Stage Two: Capitulation
The board room was echoing with the emptiness of uninterested, tired, and jaded eyes. They met each other over the long mahogany table with the hollow-eyed harried look of dolls left too long in the sun. It seemed unlikely that anything, ever, would be able to entertain them.
Excella Gionne was going to try.
She was the spoiled, bored, but brilliant daughter of a family with ties back to the beginning of Tricell. Her Grandmother had been a Travis before she'd married, giving Excella the keys to a legacy of creation that touched on Umbrella and sent its seedy little fingers into the pie of the heart of the Global Pharmaceutical Corporation.
She might have played at being an arm piece to a handsome man. She was doing that when the mood suited her anyway. She was, in a series of palliative and derivative words, beautiful and statuesque and stately. She was, by turns, a stunning socialite and a genius geneticist. She understood viruses and mutation the way she understood designer labels and social pandering. Excella could work a room, create a virus, and infect the entire guest list while smiling and drumming up donations.
She was currently wearing Prada in red, showing enough cleavage to excite anything with a pulse, and waiting for the moment to reveal the first stage of her plan to those around her. She needed these bored assholes to throw down some money on her pet project. She'd gathered the T-Abyss with the help of Jessica Sherawat a few years back but she needed the funding to back her plans for the creation of something much…much…much worse.
She needed the funding to offer her partner in this little adventure the ability to create a new world. The soulless stooges staring back at her were making it difficult. They wanted results when there was no prototype. How was she to prove what could be wrought when they wouldn't give her the money to begin its conception?
Albert had been clear: he needed the money to pursue the use of progenitor and they needed a place to test it. Africa, in the midst of a civil war, was a political gold mine for such a thing. But she needed these old goats to agree to give her the money and the place to set up shop.
Smiling, charmingly, Excella intoned, "Gentlemen, you've seen the results of the use of plagas in Spain with the Illuminados. You understand the impact of engineering a virus that would result in a SELECTION of soldiers. Imagine…if you will…an RNA type virus derived from the mother of them all: Progenitor. I'm offering you the ability to finance, from the ground floor, a new world. A world built around gods and men. A world where the strong dominate the weak and are a superior race. You would sit amongst the mortals, while they fell and turned and died, and you would be as those atop Olympus: untouchable."
The bored eyes were shifting now, to each other, to the data on the screen against the far wall, to the woman that paced at the head of the table. They were interested. She had to nudge them further into her web to keep them.
"We've been struggling with insurgents in Kijuju for months. Allow me to show you the power of what I'm offering. Assist me in attaining samples of Progenitor and I will release modified type-2 plagas there to eliminate the uprising. It will distract from what we plan to do. I've been in contact with a bioweapons dealer for some time. He's offered to assist in the development and distribution. I have a brilliant geneticist on staff to help with the designation and creation of the new world…I just need you offer me the funding to help us build the world we've always dreamed of. The world Umbrella dreamed of…before the fall. It is STILL ACHIEVABLE."
One of the bored faces finally spoke, "What of the failure of the original construct? That prototype was volatile at best."
Another blank face added, "That outcome was fatal, Excella. It was too potent and too dangerous. The entire lab was sanitized to contain it."
Excella nodded a little. "Yes. Yes it was. But the potential was beautiful. It needs Progenitor…and it needs the inception of antibodies to control the amplification of the virus. We have leads on the second part. And I need YOU to help me obtain the first. With it? The virus will be selective. It will insert itself into the selected hosts genome and create gods. It will be a weapon we can not only CONTROL but that we can use to RULE. Gentlemen, the time to act is here. Let us take back that which was lost to us with Raccoon City. Let us take back the right to ASCEND."
The faces turned, nodded, nodded, and finally the one at the foot of the table said, "Get us results. We will get you the money."
Excella felt the world shift and roll with promise. This first battle was won. This first victory was theirs. Now they just needed to find the person with the anitbodies.
But who?
Who could have survived the infection in Raccoon City?
Who could possibly have the answers in their blood?
She dialed her phone as she left the boardroom. He answered on the first ring. "Albert, darling…I have what we need."
And he answered, "Good. I believe I know how to acquire the rest. Are you willing to get your hands dirty, Excella?"
"I am always dirty when I am with you, Albert. Always."
His laughter made her blood fire hot and fast in her veins. And they started planning how to make the world theirs.
The Compound
The meeting went on long after it should have been over. Sherry sat patiently, watching the hands on the little clock above the wall turn and burn away the minutes of her life in a piteous portent of things to come. What was she in a hurry for anyway? She was going to leave this room after her debriefing and find her way to a dark gymnasium or an empty courtyard. There was little waiting for her beyond the doors of the big room where she sat.
Derek Simmons was speaking quietly with his head researcher. He kept glancing at her and nodding. He kept rolling that stupid cube he carried with him in his hand like a woobie. Sherry sighed and tapped her boot on the chair where it was planted.
She slid her hand up to grip the locket that lay there. Her mind wandered back to the night in the hotel with Leon Kennedy. She did, what she'd been doing for months now, and pictured it with crystal clear detail.
Several Months Prior: Monte Carlo
He wouldn't let her close her eyes.
The moment she tried, his hand closed around her throat with enough pressure to have them popping open. It was enough pressure that she knew, he knew, they both knew…that he could kill her with it. He could hold her down, right here and now, and watch the light die in her eyes.
The heady promise of that kind of power washed over them both in a skin-prickling rush. But that wasn't the only power here. No. The power wasn't his. It was hers. Because her face said she'd let him. She'd let him hold her down and destroy her. Her face said he owned her.
And it frightened, humbled, and excited him.
His thumb circled the delicate skin of her throat while his other hand cupped her left breast. He held her eyes while he caressed her. Goosebumps peppered her flesh while he shaped and molded her to his hand.
His voice was gravelly and low when he asked, "Do you like that?"
Sherry nodded, gasping a little when that molding hand increased its pressure. He watched her face and saw the moment it hit the edge of pain and pleasure for her. He watched her eyes blur and lose focus…and he let go of that tortured breast.
She shivered, shaking beneath him.
And he had his answer.
She wanted him rough and commanding. She wanted him to possess her. The idea of it hammered in his blood like madness. He gripped her throat and held her gaze.
"Roll over."
She did, onto her belly. No argument. She was so eager. So beautifully eager.
Leon thought about losing the pants but kept them on. He didn't need the temptation to take her. Not yet. Not until they were both insane for it. Not until he'd possessed her in a way that meant, when she was gone, she would still bare the mark of him like a brand against her soul.
Sherry felt the fire of the need for him fill her belly and rob her reason.
And then? Then he spoke.
"You don't resist. You don't deny me. You may beg. You may writhe. You may not come. Not until I allow it. Do you understand?"
Oh my god.
Sherry knew she could end this. She could stop this. She could stop it all. If she just said no. He didn't want to hurt her…or maybe he did. Maybe he wanted to hurt her. But he wanted her to WANT him to hurt her.
And, god help her, she did.
She'd never done anything but want him.
She whispered, "What will you do if I resist?"
He was so hard looking at her there. So hard. Impossibly hard. All fours with that beautiful little bottom up in the air. She looked at him over her shoulder. The spill of all that blonde hair around her framed her and made her an Aphrodite. She was lust and sin and want and greed.
What would he do?
Leon skimmed his hand down the line of her perfect back like she was a beautifully bred racehorse, like she was a prize. That hand skimmed down her bottom, between her legs and played in the sticky wetness of his possession of her that lingered there. She mewled, gently and excitedly.
What would he do?
She wasn't ready for him. Not even close. Not even with his seed still lingering there.
He thrust two fingers into her resisting body anyway. She let out a cry and tried to pull away. But she'd asked the question. And he had to show her. She gasped, "No! Don't!"
He grabbed a handful of that long hair and held her still while his fingers possessed her. He didn't pump them in her, no, he held them there. And his voice was so low it was hard to hear, "No?"
She hadn't meant the no.
It had been reactionary. But he'd surprised her…and he'd hurt her.
And she liked it.
His fingers slid out of her tight little body and she gasped again in relief. She shouldn't have been relieved. Not even a little bit. He kept her hair in his fist and brought the other hand down on her.
As spankings went, it was sharp; it was immediately stinging. And she made a mistake. She tried to buck him away. She knew, the moment she did it, that it was the wrong thing to do. Her blood fired with the excitement of what he would do.
He said, "Grab the headboard. Now."
She did, panting.
She wasn't ready. He shoved those fingers into her body again and brought his hand down again, simultaneously. One, two, three times while she jerked and bowed beneath it. And then he put his teeth against the tender little flesh of her bottom and bit her.
Oh god.
She felt the orgasm rushing toward her while he thrust his fingers into her body. She wasn't just wet now for him. She was just wet and excited. He licked around his invading fingers and brought his hand down again on her trembling, tender, sore little bottom.
Sherry cried out now, close to the edge, "Wait wait! Please! I'm going to come! Wait!"
That hand twisted in her hair again, his fingers kept right on fucking her body. "Don't. You don't have permission."
"Then stop. You have to stop! Please!"
He laughed, darkly, and pulled his fingers from her body. She gasped in relief and shivered, feeling the edges of red, wet, want blurring and trying to claim her. She shouldn't have been relieved.
He wasn't done.
He parted her legs and slid under her where she was on all fours above him. He said, quietly, "Don't let go of that headboard and do NOT come." She shivered as he put his mouth to her breasts that dangled prettily toward his face.
His mouth sucked in the shape of her; taking the delicate flesh of her body in as far as he mouth would allow. It crossed from pleasure and bordered painfully toward greed. He sucked her while his free hand went right back between her legs and he hooked a thumb into her body to torture her.
She didn't think she'd be able to resist it. She was too close to the edge. Sherry moaned, making sounds that were probably not even human. He savaged one breast and moved to the other. She tried to shift her hips away from that driving hand.
And it was too much.
Too much.
She whispered, "Stop…don't. Oh god."
He brushed his thumb over her little throbbing clit and she was done. She was just…done. She came, bucking and crying out and wet. She came in his hand while his mouth laughed around the breast he was suckling. He sucked her nipple fast and hard and pushed her screaming over the edge.
She jerked, bowing, and he slid from between her legs to leave her quivering and panting. She knew it was coming. She knew it. She was still thrusting her hips like he was there while the orgasm stole her breath. She was still coming down even as his hand did.
The sound of that spanking slap was meaty. It was loud. It was perfect. Her body jerked toward it even as her little red buttocks blushed prettily. It was harder now; punishing while it promised. He spanked her like the bad girl she was for coming.
Bad girl, he thought desperately, he'd thought that about her before. That she was a bad girl. And she was. She was mewling there while he punished her. A bad girl for him.
Jesus.
He was never a passive lover. It wasn't in his nature. He'd only submitted to the will of others once in his entire life…and it had been to save the girl trembling on the bed before him. Was he exacting revenge for that? Was he taking his frustration of a failure to find his own purpose out on the girl that had, indirectly, been the cause?
His eyes skimmed over the perfect imprint of his hand on her pert ass.
No.
And yes.
It was complicated and simple and raw.
He slid back between her quivering thighs.
She glanced down at his face. And he rose to his knees between her arms. She licked his chest and stomach while he did.
He grabbed her face and shook his head at her. Sherry made some sound of denied longing.
His voice commanded her now, slow and steady, "You don't let go of the headboard. You don't resist. Do you understand?"
"….yes."
He nodded and unzipped himself.
Oh god.
She knew what was coming. Her body trembled with the want of it. Her eyes hooded even as he pulled himself free of his pants. He was beautiful there as well; long, pink, perfect. Sherry made a little mewl of hunger for him.
Leon fisted a hand in her hair and drew her face down to him.
She didn't need any encouragement. She wanted to taste him. It was all she wanted. It was why she was here. She wanted to know the flavor of him. She could do nothing but want him.
But she shook her head and turned her mouth away from him anyway.
Amused, aroused, he gave her what they both wanted: he brought his hand down on her tender little bottom. She gasped with it and opened her mouth. He didn't wait, no, he filled her mouth with the core of him. She had no choice but to open her mouth and roll her lips over her teeth. He forced her mouth down on him fast and hungry. She drove that amorous little-wet cavern onto his erection like she'd die if she didn't swallow him whole.
He fisted his hands in her yards of blonde hair and pushed her down on his eager need. She gagged, just once, when it went too deep but she didn't stop. She just kept going. She the most eager thing he'd ever seen.
Leon finally pulled her free with a grunt and a shiver of denied longing. She made a little sound and tried to take him back into her. She licked the sticky tip of him and stole his breath on a laugh.
"Not like that. Let go of the headboard and lay down on your back."
He slid from beneath her and she hastened to comply. She lay placidly but eagerly amongst the pale blue sheets. Pratesi sheets were woven like silk; smooth and almost wet with their softness. She looked like a pinked, slick, sweaty goddess there amongst them.
On fire for her, he jerked her knees open to bare her to his hungry gaze. He was going to plow her body while she screamed. He was going to please them both with the hammer of it while she wept and rolled and rocked beneath him. He was going to fill her full of his need for her while she twisted and called his name.
He skimmed her thighs with his hands to watch her shiver. He spread his hand over her hips to feel the tug of excitement at her narrow curves. He swirled a finger at her pleasing little naval amongst the flawless, toned, and perfect plane of her belly. Leon started to instruct her again and he paused, narrowing his eyes at the beautiful evidence of her excitement for him.
And then he saw the blood on her thighs.
It was pink and almost pretty amongst the creamy sweetness of her own release. It brought him up short. It stole his breath. His eagerness abated beneath the wonder of it.
His fingers gently, so gently, skimmed over the evidence of her pain.
And his eyes held hers.
"Sherry…were you a virgin?"
Her eyes popped open in surprise.
He was looking at her now with something akin to horror. No no. No. This was why she hadn't said anything about it. She didn't want him looking at her like that. Like she was the sad little girl he was saving from her big bad daddy who didn't love her. No.
Sherry shook her head. "Don't. Don't. I knew what I was doing."
Leon breathed it now, softly, "Sherry…my god. I would have been gentle if you'd just said something."
"I don't want you gentle. Stop it. Stop." She grabbed his hand to press it between her legs, "Feel me there? I don't need you to be gentle. I came here to have you. Give me you. I don't need gentle."
That was a helluva thing to say. It made him almost sad to hear it. I don't need gentle, she said. What had her life looked like in captivity? Apparently, she was so well protected that she had never even known a man. Or maybe…maybe she'd saved herself for him?
The idea settled in his groin and stole his reason.
The look on her face said maybe he was right about that.
His voice was soft now but still commanding, "Grab the headboard and don't let go."
She did it, excited and eager. But he didn't plow her body. No. He leaned over and kissed her.
It was a good kiss. It was a soft kiss. It was smooth and sensual and raw. It made tears pop in her eyes with the sweetness of it. He cupped her face and held her eyes as they teared up.
"Don't," she whispered it, "Don't. Don't feel sorry for me."
"Sorry? Sherry. Did you save yourself for me?"
She tried to look away and he held her there, tightly. "Answer me, Sherry."
But she didn't answer. She slid her hand down his belly and gripped him in her palm. He gasped, humping his hips toward her. And her voice was low and challenging. "No more talking. Now."
She was too small and sore for what she was asking. He knew it. She knew it. But the wild need on her face was like madness between them.
He grabbed her hands and wrapped them around the headboard rails. And he said, softly, "Do not let go. Do not come. Do you understand me?"
She shuddered, watching the ice chip blue of his eyes spark and roll with greed for her. All she could do was nod.
He pushed her knees back and thrust into her so hard that it ripped a cry of pain from her mouth. She bowed, bucking against the assault of it. Toward it or away from it? She didn't know. He didn't let her decide.
He did what he'd wanted since the moment she'd dropped her dress in the living room. He plowed into her body with a merciless and desperate abandon. She was sore, throbbing, and screaming with need. Her hands let go of the headboard to grab at him and try to push him off her as the pain exploded into her belly.
Leon grabbed those flailing hands and wrapped them back in place. He held them there while he used her body. Her legs wrapped around his hips; her hips meeting each mercilessly rough thrust of his body into her.
The punishment for letting go of the headboard was meted out in the grasp of his hand on one of her tender breasts. He put his teeth to it, wrapped his hand around it, and brought her mouth open in a cry of pain and need. She felt the orgasm smash into the pain and become the perfect symposium. It was roaring and ready.
Her voice gasped, desperate, as he thundered inside of her without any sign of slowing down, "Please! Please…I can't!"
She could.
They both knew it.
She was so close. She was bucking beneath him with the need to find her release. He shifted her hips, angled his body into her, and found a spot that stole every breath she had. It was perfect. The utter completion of pleasure, pain, and madness. She screamed his name, just once, and he stopped trying to destroy her with the greed of it.
He slowed, he stilled, and his tongue spilled into her mouth. It was wet and warm and wonderful. The slow glide of his body inside of her now was tender, tingling, and touched the soreness that throbbed at the core of her. His hand slid down her sweaty belly and stroked through her moist folds to find the heat of her.
Sherry gasped, humping toward him.
He whispered, hoarsely, "Let go."
Did he mean her hands?
Did he mean her body?
She took him at his word.
Her hands dropped and caught his face. His tongue and hers mated and fucked together inside the wet cavern of his mouth. And her body hit the edge of her burning hunger and let go. She came around him while he kissed her. It was almost gentle. It was almost golden as the edge of her release came out of her mouth in a shuddering sigh.
Still hard, still unfinished, he slid out of her eager, sucking little body. She gasped, feeling the tender and raw release of it. She was still coming down. His fingers slid into her as his body retreated. Slick and wet, she sucked those into her body as she spasmed. He kept them there to feel her body orgasm.
Amazing.
She was flaccid and limp on the bed beneath him. But her eyes held his.
"You didn't go."
He dropped his mouth to kiss her. It was smooth and sensual. It was sexy and slow. She curled toward the feeling of it while his fingers stroked her. It took her a moment to realize what he was doing. He was soothing her. He was soothing the ache inside of her.
Touched, she opened her eyes again.
And he answered, "This was about you. Not me."
Oh.
Oh oh oh. She felt that thing in her belly that told her she was in love with him. She felt it like pain and blood and echoes of something bigger. The girl had loved the handsome cop that had saved her life. The woman didn't even know the man. Not really. But she knew that she wanted to know him. She wanted to know him. Her body craved him. Her heart? Her heart was obsessed with him.
He rolled her to her belly now and put his mouth on her. It was smooth and soft. He kissed down her spine; kissed the tender pink globes of her bottom. And his hands smoothed and petted her body with a lover's endless attention.
The Compound
She'd fallen asleep on her belly with his hands on her petting. She'd awoken in the early dawn to find him beside her sleeping. She'd rolled toward him and touched his mouth.
Unwilling to disturb him, she'd rolled gingerly to her feet. She was so sore. But it was good. It was a good soreness. It was the soreness of woman who'd loved a man. The soreness of want. And it was wonderful.
She'd snuck off into the coming sun like a thief.
There was no regret here.
Well, there was some. She wanted to stay. She'd wanted to keep on touching him. She'd wanted to rouse him from slumber to love him. But she'd snuck away.
There was no way to explain why she'd saved herself for him. There was none. The only answer she could give was that she'd had nothing but time to miss and fantasize and glorify him for ten years. The fantasy had never, ever, been enough. Her fertile imagination had never done him justice. He was so much better than that.
Sherry focused on Derek Simmons as he spoke to her. She knew that if he discovered what had cost her a precious day of her last mission, he'd find a way to have Leon eliminated. Simmons didn't like anything standing in the way of business. He was a patriot; his soul purpose was the defense of the United States against bioterrorism. He wouldn't understand a woman's need to feel her savior between her thighs. But he would punish her for the oversight and poor judgment.
He came toward her, smiling faintly. "Sherry…your mission was a success."
"Yes, sir."
"You gathered samples from the surrounding European villages as instructed?" He queried.
"With ease, sir."
"You didn't meet with any complications on your mission?"
She doubted he meant the complication of Leon S. Kennedy's tongue in her. She was relatively sure he wasn't talking about the personal ramifications of losing her virginity to the man so carefully referred to as "the immortal". Nope. He was all business.
"Not at all. I gathered intel easily in Monte Carlo, as instructed, and pursued all the leads through to conclusion. It was not challenging."
"You encountered no hostiles?"
"None."
"Good." Simmons patted her arm companionably. "Your visitor has arrived."
Claire.
"Oh! Really?"
"Yes. You're excused to see her."
"Thank you, sir. Thank you." Sherry hurried from the room toward the courtyard. It was a cool and sunny day. The wind was brisk. She didn't know where she was. She was never told. She was escorted away from the compound and put on private planes and sent on missions. She didn't know where she was being kept.
Her "home" could be anywhere in the world.
It was done "for her safety". But she still felt like a bird in a gilded cage. She was trapped here. Would it ever end?
The courtyard had dogwood trees and perfectly maintained gardens. They were lying dormant now as fall was in full swing. The changing leaves were lovely and riotous in color and texture. They lay in shades of gold, orange, and red beneath her feet as she hurried toward Claire.
Claire's lovely red hair was pulled back in her signature ponytail. She laughed with delight; cuddled inside of her little brown leather jacket. They embraced, happy to see each other.
Claire told her of Terra Save and the work she was doing. She spoke of Barry Burton's daughter with pride and interest. Moira was young but eager. Claire suspected she'd join the NGO and pursue the fight against terror like her father before her.
Sherry wanted to tell her about Leon but held back. Instead, she listened and laughed and let the afternoon wear on around them. They shared a soda and talked about Claire's failure of relationships. They spoke of the puppy Simmons had given Sherry, now a big shaggy dog named Mr. Kennedy, and how he was never far from Sherry's side.
Claire was chuckling a little as she left the compound. Her escort took her to the edge of the forest before they released her. She was thinking of Sherry as she boarded the private plane that was chartered to take her home.
She was thinking of her last failure of a relationship as she turned the key in her door to her apartment. She was thinking maybe the fact that he was married didn't have to mean it was over. Right? He was separated…probably. Maybe. Shit. She had terrible taste in men. It was notoriously bad.
Maybe she should call Chris to ask him.
She pushed open the door to her apartment and came face to face with sunglasses and sunny blonde hair. She froze, blinking
"Captain Wesker?" The shock of finding him there squeaked out of her voice.
"Where is Sherry Birkin?"
"What?"
"Where is Sherry Birkin….Claire?"
Ugh. The way he said her name. Like it was something wet and dirty and wrong. It made her afraid to even stand there looking at him. She should run.
But she was frozen in place. Sherry. SHERRY. She had to protect Sherry. Wasn't that why they were hiding her? To protect her from Albert Wesker.
"I don't know. What are you doing here, Wesker?"
He didn't answer, obviously.
But he did smile. He smiled while he shoved the plunger into her chest. She jerked and glanced down. It was sticking out of her breastbone like a dart.
She grabbed it and pulled it free. It tumbled from her hand to clatter on the floor. His gloved hand lifted to cup her face.
She tried to bat him away. "Don't touch me."
And now he laughed at her.
The world shimmered. She staggered. He caught her against his chest. She tried to pull away and felt him lift her.
Wait…WAIT. DON'T.
But her brain put her down while he carried her away. It went into the darkness screaming. She heard him say, coolly, "How long do you think you will be able to resist me, Claire? Before we're done, you'll give me Sherry. You'll give me yourself. You'll give me your brother if I ask. I'm going to hollow you out until there's nothing left of you but a shell."
Oh god. Oh god.
It was the moment she knew, she KNEW, she had to protect Sherry from this man…no matter the cost.
Sherry….stay hidden. Don't be stupid. There is nothing worth sneaking out for. Nothing. Stay hidden. Stay safe. Stay…
….alive.
