CHAPTER 12 – Tragedy and Duty
I'll die a tragedy, you'll live in fame
Here comes the last masquerade
Is this what you want from me?
To hear me scream?
Because in this desperate night
We are all wearing costume.
Drop Dead Gorgeous
She softly laughs, like a bell, locking her legs even tighter around him.
And he's above her, inside of her, trying to control himself.
Muscles tense with effort. Slow movements.
Because he wants this to last.
Wants this to last, because terrible duty is waiting for them.
Behind locked doors.
Her scent carries sex, desire, want, anxiety, purest pain.
He is so close to coming. And so is she.
So very close. But he won't allow it.
This is the last moment of normality before terrible duty.
To her distaste she can't bear him any longer. Her broken shoulder.
Ruining their final minutes of intimacy.
Even lying on a soft mattress. And blankets.
He wants her to be comfortable. He has tried his best.
But nothing can ease her agony.
No matter how deep he is taking her in hope for distraction.
The whole reason for her suffering deserves to die under the force of terrible duty.
He still doesn't know, what this woman is to him. Jill Valentine.
He has seen her at her best. He has seen her at her worst.
He knows every inch of her body.
Every flaw, every curve, every perfection.
He knows her voice and what sounds she is capable of.
When she is hurt, when she is happy, when she is angry.
The way her breath stops, when she is getting close to her release.
The way she said his name, when he made her come.
He knows that the way she touches him … like he is fragile. Like he is human.
No one touches him that way. No one but Jill Valentine.
I love you, she says into his lips, I love you.
And still. Still he doesn't know what she is to him.
But he's certain of one thing. He will revenge her.
Terrible duty. Very soon.
Genova, Italy / August 2002
Excella Gionne stood in front of the bathroom mirror.
She stared at that face behind all those layers of make-up.
Those blue eyes under long black lashes.
Those cheekbones under pink blush.
Those lips under berry lipstick.
She liked what she saw, but then at the same time she didn't.
It was a mask she was wearing. An invitation to men.
Excella grew up with rich parents. Insanely rich parents.
And she was never short of anything that she needed. Or wanted.
Yes, Excella Gionne was a woman, who always got what she wanted.
And that American man, sitting out there at her dinner table, in her house, proposing to her that he needed support with 'pharmaceutical' research. He was one of those things she wanted.
But she didn't trust him. Nor his persistent words.
The way he talked was smooth and chosen. Intelligent. Dangerous.
He wasn't from this world. Couldn't be from this world.
Dressed in black. Eyes hidden behind black shades. Built like a god.
She had never seen any human like that.
It was intriguing. Thrilling. Deceiving.
Men like him meant trouble.
All those thoughts went through her mind, while she stared at herself in the mirror.
What would her parents say, if they saw her at this very moment?
Would they be very disappointed, if she decided to take the company down an unknown path?
It was always important to her father to stay honest and clean.
He was a good man. And so was her mother.
They both didn't deserve to die in that car accident in France one year ago.
Nor did her fiancée Francesco.
She remained the only survivor of this tragedy.
Excella sighed. A pinch in her heart at the memory. Many tears have been spilled already.
Too many tears. She was sick of them.
She promised to her father's grave to do everything that is necessary to valuate what he started.
But she was a different woman one year ago.
Months of grieving changed her. Months of grieving made her harsher. More serious. More vulnerable.
But she wouldn't let it show. Not at any price.
She straightened herself, adjusting the tight black dress around her inviting curves.
Because women like her wear masks like it was the most normal thing.
With swaying hips she made her rentrée.
"Scusa to have kept you waiting, Mister Wesker", she purred with a strong Italian accent.
He briefly got up to let her take her seat.
Manners like in the Fifties, she thought amused.
She wondered, if he also fucked that way. Dominating. Old-fashioned.
Well, she would find out. Sooner or later. Hopefully tonight.
Never taking her blue eyes off him, she took a pleasurable sip of red wine.
Fontodi from the Tuscany.
Wesker hadn't touched the food her waiters brought him. Nor the wine.
She didn't know, if she should take it as an insult or not.
"So … I have been thinking", she said then. Bringing the glass to her lips once more.
To keep him waiting. She liked to let men wait.
"You intrigue me, Miss Gionne", Wesker smirked. "I'd very much like to hear your thoughts."
Excella crossed her legs. Purposely showing her bare thigh.
"I think, we could get to an arrangement", she said. "I'd like you to prepare a contract. No business happens inside my company without a written piece of paper."
"Consider it done, Miss Gionne."
"Very well. I'd like it on my desk until next week. The latest."
"I can describe myself as a lucky man to have you on board, Miss Gionne. A woman, who is not only beautiful, but also intelligent in making the right decisions."
Women like her were weak for any kind of flattery.
"Honored to make business with you, Mister Wesker. I hope, you'll stay true to your promises."
And women like her were weak for sex.
"How about we seal this deal?", he suggested, getting up from his chair to lay his hands on her exposed shoulders. All night she had been staring at him already. In this special needy way.
Flattery and sex. Unaware to her men like Albert Wesker knew this way too well.
Which buttons to press. Which words to put into her ear.
It was wonderful hearing how her breath just stopped.
A smug smile on his face he followed her into her bedroom.
To play a little game with her.
A game that started in a warm summer night in August 2002.
Yes, Excella Gionne was a woman, who always got what she wanted.
But she never saw danger. She never saw fail. She never saw rejection.
Because she didn't know that men like Albert Wesker were the true inventors of these games.
And he never lost.
"I have never slept with Chris back in STARS. Never."
They are lying together in bed. Still. Close to one another.
"Are you serious?" He almost can't believe her words.
She sighs. "Yes, Wesker. I am serious … I just couldn't, okay?"
"And what were the reasons you couldn't do it?"
He is truly curious.
"It's not like he hasn't tried it … but it was mainly in the way he kissed me. I always thought of you."
"Of me?"
"I thought of our first kiss. And how every other kiss I have received since then was nothing but a mere shadow in comparison to it." Jill smiles. "Even now … it burned itself into my mind like nothing else."
Thoughtfully he lets his finger wander over her wound. Gently.
P30 has increased its healing process.
Now a thin layer of scarred skin is covering it already.
But underneath her flesh is still tender. Her bones still fragile. Her skin still bruised.
Wesker doesn't even know, why he's laying there with her.
Listening to her sappy words.
Each syllable she spells out, makes her more and more vulnerable to him.
He wishes, she would stop talking. But then at the same time he doesn't.
Because no-one has ever talked to him that way.
No one but Jill Valentine.
Everything she did to him, everything she did with him was unique.
"I'm aware that you can't say the same things about me in return … because of Nebraska. She was the only one worthy of being next to you. Your queen. The only one, you loved … ain't I right?"
"I don't want to talk about her", he brushes her question off. "Not now."
"But you have told her that you love her, didn't you?"
"Jill", he says warning. She shouldn't overstep the line.
"Even queens fall of their throne, Wesker. Even queens get what they deserve. But that doesn't mean that you weren't in love with her before."
"I don't know what it was between Nebraska and me, Jill."
"Are you ever sure about anything, Wesker?", she sighs. "Usually you're such a smartass. Never shy of throwing your words of wisdom into anything I say."
"Well, my two cents … I bet, you're very hungry, aren't you?"
"Don't change the subject."
But she has to admit that she is in fact hungry.
And there is only one kind of appetite Wesker can still anyway.
"I change the subject, because there is nothing I have to say to you."
"You're like a diary no one is allowed to peek in, do you know that?"
A smile plays on his lips. "I'll get you something. At least you can't ask questions, when your mouth is full."
She considers making an obvious sexual joke, but then leaves it be.
Wesker wouldn't get it anyway.
His lack of humor has always been a thing about him that she pitied him for.
When she tries to get up, he pushes her down again. Gently, because of her shoulder.
"Stay. You will only do as much as necessary today. That also includes moving around."
She sighs. Defeated, because she admits that her shoulder does hurt very much.
"As long as you don't tie me to bed … fine."
"If you behave, I won't have to make such arrangements", he says, placing a kiss on her collarbone.
"You're mean", she replies, smiling. "So very mean."
Excella had a lot of playthings.
A whole collection of toys. Expensive lingerie made of lace. Masquerade.
Her hair was undone. Falling down in waves over her curvy back.
Permeating the air with its thick seductive scent.
A black feather mask covering half of her face. Her seductive red lips slightly parted below it.
To her, games had to be played the right way.
Her manicured nails scratched along the frame of her bed.
And he fucked her from behind. Because she wanted it that way.
She was loud. The louder she was the harder he took her.
She liked the way he groped her waist and breasts with his raw hands.
She liked how he sometimes grabbed her hair and thrust her against his firm upper body.
Whispering dirty stuff into her ear. Asking her if she wanted more.
She wanted more. She always wanted more.
He was strong, dominating, brute.
She liked everything about him.
This was the first time she experienced wild, animalistic sex.
Only driven by urges. No one had ever done this with her before.
And she liked it way more than she was supposed to.
That night Excella fully dedicated herself to join the dark side.
"Before I go, there is something I'd like to ask you, Jill. Why are you staying with me, although you know that I can't return your feelings?"
"Because I'm patient."
"And what makes you think, you'll get to hear it one day?"
"Because you might figure out one day, what these feelings you have for me are."
Now his fingertips wander along her spine, up to her neck and down again to the small of her back.
He likes the look of comfort she gets on her face, whenever he does that.
Like a cat on a hot tin roof.
"What do you feel, when you sleep with me?", she asks, drowsily under his touch.
He sighs. "I can't talk the way you do, Valentine … it's not my way. I'd only have to say dirty stuff about it … but I assume that's not what you're expecting to hear."
"No, that's not what I'm asking for", she laughs. "But it was worth a try."
For a little while she eyes him. "Don't you want to know, what it feels like for me? Sleeping with you?"
"Rather not", he admits. "But get rid of it, if you have to."
"I've escaped the jaw of Death twice already, Wesker. It's my obligation to get rid of my thoughts. Imagine that I would be gone and you wouldn't know what you have done to me."
It is supposed to be a little joke, but still they both remain silent. Without a smile.
"Each night I await for you to come to me. It's all on my mind. Your steps down the hall. You lying down next to me. And when you take me it feels like I am at the place I want to be. Each time is different, each time is wonderful on its own way. You're always bringing more emotion into this than you might think. Even more than me. It's like you can finally let go."
Wesker admires how Jill can talk so openly. Sometimes he wishes, he could do it too.
"But those times you had me in Africa … they were something I can't explain. Most of the time you hurt me. It was torture."
"I'm sorry", he says honestly.
"It was the same for you, wasn't it? Torture …"
He exhales. Losing a little bit of his patience with her.
"We have talked about this already. I don't know, what it was."
"Why have you saved my life anyway, Wesker? What were your reasons back then if not love?"
"It wasn't out of love. I acted the way I thought was right at this moment. It was nothing but following my instincts. But never forget that I often wanted to kill you too in Africa … some nights I felt like … you don't even want to know."
"But just because you couldn't deal with what I caused inside of you …", she says hurt. "Why do you always let cruelty overtake you? Try to see the other side too."
"I haven't let it overtake me, have I? I let you live …"
"But to what price? Look around you … it's all gone. Everything. I'm the only thing you have left. Like you always knew I'd be the last person, who stays by your side."
She turns herself on her back, staring at the ceiling. "I knew that you wanted to kill me. I felt it in the way you took me. But still I was aware that you could have never forgiven yourself … because you and I go deep. Much deeper than we would have ever thought."
He places his flat hand on her stomach, letting it glide to the swell of her hips.
She has gained a little bit of weight since they have arrived here.
She was too thin anyway, because of all the medicaments the doctors have given her.
So he is glad about that change. He likes her curves.
"Jill Valentine …", he says thoughtfully. "What have you done to me?"
He got to take a whole variety of different women into his bed, since the night that Jill Valentine decided to throw him out of her own and invite in Chris Redfield and god knows what other male beings into it instead.
And still he landed back in her arms. After so many years.
He pondered more and more about the meaning of this.
If this is one of those 'signs' that humans like to mention so much, when something special happens in their life.
She is special to him. That's as much as he can admit.
"I spun a web for you", she answers and leans in to kiss him. "Now where is my food?"
Her perfectly plucked eyebrows were furrowed in concentration.
A Caran d'Ache pen in her right hand. Ready to sign. But something put her off.
It was a feeling in her gut. Her father's voice in her head.
'Don't trust him, ma bella. You do know that he'll drag our name into dirt. Trust your instincts. You have always trusted them until now. Do you really believe that he is, who he is claiming to be? We both know that there's much more behind him. Much more betrayal.'
Wesker noticed her hesitation. Inwardly it angered him, but he remained calm on the outside.
Time for a new method.
He shoved something over to her. Across the polished mahogany table.
A black satin box. The word 'Tiffany's' embroidered in silver .
"Open it", he said.
'Bribe? You are really letting yourself be bribed?'
But what came to light, made her forget every warning voice in her head.
A diamond necklace. At least one million dollars worth.
"Made of two-hundred single stones", he remarked, while stepping behind her.
It closed itself around her neck. Like a trap ready to choke her.
But also like a revelation. It marked her as his.
"Sign it", he said against her neck. "And find out what's in store for you. You know you want to."
Excella swallowed. His fingertips were resting right above her full breasts.
"But this is not what we have been talking about at dinner", she dared to throw in. "This contract suggests something completely different … I even go as far as to say that it scratches the surface of bioterrorism."
He only chuckled. "Isn't that a thick and overused word these days? Terrorism."
The air suddenly seemed cold. Goosebumps on her bare skin.
He intimidated her. Even without a direct threat.
The threat lay unspoken around her neck. Cold little stones.
"How about improving the world? That sounds better, doesn't it? Selecting the chaff from the wheat."
Suddenly she was sure that he would walk over dead bodies to get to his goal.
Even over her dead body.
This man has killed. She felt it in his hands.
The sound of a scratching pen on paper. Her signature in curvy, elegant letters.
"What a good girl you are … now show me how bad you can be."
His mouth wandered over her shoulder. His hands yanked the dress off her body.
He took everything off her. Everything but the necklace.
And fucked her right on the table.
Next to the contract that meant staining her company's philosophy and her father's name with dirt.
She didn't enjoy it.
Not at all.
As promised he brings Jill something to eat.
"Hey, where are you going?", she asks, taking a sip of soup.
"To the lab. I'll be with you soon."
Jill scrunches her brows. "But not to-?"
"See Nebraska? No, Jill. Not yet."
It is the first time they have mentioned her name after Jill got shot.
She was on both of their minds. Constantly.
But no one ever dared to bring her name over their lips.
"Have you already figured out what to do about her?", she asks.
Suddenly her hunger is gone and a sick feeling has taken over her stomach instead.
Wesker stands there, under the doorframe, indecision visible on his features.
It's a rarity seeing such an expression on his face.
He's usually determined and clearly focused on his goals and what he wants.
But Nebraska manages to even let his strong façade crumble.
"I don't know, Jill. Certainly she is of no use anymore. She is dangerous, highly volatile, mentally ill. She is not, who she used to be …"
"And you still love her", Jill concludes quietly, a sting in her heart.
She gets out of bed, putting her robe on.
"I'm going for a shower."
Wesker wants to take her into his arms, tell her that she is wrong.
But he finds that he can't. Because Jill is right. Her sharp senses beat his own.
For him it has always been easy to decide over another person's fate.
Without regret, without mercy he would kill.
And for the first time in his life an equal has crossed his path.
His true queen. The only one, who is worthy of being next to him.
Both are sharing the same blood. How could he kill such a high creation?
No one ever gave him the need for revenge.
No one but Jill Valentine.
She often cried at night. Silently.
Everybody thought she was strong. Everybody thought she could deal with this situation.
But she couldn't.
She played the role that he expected of her.
They were always wearing masks. Always.
Even at night, when he slept with her.
They were never their true selves. Each of them betraying in their own way.
Sometimes she missed the woman she used to be a year ago.
In love. Gentle. Happy about being married to a wonderful man soon.
Francesco Gallo.
She already counted in her head how many children they should have.
How she should name them. Which house they would buy.
She even had a dress already. A strapless dream made of lace and silk.
A dress that waited to be worn on the happiest day of her life.
But it never came. Because the universe had different plans for them.
"How did you like the location, amore?", Francesco asked, a smile on his face.
They were sitting together on the backseat of her father's Jaguar XJ10.
At a relaxed speed it purred along a road named 'La Nouaillette' in the middle of France.
Forests stretching to the right and left to them. Swallowed by the dark.
"It was beautiful, Francesco", she answered, returning his smile, taking his hand into hers.
"So what would you say, if we got married in it?"
"I'd say that I couldn't imagine any better place."
She met him six months ago on a business trip to Poland that her father took her with.
Francesco Gallo grew up in a rich house, just like Excella herself.
He already had his own company at the age of thirty-two.
All built by his own hands. That's why Excella admired him so much.
This man would put the moon to her feet, if she asked him for it.
He did everything to make her happy.
Even if it meant booking Château Hautefort for their wedding.
A whole castle for a day. And for their wedding night.
"Everything for my princess", he said and kissed her cheek.
Butterflies in her stomach. Only he could make her feel this way.
Exhausted from being on her feet the whole day she peeled her black high-heels off her feet and leaned her head against Francesco's shoulder. Closing her eyes. Inhaling deeply.
It would be another thirty-minute drive to get to their hotel in Brive-la-Gaillarde.
She couldn't wait to get out of this tight dress and wrap herself in the expensive sheets.
Maybe make love to him, if she didn't get overwhelmed by tiredness until then.
As a child she disliked travelling with her parents. To have to sleep in a different hotel each week.
But with Francesco every place on this world felt like home.
As long as he was by her side.
Excella's eyes were closed so she didn't notice the headlights of the car that drove towards them.
She also didn't see how the driver lost control.
But she heard her mother scream. She heard the screeching of a brake.
The thunder-like sound of two cars crashing together.
The next thing she saw were white hospital walls.
The next thing she heard was the sound of an oxygen apparatus.
It took her a moment to realize that it was her, who was attached to it.
Then the doctors' stern faces. Their neutral voices.
'Miss Gionne, you've been in an accident …. carrying severe injuries … at least three months of recovery …"
Everything was fading out. Only one question on her mind.
'Where are they?', she wanted to ask. 'Where are they?'
But they didn't have to spell it out loud.
She broke out in tears. The bitterest tears of her life.
She was nineteen and broken in a hospital bed. Robbed from every meaning of life.
All those memories came back to her, when she laid awake at night.
Alone. Asking herself, how it all could go this far.
Using tissue after tissue to still the endless stream of tears.
But she knew that it was questions she would never find an answer to.
Because opening herself to anyone was forbidden.
Nothing but a masquerade.
He is pleased with what he is seeing in the laboratory.
The trial run he has started a week ago has turned out better than expected.
Soon the virus would be ready.
But then a new problem would cross his path.
How is he going to spread it this time?
He sits down on the chair, studying his notes, thinking.
Well, he could still bother about this later.
He feels like having a talk with Nebraska anyway.
With slow, careful steps he goes towards the door.
Towards the room that she is locked in. The prison of the beast.
She wondered, if he ever got tired.
He was fucking her for over two hours already.
Tonight he seemed distracted though. Angry.
She knew that it was, because he couldn't stabilize the virus.
Tomorrow he would go back to America. Trying to find someone, who could do this task for him.
Bitterly she thinks back to this afternoon, how he had shot one of her laboratory workers.
Like it was their fault they couldn't stabilize his god-damn virus.
Hell, he couldn't even do it himself. What did he expect of her? What did he expect of them?
She sent her nails deep into the skin of his back, expressing her own fury trapped deep within.
But he didn't care. Things like that left no impression on him. Nor pain.
He liked it rough.
Sometimes Excella missed the way Francesco used to make love to her.
All gentle, all caring. Slow. Respectful. Treating her the way a man should treat his woman.
But that side of hers was mostly gone. She couldn't bear to think of her lost love anymore.
Now she got what she wanted. Someone, who helped her forget.
Someone, who literally fucked her brain out.
Afterwards he would always go. Without another word.
And the lonely nights full of memories came to haunt her.
One day he didn't touch her anymore.
It was the day he brought the lifeless body of this brunette woman to their Base in Antarctica.
The way her bones were bent. The drying blood on her face and clothes.
Excella was sure she was dead.
What the hell did he want with her?
Often she stood behind one-way glass. Watching him.
She disliked the way he touched her naked body like it was precious.
She disliked the way he looked at her.
She disliked that he suddenly treated her like garbage.
How she shoved her aside, when she tried to seduce him.
But there was no backing out. Because they stood under a contract.
One word against him and the true intentions of Tricell would be revealed to the world.
And it would be her face that appeared on the front-page of newspapers.
It would be her name that covered the headlines.
Her body that would be thrown into jail.
Not Albert Wesker. Because Albert Wesker would disappear into nowhere.
He was one perceptive yet clever son of a bitch.
Maybe she had underestimated him too much until now.
To her dislike he was better at playing games than she was.
Oh well. There would always be ways to raise the stack of cards.
He'd better be prepared.
Because Miss Excella Gionne had her own aces up her sleeve.
"Shit", Wesker curses quietly. Then louder. "Shit!"
"What? What's going on?" Jill rushing inside the laboratory. Finally dressed.
Her dark hair is still wet and hanging loosely around her shoulders.
She joins his side and fear crawls through her bones. Her throat tightens.
The room that Nebraska has been thrown in to await judgment is empty.
"Where is she?", she whispers.
He crashes his fist against the white wall, leaving a deep dent in it.
"How am I supposed to know that?", he snaps. "Fuck …"
Jill can see that the grid to the ventilation system on the ceiling has been ripped open.
How could they forget about that?
Well … Jill was lying on the ground back then, bleeding to death.
The question should be who wouldn't forget it?
Still. Wesker is fuming with anger. About the fact that she got away.
That she got away without receiving her punishment in return.
"Where are you going?", Jill asks, when he storms out of the room
"Looking for her, what else? She can't have gone too far."
"No! Please don't, Wesker!", she begs. "Don't leave me down here!"
"You're grown up, Jill. Act that way!"
"Insensitive jerk", she gives back. "Fine, then go. But don't expect me to be here anymore, when you return."
Wesker stops in his track and faces her.
"Don't be ridiculous, Valentine. Where would you go anyway? There's nothing but ice around here. Will you swim? Good luck with that."
"No, I'd ride a polar bear", she gives back.
Wesker snorts and continues to walk towards the elevator.
"Come on, Wesker", Jill tries again. "She is gone. Isn't that what we wanted?"
"No, Jill. Maybe it's, what you wanted. But it's not, what I wanted."
"And that's all that matters?", she spits. "Fuck yourself. Seriously. Just fuck yourself."
"I'll do that later. See you around, Valentine."
Dangerously close to tears she tries to come up with any counter words
But her brain seems to erase all her thoughts with boiling anger.
Wesker goes and silence falls over her.
Uneasy she rubs over her upper arms, looking around suspiciously.
With all her power she tries not to think of her being still around here somewhere.
She walked along the row of soldiers.
High-heels slowly clicking on the concrete ground.
Their own army.
All infected. All rotting. All awaiting their commands.
They smelled like Death. And they were trained to bring Death.
Each of them carried different weapons. Machine-guns, rocket launchers, their bare fists.
Excella didn't admit it. But she was frightened of them.
She was part of this work. It made her sick. Made her want to vomit.
But he said something to her once. So many nights ago, when he was still fucking her.
Something that gave her the opportunity to look at this in a whole new way.
Something that she still desperately clung on to.
"As soon as the creation of Uroboros is in its final stages you will be my queen, Excella."
Queen. It sounded like purest pleasure in her ears.
She was worthy of this title. She deserved such a title.
That redhead, who stabilized the virus might have been his priority at this moment.
But Excella knew that the day, where he would kill her off and take her to his side instead would soon come. Inevitable.
That little insatiable whore was nothing but an experiment that he coincidentally liked to bed.
It was the same with 'oh so lovely' brain-washed Jill Valentine.
Excella hated her ghostly face. Hated the way he dressed her in those tight clothes.
Hated the way she followed Wesker like a trained dog. Hated that he fucked her.
But she just kept on wearing her mask. Played theatre. Acted unaffected by his unfaithfulness.
Because she was convinced that the day of her regime would come.
The day, where she would judge, who was worthy and who wasn't.
And Nebraska Jones wasn't worthy. Jill Valentine wasn't worthy.
Albert Wesker wasn't worthy.
Didn't they always say that god is a woman?
Chris could see the figure walking towards him for quite a few hours already.
Today the wind is almost still and no snow falling.
The landscape is wide and flat before him, allowing excellent clear sight.
At first his heart was pounding with fear. Then suspicion. Now expectation.
He asks himself what kind of wanderer has lost themselves in this god forsaken place?
Because by now he is sure that it is another person. No animal. No ghostly appearance.
But by the way this person is walking he can tell that this isn't his arch enemy.
The movements are too slow, too staggering, too helpless.
Still he never takes the palm of his hand off the gun attached to his hip.
It's almost an automatic habit. Touching it. Activating his guard.
Ready to do the necessary.
Excella's fingertips wandered along his lower arm.
Finding a vein to thrust the syringe containing his serum inside.
He needed it to keep his virus stable. It was vital.
And he relied herself on her. That was the most delicious thing about it.
He relied himself on her and therefore didn't know about the tiny overdose she injected him every single time. Little by little. Drop by drop. Closer to death each day.
She hoped for it to happen soon. But he was - like she thought once already - a persistent son of a bitch. It wouldn't be easy to get rid of him.
If only the slightest whiff of her plan would get to him, she would be history.
It was the most dangerous game of her life. But it felt like a Royal Flush non the less.
It was just perfect. Simply flawless.
Should he whore. Should he use her generosity and understanding to its absolute limits.
She didn't care anymore.
Because in the end it would be her, who climbed the steps to fame.
She has seen him. Chris knows that she has seen him.
It's a woman. Dressed in nothing but a dark blue dress that goes down to her ankles.
Black boots and a sheer brown scar wrapped around her shoulders.
Her hair is a fiery copper red that shines in the frozen Antarctic sun.
He picks up the pace, jogging towards her. How the hell has she survived like this?
"Miss?", he says loudly. "Are you okay?"
She doesn't look up nor does she seem to bother about his presence.
Only a few meters left and when he reaches her she falls forwards right into his arms.
Feeble. Her skin is like ice. But there's not one frozen spot on it.
It is unblemished. Like snow. How is this possible?
"Are you okay?", he repeats. "What has happened?"
He can hear how she deeply inhales and finally she looks up to him.
Opening her eyes. He almost drops her to the ground.
They're amber. A sign that she's carrying a virus.
He only knows one other person with similar eyes. Wesker.
Seeing the fear and recognition on his face, she gets back on her feet, taking a step away from him.
"You're Chris Redfield, aren't you?", she finally says, surprised about remembering a bit from the past. Her head hurts. "I have seen you … in Africa."
"How …" He decides to change the question. No time for discussions.
"Where is Wesker?", he wants to know.
There is something off with her. He can't tell what it is, but something isn't right about this woman. Something different than her eyes.
"You're close", she says. "You're here for her, aren't you? Jill Valentine?"
Chris clenches his fists. He knew it. He knew that Wesker got her again.
Fuck that bastard.
"You're damn right I am. Tell me, where she is", he urges, taking a step towards her.
"Hold your horses …", she says. "At first I need to know, if you'll kill him? Or them?"
"I'm here to save Jill. And kill that motherfucker Wesker, what do you think?"
She chuckles. "Save Jill? Don't you get it?"
"Don't get what?", he seethes.
"You're just as delusional as Wesker always said. Jill isn't Wesker's captive. At least not anymore … they are fucking each other. They are fucking each other since Africa."
"He has raped her …", he defends Jill's side.
"Is this what she told you?" She sighs. Suddenly feeling sorry for him.
"Why should Jill lie to me? I don't see the point in it."
He swallows. The bitter taste of betrayal and false trust.
"She loves to do it with him. Harder Wesker, fuck me harder", she moans theatrically. "God, yes … right there!"
"Stop this bullshit", he growls. He can't hear it anymore.
"Oh sweetheart", she laughs, almost grim. "It's no bullshit. Don't you think, I heard them?"
Chris grabs her by her upper arms, crashing her against him.
"Shut your mouth, you lying bitch! You're filth! Just like him!"
Still there is this eerie smile on her face that just won't go away. No matter what.
"Fine, then don't believe me." She grits her teeth. "Redfield. Just don't be surprised, when you walk in on them."
Chris tries to not to think about her words. But something tells him that she's right.
That she's telling the truth.
"Take me to them", he demands coldly. "Now."
"I'm not going back there", she says, shaking her head. "They are trying to kill me, because I shot her."
"You've done what?"
"Oh, don't worry cowboy", she defends herself. "Our prince on the white horse has saved her."
A gun cocks. Chris has taken it into his hands, aiming it at her head.
"How about we reverse it? How does it feel? Not so good anymore, huh? Now take me to them."
Nebraska acts unaffected. "Go ahead … shoot me. I give a fuck. Paint the snow with my brain. You're too late anyway … she won't come back to you anymore. She likes to taste Wesker's cock now."
Chris gloved hand wraps itself around her throat.
"I said shut the fuck up and take me to them. One more word …"
"Or what? You're going to shoot me?"
But she gives in, turning around to take him to the gathering of mountains in the distance.
Chris adjusts his backpack and follows the thin figure of the redhead.
Never putting his gun back into its holster.
He doesn't trust that creepy smile.
After they have brought about half of the distance behind them Chris has to admit that they can't make it to the foot of the mountain anymore
Slowly the dark is creeping over the almost pale sky. The first stars visible.
"I guess, we'll have to call it a day and stay here for tonight."
"Are you serious? Come on … a strong man like you will be able to get there. At least you're driven by anger and revenge, aren't you?"
He decides to ignore the sarcastic tone in her voice.
"This is at least another six hours of walking. And this excludes climbing up that god damn thing. We're staying here. End of story."
Nebraska sighs. "Fine."
She has to admit that a little bit of sleep wouldn't be bad for her either.
At least she has been walking around in this ice hell for a felt eternity.
Chris sets up the tent and starts a fire, using his Bunsen burner.
Wordlessly she accepts the wool blanket that he hands her and throws it over her shoulders.
"You must be freezing … how the hell did you even survive like this?", he asks.
"You know exactly why", she smirks.
He snorts. "Are you one of his sick experiments?"
"I guess, I was", she admits. "But it turned into more …"
Chris can't help but to chuckle. "Don't tell me that you're his girlfriend?"
"Why? What's so funny about it?", she asks annoyed.
"Are you serious?", he grins. "Wesker has a girlfriend. I can't fucking believe this shit."
"Well, we're not together anymore, that's as much as I can say. Just as much as you shouldn't be with her anymore. With Jill."
Chris rips open a package of instant soup and pours it into the now boiling water.
"If what you say is even true …"
With slow movements he stirs the liquid.
"I'm not forcing you to believe, what I'm claiming … but trust me. I'm on your side right here."
Chris has nothing to say anymore and with almost no conversation they eat their dinner and then prepare for a few hours of uncomfortable sleep in the cold.
Well, for him it is going to be a pain.
Nebraska is already happy with a blanket.
She reminds him of an animal. Like a dog that slept next to its masters bed on the ground.
Even in the coldest nights. Pretty unsettling.
"Don't try to pull any tricks on me", Chris warns her as he crawls inside his thick sleeping bag.
Nebraska rolls her eyes. "Why should I? He seems to like you anyway …"
Chris scrunches his brows, confused. "Who likes me?"
She only grins in return. "He likes you just as much as he likes his Lucky Strike's."
"Whatever", he gives up. He has decided that she is crazy by now anyway.
Some of her 'gears' up there must have gone lost.
"Just … try to sleep … erm … I haven't even asked you for your name."
"My name is Nebraska."
"This is getting better and better", he sighs. "Good night … Nebraska."
"Night, Redfield."
Excella heard the door opening. The sound of the waves of the ocean.
Then her steps. The redheads little sneaky steps.
Excella didn't turn around. Because she didn't bother about her.
They were on the ship. Finally ready to spread Uroboros.
Excella was on the phone, sending out the last instructions to their army of infected.
She still wasn't used to them and she still believed that they were desecrating heir father's walls. But Wesker found them inalienable as it seemed.
Fine then.
Excella hung up. "Miss Jones", she purred, her backside pointed towards her. "What pleasant business brings you to mine?"
The clicking of heels stopped. Maybe she was surprised about Excella's sharp hearing.
If only mildly.
The redhead closed the distance between them.
Excella could smell her. Could smell him on her.
They always smelled of sex. Their viruses. Their power.
A cold shiver ran down her spine, when Nebraska brushed her lips along her neck.
"May I ask, what you are doing?", she said, trying to sound casual.
Her heart rate was suddenly faster. It felt uncomfortable.
Now her arm was wrapped around her waist, her flat palm on her stomach.
"Mmm", the redhead chuckled. "I'm here to bring you a message."
Excella wanted to push her away. But she was frozen in this moment. Under a spell.
"I don't care, what you have to say", Excella said stiffly. "I have other things to do."
Once more she softly laughed. "I think, you might be very interested this time. Because it has Wesker's signature under it."
With one swift movement she thrust the syringe containing the sample of Uroboros into Excella's vein, emptying it with a look of purest pleasure on her face.
"He sends his regards", she purred. "Good bye, Excella."
The witch was dead. Showing that men like Albert Wesker never lost a game.
Ever.