Didn't I say TBC? I did, didn't I? Well, here's chapter two! Hopefully it will be a long story, I tend to get writer's block towards the ending (it sucks, I know).

--Wesker reached down and grabbed Chris' hand before it disappeared under the surface--

Chris opened his eyes wearily. He couldn't make out anything through his bleary eyes, everything was fuzzy. All he could tell was he was in a building and he was laying on something soft.

His mind caught on that something wasn't right. Hey wait a sec... I should be dead! Chris attempted to sit upright but the movement shot waves of pain through his body.

It all came back to him, everything about the incident he thought had cost him his life.

"I had to have died! I blacked out in the water with the piranhas with Wesker... watching.... Wesker! Did he save me? Naw, couldn't have. He's my enemy..." Chris looked around to the best of his abilities and found out he was sprawled out on a bed, not just that, but his clothing had been removed. Gashes littered his skin and he wondered about his face, it too was throbbing.

The door creaked on it's hinges as it was opened, and Wesker walked in, grinning as he saw that Chris was awake. He closed the door and locked it by key. Chris' eyes never left him even as he made his way to the bedside. He stood there, content at watching the pitiful situation Chris was in.

"You pulled me out of there?" Wheezed Chris, his voice also ragged.

"Of course. Who else was there at that particular moment?" Asked Wesker, amused.

"I don't want you help!" Chris' voice found it's regular pattern. The scream caused him a lot of pain that, once more, shot through his body. He could only moan to refrain from unleashing the anger welled up inside of him. Letting loose would most likely do more harm than good.

"Really? You're in no position to decide that, Christopher." Wesker grinned at Chris as he turned red from the rage.

"Don't call me that!!" Chris spat at Wesker, no literally, he spit on Wesker's face. Wesker didn't know projectile saliva could move that fast or go that high. It pissed him off a bit.

"Now, don't do that." He whipped the saliva from his eye. Chris saw Wesker's eyes. They weren't human eyes at all. He couldn't help but stare at the yellow in the place of a normal color. Wesker saw this and quickly replaced his sunglasses. He then proceeded to punch Chris in the gut.

"W-what was that for?" Wheezed Chris.

"Don't stare. It's impolite." Chris glared knives and daggers at the back of the retreating man before deciding on tackling him from behind. A bad shot, yes, but he was mad, and madness meant insanity.

Chris stood on his legs, but found himself falling to the floor. He collapsed in a heap on the cold concrete.

Wesker turned to see what had caused the 'thump' and found Chris kneeling in a bunch on the floor. He didn't bother to help and instead left, locking the door behind him. He can get up on his own.

Chris tried to get up. He pushed with his arms, pushed with his legs, used any tactic that would lead him to standing. Nothing worked. He couldn't stand, that he was sure of.

He flung his arms on the bed and attempted to pull himself onto the soft mattress but that too was useless.

"Shit! It's my fault I'm in here in the first place! God damn my stupidity!!" Chris yelled to himself kind of hoping Wesker had heard and would help him.

It was a long while before Wesker returned, a bit thoughtful.

When he did return Chris was still on the floor, attempting to return to the comfort of the bed. He was shivering from so much time spent on the floor and his wounds weren't doing any better. Some of them where open and bleeding slightly. One was wide open and bleeding profusely. Even he knew that bleeding had to stop.

Chris yelped in surprise at two strong hands gripped his waist and dropped him on the bed. He saw Wesker there, and emotionless expression on his face. Chris gulped. What is he going to do with me? Chris could imagine all of the sick things going through Wesker's head right now.

Instead of doing something terribly gross to Chris, he left once more, mumbling something about blood.

Chris took this opportunity to examine his body. He had never thought of seeing what exactly those damn fish had done to him. He lifted his head, one of the only things he was capable of doing in his current state.

Chris' legs were covered in blood and scabs, which implied that Wesker had not cleaned him. His stomach and chest where in a better condition, only scabs littered them. His arms where even less mangled. One things he did find strange, his right hand was terribly chewed up but his left hand didn't have a scratch on it. This made Chris wonder about Wesker. He had to have pulled him out as soon as he had fainted, or else his left hand would be mangled like the right.

Chris was pulled from his thoughts by the door opening again. Wesker came in with a med kit under one arm and a rifle in the other hand. Cradled under his other arm was a set of clothes for Chris. Then Chris remembered he was still completely naked.

"I hope those zombies eat your brains out." Hissed Chris, testing his voice. Wesker stopped for a moment and raised an eyebrow, raising his rifle to point it at Chris' head meaning to say 'shut up or else'.

"You should worry more about what's going to happen to you if zombies happen to come in here while I'm not around." Chris screwed his face into a snarl.

"I don't need you help." Chris hissed, venom dripping off of every word. Wesker dropped the med kit and clothing on the table. Dropping his rifle against the table he turned his attention back to Chris.

"Yes, you do. Without me, you'd be dead. You owe me." Wesker grinned at Chris, who in return glared at him once more. He balled his hands into fists and was ready to strike Wesker. His fist flew and was caught. Chris cursed in his head.

"I hate you!" Screamed Chris pulling his fist back with Wesker's hand still gripping it firmly. Chris sank his teeth into the leather of Wesker's glove. If anything, Wesker found this really funny. It didn't, in any way hurt. Not physically, not mentally, not psychologically (well you get the point). He was actually laughing at Chris's poor attempt to hurt him.

Chris let out his anger in a scream. His mind told him to remove the damn glove. He did, then proceeded to again bite the hand, and this time it worked. His teeth sank into the skin and drew blood. Hey, at least his blood still looks human. Thought Chris. He raised his eyes to see Wesker's fist. Moments later everything went black.

Wesker rubbed the back on his hand angrily. Well, the son of a bitch has more strength left in his than I gave him credit for. Good job Redfield. Let's see how long you stay alive. If you're alive too long, I won't resist killing you. Goodnight, I bet you're hoping you wake up tomorrow. Wesker sat on the ground, rifle back in his hand and stared at the door. He couldn't let anything kill Chris, that was a pleasure he was reserving for himself.

Reviews would be arpeciated.

Please don't mind if they were a bit out of character, tell me if they were.

Just a question, does anyone read what the write writes before and after the story, or am I just paranoid?

A