Chapter 5 - Unholy War
You've been gone so long, I can't feel you
And your hand on my heart beating true
Did you think I'd live without you?
You belonged to me.
I miss your face
I lost my place
I lost my faith.
Drop Dead Gorgeous, Fashion Your Seatbelts, In Vogue
I can't go on living this way.
Papa Roach, Last Resort
The Base, Antarctica
Light blue eyes are transfixed on merciless facial features.
They used to be full of life, dazzling with intelligence and beauty.
Now they are empty and soulless.
"Jill."
There's a jerk going through her body as she reacts to her name and she straightens herself up on the chair that she has been placed upon.
For a moment he can see it on her face - the strong, internal fight against the device he has attached on her yesterday.
A nasty thing shaped like a scarab with six metallic feet digging themselves into the thin skin next to her breastbone.
She screamed in agony as her flesh was united with its tiny claws.
Now it injects her every six hours with the serum that he names P30.
She quietly groans and as always the drug wins and she can do nothing but obey.
The words crawl over her lips like cold ghost fingers.
"Yes … master …"
A disgusting taste covers her mouth and she wishes, she could vomit.
Just do anything to be freed from his torture.
In her brain she tries to recall the memories and pictures of the people she loves, the people she is supposed to belong to. It's not working.
There's nothing but white noise in her ears and black fog in her mind.
Eyes half squinted in pain she can see him stepping towards her and there's revolt going through her body as he lays a gloved hand under her chin, his thumb ungently pressing against it.
"You're under my command. You will do as I tell you. You will not fail me."
His mouth is a grim line and his grip intensifies itself.
His words are digging itself into her exhausted mind and she feels like she's being programmed.
Like a heartless manufactured robot. And the worst part is that it is working.
"You're' mine, Jill Valentine. Mine."
There's a single tear running down her cheek as he undoes the straps of her thin laboratory gown.
New York, United States of America
Jill.
That name was the last word that left his lips before the world broke apart.
Three years have passed since that night.
Three years of sunshine, of rain, of pain and misery, of accidents, fire and storms.
Incidents that tell him that the world keeps on turning no matter what.
It spits at him, mocks him, makes him feel unimportant and small.
Because for him there is nothing anymore.
Three years have passed since the incident and he still sees her falling into darkness.
Chris Redfield wakes up from another haunting dream and it takes him a moment to realize where exactly he is.
His bedroom is already soaked in bright sunlight and the digits on the display of the clock next to him tell him that it is 8:37 a.m.
With a sigh he lets his head drop back onto the cushion and buries his face behind his hands to momentarily escape from reality and gather his senses.
Behind the darkness of his hands he tries to recall the last bits of his dream.
There are no clear images anymore, only fragments, but he knows that she was in it. Jill.
Over the last years he has tried to subdue the feelings of guilt and of having failed her, trying to live a life without his partner by his side - nothing has been able to fill that hole inside of him.
How he has missed so many chances to take her in his arms, how he could never tell her that he's in love with her.
He had tried to distract himself with other women, it's not like he has been holy - but none of it ever lasted more than a few nights and it would always be her his thoughts returned to.
He knows that she would have made him feel complete.
They shared so many intense and dangerous moments together and they have seen things that no other person would ever be able to comprehend.
Almost every day he stands at the grave that the BSAA had paid for.
Weekly he puts fresh flowers on the ground, but never does he speak to the cold, grey stone that has her name engraved into it.
Because something tells him that she's not dead.
Why the BSAA never put any further effort into looking for her, fills his head with questions that will never be answered. Two days they have spent diving at the rocky shores underneath the mansion, where the drama has happened.
But they shrugged their shoulders and gave up the search, because there was nothing to be found.
No clothing, no body, no sign of Jill Valentine and Albert Wesker.
"No!" she screamed. Her mind shut down and her feet moved on their own accord, sprinting towards the tall, glass window.
It broke into a thousand pieces, when they fell through it.
Into unspeakable depths.
Chris grinds his teeth at the memory.
The organization seemed to put their focus on other goals back then.
Jill Valentine – his partner – has been declared dead on a rainy November afternoon.
Seeing the empty coffin, the white flowers, the familiar broken faces weeping for a woman that was the foundation stone of fighting bioterrorism – it was too much for him.
This is why he has decided to take a different path three years ago.
No matter how they have tried to convince him to stay, he decided to call this chapter quit.
He knows that it must have hurt them to lose one of their best men, but nobody seemed to have cared about his internal pain either.
They tried to put a psychologist to work on him, but Chris told himself that was mainly because protocol demanded it.
He had to get out of that building that made him claustrophobic and miserable.
The sound of his door bell going off rips him out of his deep thoughts and he shoots up into a sitting position, throwing the warm sheets off his body.
"Oh shit", he curses as he realizes that he completely forgot about his sister Claire coming over for breakfast at nine. She pretty much invited herself.
He dashes out of bed and hastily dresses himself with the next best shirt and trousers he can find in the mess of his room.
It's been a few weeks since he had put any effort in thoroughly cleaning his apartment.
It's second priority to him anyway - his mind is preoccupied with more important things.
As he half stumbles towards the door he tries to rub the last bit of sleep out of his eyes and he decides he won't even bother about his hair.
Claire isn't one to fool anyway. She will immediately be able to tell that he's not well-rested at all.
It's not just that anyway. The years of grief of misery have drawn shadows on his face, turned his skin pale and his eyes tired.
"You look awful, brother", Claire greets Chris as expected after he opened the door.
Her eyes quickly scan his not very well put together outfit but she's kind enough to not make any remarks about that. Instead she shows him a smile as sweet as sugar and pecks his stubbly cheek.
"Good morning to you too", he grumbles as friendly as he can and tousles her long dark-brown hair before inviting her inside his apartment with a gesture of his hand.
She runs her fingers over her head to tidy the mess and giggles. "Stop doing that."
"Or what? Will you bite me?", he says with a smirk and lays a friendly arm around her petite frame to lead her into the kitchen.
Claire exclaims a curse as she stumbles over a single shoe that is lying in the middle of the corridor.
"You know that there is something called cleaning, don't you?", she says, pursing her lips.
Chris dismissively waves his hand. "I'll do it later."
Knowing that 'later' means 'sometime in the next two years' in Chris' dictionary, she decides to drop the subject.
After they have taken seat at the kitchen table she briefly grabs for his hand, a more serious look on her face.
"Chris, are you alright? You know, you can talk to me."
"Had a rough night, that's all."
He's not in the mood for Claire's personal questions right now. "Coffee?"
But as usual she's as hard to distract as a cat skulking in front of a mouse hole.
"Yes to the coffee and … you were thinking of Jill again, weren't you?"
She can see a mere shadow wander over his pale face before he turns his back to her to operate the coffee machine.
"It wasn't your fault", she says over the purring sound of the machine.
Somehow she knows that it won't bring any comfort.
"I know that", he answers stiffly and puts the now filled cup in front of her on the table.
Claire softly blows over the surface of the hot beverage before taking a careful sip.
The fact that Chris is getting more and more trapped in his own world of madness, self-accusation and worry about his missing partner has made her feel weak and helpless over the past few years.
She has done so much for him, but never would he accept his sister's helping hand to pull him out of this deep pit. His own personal hell.
Claire is glad to bring Chris something new today, something that hasn't to do with pseudo-psychological help.
Because yesterday something has happened that has brought new light into her life.
And new hope for Chris probably.
"There's something I wanted to talk with you about. I heard about an interesting case yesterday …"
"Claire", Chris warns his sister. "You know, I'm done with this bullshit!"
"I'm aware of that. But just hear me out. If you still want nothing to do with this after hearing my side of the story, I won't ever mention it again to you. I do strongly believe though that you'll be more than interested in what I have to say."
Chris warily eyes her for a few seconds, the steam of his cup of coffee quietly dancing in front of his eyes and characteristically curiosity wins. He gives her permission to go ahead.
"Remember the incident in the Spanish village that Leon had to infiltrate in order to save the President's daughter a few years ago?"
"You mean the one about the Las Plagas virus?"
"That's the one", she confirms. "Well … Leon and I have talked …"
Chris holds back the urge to roll his eyes. "I know you guys are dating, Claire. No need to tiptoe around me with it. Why else would he give you this information? Because you pay him a muffin every morning?"
With effort he tries not to think of them entangled in the bed sheets, having leisurely conversation about his work as the President's pet.
He could never stand the blonde, young man. There was something about him that wanted him to use his fists, whenever he saw him.
Maybe it was his neatly kept hair or the fact that he acted as if he knew everything better. No matter how he turned it, in the end he would only see the pathetic rookie in him.
Claire ignores his comment, can't control the slight blushing of her cheeks though. "Anyway, the report he has received concerns the appearance of a new B.O.W. on the black market in South Africa."
"South Africa?", he repeats slowly and scrunches his eyebrows.
"The B.O.W. is described to be a mutated or more developed version of the Las Plagas virus. The dealing brought the virus into the hands of terrorists, who spread the virus, causing several outbreaks in small African villages. The development is surprisingly rapid and my guess that this is only the beginning."
"This sounds unnervingly similar to Raccoon City."
"That's what I'm scared of as well", Claire admits. "But that's not the only point that makes me want to tell you this. As described in Leon's report from back then it was Ada Wong, who got away with the Las Plagas sample. As far as I would say, she was on mission for someone to obtain it … and I think, you don't have to be a genius to figure out, what kind of person would be interested in a sample of such bioweapon."
"And most of all it isn't hard to figure out what kind of man Ada would work for."
They both throw a meaningful look at each other and for a moment Chris has a feeling like his whole body is going numb.
None of them wants to say the name of the man out loud who has taken Jill with him.
Chris tastes a bitterness in his mouth and a sick feeling in his stomach when thinking of this cruel non-human.
And without being able to help it he sees it once more - Jill's arms wrapped around his upper body and her weight pushing them both down the black abyss.
Has the wind always been so loud?
It tore at her clothes, it dried her eyes and it hurt in her lungs like frozen iron.
She didn't even think of the ground racing towards them at incredible speed.
Air. Air in her lungs – that's all that she focused on.
And holding on tight to the man that was falling with her.
"Chris", Claire's soft voice takes him back into reality. "This could lead us to her … to Jill! If it really is him who is behind all of this - which I highly believe, by the way - then we could finally get our revenge on this bastard. Please Chris … you have to bring this to the BSAA. They have to know. They need you."
"There's nothing I owe the BSAA", he immediately says, sharper than intended.
Claire lifts her eyebrows, unimpressed. "But?"
As usual his sister is able to tell that she has hit a soft spot.
Chris sighs. He knows that even if he wouldn't be able to stop terrorists from taking over helpless cities, there's something inside of him that wants at least get revenge on Wesker.
This voice has always been whispering to him inside his mind.
Constantly reminding him of the traitor that has destroyed his life.
"But … I owe it to her", he concludes quietly and sets his eyes on the surface of the kitchen table.
"I knew, I could count on you", she says and shows him a relieved smile.
How many times did he have to listen to his sister's begging words to return to the BSAA in the past few years?
Every time he brushed the subject off the table without even bothering about her pleads.
But now that Claire brought up such a revelation, it's different.
He can see something like hope coming up in his momentarily empty and meaningless life.
Although pessimism tries to suppress these positive emotions.
Chris has to put his hands down on his lap to prevent his sister from seeing how they suddenly shake.
The muscles in his underarm work as he squeezes them into fists.
"Under one condition", he suddenly says. "You'll stay out of this. I don't want to put you in any unnecessary danger. Wesker's only goal in life is to destroy me and everyone I love. He has already done enough damage by taking Jill away from me, I don't think, I could take it to see you disappear under his hands as well. You have no idea what this man is truly capable of."
Claire snorts derisively. "I can take care of myself. I'm not a little baby anymore."
"Please, Claire. Keep Terrasave out of this. At least for now", he urges and there's something in his gaze that completely captivates her. Something honest, deep and loving, something that completely strikes her.
Whatever it was that has happened between him and Wesker, she should acquiesce to his words.
This case is a personal burden to him.
A burden she never had to carry and therefore will never fully understand.
"Alright", she quietly gives in and grabs for his hand, gently squeezing it.
Her fingers feel small and fragile against his bigger hand and increases the protective instinct he has for his younger sister even more.
"You'll find her", she continues in a convinced tone. "I'm sure about that."
"When I'm there, I'll have nothing more to lose anyway", he answers. "I do trust your instincts, Claire. "
As their agreement is sealed Claire grabs for the croissants, she has brought with her and starts eating, while scanning Chris' outfit once more.
"I also have to make one condition though … " She says and innocently looks at him with her blue eyes. "It won't be happening in those clothes you're wearing."
Chris chuckles and blinks at her. "You do know that I can easily reach your hair by stretching my arm, sister."
Kijuju, South Africa
There's an almost unbearable heat difference of over thirty-five degrees Celsius compared to the temperatures in Antarctica and their bodies are soaked in sweat.
But that's not only coming from the hot rays of sun entering the room between half-opened thick curtains.
It's also not caused by the slightly higher humidity in this area.
There's the flapping of mosquito wings audible and the soft whispering of a tree that is standing in front of the window as the wind invisibly strokes through the oval-shaped, dark-green leaves.
It's a peaceful idyll for the little insects and birds sitting in its strong branches.
The busy insects pause their buzzing for a few seconds as one of the exotic birds suddenly flies away with an indignant shrieking sound as a female voice, emitting her pleasure at the top of her lungs and a male one answering to it with a dirty swear word, disturbs it in its resting time.
Inside the ancient African mansion are Nebraska Jones and Albert Wesker spending their free time the best way possible.
He is lying on top of her, their sweat covered bodies are slamming against each other, creating a sticky sound and Nebraska thinks, she's going to have a meltdown any second, but not for any price in the world would she want him to stop.
Her long bangs are stuck to her forehead, while she desperately tries to keep a steady breath.
It probably makes her sound like she's in dying state.
The insects in the meantime have picked up their endless, monotone song again without bothering about the lustful expressions coming out the building.
For a moment her back gets to experience the slightly less warm breeze that floats inside through the window as he scoops her up into a sitting position.
Without parting her he allows her to domineer over their little game for a while.
Letting out a satisfied sigh she leans her head towards his and lets the tip of her tongue gently run along his upper lip before taking it between her teeth for a brief moment.
Only after sharing so many passionate kisses until her lips feel swollen, she picks up the pace again.
He lets himself fall on his back, taking hold of her curvy hips.
He likes having her on top, watching her doing him whichever way she pleases.
Those loving looks she threw at him from under black lashes, how her amber hues looked like fallen meteorites.
The best part is seeing her come.
How her breath stops for a few seconds before the moment of release fully captivates her.
Those sweet moans coming out of her, how she weakly digs her nails into the skin of his chest before breaking down on top of him, her heavy breathing warming his skin.
It's one of those little details while having sex with her, he could never experience enough the past days.
As he pushes her drained body on her back to get to the finishing point himself, she has the feeling to have forgotten where North, East, West and South are.
Just any direction seems irrelevant in this delightful atmosphere.
She tightly presses her thighs against him, the waves of her orgasm still ebbing, as he slowly enters her once more.
When he comes, she softly groans in unison with him before placing one of her hands at the back of his skull to pull him down to her.
Their mouths are locked in a deep kiss until she believes to suffocate and only inhaling through her nose can save her.
She doesn't know why, but since they have arrived here six days ago, Wesker can't get enough of her.
Every single day he does her at least two times in the most creative ways possible.
One time even on an elevator ride down.
His mood could only be described as strangely thrilled and rather energetic.
Although she is trying to be happy about him making her wildest fantasies come true, there's still the fire of jealousy burning inside of her.
Since their first night here she can undeniably smell her on him. Jill's scent.
The first time she detected it was when she felt his familiar weight drop down on the mattress next to her at three in the morning.
Almost hesitantly he embraced her hip with his underarm and the palm of his hand rested on her belly.
Normally she would have grabbed for his hand to hold it, to wish him welcome.
But this night her hands rested next to her face on the pillow.
But never has she dared him to ask, where he was until this ungodly hour of the night.
Nor will she question him about the exact purpose of bringing this woman with them to Africa.
If she likes it or not, Jill Valentine is now a part of Wesker's life. And inevitably hers.
Despite all those demeaning emotions inside of her, she will never pass the chance to sleep with him.
It isn't an act of love to her, but almost one of necessity.
She hopes that by offering him her body he will be reminded of who he truly belongs to.
He has told her, he wants her and she has bowed to his demand to be his partner in crime, maybe even sacrificed a little part of her heart to him.
That's a point, she doesn't want to think of too much though.
They have shared a lot of intimacy since that fateful night on top of the roof and still doesn't she know who that person is, she is having so close to her.
Often has she laid awake the past nights, her frontside leaned against his back and while her fingers followed the trail of muscles, one thought would occur in her mind.
'Who is in there?'
On one hand she wishes to finally understand what is going on inside his mind, what emotions for her he is suppressing behind that cold façade - but on the other hand she's scared.
Scared of him hurting her and breaking her heart, if he unleashed the true darkness that is lurking inside of him.
"Oh god, that was …", she says in post-orgasmic breathlessness and shuts her eyes.
"Too hot?", Wesker suggests smirking.
With a single finger he wipes off a drop of sweat that has appeared between her breasts and then leans in to spread several kisses over the sensitive skin of her neck.
"Shower. Now."
His tone commanding as ever, makes her sigh exhausted.
"Can't we lie a bit?", she unsuccessfully tries to counter, still having trouble to control her breath.
"No", he says untouched. "I have important tasks that require my attendance this afternoon. I've told you it's not going to be my main priority to pleasure myself in bed with you while here. Still you shouldn't be complaining, I just took over one and a half hours of my precious time to share some privacy with you in here."
"Not enough", she replies quietly, eyes still closed.
"You're unbelievable", he mutters, ignoring her protesting squeak he takes her in his arms to carry her inside the bathroom.
They step into the shower enclosed with a floor-to-ceiling glass wall on one side and a marble wall on the other. She exhales in purest satisfaction and relief as the soothing and especially welcoming water pours down onto them, cooling their spirits.
His hands are tracing over her body, spreading shower gel on it that smells just as wild and exotic as this place right here.
She closes her eyes in enjoyment of the scent and wishes, he would take her again. Right on the spot.
"Why do you always have to leave after …?", she asks, starting the same procedure on his strong chest with her hands, just to slowly let them glide over the straight muscles of his abdomen.
"And do you know that I'd rather see you topless all day?", she sighs dreamily.
"You know the reasons why, there's no need for me to spell them out loud for you. Also …"
Nebraska interrupts massaging his perfectly chiseled body as he suddenly grabs for her butt, giving it a squeeze. She inhales lustfully, momentarily loosing concentration of their dialogue.
"You're also obliged to an assignment this afternoon."
"An assignment?" Immediately her focus is back.
"Your training in hand-to-hand combat is starting."
She realizes that she has completely forgotten about Wesker pounding into her head how powerful she could become, if he trained her. But if he is attending other things …
"Well … I assume since it isn't you, who is training me, then who is?"
"Jill Valentine."
His answer includes the two words that she doesn't like coming from his lips - besides Excella Gionne's name of course.
For a moment it's quiet between them, nothing but the soft falling of the water on the porcelain floor audible.
"Oh …", she simply manages to say.
"Nebraska, her abilities are more than impressive, trust me", he adds and lets his hands wander over the curve of her back, letting it rest in the small hollow above her behind.
"Okay", she gives in, enjoying the expertise of his manual work. "Do I have to wear this ridiculous Catwoman suit again?"
"It's not ridiculous", he purrs and gropes for her behind once more. "That's one of the reasons I like seeing you in it."
"Ah yes, is it now?", she answers huskily and lays her arms around his neck. "Tell me the others."
A wicked smile on his lips he leans down to place a brief kiss on the side of her mouth, while his hands take hold of her breasts.
She can't hold in a little gasp, as she notices that his trained abs aren't the only hard thing pressed against her stomach.
"Those two … and …"
The tingling sensation of his hands following the gentle curve of her ribcage down to her hips causes the blood between her legs to boil again.
"All of you to be honest."
"I guess … I'll get dressed then", she concludes and frees herself from his embrace, before she would want him so much that nothing else would find place inside her mind in the afternoon.
But this is not in Wesker's taste. He holds her back and starts spreading lustful kisses over her neck.
"What about you babbling about your precious time before?", she teases, while he picks her up and presses her back against the cool marble wall behind her.
"I guess, I can spare a few more minutes", he answers, before letting her slowly sink down, moving him inside of her at an unbearably agonizing pace.
The soothing sound of the water only gets interrupted by their satisfied sighs and their mouths whispering each other's names into the steaming air.
They are standing on top of the ancient mansion.
The sky, only a few minutes ago blue and flawless, is now grey clouded, pouring its rain down on the heated Earth.
It's a welcome mood of the weather though and she wishes, she could undress herself to feel it right on her skin.
Jill unfortunately isn't expecting that of her right now.
The wetness whips against Nebraska's body and face, soaking the heavy fabric of the cloak that Jill has insisted on her to wear.
A black long thing with a slit starting at the height of her navel down to her ankles.
She wants her to get used to the combat gear, she's supposed to be wearing when on mission for Wesker.
But that's not everything.
With clammy fingers did she have to take hold of an iron mask, shaped like the head of a wolf without a lower jaw.
Its snout is sharp and pointy, its eyes evil and filled in with red lenses.
The mask only covers half of the head and therefore reveals the carriers lips, chin and part of the jawline.
Jill explained that their 'master' doesn't want them to be recognized by anyone, when working on the field.
Nebraska had to stifle a laugh as she heard Jill describing Wesker as their 'master'.
At least she belongs to no-one.
But the look on Jill's face was dead serious. Even scary.
Whatever this drug is that Wesker keeps injecting her with, she doesn't want a taste of it.
"Are you ready?" Jill's voice.
She is standing opposite of her at a fair distance.
The drops drumming on Nebraska's wolf-shaped and on Jill's Venetian bird tin masks are loud and no ordinary human would have been able to hear the affirmative words escaping Nebraska's mouth.
Jill has introduced her to a few self-defense movements, such as some simple kicks and fist combos and she expects her to make use of them.
Nebraska's quick eye-sight might be able to follow Jill's inhumanly fast movements, but how to correctly make use of melee unfortunately doesn't run in her blood.
For some reason Nebraska's energy level is annoyingly low and her limbs aren't working as powerful as she wishes they would.
Inwardly she blames Wesker for having taken her again under the shower.
It's been two hours since their training has started and for the felt one hundredth time Jill throws her to the ground with a graceful jump in the air before sending the heel of her boot crashing into the muscles of her stomach.
Nebraska, miles away from possessing Jill's agility, groans in pain and momentarily believes she has to vomit as she gets tackled on the hard stone surface.
Jill, now astride of her, takes a powerful grip of her wrists and feels the veins wildly pulsating in them, the virus boiling inside her blood with a captivating madness.
"You need to control your anger, Nebraska", she advises unmoved, water dropping from her mask onto Nebraska's. "It's a clear and controlled mind that wins a fight and not blind fury."
The summer rain ever so softly falls on their bodies, one defeated, the other domineering.
Jill lets go off her wrists and her before so rough hands reach for Nebraska's face to shove the hood off her head and undo the straps of the mask to reveal her stunned face.
Nebraska blinks as the soothing raindrops start covering her face.
Jill follows her example and frees herself from the iron prison as well.
For a moment Nebraska almost loses herself in her facial features, asking herself who the real woman trapped inside this body is.
If she used to be loving, gentle, less harsh than now.
She can even detect something that could almost be described as pity - at least Jill and her are kind of in the same situation.
Infected against their will, trained to fulfill only one purpose.
But then her eyes wander to the spot, where the red scarab device is located and it reminds her that every trace of her old self is erased out of Jill Valentine's body.
'What does he do to you during the nights?' she thinks, almost disgusted. 'What does he make you do for him?'
"Our master …" Jill suddenly says, dragging her out of her thoughts. "He has told me something about you. About a special kinetic power that you seem to be possessing. Why didn't you make use of it, when fighting against me?"
"I don't know, how it works, okay?", she admits ashamed. "The only time it happened was when …"
Bitterly she thinks back to Excella's provocative words back in Wesker's quarters.
"When I was very, very offended", she finishes her sentence, only muttering the words and then softly groans. "Would you care to get off me now?"
"Oh …" Jill chuckles and as she gets up, she offers Nebraska a hand.
Thankfully she grabs for it.
Her body feels beaten and bruised, but she tries to show no sign of it as she slowly prepares for her descent off the roof.
But Jill's voice holds her back.
"To be honest, I don't see the point of him hiring you for any field work. You're not in control of your body or any of your abilities … it's going to be a lot of work to even call you descent" Jill's cold, blue eyes transfix her, almost apologizing. "No offense."
Nebraska shows her a weak smile, with which she tries to hide the fact that Jill just hit a soft spot.
Reading between the lines, she's sure to hear nothing in Jill's words but the suggestion to stay Wesker's bed companion.
According to everyone around here, that's all she seems to be useful for anyway.
"None taken", she quietly answers in return. "I'm heading back inside. Go back to your room, Jill."
As she steps down the stairs inside, her amber eyes are glowing with anger and unnoticeable to her a small part of a window on the left-handed wall quietly cracks like an egg.
The virus' little aftertaste.
Still fuming about the way Jill dared to talk to her, Nebraska bumps into Wesker in the corridor.
He can immediately tell by the look on her face that something is wrong, but right now he doesn't bother too much about the little problems that constantly seem to be nagging on her mind.
"Excellent, you're done as I can tell. I was just on my way to get you. Come with me."
"Oh yes, and how we are done", she hisses.
"What happened?", he asks unimpressed. "Did she hurt you?"
"No, it's just …" Thinking of Jill's words and combining it with his insatiable lust for her the past few days, she stays on the same spot, not moving at all.
"I'm not in for a quickie, Wesker", she sulks annoyed.
"It's not always about sex", he huffs in the same peeved tone. "Come with me or I'll make you. I have no problem with that either."
The virus, now fully in possession of her, makes her notice the seductive smell of Wesker's body and her eyes clearly see his perfect muscles flexing under the tight black shirt he's wearing, as she follows behind him.
It's hard to force the virus back, when she's in a mood like that and it's becoming an impossibility as she can see, who Wesker has brought her to.
Sitting on a chair, legs crossed and dressed in a tight, white dress sits Excella Gionne.
Derisively smiling at her, she gets up, the hem of her garment sliding up to reveal her bare thighs.
"Welcome to Africa", she says in fake niceness, while depreciatively glancing over Nebraska's current appearance, whose cheeks are covered in dirt, her hair damp and stuck to her skull, the cloak ripped at one place. "It's a pleasure seeing you again."
"What's the matter?", she straightly asks, not bothering about greeting the Italian woman.
Wesker closes the door behind them.
"We need you in order to prepare the first samples of Uroboros."
Nebraska lifts her eyebrows.
„You seriously named the virus Uroboros? What kind of a stupid name is that?"
"One that will echo over the world", he answers unimpressed and is pleased to see how Nebraska's derisive smile disappears. „You were the one, who has created the important base for it and therefore I would like you to assist Excella in making the necessary preparations. Tomorrow I'll send Jill to the closest village."
"And what is she supposed to do there with it?", Nebraska asks confused. "Sell it? "
Excella purrs a laugh. „No, sweetheart. It will be spread. Globally."
The black cloaked woman is unwillingly following the curvy silhouette of the brunette.
The latter is carrying a metallic suitcase, secured with several locks.
There's a chemical smell escaping the almost invisible crack along it.
Excella's human nose doesn't take any note of that, but Nebraska with her sharpened senses can detect it.
Her virus reacts to it like a wild ocean to a storm.
It unnerves her, when it's in a state like that and she tries hard to keep it as tamed as possible.
After a minute they reach a laboratory.
Excella carefully places the suitcase on a table in the center of it.
"Let me do this", Nebraska says after she has freed herself from the heavy cloak and carelessly threw it in the corner, where it neatly lands on a chair.
The brunette unlocks the suitcase and grabs for a syringe.
"You wish", she replies in her Italian accent. "Just because you little whore spread your legs for Wesker doesn't mean you're anything special, comprendre?"
The sudden urge to rip Excella's throat out is making the palms of her hands tingle, but she knows that she has to behave.
At least this little bitch is of some value to Wesker. He has made it clear enough before.
That little scene still causes her to bristle.
Just as Nebraska was about to follow Excella, Wesker shut the door right in front of her face and pushed her cloaked frame against it.
Ice-cold and demanding as always he asked her to behave in Excella's presence.
If she wanted it or not, she had to give in to his demand.
"Fine." Her jaw works in anger and her fingers curl themselves into a fist. "But don't fuck it up."
To her despise Excella isn't done yet.
"You know that you're nothing but a plaything to Albert, don't you?", she says with a pitiful tone and carefully fills the first syringe with the dark fluid.
Nebraska raises her eyebrows as she distastefully notices Excella using Wesker's first name.
She has never done it nor will she ever address him the same way.
Calling him by his last name has become a habit and since she still has hateful feelings against him from time to time, she has to admit that she probably couldn't bring up the decency to call him 'Albert'.
Not even if she pays attention to the fact that they have slept with each other.
"He even dresses you the way he pleases", Excella continues and throws a depreciatory glance down Nebraska's black, tight battle suit.
"At least my wardrobe doesn't look like it would belong to a cheap stripper …", Nebraska gives back and crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Unlike yours."
"We're feisty, aren't we? Enjoy it as long as you can", Excella says mocking. "As soon as Wesker and I share the same power, he will throw you to the garbage, where you belong to."
There's heat rushing into Nebraska's cheeks and the familiar head ache taking over her skull as the virus tries to send that strange energy through her body and for a moment she has to focus hard to not let it happen.
If she destroys the inventory Wesker would beat her bloody for sure.
And there's enough glass to be broken in this room.
What she allows herself to do though, is dig her fingers into Excella's always so ridiculously neat bun to rudely yank her head backwards.
"Listen, you little attention-seeking skank, I do not respond well to carelessly expressed insults", she growls into her ear, her amber eyes intensely glowing. "Forgotten about the incident in America? Don't underestimate what I'm capable of."
To her surprise Excella expresses a hearty laugh, before sending a powerful kick backwards.
The heel of her white shoe crashes right against the muscle of Nebraska's upper thigh, which causes her to stumble a few steps backwards.
"Don't underestimate what I'm capable of either", she purrs in return.
Excella doesn't know that with that single assault, she has unleashed the beast inside of Nebraska.
With her clear eye sight, her hues rapidly changing from a brownish color to bright amber, she registers Excella, seeing the nervously pumping artery on the side of her neck - in her mind she already measures the distance she would have to jump to land right next to her and rip it open with her bare teeth, tearing through flesh and sinews.
But somehow she manages to decrease the incredible wildfire burning inside of her - for him.
Through the fog of madness it was his voice, she has heard.
She briefly closes her eyes and inhales, realizing that he's the only thing that keeps her sane.
He's like gravity that prevents her from joining the other side, where the true monsters are residing.
"You know, Excella", she says, listening to her own voice like it would belong to a stranger, her virus still growling inside of her like a hellhound. "Without me developing what you have just put into syringes, you would still be at stage zero with your damn project Uroboros."
As she opens her eyes, Excella is surprised to see that the brightness has fainted and showing her a cold smile, Nebraska takes a few steps towards Excella's provocative figure.
"I'm more than just a whore, who spreads her legs, dear. I'm probably smarter than all of you put together. Although, I have to admit ... having Wesker inside of me is quite the pleasure as well."
With a gaze that is soaked with fake pity and cold, bland hate she keeps on staring at Excella's made-up face.
"I get to fuck him, while you probably stand in front of your oversized wardrobe, trying to figure out, which dress he would like to see you in the most. I get to lay in his arms and kiss him, while you stand in front of your make-up box, pondering which color of lipstick would make him want to do the same with you. Face it, Excella. You're the one, who is going to land in the garbage."
Restlessly her fingers are drumming against the railing of the stone balcony she's standing upon.
The stone surface is heated up from the merciless African sun beating down on it.
The rain has yielded and the cloudless sky is slowly turning lilac with the setting afternoon sun.
The green roof of the forest below is still impregnating the air with the damp smell of summer rain.
But she doesn't bother about the warmth that is almost burning the palm of her hands, there's something inside of her that's much hotter than everything around here. Anger.
The view from up here is beautiful.
The ancient mansion is built on top of a tree covered hill high above the coast of South Africa.
She tries to regain her inner balance by staring down to the endless surface of the Southern Ocean.
At the moment it's looking smooth and dark blue as the afternoon tends to be windless.
There are several black and white dots circling in the sky above it. Birds.
But not even the beauty of nature is able to distract her.
All she can do is recall all the nasty words that Excella and her have thrown against each other's heads this afternoon.
Anxiously awaiting Wesker's return, she paces along all of the railings length, the hem of the long, pale blue silk dress she's wearing, quietly moving in the wind like little waves and her hair dancing like the furious flame that is burning within her.
She knows, that Excella went and told him about the attack.
She's the kind of woman, who would do anything to bring her in trouble and most of all sabotage her relationship with him.
It's easy to tell that all Excella wishes for is to get him out of his clothes and take him into her bed.
That thought causes her grind her teeth and dig her nails into the hard stone.
She murmurs a curse word and quickly turns around as she can hear the familiar sound of Wesker's boots stepping out on the balcony behind her.
As expected he looks at her coolly and she wonders, how much suppressed anger there is in those eyes behind the sunglasses.
She swallows as he closes the distance between them and her breath hitches as he grabs for her upper arms.
„There's one thing I asked from you", he growls deeply and ungently squeezes her flesh. „What was it?" As she doesn't react, he briefly shakes her. "Are you listening? What have I said?"
"Behave in Excella's presence", she murmurs and then quietly whimpers. "You're hurting me, Wesker."
Her hair falls in front of her face as she turns it away to hide the ashamed expression on it.
"Behave in Excella's presence", Wesker repeats with hard to control ire, but nonetheless his grip isn't as harsh anymore. "Don't you fucking see it, woman? Without her and her company the project won't ever get the chance to be realized. So, leave your dirty language behind or I swear, I'll rip your tongue out with my teeth. You can be glad I could fix things with her this time."
"Fix things with her? How?" Nebraska narrows her eyes at him and doesn't even bother about suppressing the furiousness boiling up inside of her. "I swear, if you slept with this bitch I'll do the same and even more gruesome things to you."
She fumes as Wesker dares to shortly laugh at that. "Tame the green-eyed devil, Nebraska, it's getting on my nerves", he answers calmly, but as his eyes briefly illuminate, she can tell how upset he really is. "I don't want you jeopardizing everything I have built up until now just because you bitches don't get along with each other!"
"Fuck you, Wesker!", she spits and pushes her knee in his leg.
Surprised he lets her go and watches dumbfounded as she tries to rush off the balcony back inside.
She doesn't get far though - this is Wesker she has to deal with right here.
And he won't let her leave until he's done.
Quickly he wraps one of his muscular arms around her waist and pulls her back, pressing her against his chest.
As she tries to kick him once more, he lifts her into the air.
Unimpressed he pushes her backside against his frontside and lets her struggle for a while until she finally gives in.
Her body is becoming feeble and as a result the pressure of his underarm against her belly loosens.
"We have understood each other, haven't we?", he simply growls into her ear.
"Let me go, Wesker", she shouts humiliated. "I'm fed up with this bullshit!"
"What bullshit?", he asks, placing his fingers on her cheek so he can force her head in his direction.
"You! And all those other women! Jill … Excella ... I don't have the strength inside of me to keep up with all of them and most of all there's no energy left inside me to smile, while they do nothing but insult me and laugh about me behind my back. Why don't you just rub it in too, Wesker? I'm worth nothing more but to be the little slut that you like to fuck!"
A deep inhale that could almost be described as a sob, shivers through Nebraska's chest and she shoves his arm away from under her breasts to rush over to the railing once more.
Focusing on not bursting out in tears she grabs the stone surface of it, using it as a beam of support.
Wesker, who heard the wounded pride in her voice, exhales, almost tired, as he is more than fed up with this subject. Jealousy.
Taking off his sunglasses he joins her side.
She can feel his burning gaze on her skin and almost intimidated she lowers her gaze to the floor.
Wesker notices the slight lilac color of her lids in the fading light of the afternoon, showing how exhausted she is, showing how less sleep she is getting since they are here.
This is when it strikes him, the realization how much of a fight it is for her to feel so strong for someone that you would kill for them.
"Stop describing what there is between us with such degrading words. You do know that you mean a lot more to me than just that", he suddenly says calmly. "If you think there are so many women, I pay attention to then why is it that you are the one, who I sleep in bed and wake up with every morning? "
There's no need to answer this question. A soft look on her face she returns her gaze to meet his crimson one.
There's a question in his eyes, like he is trying to read the emotions hiding behind her amber hues.
But all he can see now are tears shimmering on their golden surface.
"It won't happen again", she says quietly and wipes over her eyes with the back of her hands as the unwanted tears threaten to blur her vision. "I'll apologize to her."
"No, that won't be a necessity. But I take you by your word that it won't happen again. And now stop that damn crying. It's not usual for you to show weakness."
A slight smile plays on her lips as she notices the almost humorous tone in his voice.
Accepting his embrace, she lets him hold her close to his body and shuts her eyes pleasurably as he places a gentle kiss on top of her head.
This one gesture seals that he cares about more than just the bodily union they share.
The virus fills her insides with unexpected warmth and most of all unexpected love.
It holds her heart in a tight grip and hurts so much that she has to swallow.
Once more she has forgiven him.
"Why don't you lie down for a bit?", he suggests. "The lack of sleep you are getting is more than visible on your face and it worries me. It is no good for your body. Go now, I'll be with you as soon as I can."
"Don't take too long", she says and then walks towards the mansion's bedroom. "And Wesker … don't forget that I'm not like Jill or Excella. I can't always be the creature, you wish me to be."