Chapter Fourteen

Reluctance

Claire stared at the dim florescent lights, listening to her own heart beat. Leon had been asleep for some time now -- asleep, or unconscious; she wasn't sure what Wesker had pumped into their veins. That terrified her the most: not knowing what he'd given them, a harmless sedative or a virus that even now worked on their cells, changing them into something new...

She'd never had the chance to ask Steve how much of himself he'd retained once Alexia had transformed him. By the end, she'd seen nothing of the boy she'd known -- but then, she hadn't seen much Steve in the monster chasing her through the island base either. And he'd summoned enough willpower then to save her.

In a way she wished he hadn't. That meant something of him had lived on in that monster's body. Above all, Claire wanted some assurance that she -- her consciousness, her soul, whatever you wanted to call it -- would be free by the time Wesker finished with her. But what if it wasn't? What if she lurked in the creature's body, dimly aware of the horrible acts she was committing but unable to stop herself? What did she do then?

She closed her eyes, unable to summon even enough strength for tears. The soft echo of footsteps signaled Wesker's approach, but she didn't bother turning in his direction. Maybe he'd think she was asleep. She couldn't seem to muster the energy to care very much. Whatever he planned to do to her he would do, and how was she supposed to stop him? Chris wouldn't find her. He couldn't help her if he did; she was finished. Wesker's taunts had no power over her now.

But the touch of leather to her neck did. She shivered involuntarily as he ran a finger down her throat. Eyes snapping open, she jerked away and glared at him.

Wesker smiled in smug satisfaction. "I can tell when you're really asleep, dear heart. Your breathing," he explained, his hard red eyes inches above her own. Claire tried not to cringe, concentrating on staring into their depths. Sure enough -- deep beneath the glowing, she found the hint of pupils reflecting her own tired face.

Wesker blinked, breaking the spell. "Don't you have anything left to say, Miss Redfield? You were quite vocal the last time I left you."

Claire made a face. He would throw that at her -- but who could blame her? When Wesker had gone for Leon with that syringe, she'd exploded in fury. She barely remembered what she'd said, only that her furious screams had met with only amusement until she'd shouted one deadly line: "No wonder you're so afraid of my brother! At least he can kick your ass without turning himself into a mutant freak!"

She'd earned a crack across the face for that comment, the pain surrounding her in a haze of darkness broken only by the pinprick in her arm...

She glanced at the red spot left by the needle. Wesker followed her gaze and smiled. "A sedative, dear heart. Nothing more... yet."

"And Leon?" she risked asking, a slight tremor in her voice.

He inclined his head. "The same. Still..." She watched as he crossed the room to an incubator of some sort, prying the door open with gloved hands. "I think it's time we advanced to the next stage of the experiment, don't you?"

"Not really, no."

He smiled without looking at her, preoccupied with drawing the contents of a bottle into a syringe. "A rhetorical question, Miss Redfield. Do you know what that means, or shall I explain it to you?"

"Bite me," she muttered, turning away. She couldn't read the label on the bottle and didn't need to. She knew damn well what it contained.

Tears stung her eyes, almost making her laugh. Here she'd thought she couldn't summon another tear if she'd tried, and they were spilling all over her face against her will. Perhaps her last few moments as a living breathing human, and here she was crying them away.

But no -- not moments as a human, but moments as a caged beast trapped by a sadistic madman. No, her last moments as a human had been in that diner, contemplating her escape from the creep beside her. Adrenaline, disgust, excitement, anger, fear, and anticipation -- human emotions. Things she had felt once.

Now she knew only despair.

The diner felt like months ago, but she knew it had been a week at most. She'd been in that cell what, two days? She wasn't sure anymore. And she had no idea how long she'd been strapped to this table, fed and hydrated through the IV in her left arm. She hated that thing, had tried to wiggle free of it once before. The pain had stopped her -- the pain and the certain knowledge her efforts were futile, that she was causing herself needless pain when no doubt Wesker had plenty in store.

One of his hands caught her chin and pulled her around to face him. He inspected her face and she stared at him dully, no longer even trying to hide her tears or glare her hatred. He held a syringe in his right hand... It would all be over soon.

But to her surprise he didn't jab it into her arm. Instead, he brushed his thumb over her cheek, wiping away tears. "Are you frightened?"

A thousand responses ran through her mind, most of them starting with "what do you think?" But when she spoke, she only said "Yes."

"I've never been frightened," he replied, almost to himself.

Claire blinked. "Never? Not even before...?"

Wesker shook his head. "Perhaps when I was a child. If so, I don't remember."

"You must have been," she told him, junior courses in psychology surging past a blockade of fear. He still held her chin in his hand, cupping it gently. She brushed against him when she twisted closer. "Didn't anything... you know, bad ever happen to you? When you were young?"

"Anything bad? Well, let's see." His face twisted in an ironic smile. "My mother was raped and murdered while my father and I watched. My father shot the rapist then himself. Does that count?"

For a moment Claire couldn't speak. She stared into those demonic eyes, searching for any hint of emotion, any sign of humanity. "And you felt...?"

"Anger." A cold note ran through his voice, raising an answering chill in her abdomen. For a moment his eyes, though fiery red, seemed cold as ice. "Rage. Grief. But not fear." He glanced at her as though suddenly realizing she was there. In the space of a single blink, he restored his calm. "It doesn't matter how long we talk, you know," he added, his usual detachment restored. "No one is coming for you."

"I know."

"Do you? And does this cause you fear as well?"

She nodded helplessly and yanked against her restraints. "You've never felt fear, but you feed off the fear of others, don't you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"This..." She tried to encompass the room with a wave of her arm, managing only a flap of her hand. "All of this. You didn't have to do this. You could have injected us and been done with it. The same with the mansion -- you didn't have to set it up that way, didn't have to torment your own team. You could have just thrown them into a room with your twisted creations and said let's play. But instead you toyed with them, pretended to be an ally so you could be near them, watch their fear -- breathe it, taste it." She tilted her head, aware that he still hadn't released her, aware that he was listening intently. "You really haven't felt fear, have you? It's not just an idle boast. There's something left out of you -- something that tells you when to be afraid. It's how you were able to act so recklessly. And yet... fear compels you. You can't feel it for yourself, so you want to be around it."

He met her eyes. "You may be right, Miss Redfield. Or you may be babbling in an attempt to prolong your life."

She laughed through her tears. "I wish you would kill me, Wesker. Better than turning me into a freak."

"You won't necessarily be a monster, you know," he said thoughtfully. "What I'm injecting into you is a diluted version of the virus I created from preliminary studies of Mr. Burnside's blood. If it works the way I anticipate, you'll be improved -- stronger, faster, healthier than ever. And what will I do with you then?"

"Kill me, I imagine. You don't want someone your equal running around."

"Diluted, dear heart. You would never be my match." His gaze ran along her body. "But you might well be my equal." His hand tightened on her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. Perversely, Claire turned her cheek into his palm; at this point she craved comfort from anyone, anything, even him. The softness of his touch contrasted the steel in his voice. "What do you think, Miss Redfield?"

"About what?" she managed, tearing her gaze from his hand. Her heart hammered in her chest, and not only from fear.

"You want to play games, do you?" He smiled at her, a genuine smile rather than his usual cold smirk. "Very well. We shall see, Miss Redfield, what kind of opponent you make." With that he swung to his feet and moved away from her.

Claire swiveled her head. "Wait! Where are you going?"

Wesker paused over Leon's prone body, syringe poised. "I thought we'd try him first. It gives you an extra chance -- allows me to refine any anomalies Mr. Kennedy may experience before I perform the test on you."

"No," Claire whispered, trying to stretch a bound hand toward him. "Wesker, please don't hurt him. Test your virus on me. I'll do whatever you want me to; I'll test it willingly, I'll submit to anything -- but don't kill him. Please let him live."

Wesker smiled and plunged the syringe into Leon's arm. "Leon!" Claire cried, writhing in her bonds. Leon jerked in his sleep, his face tightening and then relaxing, his features sharp and young and -- for now -- human.

Wesker stroked her hair as he passed, ignoring her attempt to pull away. "We can watch the effects of the virus together. It shouldn't be long now."

"Don't touch me," she hissed in reply, and he withdrew his hand, face expressionless, before taking a seat nearby. Claire turned away from him and stared at Leon, willing him to open his eyes.

Oh, God, Chris. Where are you? What are you doing? And why aren't you here to save us?

And if you don't come... What do I do then?