while Wesker would never say them back, he liked receiving them. She would suffer for him. What a strange notion, that someone would choose to put herself through pain if loving him required it. He doubted the extent of such a commitment, yet Claire had given him no reason to disbelieve her intent. Intent, but when things really became difficult, would she remain true to her words? He did not trust this idea of love, even if she honestly claimed it as hers. Yes, he trusted her more than anyone else, but he still didn't let his guard crumble. Having faith in an emotional concept was incomprehensible to him, even if he'd seen its expression through his unlikely companion.

The ultimate test was fast approaching. He did not believe it humanly possible for a bond like theirs to remain unscathed through such a torrent of conflicting ideals, but he inwardly hoped that Claire would prove him wrong. He would keep her, and that meant sedating her so that she could not hinder him or force his hand against her or the child. She was too determined to let loose around his plans. No, he didn't completely trust her. He couldn't, but he didn't want to lose her either. In this final test, she would play witness to suffering, because he didn't want her to carry a false image of him—as if she ever had, he smirked. She was always aware of his personality and dark deeds, but when the moment came, he would thrust the weight of it upon her. She would forsake him, never completely reopen to him, or still pass him a cup of hot chocolate.

Had he partly sedated her because he worried that she might forsake him if she saw too much too soon? Like the death of Chris? He considered such an option. Perhaps there was a dual motive to his restraints on her, because he really did doubt that their bond would remain if she saw everything. So unique and beautiful…this final test had to be done carefully. He was a crafty man, and he would manipulate what she saw and under what circumstances and explanations in order to best assure that she stayed bound to him. Love could not possibly be left to serve a similar purpose on its own. It was simply too implausible to a man like Wesker.

He strode away from the cargo hold and toward central control. He wondered how Excella was occupying Chris and Sheva. There wasn't much time before takeoff. He would remove Chris and in all likelihood, Excella, for he already knew that she wasn't compatible with uroboros anyway. She wasn't one of the chosen, and he again considered using her as a host to leave as Chris's present. It seemed a fitting choice, but first he had to find her.

Wesker dialed her number and waited for her to pick up the phone, but no one answered. That was highly unusual. Could Chris have already done something to her? No, they couldn't have advanced through the ship that quickly, and he had left a few surprises for them. He dialed the number again, and this time he could tell that someone had accepted the call, but the only sound was muffled yelling and loud thumping.

"Report," Wesker ordered. What the hell was Excella doing?

"Bitch!" Excella exclaimed. She had better not be saying that to him, Wesker darkly thought. Sometimes Excella walked dangerously close to the line of acceptable respect. Then someone yelled in the background, and it wasn't Excella. Wesker's pace slowed, and his mouth pressed into a thin line. That had been Claire. What was Miss Gionne doing defying his orders and visiting Claire? He slammed the phone shut and began walking in the opposite direction. He had left Claire in a disabled state, and if Excella was in that room with her, nothing good could come of it. If the woman did anything to Claire or the baby, she was going to beg him for mercy by the time he was done punishing her.

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"You bit me!" Excella yelped, holding a hand to her neck. She had been closing in on Claire for the injection, and Claire had seemed quite helplessly submissive about it. Then, as Excella bent over her, Claire had surged upward and sunk her teeth into a vulnerable neck. The redhead was too weak to take flesh with her, but she had managed minor penetration, and the wound hurt like hell. Excella stood back, thankful that Claire had missed anything vital, and staunching the small flow of blood with a tissue. Had Claire not been sedated, she'd be bleeding to death.

"You'll pay for this," Excella promised, wondering if she'd be left with a scar. She'd always loved her neck and considered it one of her most alluring assets.

"Stay the hell away," Claire growled, still on the floor and backing away. She was crouched with her knees pulled in front of her to block her stomach. The baby wouldn't stop twisting about and gently pressing against her, as if stressed. It's okay, Claire mentally told the child. I'm keeping her away. But the child still anxiously moved, and Claire could do nothing to calm it. She wasn't very calm herself.

Ring.

Excella and Claire both stared at the cell phone that sat beside the white syringe case. It was glowing and begging to be answered. Maybe it was Wesker.

"Albert," Claire breathed in relief, and she moved as quickly as her sluggish body would allow. Her fingers wrapped around the black phone, but perfectly manicured ones followed behind hers, and the pristine nails painfully dug into her skin. Claire grunted and ignored the burn as she lifted the phone, but Excella yanked it away from her. It left their grasps and slid across the floor, and Claire desperately dove after it. She had to get that phone. It might be her only chance at safe escape.

As she crawled toward it, she heard Excella's heels clicking closer behind her.

"Ah, looks like you're too weak to make it," she taunted, easily walking pass Claire and picking up the phone. It had stopped ringing. "Too bad," Excella faked a pout. "I guess you're still all alone." Claire glared death at her as she collapsed onto the floor, her bulging stomach pressing uncomfortably against the tiles. Sorry, she apologized to the baby her squashing its home, and the baby pressed against her in an almost comforting manner.

Ring.

Claire's eyes jerked upward to Excella, and she wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off of the woman's face. Her adrenaline was fading after expending it on the biting attack and diving for the phone. It had literally taken all of her energy to accomplish those feats in her current state, and her body wouldn't handle much more, even as her feral, amber eyes gleamed with malice. She would never stop fighting. If she was going to be destroyed by uroboros, she wasn't going to die peacefully. She'd never give Excella the satisfaction. Perhaps there was enough energy for one last push…

"Hel—" Excella began as she answered the phone, but then a hand grabbed her ankle. She looked down in horror as Claire prepared to sink teeth into her calf, and that would hurt like hell and do damage. If she were injured on the floor, she would be on a more equal playing field with her opponent.

"Bitch!" Excella yelled, delivering a vicious kick to Claire's chest while dropping the phone. The point of the stiletto dug into Claire's skin, and the blow made her roll onto her back, exposing her stomach. No, no, no! Her hands went to cover the child as Excella delivered another kick to her, this time in the side, and dangerously close to the child. Claire hoped that the baby's viral body was as resilient as her own, but maybe the sedative had also hampered healing. Certainly these kicks were more painful than they should have been.

The next kick made Claire yell, but mostly in anger rather than hurt. Excella had forgotten the open phone on the floor where it had fallen, and she planted a knee on Claire's chest to keep her still while she grabbed a struggling arm.

"No more wasted time!" Excella huffed. This was it. Claire watched in horror as the syringe shot toward her arm. There was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it. Both her and her child were going to die and be used to kill Chris. It was the cruelest fate of all. The needle pressed against her skin, the point sharp. Claire inhaled, and Excella smiled. The door to the room burst open.