The World of Perfection
P30 is an ancillary chemical. Progenitor virus based. It is known as the ultimate performance enhancer as it increases physical abilities to unnatural levels of the user, as well as makes them very easy to control, essentially making the ultimate soldier.
Unfortunately, the effects of the chemical are extremely temporary as they are metabolized and expelled from the body so quickly, it would require frequent injections of the chemical to be of any long-term use. The way that was created to counter-act this drawback was to attach a device to the subject that would continuously administer the chemical in a very timely manner. Despite its effects being very brief, P30's effects were powerful and effective. It is unknown what side-effects could be caused by continuously injecting a subject with the chemical over an extended period of time.
Modified P30, Version 61. Drawback solution. Less frequent injections required. Every six hours sufficient. While older versions rendered the user unaware of actions, the new version allows awareness of action. User has control to a degree unlike earlier versions, however, exhibits complete desire to obey the commands of the perceived "alpha male" or "dominant" presence.
Wesker looked away from the computer to see Chris approach, hand held out to accept a fresh injection. He opened the bottom drawer and retrieved a dose prepared in a needled syringe. Placing his hands beneath his chin, in silent satisfaction, he observed his new ally and partner pushing the drug into his own body. There was something he admired about the very chemical which placed Chris Redfield under his control, also keeping him desiring to loyally remain on the drug's influence.
It was what his master wanted. His master got what he wanted, or so he said. Three days ago, when he first put the younger man under the control of a modified P30, he ordered him to write a description of the effects. Chris described a constant overwhelming pounding in his head and heart. This occurred during times of high stress, when the drug was most potent. His whole body perpetually felt it must complete anything he believed Wesker would desire of him. He was urgent to please him now. It was..interesting.
The empty syringe tossed in the bin, he came around to join Wesker on his side of the desk. He seemed to have an extra sense for knowing when he was preferred in his presence or not. Sometimes he really wondered if there was somehow a mind reading element, but in his writings, Chris never mentioned it.
A hand went to his holstered sidearm. Wesker glanced in his direction and he relaxed, releasing the grip on the loaded Samurai Edge. Excella swept in, mouth flapping the instant she passed the threshold. She complained more than she did anything useful of late.
"When are you going to share the plan, Albert? What is the plan?"
He'd given Chris his preferred magnum type to keep holstered to his other leg as well. There were Wesker children about. He wanted him capable of self-defense and he wasn't concerned it would be used against him. The man was enthralled to his side, obedient and docile. Perfect.
Chris was perusing the documents scattered across his desk. He contemplated whether this could be considered an act of rebellion or simple mimicry.
"Are you listening to me? I have obligations I tire of. I was supposed to be at your side, bringing on the next world. What happened to that? Why aren't we doing anything now?"
"In case it has slipped your mind," he drawled. "The BSAA shut down our operation and destroyed the supply of Uroboros."
"Yes, and since then, you've been wasting your time on your little servant!"
"Envious?"
Excella sputtered a brief period and turned to conceal her growing frustration. The envy for what she could never have was clear as day. A minuscule smile graced his lips before he shuttered it off. Perhaps the woman was nearing the end of her usefulness once again.
"I have ambitions, Albert."
"As do I. My work has not ceased."
"This Felicia and her friends," she began, coming to sit on the seat in front of his desk. "They have plans, too, right?"
He reclined back in his chair. "They seek a kind of perfection. A selection of the strongest would commence, no doubt via viral attacks for swiftest infection rates and results. Except they wish to find what is truly perfect foremost. Such an endeavor is misguided, but similar to my own."
Chris's gaze had gone vacant, staring straight ahead. His displeasure at the document reading must have been received by a single sharp glance he was given. Interesting.
"How much can a human endure? That was what they did to Chris. They sought what made him how he was, what made him tick, what drove him to make certain choices. How do different humans turn out so different? What is he?"
Excella stood up, huffing, hands folding onto her chest. "Pointlessly barbaric."
The woman didn't find fault in her line of thinking. That she could say such a thing, when she had no issues with infecting a significant number of innocent people in Africa for their short-lived benefit, was hypocrisy. His tolerance lowered while he began considering the schedule for today.
"Indeed."
The temporary building secured was insufficient for long-term usage. He would require a better equipped facility to make any real progress in research and experimentation. Alex had a view worth studying. After all, in his necessity to keep moving forward with purpose, he could admit a personally adopted, yet short-lived delusion.
Wesker was certain he was nearest to perfection a living being could be. The surviving humans the project director named Weskers, were an actual evolved species. Artificial though they were, reliant on serum as they were, their superior intelligence and physical abilities ranked them above all others.
"Chris, sit."
The request earned him a scowl. What was the bother? Did his head pound now for the discrepancy in what his "master" would prefer?
His lips thinned, patience evaporating. The man slipped under his skin with such ease. Problematic. Tolerable.
Chris sat in the leather chair set against the wall. It put him out of his peripheral vision. He felt himself settle. After his death and rebirth, emotions were a tricky aspect to control, and he insisted on control in all areas of his life.
"Is there something I can be doing, Albert?"
His fingers steepled, elbows resting on the desktop. "Perfection is an ill-advised accomplishment. It doesn't exist. Their research never amounted to anything because of this."
Excella hung onto his every word. Pitiful creature. He sorted the papers on the desk, peering through his shades at her. Wesker would appease her ignorance for the time being. He was feeling content having Chris on his side. Although he did think it would bring a greater sense of supremacy than it had.
"Does it matter it's not real?" Excella asked. "Should the drug wear off, he would become someone else."
"Are you implying I am erroneous in my decision?"
"You said perfect is not possible. But isn't this what you are aiming for with your precious Chris Redfield?"
He was feeling hot suddenly. He knew his eyes were glowing, betraying his strong mood. Spencer instilled in each "manufactured" Wesker child a need for resolution. It made him think Umbrella was worth more than it ever actually was. It made him search until he found the old man who designed him.
"Creating a person that is obedient and loyal, and who is consistently these things no matter what. This is as close to perfect as someone can be for my venture."
His thoughts were inevitable to lead to Chris. Not his controlled man, but the man he truly happened to be.
Before the drug put him in his command, he spent too much time studying him. Thus far, he didn't have the information on the conditions of Chris's captivity to the four Weskers working in concert. But for a while now, he was captive to Krauser, then him. Taken by the four, he was then snatched by Alex Wesker, and presently he was in his custody once more.
Taking all of this into account, he was handling the stress and trauma exceedingly well. Unhappy, angry, motivated. Chris was these things until Wesker used the control drug to gain a partner. He could still feel on his own, but an aspect of the drug left him often experiencing thoughts and emotions belonging to Wesker. It served to improve compliance, but it was an aspect he didn't care for.
Wesker leaned into the backing of his chair, tilting his head to look at the rigid man in the chair behind him.
"Speak." He remembered he had to be specific. "At will."
The outburst came immediate.
"Stop treating me like a pet!"
A pet, hm? The sentiment of humankind was a nuisance. Bringing emotions into everything, making everything subjective instead of remaining objective. He wanted someone tolerable and competent. Chris was plenty proficient in many areas. An impressive specimen to behold for a human.
"What else?"
"I've spent a lot of time thinking about it, bothered by how our relationship is much the same and very much different now."
He feigned indifference, but he was listening. "And?"
"Hypersexuality can happen following a traumatic sexual experience. You knew, didn't you? You got in that bed to 'comfort' me as manipulation. Tell me I'm wrong."
"You're entitled to your conclusion."
Wesker didn't give anything away in his voice. Even at present, he couldn't completely explain why he got intimate with his former subordinate that day. Krauser did plenty to break him apart, committed a despicable act, though what he did wasn't much better.
It began as a manner to hold power over Chris like he believed. It did. Somewhere along the way when they repeated such contact, only including less trauma and more pleasure...
"Am I?" he asked. "To what do I owe this generosity?"
He stood from the chair and turned to him. Chris was more bitter and sardonic than he remembered. Drawn into a world of monsters and viral outbreak disasters were a certain factor in such behavior.
"Accompany me to the lower level. We're going to the gym for a practice."
Excella stood when Chris did, slight glower crossing her face. He was prepared for her discontent and smiled in a subdued manner. She was an easy one to work around.
"I would like you to go and have a conversation with Ms. Wong. Evidently she needs reminding of wisdom."
"Oh? Is that concern I detect?"
He remained expressionless during his response. "Ms. Wong has been playing all sides, sharing information with an associate of Alex Wesker and a government agent searching for Chris."
"I understand. I'll..see what I can learn."
Wesker started for the door and added, "She seems to be hoping we'll end up killing each other. I do wonder what it is she's after..."
The two of them walked to the elevators and took one to the first basement level where the gym was located. There was an adjacent shower and changing room. They went in together and traded outfits for more loose-fitting and ideal clothing for a casual workout. Weapons were put inside lockers for temporary storage as well.
Once they were face to face, Wesker adjusted his sunglasses with the tip of a finger. A wave of quaint nostalgia breezed through his mind before he discarded the thoughts as superfluous. He pointed downward at the matted area they stood on.
"To the ground for five consecutive seconds for the win."
He observed Chris flinch when he took a single, small step forward, reflexes kicking in. His victory was assured. And sure enough, the P30 rendered him soft. The soldier let him put him to the floor without a fight.
Wesker stood back up and pulled the other to his feet.
"You have my permission to fight of your own volition. I want you to come at me with everything you can to defeat me."
Without any weapons to forestall the inevitable, he brought his opponent flat to his back on the mat almost as straightforwardly as the first time. How? How did someone so weak manage to get as far as he did through the obstacles Wesker set for confrontation? How did someone like him hold his own in a fight? Yes, Chris got thrown about a bit during the appointed seven minute time limit, however, he survived and managed to get a few licks in.
He contemplated the man.
"Can you envision a win hand to hand?"
Chris was free to engage him physically, but his speech was not commanded to be said freely, thus his retort came immediate and plain.
"No."
Not terribly surprising. The younger man hadn't been able to beat him in sparring sessions when he served as his captain in their specialized unit. While Chris packed on muscle over the years, now that Wesker was no longer human, the additional strength alone wasn't enough to surpass someone of his speed and skill. He relied on weapons to survive and gain the upper hand. He selected an allowance.
"Retrieve your knife from the locker."
When he rejoined, he gave his junior a smirk before beckoning him to come with a hand.
This time it took an extra minute since he was avoiding damage to his clothing or self. Beneath him, Chris squirmed and glared up from where he was trapped on his back. He leaned across and met his eyes.
"Do better."
He loosened his grip and Chris made him proud by instantly twisting his body to bring himself upright. Knife held even with the other hand, the weapon hovered near his face. His gaze didn't break from Wesker and he moved in looking for an opening.
Chris kept from being pinned a full two minutes. Perhaps he had a reliance on his partners more than he realized. He would lecture him on that later. For now...
"Again," he commanded.
Less than two minutes and Chris was trapped, legs twisted awkwardly beneath him. Wesker maintained a firm grip on his arms wrenched behind his back. He leaned into his ear, closer than necessary, and provided advice.
"Next, stop trying to get me where I am, and work to predict where I will be."
His disgruntled stare spoke volumes of what he wished he could say but wasn't able.
"Someone with my abilities can stop someone like you, nine times out of ten," said Wesker. "We can endure a lot of pain and damage, however, our hearts and brains are just as essential as an ordinary human being. Aim there."
He could tell Chris wanted to speak. Wesker leaned away and stood, extending a hand to lift him up. Chris accepted and eyed him like he wanted to lunge, but the conflicting signals of previous orders and present demeanor rooted him to the spot.
"Speak what you will."
"I aimed for your face the time when you made Jill fight me and Sheva."
Wesker nodded in agreement. "Yes, well, attack."
The resentful gaze morphed into serious focus. He retreated to give him space and Chris immediately surged forward to close the distance. The combatant was better with a gun. He went to the ground too quick.
When he concluded training, his opponent was sweating and exhausted. Smoothing any possible stray hair back with both hands, he lowered his arms to his sides. Before they were to leave the room, he gave a final reminder.
"Use the gun as distraction and defense to set up a close quarters attack, but rely on your gun or a knife and put your enemy down. You switch to weaponless combat too often. A knife or bullet to the heart is your aim for an assured victory."
Chris wouldn't meet his eyes while he was speaking and leaving it open for them to make eye contact. They walked into the changing room and Wesker instructed the other to undress and shower. He stood beside the wall opposite, watching him go through the motions of obeying without fuss.
He expected smug satisfaction. He got confusion and uncertainty.
The man was beautiful to behold. He loathed him. He felt a desire to kill him, snuff out the inconvenience. He had thoughts about embracing him. His hands curled to fists, lips set thin in displeasure.
Wesker was aware Chris didn't like to go for the kill when it was somebody he knew. It was a stupid weakness that put him in more danger. Ill fortune brought the younger man into his grasp. He wanted to be the one to decide his fate.
Chris Redfield. Someone who doesn't give up despite any odds, dedicated to finishing what was started. He held strength against apparent insurmountable odds. He had a built in desire to improve the world for others.
The water shut off and he moved to block the man's path to the lockers, his action involuntary. He looked at him, face blank. He hated that. He hated having Chris, but not having him.
He gripped the man's jaw lightly. "I promised I wouldn't touch you when you are incapable of true consent."
Wesker released his hold and turned around, walking in the direction of the gym. At the door, he paused, realizing he didn't hear Chris's footsteps moving away from him like they should be. He waited, and after a long six seconds, the footsteps began that he'd expected the instant he removed himself as obstacle.
Glowering ahead, he strolled aimlessly into the gym where he didn't care to be. Why did a single individual affect him so? He pondered on the four Weskers, who tried to conduct a project on the human condition and how to select the fittest for their ideal. He dwelled on whether they would find Chris perfect as he is now.
