Chapter 7

Create Your Strategy

Sergeant Howes, Wesker concluded as he hung up the phone, was so a-typical of a military man used to getting his way that he actually couldn't stand talking to the man for more than ten minutes at a time. Which is why he'd hung up on him. Of course that meant he'd have to deal with his high handed manner next time they spoke, his stupid, pointless ranting, but if it got him off the phone at this precise moment, Wesker didn't much care. He had bigger things to think about.

It had been too soon. Why had he come too soon? He wound the two week old recording back, watching Kennedy and the girl, waiting for him to walk onto the screen. Ah, there he was. Too soon, too soon.

"Christopher," he let the name idle on his tongue, "you never did show up when it suited me, did you?"

It had been so easy to tap into the rail networks security camera system, and he'd been running the video feed in a loop for a while now, just observing. Watch it any longer and he'd start to neglect his work. Didn't make him any less annoyed about missing a perfect opportunity. He'd heard about the Redfield's visit and instantly thought of at least five ingenious plans to capture dear Christopher without making too much of a fuss. Of course, his sister would have noticed he was gone (not that he'd have minded silencing her, not at all) but Kennedy couldn't be compromised. Kennedy was essential to his plans, and the plan needed to take precedence over all else. No matter how appealing that 'else' was.

Phase one was about to be initiated. Wesker looked over the description of the mission stats, flipping through the pages to familiarise himself with the layout, the checkpoints, double checking everything again. You could never be too careful, Wesker should know. The knock on the door pulled at his attention, making him frown at the intrusion on his thoughts. He shut down the recording playing on his computer quickly and looked back to the folder in his hands.

"Enter," he said without looking up.
"Wow, you're even nicer than last week," she said, crossing her arms, "is it a special occasion?"

Melissa Hyden, Wesker had decided as soon as he'd hired her, needed to stop trying so hard. She was one of those perfect girls: perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect teeth, perfect opening lines. Wesker also wasn't unaware of the way she trailed her eyes up and down his body when she thought he wasn't looking either, as if she thought she had any sort of chance of seducing him. An overall sickening package. Wesker would enjoy disposing of her once she'd outlived her usefulness. She was his link to Kennedy, his source on his mental state, nothing more. She'd been easy to bribe, but Wesker owed her nothing.

"Your report?" he asked succinctly.
"Huh," she huffed, taking the chair on the other side of his desk and sitting in it ungracefully, "I take it back. You're just your usual pleasant self."

Wesker didn't grace her with a reply. Instead he put down his folder, sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, watching her. She shifted uncomfortably, but held her own in the staring competition that ensued. It was ineluctable that she gave out first however; if there was one thing Wesker had learned from his laboratory work and being the captain of STARS, it was that patience was imperative.

"He's basically stable," she said, pushing the report towards Wesker over his immaculately tidy desk, "he'll still be a little fragile, but then the simulation wouldn't be realistic if he wasn't."
"Will he be able to fight to the best of his abilities?" Wesker asked immediately.
"Well, I think so, but the only problem I have is this guy," she said, stabbing her finger at a profile photograph on the report, "Jack Krauser. He's the guy Kennedy got into a fight with a couple of weeks back. They're all buddy, buddy now. I thought that their 'friendship' wouldn't last and that there would be nothing to compromise the mission, but, well..."
"Humans," Wesker said with a sigh, "they never do anything according to plan."

Melissa eyed him warily as Wesker leaned over the desk to look at the report, his sunglasses slipping forwards on his nose. He smirked, looking up at her through the gap created, his eyes flashing. She sat back abruptly, crossing her arms. He pushed his glasses back up, but kept the self satisfied look. So easy to manipulate, the lot of them. Howes, Hydan, Kennedy...

But not you, Christopher, not you. You never do what you're told, do you? What's expected of you?

Hydan cleared her throat, bringing Wesker back to the present. He flicked the report closed and shrugged lightly.

"He shouldn't be a problem. We are, after all, assessing the ability of the team as a whole. Kennedy is an added bonus, in a way," Wesker said, leaning back in his chair, lying through his teeth.

In all honesty he just didn't want to have to explain himself to this woman. In reality Kennedy's data would be invaluable to him, and this Krauser may be a hindrance in assessing Kennedy's abilities if they were as close as Hydan said. However, he could take care of that. Nothing she needed to know about.

"Yeah, well, just remember our part of the deal," Hydan said bluntly, standing up suddenly and walking towards the door, "your plan wouldn't be anything without my information."
"Of course, Ms. Hydan," Wesker said with faux sincerity, which was so flawless that she hesitated, not knowing what to think, "your invaluableness is your saving grace."

He could tell, in the end, that she didn't believe him, but then he didn't need her to. Anything she wanted to try, anything to blackmail him, sabotage him, he'd already thought up every way she could and set up counter measures. She left with a scowl. Why did people always think they could play him? This experiment, it would seal everything, it would make everything possible for him. He would have the world in his hands, to nurture or to crush as he saw fit.

He would have Christopher Redfield at his mercy, for as long as he willed it. The thought sent shivers down his spine. He recalled the last time he had touched him, held him by the throat and lifted him into the air, tossing him aside like a cat playing with a very stubborn mouse. Nothing else evoked these reactions in him, the scientific side of him mused, trying to analyse the situation as the baser side of him just closed its eyes and let the scenarios play out behind them. This lust, this obsession, it was all Redfield's, this part of him that had formed along with his new body ever since he'd pressed the injection unit to his arm and let the virus enter his system.

Mine, he thought viscerally, all mine.

AN: Uh-oh, Wesker's gone ga-ga! Oh wait, he was already ga-ga, never mind. Eek, these chapters won't stop! Help! Can't...stop...writing! Ah, screw my psychology lab report anyway...