Chapter 2: Servatis a Periculum
A/N: Before we go any further, it's necessary to clarify that this story follows the events of Rockfort Island as they were set forth in the Darkside Chronicles, not Code: Veronica X. Therefore, Wesker did not beat Claire up and subsequently proclaim how much he despises Chris for "ruining his plans", so their hatred for him stems from what he did up at Arklay and also for being involved with Umbrella's nefarious viral research, so he's still an evil bastard regardless of what timeline we're following. Sorry if this messes anybody up, but the Darkside version of events was more conducive to the kind of AU story I'm trying to write, so if you see any discrepancies or events bleeding between games, please squint at them.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Resident Evil or any of the characters contained therein. If I did, they'd be making a major CGI movie based on what I'm writing. ;) Oh, and this story takes place about two to three years after Rockfort Island. Okay, I think I've covered everything now, so on with Chapter 2!
By noon, Claire had fallen unconscious and couldn't be roused, though they could see her eyes wildly darting back and forth beneath her lids. Sitting on the edge of her bed, Chris gently sponged her face, trying to ease the fever. His face was grey and haggard, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He never stopped talking to Claire and Jill was truly afraid what would happen to him if he lost his sister. The day was already growing hot and they'd brought a fan into Claire's room in an attempt to make it more bearable. Jill poured Chris a glass of water, but he didn't drink it. The room popped with the snick of a lighter as he lit his umpteenth cigarette for the morning.
"Chris, you need to stop," said Jill quietly.
"No," Chris snapped. "No, I'm not going to stop. My sister is dying, Jill, and I'll deal with it however I damn well please!"
Jill had scarcely ever him heard use that tone of voice. It was hard, angry, and so unlike Chris it was almost frightening. She opened her mouth, then closed it again without saying anything. Unable to look at Claire, she stared down at the floor. She was hungry and needed to go to the bathroom, but was too worried for the Redfield siblings to leave the room. After a while, she could hear the sound of engine in the distance, but didn't really stop to consider what it was until she heard a vehicle – several vehicles by the sound of it – whip into the driveway outside.
Jill was on her feet in an instant. She half-ran, half-stumbled downstairs just someone banged on the door. Hard. An abrupt sensation of fear shot through Jill's gut as she thought about who was undoubtedly on the other side, and she didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified. She decided it no longer mattered. Going across the living room, she took a deep breath, unlocked the chain, and threw the door open. Wesker was standing on the porch with a small army of men in silver Hazmat suits gathered behind him.
Wesker's expression was unreadable. "Where is she?"
Jill wasn't surprised to see him, but that didn't make his presence any easier to handle. Tired and upset, she seriously had to work at staying upright and not doing something stupid, like punching him in the face. She'd asked for his help, after all. "Upstairs," Jill croaked, unable to shake the feeling that she was betraying Claire.
Wesker nodded and Jill numbly had to step aside in order to let him in the house. He found the stairs with no preamble whatsoever, his men dispersing through the house with trained precision, and Jill had to hurry to catch up. By the time they reached the second floor, Chris was already partway out of Claire's room, a damp rag clutched in one hand. "Jill? What the hell's going on? Who are—"
He never finished the question. Shocked recognized spread across his face as his eyes alighted on Wesker. "YOU!" he roared, diving for the dresser situated directly across the hallway. He ripped the drawer open and Jill saw him grab the .45 Magnum hidden within. She cried out, but Wesker was already in motion. Nearly faster than the eye could follow, he'd disarmed Chris and slammed him facedown on the floor, pinning him with one knee against his lower back. Chris yelled aloud. Wesker clearly wasn't being gentle.
"Krauser," said Wesker coolly, "if you would."
One of Wesker's mercenaries stepped forward. He was a huge, muscular man with blond hair and a ragged scar bisecting one side of his face. As soon as Wesker had gotten off of Chris, Krauser dragged him to his feet and placed him in a chokehold. Chris struggled with all his might, giving his captor a good workout, but he couldn't break his grip. "Wesker!" he shouted, face twisted with anger and hatred. "Wesker, you bastard! You did this, didn't you? You infected my sister!"
"A charming idea, Chris, but no. I was only made aware of the situation a few hours ago," said Wesker as he calmly walked into Claire's room. Jill wrung her hands as he approached Claire's bed and bent over her, prying his leather glove off with his teeth. He checked her pulse and then gently brushed the damp hair from her face, frowning deeply. Claire jerked and mumbled something incoherent. "Shh, dear-heart. It'll be over soon," Wesker murmured, reaching into his coat for a syringe. The sight of it made Chris go wild.
"Don't you touch her, you bastard!"
Ignoring him, Wesker uncapped the syringe and injected something into Claire's arm. Chris roared like a wounded bull and Krauser looked as though he was seriously considering just knocking him out. Jill's swallowed hard as Wesker swaddled Claire in a blanket and lifted her limp form into his arms. "I want full a decontamination on this room," he ordered, turning. "And make sure the others are given shots of the antivirus."
"Yes, sir." The Hazmat officers swarmed forward and went to work. Holding Claire against him, Wesker was forced to stop halfway down at the hall, as Jill had suddenly stepped in his way. "What… what are you going to do with her?" she whispered, afraid to know the answer, but she tried not to let that show.
"It's not healthy to second-guess yourself, Miss Valentine. You did the right thing in contacting me," said Wesker simply, ignoring the sudden intake of breath from Chris. "And I intend to do everything in my power to insure that she gets the proper treatment. For what it's worth, you have my word."
Jill was so taken aback by his tone she choked on her own air. She wanted to scream at Wesker and remind him beyond any doubt that he was a traitor and a murderer, but the angry words stuck in her throat like glue. Wesker had offered her his word and she had no choice but to take it. It was far too late to change her mind about this. Mouth opening and closing soundlessly, Jill jerkily stepped aside to let him pass.
"You called him here?" Chris' voice was disbelieving howl. He redoubled his efforts to escape from Krauser. "Jill, how could you? Do you have any idea what you've done? DO YOU?"
Jill stared at the carpet, hating herself, as Wesker swiftly brushed past her and headed down the stairs. Unable to look at Chris, Jill numbly followed him and watched through the window as he carefully placed Claire in the front seat of a black luxury sedan with heavily tinted windows. A moment later, Wesker swung the door shut and circled around to the driver's side. Jill felt her throat get tight. She tried to brush off the horrible feeling that it was the last time she'd ever see Claire again. Dear God, please let me have made the right choice!
Wesker turned the key in the ignition. The sedan powered up with a lusty, finely tuned purr and he backed out of the driveway without preamble, smoothly turning the car onto the road.
"CLAIRE!" Chris had somehow broken free of Krauser and raced out onto the porch just in time to see the black Aston Martin pull away. Standing there with his arms down at his sides, unable to do anything but watch, his expression was so utterly heartbroken that Jill had to look away, her eyes filling with tears. Krauser stomped down the stairs with the stiff, goose-waddle gait of somebody who'd just taken a solid blow to the privates. "Hey, you," he growled, causing Jill's head to jerk up. "Valentine, right? You and meatloaf over there need to take a shot of the antidote and then head into the decontamination shower. And by that I mean right now. Me and the boys have got work to do."
Chris spun around and furiously started towards Krauser, his face livid. Krauser snapped the automatic he was carrying to his shoulder. "Did I mention I'm authorized to use force if necessary?" he asked icily. "Give me any more trouble and I'll blast your nuts clean off. Got it?"
Chris' glared at Krauser so viciously Jill was afraid he was going to take the mercenary on with his bare hands. "You're going to pay for taking my sister," he growled.
"Take it up with the boss, kid," said Krauser, turning his head to holler back up the stairs. A minute later, a woman came hurrying down, a small silver briefcase clutched in one hand. Except for the surgical mask, she was the only one except Krauser to have forgone full Hazmat gear and Jill vaguely recalled her being on the porch just behind Wesker.
"Alright, let's get this done," she said, setting the case on the table. Jill had a feeling that protesting wouldn't do much good, so she went over without a word and stood quietly while the woman rolled up her sleeve and swabbed the inside of her forearm with iodine. She then took one of Umbrella's trademark spiral syringes, pressed it to Jill's arm, and gave it a firm push. Jill winced as the tines pierced her skin, leaving behind a bloody five-pointed star. The woman handed her a cotton ball.
"You next," said Krauser, gesturing at Chris with the barrel of his gun.
Chris glowered and for a moment it looked like he was going to refuse, but then he slowly went over, refusing to look Jill in the eye. The woman gave him the injection, then briskly packed up her case. "I'll have someone fetch you some clean clothes while you are in the decontamination shower," she said. "They should have it set up by now."
Krauser moved to the door. "This way," he ordered.
Then next ten minutes went by in a blur as Jill was hustled into a large plastic tent that had been erected just outside, where she was forced to stand naked under a bruising jet of cold, bitter-smelling chemicals. Then she was ushered out the other side and Chris was sent in next, Krauser having suitably encouraged him with a few well-chosen threats. Jill hurriedly donned some dry clothes and tried to dry her hair with a disposable towel. If they knew what Claire had been infected with, nobody was talking to her about it. Still, Jill thought she could understand why Umbrella would err on the side of caution after Raccoon City. Another outbreak would be detrimental to the company.
Feeling ill, Jill tossed her towel into a bright yellow garbage bag just as Chris was finishing up. Krauser walked over to her and pulled plastic card out of his pocket. He handed it her and Jill realized it was a prepaid VISA. "I have orders to make sure you're off the premises," Krauser explained. "Find yourself a hotel and stay there until we're finished decontaminating this place. Call this number if you run into any problems."
"You can't make me go anywhere," Chris snarled, rubbing his arm.
"Care to lay some money on that?" Krauser asked dryly. "Way I see it, you can go with your girlfriend willingly or I can knock you out cold and stuff your ass in the trunk of her car. Either way, you're outta here."
Chris let out an inarticulate snarl and started forward. Jill hastily stepped between them. "Knock it off, Chris! You're just making a bad situation worse," she said sharply.
Chris flashed her a glare so cold it could have frozen boiling water. "I don't think I could make things any worse than you already have," he snapped, turning and marching away. Jill felt like she'd been kicked in the gut. Although she probably deserved nothing less, Chris' reaction still hurt. Badly. And Jill found herself desperately trying to think of a way to explain her actions. She tried to go back into the house, but Krauser stopped her with an outstretched hand.
"Car keys," Jill mumbled.
Krauser hollered for somebody to retrieve them. A minute later, Jill found herself getting into Chris' sedan and pulling out of the driveway. It was mid-afternoon and the pavement shone with the beginnings of a heat mirage. Men in silver Hazmat suits were coming in and out of the house, carrying heaps of bedding and Claire's wastebasket. Then Jill turned the corner and the house was lost to view. In a minute they were driving down the road, trees flashing by to either side. Chris had made certain that they lived off the beaten path for numerous reasons. It was likely that nobody from the neighboring suburb would ever know that anything out of the ordinary had happened.
For some reason, Jill hated knowing that. Umbrella could make anything and anyone disappear without a trace, no matter how large the operation. She downshifted and turned onto the highway, nervously trying to look at Chris, but he was glaring out the passenger side window, his body rigid and hunched. She couldn't see his face, but she could read his scowl by the set of his jaw. "Chris…?" Jill's voice barely rose above a whisper. For the first time in her life, she was actually frightened to speak to him. "Chris, please… talk to me."
Chris didn't answer, but his hands clenched into fists. Jill swallowed the hard lump in her throat and quietly pulled onto the shoulder of the road. Loose gravel crunched beneath the tires as they came to a halt. Jill looked at Chris for a long minute, gathering the courage to actually speak. "What else did you want me to do, Chris?" she asked, nearly pleading.
"What did I want you to do? ANYTHING BUT GIVE MY SISTER TO THAT MONSTER!" Chris exploded, whirling to face her. Jill was dismayed to see tears working their way down his cheeks. "What the hell were you thinking? Did you forget what happened at the Mansion?"
"She was dying, Chris! Who else was I supposed to ask for help?"
"Help? From Wesker? That's really damn funny, Jill. Do you have any idea what he's going to do to Claire? He's going to stick her in a test tube somewhere, experiment on her, or did you honestly think you could trust him? Are you crazy! What makes you think he didn't infect her to begin with?" Chris was out of breath, panting after his extended outburst. A vein was pulsing in his temple.
"Then he would have come for her anyway!" Jill retorted, suddenly furious with the desire to say something in her defense. "Did you even stop to think about your sister, what was best for her? No, shut up and let me finish! If there's anybody on earth who knows how to save Claire, it's Wesker!"
"And what the hell makes you think he will?"
"He came didn't he?"
"Yeah, so he could lock her up in a lab and stick needles in her!" roared Chris.
"At least she'll be alive!" Jill screamed, pounding the steering wheel with her fists. "If she dies in Wesker's lab, then that's the way it is! She was going to die anyway! God dammit, Chris, think! You know Wesker will keep her alive, as a science project if nothing else. And if she's alive somewhere, then we can try to save her later! Don't you get it? I gave her a chance at the very least, which is more than I can say for you!"
Jill flung her barbed words without thinking, but when Chris flinched and drew back a cold feeling of guilt flooded Jill's stomach. She hastily reached out and grabbed his hands, held them tight. "Chris, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that! Please," Jill leaned across the gearshift, "I didn't know what else to do for Claire. I know what Wesker's like. I didn't want to give her to him either, but I… I…" Her voice cracked. She couldn't finish. Unable to hold them in any longer, hot tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Aw, Jill…" Chris clumsily reached up and threw an arm around her shoulders, pulling her down against his chest. His big hand tangled in her short brown hair. "Come on, don't cry," he rasped, and Jill had never heard him sound so sorry. "You were just trying to do what was best. I didn't mean to yell, and I'm sorry. I… I just…"
"You just wish it hadn't happened at all," Jill croaked.
No other words were necessary. Chris pulled Jill tightly against him, realizing that he'd almost pushed away the one person who truly understood what he was going through. She was crying a little and Chris knew that he was partly to blame. He should he screaming at Wesker, not Jill. Wesker and Umbrella were to blame and no one else. Chris buried his face in Jill's hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered again.
Jill nodded into his chest. "I know."
They stayed that way for a long moment. A car zoomed by the in opposite direction and with the utmost reluctance, Jill pulled back and wiped her hands across her swollen eyes. Chris swallowed and sniffed, drying his nose on his sleeve. "We should… we should find someplace to go," he mumbled.
Without speaking, Jill put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road, never letting go of Chris' hand.
Claire drifted in and out for days, aware off little else except the pain and the fever. And when the dreams came, they came hard. Troubled, delirious flashes of Raccoon City filled her head, many of them so lucid she could actually hear the fires, the moaning of the undead. The fear and desperation lingered, pulling her down into a black pit. She tried to fight, and there were times when came close to regaining consciousness. In those brief lapses Claire thought she could hear a man's voice. It was deep and velvety, but cold. A doctor's voice. Something about it was vaguely familiar, but Claire had no idea how or why. Sometimes, she was aware of a presence hovering nearby. Warm fingers would brush across her arm, following by a tiny sting of pain and the sensation of fluid sliding beneath her skin. She'd wanted to wake up so very badly, but she couldn't find the strength. Just trying to think was like wading through syrup.
Darkness swallowed her again.
She had no idea how long she'd hovered on the brink like that, nor did she particularly care. For what seemed liked the dozenth time, she heard the man's voice somewhere nearby, but the words were dim and unclear, like they were coming up from the bottom of a well. This time, however, some deep instinct was urgently broadcasting the need to wake up. Claire latched onto the voice and concentrated, swimming upwards through the dark waters of unconsciousness. Slowly, she became aware of the cool, bitter tang of antiseptic filling her nose. Her lungs seized, forcing a surge of air into her body and further bringing her to consciousness. The darkness behind her eyelids was growing brighter. Vague, shadowy shapes started to appear all around her. And Claire slowly dragged her gummy eyes open.
It was a mistake.
The light – harsh, sterile white light – stung her retinas and she snapped them shut again, little explosions of color dancing in her vision. It was a few minutes before she'd summoned the courage to open them again, more carefully this time. The first thing Claire became aware of was the flat, tiled ceiling and the array of fluorescent lights. Blinking sluggishly, Claire tipped her head to the side – a struggle she only barely managed – and the glare became slightly more bearable. Her sense of touch was the next to return. She was on her back, arms down at her sides. Her fingertips felt some kind of padding, but it wasn't enough to cushion the hard, unforgiving surface she was lying on. Struggling for comprehension, Claire realized she was nearly naked, clad only in her panties and a thin hospital gown that barely skimmed her thighs. Growing more confused and frightened, she rolled her head the other way.
A man was standing with his back to her. He was wearing a long white lab coat, Claire realized after a moment, trying to pick him out against the sterile background he was placed against. He was tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, and he wore his thick golden hair slicked back. Claire swallowed, trying to water her mouth and call out to him, desperate to know where she was. Just then, however, he turned to another workstation. The profile of his face was sharp and utterly masculine, but somehow very cold, like a statue carved out of marble. And he wore sunglasses. It took Claire's numb mind a long moment to understand, but when she did the shock of it hit her like a slap to the face. Dread filled her empty belly.
Wesker! Claire had seen the man only a sparse handful of times, but his likeness – his reputation – was burned into her brain. She had a vivid memory of seeing him calmly looking up at the Harrier as she and Chris had fled the Arctic facility, jet-black sunglasses glinting menacingly in the firelight. Despite the flames, however, his gaze had been cold and there had been something… dangerous about Wesker's posture that sent shivers dancing their way down Claire's arms. The image of him standing in the flames had haunted the edges of her dreams for days. Seeing him now sent an icy surge of fear through Claire's body and she hastily shut her eyes, her pulse hammering. How had she gotten here with Wesker? Frantically thinking back, she remembered the shooting pains in her stomach, the brief periods when she'd been lucid enough to see the horrid green rot creeping across her body. In the empty clarity of hindsight, she now knew it had to be a viral infection, something from Umbrella. There was no other explanation. Claire swallowed a painful lump in her throat and peeked at her arm, finding it wrapped in soft white gauze. Cold realization seeped into her brain.
Wesker found out, she thought numbly. He found out about the infection and he kidnapped me to be his new science project!
Claire suddenly felt sick and lightheaded. What had Wesker done with her brother? Killed him? Locked him away in another lab? She knew perfectly well what Umbrella did in their secret facilities, what kind of horrors they created. Claire bit down a frightened sob, trying not to think about what Wesker undoubtedly had planned for her. Lying half-naked on a gurney, she felt horribly exposed and vulnerable. She clenched her hands into fists, trying to stay calm. She had to get away somehow. She wouldn't let Wesker turn her into one of his monsters. Opening her eyes just a fraction, Claire watched the man bend over a nearby computer, still partially turned away from her. He didn't seem to have realized Claire was awake, for which she was insanely grateful. Frantically looking around, she spied a metal cart beside her gurney. A beige can of antiseptic spray was closest at hand.
Moving with excruciating slowness, Claire inched her hand towards the canister, never taking her eyes off of Wesker. He made a few notes on his clipboard and then went back to typing. Claire's fingers closed around cold, smooth metal and she forced the muscles in her hand to close, grasping the canister. Her arm shook dangerously. Gritting her teeth, Claire hastily concealed the canister against her thigh, one finger still on the spray nodule. Then she waited, shivering with nerves. After what seemed like an eternity, Wesker turned towards her. Peering at him through her lashes, Claire distantly realized he was dressed in a black pants, with a dark red shirt and black tie. Her grip tightened on the canister.
Wesker approached the side of the gurney, picking a capped syringe off the table. The reservoir was filled with clear liquid and Claire fought the instinct to move. Uncapping the syringe, Wesker tapped it with a finger. Then – and Claire couldn't believe her luck – he removed his sunglasses and leaned forward to pick up her arm. There was a brief moment, however, when Claire froze, petrified by the sight of his demonic eyes. They were… dear Gods, what were they exactly? The lab was too bright to really tell, but Claire could have sworn they were actually glowing with a faint red aura. Unable to summon the initiative to move, she probably would have stayed that way if she hadn't felt the prick of a needle in her forearm. Gasping, Claire recoiled and thrust the antiseptic canister in Wesker's face, spraying a jet of it straight into his eyes.
Wesker's reaction was instantaneous. Yelling in agony, he recoiled, both hands clamped over his eyes. Claire was shocked to see the pain actually drop him to one knee.
Quit staring, stupid, and move!
Lurching to the side, Claire swung her feet around and placed them on the cold floor. A rushing noise filled her ears as she heaved herself off the gurney and the room spun around her. She stumbled and would have fallen, cracking her skull on the hard floor, but at the last moment she grabbed hold of the crash cart and hung on. Wesker was making a frightening, animalistic snarling noise deep in his throat and was trying to stand, furiously wiping at his streaming eyes. With a small cry of terror, Claire forced her shaking legs to move. Bare feet slapping the floor, she broke into a stumbling run and made a break for the door, out into a gleaming white hallway. Pain knifed up and down her legs as she ran and within minutes she was gasping uncontrollably. A stitch in her side threatened to drop her at any moment. It wasn't as if she was unhealthy or out of shape, but her muscles felt like overcooked noodles. Panting, Claire threw her shoulder against a side door and fell out into another corridor. Desperate for any advantage, she threw the door behind her and bolted it, hoping it would slow Wesker down. She didn't know if he was following her, but she had to assume he was.
Claire sprinted down the hallway and turned the corner. At the end of the hall was an elevator. Sobbing for breath, Claire tried to activate it, but it wouldn't work for her. Wesker had shut them down. Claire sagged against the wall, desperately searching for another way. To her right she spotted a door marked Emergency Exit. She stumbled towards them and threw the door open, revealing a concrete shaft and endless metal stairs. Claire's watery legs shook, nearly giving way. There was no way she could make that climb. She was as good as trapped. Raw panic began to set in as she lurched towards another nearby door. It was a small maintenance closet filled with cleaning supplies.
Leaving the stairwell door open, Claire fell into the closet and shut herself in, praying that Wesker would fall for the ruse and assume she'd taken the stairs. The closet smelled like bleach and Pine-Sol, and Claire's left foot quickly became entangled in a mop that was still disgustingly wet. Slumping against the rack of cleaning supplies, Claire struggled to get her breath, peering out through the tiny, slatted window that afforded ventilation to the small closet. A moment later, she heard footsteps. Wesker came around the corner like a panther, his stride heavy and menacing, and Claire shrank back. Not bothering to check the elevator, Wesker went straight for the stairwell. He stood there for a moment, peering up the never-ending shaft. Claire held her breath.
Go. Oh, please just go!
But Wesker turned, his eyes falling on the closet. He'd put his sunglasses back on, but his expression was less that pretty. A wave of sickness crashed over Claire as Wesker approached the closet and angrily threw the door open. "Nice try," he growled, reaching in to grab her arm. Claire cried out as she was roughly dragged forward, tripping over the mop. It and several bottles of cleaner bounced onto the floor. Terror gave Claire strength and she desperately swung a fist for Wesker's head. He caught it easily and spun her around, slamming her back against his chest. Claire choked as Wesker's gloved hand coiled around her throat, effectively keeping her pinned against his shoulder even as his other arm snaked around her waist.
"Are you done, Miss Redfield?" Wesker growled in her ear.
Claire struggled, trying everything and anything to break Wesker's hold on her, but it like was trying to escape braided iron and her exertions only left her winded. Eventually she sagged in his arms, her lungs heaving and taking in huge, painful gulps of air. Wesker's grip on her throat loosened slightly so she could breathe. "Better," he said, his voice almost a purr. Claire felt the side of his face against hers, his skin wet with hot, irritated tears. "What do you think you're doing running from me like that?"
"You sick, sadistic bastard," Claire weakly twisted against him. "Let me go!"
"No, I don't think I will," said Wesker coolly. "I've spent far too much time purging the T-Veronica Virus from your system, and the procedure is still far from complete. Now, you have two choices. You can be an obedient girl and come with me willingly or you can go back to being unconscious. Which one is it going to be?"
Struggling for comprehension, Claire feebly tried to kick Wesker's shins. The T-Veronica Virus? Is that what she'd been sick with? She desperately tried to think back to the gut-wrenching pains and all the times it'd driven her to vomit. Wesker was telling the truth about that and Claire had a sudden epiphany. He'd been the one to infect her!
"I'm never going back with you!" she gasped defiantly. "You'd might as well kill me now, because I'm not becoming one of your test subjects! Did you infect Chris, too? Is he down in another lab?"
Wesker chuckled. "You're a bit confused, I think. I'm not going to harm you unless you force my hand."
"You'll kill me either way!"
"And why would I waste my time treating your infection if I planned to kill you?"
Claire swallowed, her brain working fast. She couldn't trust anything Wesker had to say. Whatever he had planned for her, she wouldn't be part of it. Suddenly feeling very sick, she squirmed against him with what little strength she had left. Hot, prickly sweat had broken out on her forehead and her stomach was starting to hurt badly. She would have liked to believe it was Wesker's ruthless hold on her waist, but she knew better. The discomfort was horribly familiar by now. A sudden wave of pain passed over her and she whimpered, convulsing slightly. Wesker heaved an irritable sigh.
"Well done, Miss Redfield. You've managed to aggravate the virus by running around like a fool. I hope you're satisfied."
Reaching into the pocket of his lab coat, Wesker pulled out a syringe and uncapped it with his teeth. Gasping, Claire tried to pull away, but Wesker held her firm. "Now let's get one thing clear," he poised the needle in front of her face. "This serum is the only thing keeping you from relapsing into your former condition. There is no escape from me, not if you want to live."
Claire bit down another whimper crawling it's way up her throat. The pain had come hard and sudden, and was threatening to make her pass out. Wesker's grip on her throat keep her standing and against his shoulder, but her vision was beginning to fuzz. She struggled to force her rubbery legs beneath her.
Wesker's mouth was at her ear. "Say it, Miss Redfield. Say you want me save your life, so there's no argument later."
Claire gasped something unintelligible. His voice sickened her even more than the pain, but when she felt him push the syringe into her arm she could only sob quietly, not even having the strength to protest. "There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Wesker's hand moved from her throat to her forehead, keeping her head tipped back. "I told you, I have no intentions of hurting you if you cooperate."
Darkness ebbed and flowed around the edges of Claire's senses. The pain was fading, but so was everything else. The last thing she remembered was Wesker gathering her crumpling body into his arms.