Chapter Sixteen: Rats in a Cage

Sleep. A void that enthralled Chris. He couldn't remember where he was or even when he was. For all he knew, he was back home lying in his bed waiting for Claire to come bursting into the room. He was seventeen again and she was eleven. She'd jump onto his bed, her long red hair flying in the morning light, crying at the top of her lungs, "It's nearly noon! Time to get up!"

Chris's head pounded, pushing his head into his pillow. That's what he got for drinking at that party last night.

"Go away!" he grunted.

"Chris!" Claire said again. She said it over and over. Each time his name was spoken, the throbbing in his head grew. Claire's eleven-year-old voice twisted and distorted. It became the bark of a commander, willing him out of bed. I have to get up, he thought, yet his body felt so heavy. Besides, how could he do anything today with this damned hangover?

Then the voice turned into David's. He tried to bury himself deeper into the void. Anything to escape that voice. Yet, the dream cleared. It was as though he were surfacing after depths of a deep pool—

"Chris?" Rebecca said.

Chris opened his eyes only to have them assaulted by fluorescent lighting. He squinted, shut his eyes for a moment, and then opened them once again. Chris sat up slowly, but that didn't help the throbbing in his skull. He touched the back of his head. It felt crusty and when he brought his hand back, red flakes of dried blood clung to his fingertips.

He sat at the edge of a cot connected to a dark, grimy stone wall. The room wasn't very large—perfectly square and perhaps only a couple of yards from wall to wall. A sturdy steel door with a barred window at the top was the only exit. The scent of mildew and the faint copper of blood lingered in the air.

Rebecca kneeled before him, her wide green eyes scanning him.

"How is your head?" Rebecca asked, her voice as stern as her expression. Chris's head felt foggy but he was able to manage an answer.

"Feels like someone hit me in the back of the head with a bat."

Rebecca nodded.

"Do you remember my name?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do," Chris replied. "It's…it's…" Chris closed his eyes. Of course, he knew her name—yet it swam just upon the edges of his recollection. "Rebecca."

"Good," Rebecca said, leaning back. "It looks like you may only have a minor concussion."

"What happened?"

Rebecca's mouth tightened into a deep grimace, an expression existing somewhere between rage and pain. Chris held his head in his hands. He had been fighting that monster—Lisa Trevor had been her name. Poor girl…She had fallen off the platform. Wesker had caught up with them and then…and then…

The ache in the back of Chris's head pounded. Between that and the sinking feeling in his stomach, he had to suppress the bile rising in his throat. He pushed it back and stood. Chris staggered at first, Rebecca quickly rising and holding her hands out toward him, and then lumbered over to the door.

It was locked.

"Wesker," Chris finally said. "Where is Wesker?"

Silence fell over the cell. Chris grabbed the bars in the window and pressed his forehead against the cool metal.

"He's the traitor, Chris," Rebecca said, her voice soft. Chris's grip tightened around the bars. "He knocked you out…made me drag you all the way down here."

Chris's stomach twisted so tightly it made his knees buckle. Why couldn't he see that before? All of the signs had been there—Wesker's disappearance, his quick response to questions. You didn't want to see it, did you? a voice in the back of Chris's mind thought. Because of a pretty face…and innocent people paid the price for it—most of Bravo team, not to mention Joseph.

"Damn it!" Chris said, kicking the door with a resounding clang.

"Chris!" Rebecca said. Chris didn't stop. He couldn't. A fire seemed to radiate throughout his body, blinding him with rage. With each returning clatter came the Wesker's face as he filled his head with such bullshit—You're my best men.

"Chris," Rebecca said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Chris's foot hung in mid-kick. "That's enough."

Chris rested his forehead against the bars once again, his heart pounding in his chest. He laid his hand on his hip holster and noticed that it was empty.

"He took our weapons," he said to no one in particular. He gave the door one last kick before taking a step back.

"Come on. Sit back down," she said gently. Chris turned back to Rebecca to find her watching him carefully. Like he was a bomb that was about to explode. The rage instantly ebbed out of his body leaving his limbs feeling heavy and his head sore. So, Chris walked past her and sat back on the cot.

"Where are we?"

"It's some kind of laboratory…under the mansion," Rebecca replied, taking a seat next to him. "What are we going to do?" she asked softly.

"Nothing we can do right now," Chris said, though he still looked around the room for any way of escape. Yet, there wasn't so much as an air shaft. "Looks like we're just a couple of rats in a cage."

A hallowed moaning echoed down the sterile lab corridors. Pipes hissed from the corners of the ceiling. Water dripped down from fissures in corroded iron. What had once been a slight nuisance had been left to flood the dark hall in an inch of water. Wesker's boots sloshed through, his pace barely hindered.

After all, there was still much to do. Redfield and the Bravo medic were placed for safekeeping. As for Valentine…she will find her way soon enough. The game had been almost too easy. All of them moved like perfect little pawns.

A low grinding sound radiated through the concrete wall. Wesker paused for a moment, watching the ripples in the water.

Someone was opening the lab entrance. A half-smirk crossed Wesker's face.

They were in the Endgame.