Affaire de Coeur
"We were hooked when we woke.
We had arms for each other.
But I yearned to resume
My dreams of another."
― Roman Payne
Raccoon City - 1998 - Two Days Before the Mansion Incident
He took her shorts. He took her panties. He dropped like a hungry thing between her legs.
And that? That was good. That was really good. He'd always been good at it. He was BETTER now. BETTER.
Claire humped against his face, gasping. He hummed, he licked, and he tongued her like she'd had crack in her pussy. It was...it was good. She came so wetly against his that it almost hurt. She jerked and flopped, a landed fish.
So, that part of the "Life's Too Short" approach was good.
Shuddering, she watched him rise up. He slid against her. He pushed her shirt up and her bra and put his mouth to her tits. It was good there too. He used so much teeth that it was nothing but exciting. She squeaked like an eager thing without restraint.
That kind of rowdy foreplay always got her going.
The angle was perfect because he slid right into her. And she was good and slick from his tongue. He went in, hard, hit the end of her and slapped there. It hurt.
And it felt good.
But he knew that too.
This wasn't their first trip to the rodeo.
He pushed her knees back and fucked into her body three times, hard. It brought her scrambling hands up to grip handfuls of his chest and make him grunt.
"...fuck." She grunted it as well. And he eyed her coolly. No response. But he wasn't a vocal man. Not here, not now, not when he was claiming her.
He pistoned into her while she squeaked, scrambling and bucking against him. That was good. Of course it was good. The anger on his face? It wasn't good. Who was he angry at?
She couldn't stand the anger. It hurt her to see it. She shoved at his chest, startling him. "Who are you fucking? Who are you punishing?"
Wesker shook his head. He shifted. Her legs spilled down his flanks and he dropped into a push up position. The rhythm went slick, smoother. He cruised instead of bruised. Her thighs opened to let him in further.
It was good.
But his face? ANGRY.
Their bodies slid together wetly. She shifted, throbbing, and tried to kiss him.
She didn't want to fuck him angry.
It stopped mattering - none of it matter anymore as she came around his plunging possession. She clutched at him, thrusting her hips up to swallow him down.
He wasn't angry at her. He couldn't be. He'd never been. He was angry at himself.
In a handful of days, he'd lead her brother to his death.
It was the first time he felt the pangs of guilt drive doubt into his purpose. His hands shifted to scoop her hair back from her sweaty face. She craned her neck to kiss him, softly trembling.
And he clutched her to him for just a moment longer.
It was the only time in his life he was ever ashamed of his name - and the legacy of destruction that came with it.
If he could just go back to the beginning, just go back and change his path...maybe he'd be a man instead of a minion. Maybe he'd be a man who deserved a woman to love him.
Instead of the product of a fool's delusions of grandeur.
Sometimes it was impossible not to remember all the things that had led him here, to this moment, in the arms of a woman he could never have, looking at a life that wasn't meant to be his.
When he'd started as nothing more than a rat in a cage made of lies.
Erasumus, Idaho -1965
Once more the boy was proving he was the most competent of the group.
The girl, Code Name: Alex, was almost as fast. She was eerily calm when the other's panicked. She was particularly proficient at opening the programming on the droids and converting it to her will. They playfully called her The Overseer as she often controlled the others in the program through sheer force of will.
But the boy, Albert, he was the dark horse in the running. He excelled at everything he touched. His IQ was dangerously high. His test scores marked him as almost idiot savant in sheer intellect.
They watched him, seeking signs of mental retardation that often came adjacent to such superior cognitive reasoning. But Albert simply thrived among the inane. He was so pleasant. He blended like a chameleon or separated from the pack like a lone wolf.
He was smart and cool and manipulative in such a subversive way that the other children weren't even aware he'd gotten exactly what he wanted from them until it was over. He was the unannounced leader of the pack. Alex sat in a position of command - but she was a figurehead, a red herring, Albert let her sit atop the throne while he ruled in the shadows.
He was, in a single word, brilliant.
And he was only five years old.
The staff was careful not to favor him. If the other children in Project W were to become aware, a revolt would ensue. They would likely destroy Albert before he could ascend successfully to his proper place.
There was little interaction between the subjects and the staff regarding Project W.
Project W was a eugenics project pioneered by Oswell E. Spencer which intended to develop an advanced race of human beings. The project was named after the first director of the project, Dr. Wesker and all successful child candidates are renamed with this surname. This was one of the most significant viral operations centering around the Progenitor virus.
Dr. Wesker had somehow birthed over a dozen children for the cause.
Spencer always believed that the world was in a pre-apocalyptic state. His entire life, he motivated those around him toward the goal of a new world filled with superior humans that perpetuated a race driven toward a utopian society that would eventually evolve the Earth. With Umbrella in his pocket, Spencer began putting his vision of spurring evolution through viral engineering to work. He authorized the kidnapping of hundreds of children born of parents with gifted levels of intelligence who were brainwashed into personalities suited toward serving him.
Their features were all similar, all specific, all Aryan. He wanted blonde. He wanted blue eyes. He wanted pale and perfect. Taking his cue from the disgraced megalomaniac Hitler, Spencer continued his dream of a perfect race. A master race. A race of mankind worth saving.
Albert sat alone while the other children laughed and jumped, playing and laughing, dancing and singing. He did none of these things. He and Alex maintained a quiet distance.
She would, occasionally, offer him fruit from the bowl at her knees. He took it, studying her. She looked back, unabashedly.
But they never spoke.
Today was the day he discovered their greatness. Today was the ultimate test.
Beyond the glass, Spencer watched the men in white emerge into the play yard with the children. The children didn't all react accordingly.
All of the candidates were injected with a prototype virus, some by the advice of "friends," some as part of a supposed health checkup, and others by force. But the first went down eleven minutes after exposure.
Derek went first - the child with the lowest average intelligence. He collapsed on the ground and vomited blood until his face bubbled and his body jerked him into a slow, agonizing death.
Irma followed - a pretty girl in a white dress who had shown significant success with telekinesis. She screamed and clawed her chest to ribbons and blood as she died.
The fear set in after that as the rest panicked.
Albert remained apart from it, holding his arm where they'd injected him. Only the fear in his eyes gave lie to his demeanor. Alex succumbed to the fear and turned against him to be held. At the end of the day, she was still a woman and women were weak and often sought protection from men.
Spencer nodded, watching them. If they both lived, he would mate them when they came of age to perpetuate the line.
Hans died weeping. Felicia imploded into blood and bones. William mutated and grew two extra limbs and half a head before he died. Marco inverted until his body simply cracked and fell apart in blobs of blood and broken bones. Ken died as his stomach erupted and allowed mutated miniature creatures to escape around the playyard like birthed babies from hell.
Miles died a day later in a coma.
Laura hung on for eight days.
Alex and Albert showed no signs of infection. Superior as always, they became his perfect children. He engineered them to love him, admire him, seek him out, respect and adore him. They were his birthright. His legacy. His greatest miracle. His masterpiece.
But they still had no clue of the project. They just assumed they were gifted, special, unique and groomed to excellence. They were. They would be.
He had no idea he was grooming them not be the perfect race...but to be the perfect monsters.
But those little monsters would make him a god.
Raccoon City - 1978
"It's a great pleasure to work with you, sir. I'm here for whatever you need, whenever you need it."
Albert had grown into a man worthy of a new world.
Spencer, sitting in his chair behind his desk, grinned happily, "I'm glad to hear it. You'll be working in the lab with William Birkin. I hear the two of you are acquainted?"
Albert nodded happily. "We met a few weeks ago, sir. He's very eager to start on the project. As am I."
"I like the enthusiasm, Albert. I really do. It's long over due here. It'll be exciting to see what kind of insight and fresh perspective two young minds can bring to the table."
Albert smiled back, eagerly. "I hope so, sir. I really do."
He was dismissed and stepped into the hallway, pausing to take a deep breath. Every time he was around Spencer, his heart just raced. Why? It was a mystery.
There was laughter as Annette and William came down the hallway toward him. His two best friends in the world. It was a strange feeling to embrace the pangs of affection he felt when they were around. Emotion wasn't always easy for him. He was often stifled by the need to hide from it or deny it.
They paused to engage him in conversation. William and Annette were always watching him in a way that felt strangely personal. It wasn't that he was unaware of how to maintain personal relationship, he just didn't bother. He made the effort with William. After all, the man was brilliant and the comfortable rivalry between them was energetic.
He was looking forward to what the future would bring him, safe beneath the comfortable awning of the Umbrella Company.
Raccoon City - 1981
The news of Alexia Ashford, the child prodigy, being hired as a senior virologist was a hard blow for William. All of their hard work and their efforts were stalled since the moment they'd been hired. The brain damage was almost impossible to over come in T-Virus patients. They could keep them alive, unlike the virulent strain of the original, but at what purpose?
Brain dead meant useless.
Ashford's addition to the company was like a kick in the crotch.
Even his marriage to Annette didn't seem to bolster him.
In fact, the marriage seemed to depress him further.
After too many drinks, he confessed, "...she's not happy." William threw up his hands, "She's not happy with me. I'm not man enough for her! I can't do anything right, Albert! I'm a failure!"
Wesker hated self pity. He found it tedious and annoying. He was moved to be disgusted with the other man at it's arrival into their conversation. To avoid it, he ordered another drink for his drunken companion and left him snoring in the booth of the bar to sleep it off.
Annette was waiting for him as he arrived back to his quarters. Pretty, young, apologetic and brilliant, she was a woman worth marrying. She came from good stock and was considered a catch.
Without preamble, as he showed her into his living area, she announced, "William is impotent, Albert. He's incapable of achieving an erection. I'm in love with his briliance...but my body has needs."
She rolled the glass of whiskey in her hand that he passed her and eyed him, coolly. "I have needs, Albert."
The comfortable rivalry between him and William extended even here. He understood her innuendo. If she left him, William would fall apart. He'd have nothing left. Between professional and personal ruin, he would drown in misery and self destruct.
He needed Annette to succeed. Annette was his anchor. Keeping her happy was the priority.
It was the first time he bedded William's wife to keep her satisfied.
Raccoon City - 1983
In the face of his rivalry with the ten year old genius, Alexia, William perfected the Hunter. The Hunter was nearly pristine in it's development. His first successful attempt at Bio Organic Weaponary created through bonding reptilian DNA with a fertilised human egg cemented the was proof of Birkin's genius.
It was evidence that keeping him happy boded well for the company.
He became aware of Annette's occasional departure to Albert's bed. To the surprise of all involved, there was no jealousy. William began to join them. He didn't engage, he observed. He would sit in the chair across the bed and masturbate as they copulated.
It wasn't long before Albert realized William was homosexual. Any attempt to draw him toward a lifestyle that involved admitting it was long passed. In their world, it was neither accepted nor encouraged to embrace alternative life styles. Annette was his wife, she was his concession to a world that required conformity.
But he craved, in secret, the man she bedded behind closed doors.
Their successful menage-a-trois produced desirable results for all involved. Each excelled in their professional life and their personal.
In 1986, Sherry Birkin was born.
It was unspoken, but it was clear who her biological father was. William denied it, claiming he and Annette sometimes fornicated after Wesker had left them.
Wesker was unconcerned. He wasn't seeking validation through children. And being female, Sherry was of little interest to him anyway.
He was as yet unaware that he was not a man with a future bright with prospects. But a pawn in a game too big for him to comprehend.
And Sherry would be the first of two that would bring about a checkmate that would cost him his life.
Raccoon City - 1998 - Four Weeks Before The Mansion Incident
The Tyrant had given them all freedom from the web of lies that was Spencer's legacy.
He was still reeling, still trying to find the truth in all the madness that he'd uncovered in the last few weeks. William was off the grid, lost, and possibly dead. The G-Virus was missing. The city was shaking on the side of a cliff crumbling as he stood there, lecturing the S.T.A.R.S. on procedure and paperwork.
It was a world poised on the point of a painful precipice - stepping one way or the other guaranteed you'd tumble to your death.
Either way he stepped now, the game was in progress. The pieces on the board were all in place. This ended with him on top, or him dead. It was the only way to break himself free from the company that had used him like a puppet for so long.
Nothing could get in his way.
The laughter drew his eye as he crossed the balcony to the coffee cart that waited near the west side. She stood by the fountain, looking cool and beautiful. Her hair glimmered in the low lights.
The goddess statue looked down at her and dwindled by comparison.
What was it about her that grew things in his chest that had long ago went dormant?
She turned and caught his eye. It was almost like she zeroed in on him high above her. Did she sense him there?
Young. She was so young. Barely older than Sherry Birkin, a handful of years if his calculations were correct. Was it her youth that drew him? Her innocence? Her simple beauty and hopeful energy?
She chewed her lower lip and winked. She didn't wave. She didn't simper and giggle. Young, but not silly and frivolous.
Was some part of him simply drawn to the hope she offered? Had he given up on any kind of life before he'd met her on that rainy back road?
He searched under the levels of revenge to the truth of that and acknowledged it. Part of him wanted a woman, like Annette had been to William, an anchor, a mother to his child. That Sherry was likely his remained disinteresting to him.
The girl was average at best. She wasn't a genius. She had nothing significant to mark her as his offspring. Her birth, her youth, her personality all bored him. She was unremarkable.
Was he hungering to see the birth of one who wasn't?
Why did his loins think Claire Redfield would give him that child?
He'd looked her up and found her background entertaining, parallel to her brother, and simple enough. She was the half sister of Chris Redfield - his mother was hers. A divorce had left Chris without a biological father until his mother had married Claire's father and together they'd birthed the redhead. It explained the difference in their looks. Claire came from two shades of red haired parents after all. Chris' father had been dark, of questionable birth and race, and brutish looks.
Claire was delicate. She was ethereal.
Amused at himself, he shook his head and inclined it to her as he turned back to his office.
A silly thing to whimsically idolize a girl half his age. Especially when this story ended with her brother and his companions all dead to further his ascent. What kind of relationship could he realistically cultivate with her?
It was best to leave it alone.
There was a brief knock on his door. He glanced up from the report he was reading to find her standing there in the little yellow sundress she'd worn in the lobby. She cocked a shoulder and smiled, looking pretty and fresh somehow in the cool air conditioning.
She lifted a basket in her hand, wicker and filled with a red and white bunting. Her smile was bright. "My brother stood me up for lunch. What do you say, Al? You hungry?"
Before he could remind himself it was a bad idea, he opened his mouth and answered, "I am in need of sustenance, yes. You often picnic with your brother?"
Claire grinned, eyes twinkling, "Nope. I was hoping I'd see you."
Her candor was charming. It made him shake his head and snort out a laugh. "Well...I'm flattered. Although you should be concerned at the differences in our ages, Ms. Redfield. I'm old enough to be your father."
Claire shrugged and rolled her eyes. "It's the 90's, Al. I don't think anyone gives a shit about age anymore. It's just lunch, not a proposal. Usually Jill is always stealing the sandwiches, so it's good she's not here today."
"I heard she has a penchant for enjoying them."
"True. Her nickname is Hoagie. Because that girl will kill a sandwich in fifteen seconds flat. She's the master of it."
She set the basket on his desk. He rose from his chair to move around it toward her and remarked, "She's the master of many things, it seems."
Claire laughed, perching a hip on the mahogany. "That's what they say. Although I've seen her drunk and post loss of her keys. It took her eighteen minutes to break into her own apartment. Master of unlocking, my ass."
Wesker felt it before it happened. It was like a phenomenon he was yet unaware of in the history of his world. He opened his mouth and quipped, "Perhaps she didn't have the right tools to unlock it."
"Her door?"
"No. Your ass. You did say she was the master of unlocking your ass."
They both blinked. Claire stared at him for a long moment before she burst out laughing.
"That...That was just...oh lord- that was bad. That was..." She gripped his arm and laughed, touching her forehead to the front of his uniform. "Surprise surprise...he's human after all."
Was he?
He'd forgotten how to be. Had he ever really been?
He as created to be a weapon. Did he even really know how to be a man?
He glanced down at her pouting mouth and felt the stirring in his groin. He'd felt it once for Anita Muller. He'd felt it once for Annette.
He felt it now for Claire Redfield.
Apparently, his body was still a man after all.
And he lowered his mouth to hers while she blushed and smiled at him. It was the kiss of a dying man, in a way. It was the kiss of betrayal.
It was the last kiss of a man about to destroy her world...so he could become a god.