Mission: Almost Impossible
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for the story. Everything else is owned by Capcom. Oh, wait a minute. I own Blade Stryker. Oh! And I keep forgetting to mention I also own Jaws! Silly me. Oh, and Daredevil, too.
Summary: Leon and Krauser are the best agents President Graham has had in years, but he sends them on missions even I could do.
Chapter 36: Wesker's Ultimate Suffering
Krauser squealed girlishly as he looked around his new office, previously belonging to the Umbrella employee who was taking Krauser's rightful place near the top of the corporate ladder. No longer would he have to wear that demeaning short leather skirt that always seemed to ride up on him at the wrong times, like when he was bending over to tie his shoes in the glass elevator used only by the top-ranking Umbrella employees and their secretaries and personal assistants.
As requested, Alex was Krauser's direct secretary because, to Krauser, he was just flat out epic. Who wouldn't want a cool parrot who was good at go fish to be their secretary? The parrot, luckily, was spared the pain of having to wear one of the customary tight leather miniskirts, mostly because he was a bird and they had no idea how a miniskirt would fit on a bird, so he got to run around nude like he always did.
"Alex, this is awesome!" The commando called out to the African Grey situated outside his office door on a special perch made with a little desk and an even smaller miniature water fountain to sit on top of it.
"Tomahawk!" A different voice replied, informing Krauser of his error.
The ex-agent held his head in his heads, his eyes bulging. "Oh, my God! Are these people trying to mess with me?! That chicken HAS to have just ONE name!"
Tomahawk waddled in, wearing glasses on a chain around his neck and dragging some papers held in his beak.
"Hey, Ale- Tomahawk. Whatcha got there?"
The little grey parrot placed the papers on the floor and grabbed the glasses with a scaly-looking foot, placing them upon the bridge of his beak. He started looking over the papers before he simply said, "Abu." and took the glasses off.
Krauser's jaw dropped. "I'm...I'M GETTING A SODA MACHINE IN HERE?!"
"Abu." Tomahawk repeated.
"Yes!" The human started jumping up and down, then picked up Tomahawk and started jumping around his him clinging to his hand. "Oh, don't worry, little grey chicken! I'm gonna get you a soda machine, too!"
"Good boy!"
Sergei entered the office rather excitedly. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he saw Krauser bouncing around like an idiot with Tomahawk. Krauser finally stopped when he noticed Sergei standing there and chuckled sheepishly.
"Krauser, you have to come see this." Sergei motioned with his arm. "Wesker got a new chair that spins when you press a button."
Krauser gasped. "Really?! Oh, come on, Tomahawk, let's go!" He ran out of his office, pushing Sergei down as he passed.
"It's Legolas!" The Russian corrected him before swearing. He got up with a groan, rubbing his sore posterior, which landed upon a random object.
It was beautiful. Simply beautiful.
Sitting before Wesker at the top of eight steps was his new chair. It was all but begging him to saunter up the steps, plop down on it, and play around with the spinning feature for hours and hours. One thing that bothered him, though, was that due to the height the chair was elevated at and the steps, he couldn't reach his desk. He'd get that fixed later, though. Right now, he needed to spin.
Krauser and Legolas arrived at the office, shortly followed by Sergei. The commando also appeared awestruck by the chair, his eyes holding a dreamy look.
"Don't touch!" Wesker snarled at him, as if reading Krauser's mind. "None of you! No one touch my chair until I've played with it and/or broke it! Is that clear?"
Legolas squealed, "Yeah!" while Sergei nodded, though Krauser shook his head no. Oddly, even though he was shaking his head, he said, "Yes."
Wesker raised a brow at Krauser, but shrugged it off. Biting his lip in excitement, he bounded up the steps and hopped into the chair. "Oh, dear God, I think I'm going to jizz in my pants..." He rubbed his hands together, grinning wide, then prepared to press one of the buttons that would make the chair turn. Smirking mischievously, he pressed the button, expecting for the chair to slowly spin around.
Boy, was he wrong.
He shrieked as the chair began to spin at fifty mph, clinging to the arms of the chair for dear life and screaming, "HELP!!!"
Nervously, Sergei pressed random buttons on the remote he held that operated the chair, but all he ended up doing was increasing the chair's speed to eighty mph.
An evil thought entered Krauser's mind. If he jumped on the chair and pretended he was trying to save Wesker, he could get a free ride. Yes, it was perfect. He placed Legolas on Sergei's shoulder and shouted, "I'LL SAVE YOU, WESKER!!!" as he ran up the steps and leapt onto the chair. He screamed girlishly and clung hard to the chair's back while one leg was draped over one of the arms. His other leg was left dangling.
"GOD DAMN IT, I'M GONNA THROW UP!!!" Wesker groaned.
"Oh, this isn't good..." Sergei frowned, trying to think of what to do. Legolas, on the other hand, laughed.
"IT'S NOT FUNNY!!!" The commando barked at him before he went back to screaming like a small girl.
"SERGEI, STOP THIS CRAZY THING!!!"
"I'm trying!" Sergei grumbled as he tried pressing more buttons on the remote. The chair did not stop, nor did it slow down or even speed up. It just kept spinning at the same speed. Out of frustration and hoping to stop the chair, he hurled the small remote at the spinning death trap. Rather than stopping the chair, he ended up smacking Krauser square in the face with the remote. Shrieking girlishly with pain, Krauser lost his grip and was flung into the wall. He remained there for a few seconds before he fell into a heap on the floor, revealing an imprint of his whole body in the steel wall.
"Bunny." Legolas cooed over at the fallen man.
Krauser staggered to his feet, wobbling. "I...I'm fine, lady..." He croaked.
The Russian sighed as he placed the little grey parrot on the floor. "It looks like I'll have to take care of this..." Like Krauser, he leapt onto the chair and also like Krauser, he clung to the chair for dear life and screamed like a frightened little girl as it spun out of control.
"Oh, thank GOD, Sergei! You came to save me!" Wesker wanted to sob, for he thought Sergei was actually going to succeed. He did begin to sob, but out of sadness, because Sergei had lost his grip and was flung out the window, sending a hail of glass shards everywhere as he plummeted - screaming - from the twenty-fourth story window.
"You're bad!" Legolas squealed.
"Oh, my God, the Nazi fell out the window!" The commando grabbed Legolas as ran out the door. "WE HAVE TO SAVE HIM, LITTLE GREY CHICKEN!!!"
"You're bad!" The bird squealed once more.
By the afternoon, Krauser and Legolas returned from the hospital with an injured Sergei. Even though he'd fallen from quite a distance, he had only suffered a few scrapes and a broken ankle, which was protectively cocooned in a cast. He was, at first, having a hard time with the crutches he was given, though he quickly got used to them. Krauser didn't make it very easy, for he kept stealing the crutches from the Russian and taunting him from afar because he couldn't chase him. At one point, Sergei got his revenge by smacking Krauser upside the head with one of the crutches.
"Krauser, I am going to kill you later..." Sergei seethed as he entered Wesker's office, gripping his crutches tightly. He gave a startled shout as one of the crutches slipped on a sheet of paper - throw from the desk due to the slight breeze the chair was making from its spinning motion - laying on the floor and he fell flat on his face, to which Krauser and Legolas laughed at. "Why me? Why...?"
"Oh, don't be such a drama bitch, Soviet Union." Krauser helped the fallen man up, grabbing his crutches for him. He turned his attention to the chair, where Wesker still sat helplessly, releasing high-pitched screams of fear. "Hey, Wesker, did you manage to get the chair to stop while we were gone?"
"Does it LOOK like I got the chair to stop?!" The sunglasses-wearer shouted, glaring even though Krauser couldn't tell from the chair turning too quickly.
"...I dunno."
"Just get me out of this thing!"
"Right! Uh..." Krauser turned to the Russian and the parrot. "Guys, how the hell do we get the chair to stop?" The responses he got was a shrug from Sergei and a, "What?" from Legolas. "Well, you guys are a lot of freaking help!"
Sergei snapped his fingers. "Wait, I've got it! It's an old Russian tradition."
"Nice thinking, Sergei!" Krauser grumbled sarcastically, throwing his arms up. "Using a tradition from an island that doesn't exist anymore!"
Sergei paused, staring at Krauser unbelievably. Sighing, he said, "Later, I'll explain to you all the things that are wrong with that statement. Now, are you in or not?"
"Fine, I guess I am."
"You're INSANE." Krauser commented as he set up the bonfire in Wesker's office. "Explain to me again what we're doing because I think I lost you at, 'Well, we're gonna-'"
"We're chanting from the heart so the spirits will help us." Sergei sorted through the number of CDs on Wesker's desk next to the boom box with Legolas. To be more specific, Sergei sorted while Legolas gnawed on one. The human opened one of the cases and popped the CD inside the music-player. He pressed the 'play' button and soft tribal music began to play. "We chant whatever comes from our hearts and dance around the bonfire. I can't really do this, though, because I'm on crutches, and I'm not sure about Benny, but you, Krauser, I know can do this."
"Who the hell is- Oh, right, the little grey chicken." The commando chuckled as he set his hand out, urging Benny to come over. When he did, Krauser carefully placed him by the bonfire. "Let's do this!"
Sergei sat on the desk, holding his crutches on his lap. He looked almost excited, though Wesker was another story. The aforementioned blond groaned and slammed him forehead against the back of the chair for he had shifted postions every now and then, mentally asking himself how and why he ended up with such retarded co-workers.
Krauser began to dance, acting somewhat self-conscious and uncomfortable about it. He had no idea what to chant, so he began to quietly recite the alphabet.
"Louder!" The Russian grumbled. "And from the heart! Nobody chants the alphabet from the heart!"
"Fine!" Letting out a loud sigh, Krauser once more went into chanting, though slightly louder this time. "To the window, to the window...To the wall, to the wall...to the sweat drippin' down my balls...All you bitches-"
"To the UNIVERSE!"
And then Krauser bellowed out loud, "To the window, to the window! To the wall, to the wall! To the sweat drippin' down my balls! All you bitches crawl!"
The ex-colonel watched in horror as the scarred commando began to jump and dance around enthusiastically, shaking his ass and swinging his arms every which way. Benny also seemed surprised, for his eyes got big - pupils contracted - and he backed away with his head down. Wesker, had anyone been able to see, looked the most shocked. His jaw hung open and in his mind, he uttered, 'What the hell? WHAT THE HELL?! What sort of person chants about balls from their heart?!'
"Ah, skeet skeet, my balls! Ah, skeet skeet, bam!" Krauser slapped his hands together. "To the window! To the wall, to the wall!"
"Oh, my God, are you insane?!" Wesker cried. "Heart, balls, what?!"
"Quiet, comrade!" Sergei growled. "Lets him...erm...do his thing from the heart or else this won't work!"
"Oh, fine! But I swear, if any heart-testicle spirits come to save me from this chair, I will NOT be a happy camper..."
"Keep it up, Krauser! Just twelve more hours!"
The chanting and dancing came to an abrupt halt as Krauser stared wide-eyed at the elder Umbrella executive with his jaw hanging. "Como say WHAT? Twelve hours? Are you freaking kidding me?!"
"Come on, Krauser, do it for comrade Wesker."
"I wouldn't do shit like this for twelve hours even if I was getting paid!"
"Do it or you're fired!" Wesker growled. "And hurry!"
The stopwatch in Sergei's hand buzzed, indicating the worst twelve hours of Krauser's life were officially over. The commando was ecstatic even though one couldn't tell because of how tired he was. The very second the stopwatch went off, he collapsed on the floor, groaning slurred nonsense.
The noise of the watch disturbed Benny while he was sleeping, his feathers puffed out and his face buried in his fluffed back. He blinked open a bleary eye before taking his beak out of his back feathers and yawning, then he scratched his head and said, "You're bad," in a sleepy voice.
"Sorry, Nathan." Sergei scratched the parrot behind the head apologetically.
"Where are the spirits?!" The blond trapped in the chair all but sobbed. It was incredibly late, he was tired, he was nauseous, and he just wanted to sleep and throw up, but not necessarily in that order or simultaneously. "Why aren't they helping me?!"
Sergei chuckled sheepishly. "Well...I just remembered this is what you do when someone is gravely ill, not to help them get out of a sticky predicament."
"I'm going to be gravely ill very soon if you don't figure out how to fix this!" Wesker groaned, sounding sick. "And all three of you will be in a sticky predicament because of it!"
"Okay, okay! Sheesh." Krauser frowned before adding, "Wesker, you're gross."
"None of you are leaving until you figure out how to stop this thing!"
"Well, fine by me!" Spitefully, Krauser plopped himself down on the floor, shortly followed by Nathan and Sergei. "Alright, you two, let's figure this out."
Five days later, the trio were still sitting on the floor, trying to figure out how the hell they could get the chair to stop. Sure, they had already tried a few ideas, but none of them worked. Their last idea - throwing stuff at the chair - should've worked, but instead Wesker got pissed at them and yelled at them to stop because they kept hitting him in the face by mistake.
At this point, Wesker was at his breaking point. He wanted to let go; he NEEDED to let go. He didn't care how hard he hit the wall. He just wanted to stop spinning.
Krauser gasped, his eyes alit as an idea stormed in his head. "I've got it! We-" He was interrupted by a shriek from the chair.
The commando and his two comrades looked towards the chair, where they caught sight of the black-clad blond being launched from it and bursting out the newly-repaired window with a million shards of glass flying in his wake. They watched, shocked, before Krauser ran out the door to see if Wesker was still alive and Sergei ambled over to the window with Nathan on his shoulder to see what happened.
The Russian looked completed disgusted as he saw the ground below was sprayed with a heavy coating of a thick grayish liquid as if someone took a hose full of the stuff and sprayed it rather than an actual person lost their lunch.
"You're bad!" Nathan squealed.
"Wesker, are you al-" Krauser stopped when he got outside and let out a loud, "EW!!! Oh, my God, look at what you did all over the ground! Oh, God, it looks like someone hosed down the ground with puke or something! What the hell is wrong with you?! Answer me! Oh, don't tell me you're dead."
Wesker survived the fall, miraculously without a scratch. Sergei, being incredibly jealous of this, smacked the blond with one of his crutches and knocked him down a flight of stairs, thus causing him to break his leg and he required a wheelchair. The bad part about it was some parts of the facility weren't wheelchair accessible, including the route to his office, therefore he needed Krauser to carry him and someone else to bring his wheelchair in.
"DEAR GOD!!!" The sunglasses-wearer shouted painfully as Krauser literally dragged him by his good leg into the office, accidentally bumping the bad leg on the doorframe.
Krauser, thinking Wesker was referring to the new lack of spinning chair in the office, replied, "Yeah, I know. I miss that chair, too."
The man who was getting Wesker's wheelchair entered shortly, though he ended up tripping over his untied shoelaces and flung the wheelchair in Wesker's direction, making it hit his bad leg full on. Wesker let out a loud shout before thinking to himself, 'I hate spinning chairs now..' while he quietly dry sobbed.
"Oh, shit, sorry!" The guy cried, his gasmask muffling his words.
"Don't bother apologizing, DUNK. He's not listening." Krauser said. "Thanks for bringing up the wheelchair."
"It's HUNK, and you're welcome. I have to go now. You know, do my mercenaries thing." He left, once again apologizing to Wesker on his way out.
As he dry sobbed, Krauser helped him over to the desk, dragging him by his cast. As he did that, Wesker made a mental note to slaughter all of his co-workers, starting with Krauser, and bring in new people to work for Umbrella.
I wanted to post this just in time for Taker-Took-my-Toys' birthday! Happy birthday, Triple T! I added in HUNK at the last minute just for her. :D
Oh, and as you can tell, I have seen that movie The Proposal. It is AWESOME. :D