Depletion

Wesker stabbed him in the heart as fast as he could blink. Stunned, he stumbled back, pulling out an empty syringe. Tricky son of a bitch revealed all of it, ignited everyone's bemusement, just to get him close enough for this.

"You bastard!"

The man leaned into the bars with a content smirk. "When have I led you to believe I'm anything but what I am?"

"Unrepentantly devious monster," he spat.

"Resolute man," countered Wesker, meeting his eyes and sounding happy.

Refusing to be outdone after getting injected against his will, he snapped, "Comic book villain."

Wesker's expression gave nothing away as he retorted, "Humanity's champion."

He could feel the drug beginning to affect him. It wouldn't take long with an injection to his heart like that. So while he had control, he seethed at the man.

"Fuck you!"

"Gladly."

That gave him pause, a warm feeling expanding throughout his body, stretching across his every inch. He sounded authentic, like maybe he'd let Chris fuck him. And why did that sound good?

He shook his head in a desperate attempt to clear the blurring vision, knowing it had to be obvious he was losing it outwardly. Gritting his teeth, he reluctantly accepted the drug would control him for a period. He looked over his shoulder at the silent tyrants and back to Wesker.

"You better make it good."

"When have I not?" he asked, referring to the aforementioned allusion to sex instead of the battle command he knew Chris was expecting from him.

Ugh. He managed to blush red right before he fell on a knee, clutching his burning head. He hoped his allies would blame the drug as it became more difficult to hold onto any solid thought.

"Listen to me."

The voice was serious, dominant. He knew he should obey this voice. It was everything he existed for.

"I command you to survive. You do not have my permission to die."

Chris rose to his feet, sore and tired body a thing of the past. He stared ahead of himself, blank and waiting for a reason to move. There was an underlying, yet oppressive desire to please that voice.

"Kill the tyrants. And enjoy yourself."

He smiled, superior. He could feel the strength expanding into his muscles. Spinning around, he practically flew in the direction of the motionless tyrants. The speed and ease of movement felt great.

He'd slaughter them for his master. Master? Why did he think that?

It was pleasing when they burst into motion, wheeling about to face him. He fired his gifted firearm, hammering bullets into an empty stare. He preferred a fight.

His head and heart and whole being pounded foreign sensations, intense and hot. Soon he realized after the initial wave, he was aware of his actions. Wesker made it so he could know what he was doing as he did it and this thrilled him.

The agent moved more swift and agile than he ever had before, no longer restrained by the limitations of his hulky frame and weight. When one of them threw him to the floor, he didn't really feel the pain he knew should have come. The big fist cracked the floor but missed him as he was rolling away and up. Startlingly flexible, he flipped backward out of the charging path of a mutated tyrant devoted to murdering him in turn.

A woman ran by, shooting the mutated one until it halted its attempt to ram. Her other hand revealed a glint of metal catching beneath the ceiling light, and she tossed the object toward the tyrant. The grenade exploded in the air, burning the creature's upper half.

Jill. It was okay to have this ally right now. His gun clicked empty and he holstered it in favor of drawing the knife.

As he was parrying the huge arms and fists of an opponent much bigger and stronger than him with only a knife, Jill yelled his name and tossed something. It clattered in front of him and he flipped forward to reach it fast, ripping the item from the floor to find it was a correct magazine for his firearm.

Satisfied, he gained some distance with a short run, and loaded his weapon. The mutated tyrant went down and stayed down. She was a force to be reckoned with.

He hurried to rejoin the fight against the other, who was presently mutating, clothes shredding in the wake of it.

A man appeared in his way, preventing him from attacking the tyrant. It was Miles. He would like nothing more than to shoot him full of the bullets in his gun, but he had orders to kill the tyrant. Succeeding at his master's command was most essential.

Miles was suddenly up close in a flash, backhanding him across the face. He fell and flipped upright quickly. Shoving him away, the man reacted by swinging his lower half through the air, kicking him into the ground again. He grunted and clenched his fists.

He had orders to survive too. If this man would try to kill him, then he had every permission to kill him first. Chris rolled aside to avoid the foot slamming into the floor, powerful enough to crack it and leave a small indented hole.

The agent was pleased to kill Miles. Raising the gun, he fired multiple shots but his enemy became a blur of color, dodging the bullets. Appearing to his right and very near, Chris threw a fist and his wrist was caught by a different Wesker child.

Yanking his arm free of Felicia's grip, he glared between the pair of them. They were in his way. He had to kill the tyrant, had to survive. He'd kill them all.

He fired the gun and they parted to steer clear of his shots. Arms wrapped around him from behind and he found himself tossed over a head of dark hair. The woman standing above took his arm, twisting, and he turned with it onto his stomach to try and lessen the strain.

Squirming and struggling to break out of the hold, he angled his gun and fired. The shot hit her in the shoulder and she released the painful grip. Rolling onto his back, someone else appeared in Felicia's place. His latest assailant straddled him, taking his forearms and planting them flat to the floor over his head.

Jonah. Growling at the man, he felt intense need to get up, to complete his commands. His opponent was far too strong, and he couldn't do it.

Fury and violence overwhelming, he kicked his legs out, shifting constantly to try and knock the body off him. He'd scream and demand Jonah get out of his way, except he couldn't seem to use his voice. A glimpse of Laura passing out of the corner of his eye had him baffled as to what was going on.

He felt it when the drug was nearly finished leaving his system. Exhaustion spread, replacing the warm feel of power the drug gave him. Every bruise, cut, and discomfort came flooding back all at once. It was shocking and agonizing.

Blinking slowly, he understood it was just him under his own faculties, and stopped fighting. Jonah took notice of the change and released an arm, testing. Chris assumed when he didn't try to punch him, it was safe to check, and fingers held an eye wide open, peering at it.

Breath puffed against his cheek. He didn't think Jill's eyes were any different when they'd fought to bring her back to herself. How could he forget Wesker was responsible for the hell she likely endured being constantly injected with a controlling drug? Did he forget or push it out of conscious thought?

A bullet got Jonah in the arm and he responded well for such a thing. He flipped through the air in a blur and Chris turned onto his side, reaching for the gun that had fallen so close to where he'd been held down. Metal a reassurance in his grasp, he sat up and looked around.

The other tyrant had fallen. He wondered if Jill accomplished the task. His four kidnappers were to his left and behind him. They were slightly spread out from each other, looking at…

He swung his head back in the direction of the defeated tyrant. A little farther swiveling his head to the right and there was Jill, standing with Wesker. Was that right?

Chris reversed the direction he was facing, resting on his knees to get a better view of the two sides confronting each other. Farther away, beyond Jill and Wesker, was Claire and Leon examining Krauser's limp form. Ada appeared in his line of sight when Leon knelt down, and he had to smile a little to see she'd finally gotten rid of the cuffs.

"He's yours," Laura told them. "We won't pursue him anymore."

Wesker was looking content enough by this, but Jill was angry, refusing to lower her sidearm. She was the one who shot Jonah to get him off in all likelihood. He frowned, noticing Sheva standing near an open gate, speaking into her earpiece.

Was there an HQ to talk to? She seemed upset, like she was straining her voice arguing quietly. Something was urgent.

"We can't fight them all," Wesker pointed out. "You know what it feels like to push your body past its limits under the drug's influence, or to fight enemies when it's a struggle to simply stand."

"Then why did you give it to him?" she yelled, putting some space between them.

The reply came quick and flat. "To save his life."

She didn't believe him. Chris wasn't sure he believed him either. But what did he know?

Wait… The four project survivors who gave him so much grief, who stole him away for six weeks, were just getting to walk away?

He pushed up onto his feet, swaying out of balance. He managed to steady and the arm holding his gun level did not waver.

"No!"

The four walking away paused at the intensity of his shout. Jill, who had lowered her gun to walk over to him instead of remaining where she was monitoring a dangerous threat, drew to a stop.

"Those two don't get to leave. They don't!"

No one except the four understood what he meant.

"What is this?" Leon questioned, arriving with Claire, Ada, and a groggy Krauser accompanying him.

Chris observed he had his normal arm back, but didn't linger on the thought. He would prefer Claire not be here to see him kill someone, however, he wasn't letting them go. No way.

He was fuming inside, eyes wide and locked on his targets. Staring at them for an extended period was bringing the horrible memories into his head. Now that he wasn't worried for his life, it was easier for images to slip into his thoughts. Images he loathed and hated.

"You didn't have to!" Chris yelled, aiming at Miles's heart. "You didn't have to!"

"No," Miles admitted, watching the gun. "No we didn't. But you're a good-looking man, and we wanted to."

"Oh, God…"

His eyes darted to Jill, who had uttered the expression. She knew. No, no, no. He didn't want them to know.

He brought a finger to the trigger, slowly squeezing. Chris scanned the others quickly. They were variations of confused, uncertain, or blank. Harder to read what they could know.

"I used to think I knew what evil was. I used to think Wesker was the epitome of evil intent."

He was ranting. He let it go on, needing to verbalize the feelings and reasons to get it out of his mind.

"But I was wrong. You're that thing. The thing kids start to fear is under their bed at night, before they realize it can be found in the faces of another person in the daylight. It's the reason people can feel paranoid when they're walking alone in the dark."

"Chris."

Jill was seeking to calm him. He knew he wasn't quite thinking straight and it didn't matter. Furious, sad, afraid it could somehow happen again if he didn't act now… Unflinching was what he had to be.

"You enjoy making people suffer. You go out of your way to do it. It drives your existence. At least Albert Wesker doesn't usually enjoy the bad he does. In his twisted mind, he has reasons for every action and reaction. Yeah it's screwed up. It's bad. He doesn't feel things like people should. But you? You feel joy only when someone else suffers as a result."

When the man sniggered at him, sneering a remark about how he loved what they did, his brain checked out. He lowered the gun a few inches and fired repeatedly into the bastard's crotch. Three bursts and several seconds later, he realized he was clicking on empty.

"Monster," he whispered, thinking at least the other had a chance to survive and he couldn't be called a murderer then.

Crumpled on the floor clutching his crotch, Miles screamed in rage and pain. In a blur, he ran for an open gateway and disappeared from sight. He was surprised the man could run.

His gaze turned to his comrades. The other three were contemplating violence. It was clear as day on their faces.

"Wesker!" Sheva yelled out, far from where the rest of them were gathered.

Chris looked at the man in time to witness him fire his Desert Eagle, hitting Jonah in the center of the forehead. Shocked, he watched as Wesker tore Jill's machine gun off her by the body strap, and unloaded into the fallen body. It literally sawed head from neck in a stream of rapid-fire bullets.

A high-pitched and piercing wail of woe came out of Laura. She burst into a dead run for Wesker, almost faster than the eye could follow. Chris watched as he fired the gun and hit her a few times. She dodged the remainder and kept coming. Flying into him feet first, they whipped into a frenzied fight, difficult to observe at their speed.

The machine gun was tossed aside in preference for fists. It was obvious they didn't have the same training. Wesker had the edge on her. She was putting up a hell of an offense though, because she was fueled by mindless grief and rage for her fallen partner. He should be able to empathize with her pain, having experienced something similar, but he couldn't seem to care.

A blaring siren distracted everyone but the two Weskers locked in heated combat.

"The self-destruct sequence has been activated. Please evacuate to the nearest possible exit. All doors are unlocked to expedite evacuation procedure. This sequence may not be aborted. I repeat-"

He started ignoring the looping message. Why did these people insist on setting every building to blow? A shrill cry answered his ponderance a little too soon. That fate with a sense of humor again.

Hunters dashed into the arena, spilling in from at least three separate open gates that he could see. They were on the side right by Sheva, close to Claire and the others. Not a one of them stupid, they took immediate notice and action to confront the incoming threats.

Chris saw Leon pass Claire a handgun and was proud to know his sister could handle herself. She was a crazy, brave sort. Emphasis on the crazy.

He wondered what to do without ammunition to aid his friends. Scouring the area and feeling shaky on his feet at best after everything, he caught a glimpse of Felicia which drew his eye. She was fiddling with her device, pressing buttons, and he guessed she was responsible for the destruct sequence activation. The release of hunters was presumably her stunt too.

The woman's gaze sweeping the arena floor, she spun around and departed for an open gate. The same one Miles went through, which meant it was most likely a certain exit. She clearly didn't want to be followed, so he followed her.

A tunnel connected rooms like the room he woke up in. He was walking past the third gate when he had to hesitate, leaning into the wall for a brief respite. What exactly was his plan here?

Chris determined to see where she went, and then return to the others. Pushing off the wall, he resumed his gradual and quiet pace. In a matter of minutes he was standing under sunlight and paused to soak it in.

He was starting to think maybe it would be okay if she slipped away when he spotted her again. Careful to stay out of sight, he moved to a pair of large garbage containers and crouched behind them. She was talking to someone on the phone, pacing impatiently back and forth.

His eyes were slipping closed, lulled into comfort by the still posture and warm sun. The BSAA agent berated himself for the error and searched the area where she had been and was no longer. Fearing an ambush, he rose slowly, stooped to remain hidden. He wondered how well the empty guns holstered to his thighs would do as blunt instruments.

Coming out from behind the containers after all he could hear was silence, he covered the yards to Felicia's last sighting. A regular street, a couple parked vehicles, and he was standing outside an unremarkable looking warehouse. Scanning the area and finding nothing, Chris thought he should probably just go back to his friends.

One step and he stumbled forward, too exhausted to keep upright. Maybe he could wait here for them to get to him. This was their rescue of him and Claire, yeah? He wasn't too prideful to be saved.

He endeavored to reach the sidewalk and a foot stepped shorter than he intended, scuffing awkwardly and jerking him off balance. Hands caught his shoulder and arm before he could even start to fall, straightening him. His arm was thrown over a shoulder, a hand gripping it securely in place, and the other hand settled on his waist, arm wrapped around his back.

"Thanks," he muttered, heavy eyes threatening to close again.

They were continuing to the sidewalk and Chris got sidetracked in identifying his silent helper by seeing an unexpected sight. Alex was in the process of putting Felicia's limp body in the trunk of a black truck. He couldn't tell if she was dead or alive.

An attempt to stand on his own was prevented, hands holding him up unyielding. He turned his head and met Kincaid's gaze fixed on him.

"You're the knight, Agent Redfield. In the action, powerful against close enemies, sticking to the center in an effort to make a difference. But you need your support to win."

His eyes narrowed. Was this guy giving more chess analogies?

"Time to go before that happens."

Huh?

Chris let himself be walked to the truck and man changing position to watch them approach. He was barely standing as it was, and he knew he wouldn't be getting out of this one. His eyes were beginning to shut against his will.

He was brought around to the side of the car where Alex strolled up to open the back door for them. Kincaid got in first and reached forward to lift him in if he couldn't do it himself. He glanced toward Alex, who met his gaze, fingers tugging on the brim of his ball cap.

"Are you trying to die?"

Despite knowing the question was rhetorical, he responded with a weak smile. "It's more of an effortless thing, really..."

His audience wasn't the easily amused kind. Two expressionless stares. What a fun crowd.

Sighing audibly, he dragged his protesting body into the truck alone. There was a syringe being prepared by Kincaid, taken from a case on the floor. It really wasn't necessary.

His body was a tired mess, struggling to deal with sustained injuries, forced motion, and coming off a drug that had him exceed his normal capabilities. The moment before he slumped against the seat and passed out, minus the sedative they were intending to inject, he had a final grudging thought. It was goddamn ridiculous his life at present consisted of being a prisoner traded between Wesker children.