Warning: dubcon/noncon elements are present in this story
Author's Note: I'm admittedly slow on reworking the chapters for this fic, mainly because I'm pretty torn between doing major revisions or not. There are parts I don't agree with anymore, parts that don't fit with the future scenes I have for this work. Actually, I've written a completely different first chapter for this story already haha! But I'm full of doubt if I can totally rebuild a similar story from that draft.
Anyway, I'll just continue reworking the rest of the chapters and then hopefully when I reach chapter 12, the next installments will flow in smoother.
As always, thank you for giving my stories a try~ :D
The arched windows shattered, effortlessly defeated by the sudden crushing weight forced upon them.
Her grip on the hilt of her knife weakened as she felt the drop. Her knife threatened to slip away from her grasp in each passing second. Her only weapon left - threatening to leave her defenseless. A shudder ran beneath her skin. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, like a little bird rattling in its cage desperate for an escape. Her blood rushed into her head, turning her ears deaf. The harsh cold slowly enveloped her body, intending to freeze her.
So this is what falling to your death feels like.
She was afraid.
I'm going to die here.
Terribly afraid.
She knew the ground was coming up fast. Soon. Her fingers tried to secure a hold on the material of the tyrant's coat. It was drenched from the storm surging around them.
But she could still do it, she thought. Try one last time. She could still end it—all of it.
With one clean stab, the nightmare would end.
It couldn't be that simple.
But there was not enough time to deliberate her options. Not like there would be other consequences to her next actions.
Death was the only consequence waiting.
And she had to make it count.
So with all the strength her trembling limbs could offer, she drove her sharpened blade into the overheated body before her, into the mastermind behind every nightmare haunting her since Raccoon.
The first stab caught him off guard. The knife cut through his flesh easily enough. She heard him hiss in pain. A moment of fear flooded her body, urging her to continue. She pulled the knife out quickly, only to sheath it back into the fatal gash on his side.
Over and over.
She stabbed him.
Repeatedly.
As much as she could.
Twisting. Slicing. Goring.
Until all she could become aware of was the warmth of his blood.
Seeping into her skin.
Becoming a part of her.
At some point during their fall, he had shifted. Maneuvered his lithe body so that they were face to face.
His eyes were golden red flames. Rage evident. Reflecting hell in them.
His features were twisted in a grimace. Pain apparent. Promising infernal retribution.
His blood was rapidly cooling in her murderous hands.
There was nothing human left in him, nothing of the past, nothing of the man she once knew.
She couldn't do anything else then, but to stare at death with false bravery.
I'm going to die here.
The whipping winds took the ball cap off of her head, the tie secured on her hair snapped next. A choked sound escaped her lips as wet brown strands lashed on her face. Her vision blurred. She started crying. Her tears mixing with the rain beating at their falling bodies.
Edward.
Joseph.
Kenneth.
Forest.
Richard.
Enrico.
Brad.
Jill.
It had been eight years. She could have died in that infested city. Along with the rest of the S.T.A.R.S.
Dying. Rotting. Burning.
Betrayed.
I'm going to die here.
It wasn't her time then.
Rebecca.
Barry.
Chris.
Oh Chris.
Chris.
"I don't want to die here."
Famous last words.
A jerk ran through the entirety of her body, the feeling of falling startling her awake.
She woke, curled still on his lap, inside a plane, their destination remaining unknown to her.
Her head felt heavy, throbbing with the memories of the Spencer Estate. She winced as images of broken bones and mangled flesh invaded her mind.
"What did you dream about?", he asked, voice leaden as if he had been asleep for as long as she was. She imagined pain within her, from torn muscles and gashes and fractures. She turned away from the picture her mind had painted, face unconsciously pressing on the hard shoulder her head had been resting on.
Her eyes slid close. Her lips released a sigh along with an answer— "The fall."
She recalled awakening in a hospital, debilitated and disoriented.
They told her she was in a coma. For how long didn't seem to be important.
They told her she was safe in that little white room. The exact location didn't seem to be important as well.
They told her it was somewhere in Europe. Somewhere she guessed was not easy to find.
The doctors and nurses were blissfully accommodating on the first day. On the very next, they were conveniently replaced by fidgeting parrots trained to spout reassuring words that suspiciously bled of his deceit.
She had spent what meager strength she could muster every day then - screaming for the labcoats to bring her to him.
Just so her anger and hurt could fall on deaf ears.
Her fingertips ran over the spines of the books arranged on the shelf. They came away with lesser dust than they had the day before. She wished her boredom could be expressed in more noticeable gestures. They've been staying in Italy for a week. Surely he wasn't really expecting her to sit tight all day long. Every single day.
But she guessed he did.
It was exactly what he was expecting her to do as she watched him type away on his laptop - wait on him for as long as he wanted. He went on with his research like a machine, indifferent to the weariness that occupied her mind.
Every three hours a fresh dose of the P30 would be administered to her. They had gone with this time table religiously for the whole week since their arrival in the country. She had observed that the drug would run dry half an hour at most before the next scheduled dose. It was intermittent— the more rigorous her activities were, the faster it ran out.
Jill believed this was something he had yet to learn about, making it her little ace.
This was the hand she'd been dealt with.
She would have to make do.
He didn't seem to have any specific tasks for her to carry out these days. So deeply immersed with his computers and phone calls. But he always kept her around the room. Always within his sight, within his reach. Always. The arrangement left her no chance of even exploring the property they had settled into.
The routine was an advantage and a disadvantage to her. She had gathered that he was working on something new... No. He was working on something he had discontinued before. She knew what that meant. A stronger virus. More dead people. He was aiming to put it back on development as soon as possible. Africa had also been mentioned several times.
And TRICELL.
She was furious when she had learned that TRICELL was funding the efforts of the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance as well as Wesker's insanity. They should have known better than to trust another pharmaceutical giant. It was so painfully obvious. It was almost laughable. Who else would be financing the development of all those bioweapons the B.S.A.A. kept on encountering? Who else had the capacity?
It was like Umbrella all over again.
S.T.A.R.S. had been formed for Umbrella's benefit before. They unknowingly worked for the company—served as oblivious test subjects.
But Umbrella was dead and so were most of the members of S.T.A.R.S.
History seemed to have a habit of repeating itself though.
So she was back on being a guinea pig.
Unable to find anything else to do, she plopped down on the sofa. Her body curling around one of the plush throw pillows, sulking. She couldn't see the point of him taking her out of the cryostasis just so he could see her laze around.
Her eyes narrowed at the thought. A certain question had been nagging her mind since her rebirth.
Why did he take her with him?
Half an hour later, his presence loomed over her on the sofa, a dark shadow taking her out of her trance.
It was time for another dose.
The sting that came from the injection barely made her flinch. She had gotten used to it.
She guessed everything since her awakening was just a matter of getting used to.
So simple.
He moved away when he was done. Not a minute later, she felt the rush of the drug into her system.
Her gaze shifted from him to the antique wooden piano sitting right next to a sculpture of a luscious woman. She had been eyeing it from the very first day she was forced to stay in the study with him. In the few couple of minutes she had her body to herself, she found her interest being drawn to it repeatedly. Her fingers longed to touch those ivory keys. Some forgotten etude already started playing at the back of her mind.
She supposed she could ask.
It was such a harmless request.
She supposed she could ask.
She had a gracious master after all.
She supposed she could ask tomorrow.
"Would you like to play, Jill?" Right on cue, as if he had the ability to peer into her mind.
She wasn't entirely sure what he was asking of her. She never did. It didn't seem to matter. Her answer was the same every time.
"Yes."
She found herself standing before the upright piano a moment later. Her fingers pressed down on a few keys randomly. Hesitant.
What should she play?
Moonlight Sonata?
How tasteless.
"Perhaps I could teach you something new." She retrieved her hands to herself, watched him get rid of his black leather gloves. He was already seated on the stool. His long fingers splayed over the keys. It wasn't surprising to learn that he was knowledgeable in the musical arts. He seemed to be knowledgeable in a lot of things. Besides, she had always thought that he had a pianist's hands.
Skillful.
Especially if the instrument he would have to play was her body.
She stood there waiting to hear him play. Her breath held in tight. And then she was mesmerized when his slender fingers began dancing over ivory and charcoal keys. It was a melody she had never heard before. A slow piece, an eerily sad piece. She wondered if he could understand the meaning of it. She wondered if he cared.
Unlikely.
Her eyes studied his face. All beautiful sharp angles. The sunglasses were absent. He seemed to favor the dim yellow lighting of the room.
He stopped playing a few minutes later. Turning to her expectantly.
She wondered if she should applaud him.
"What is it called?" His hand wrapped around one of her delicate wrists, giving it a nearly imperceptible tug.
She responded to his unspoken demand, sinking immediately into his lap as she remained looking into his eyes.
"Regret." He was so close that his answer was a mere whisper on her skin.
Regret? She searched his hellish eyes for a trace of it.
She found herself not surprised to find none.
For the next two hours or so, he taught her how to play the piece. His piece. She had always been a fast learner. And she was faster with the drug in her. The drug whose sole purpose was to please him.
Her body had melted against the heat of him in the middle of the 'lesson'. He expressed his approval with a gentle kiss on her exposed shoulder. The feel of his lips barely brushing the skin there was enough to make heat gather within her.
"That was supposed to be an A#." His fingers dug into the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. A show of his disapproval.
"Again, Jill." His blunt fingernails scraped over her skin then, so softly, trying to soothe the abuse he had just left behind.
The soft scraping motion was enough to make her body tighten in anticipation. She realized, in between the heady mix of his touches and kisses, that he had not been intimate with her since their arrival in the country.
Her clumsy fingers missed another note.
The arm wrapped loosely around her waist tautened. The hand that was tormenting the flesh of her thigh moved to curl around her neck, shifting her slightly so he could see her face.
There was a yearning in her, uncontrolled and unwanted by her.
"Am I boring you?" He claimed her parted lips in a chaste kiss.
A week seemed to be a long time.
Her lips chased his when he deliberately pulled away.
A week seemed to be an awfully long time.
"No..." She wished she could sound more detached, rather than needy when she sought his mouth for a deeper kiss.
Her body moved closer, molding itself onto him. Her thigh brushed against the hardness in his pants. Her breath hitched at the feel of him throbbing. She hated it, how her body was just so in tune with his.
"No?" She straddled him, so that the pressure building right between her legs could be relieved. The action simply caused the ache to become worse.
Setting her aflame.
Sweet agony.
His hands kneaded over her exposed thighs. Oh how she ached there. Right there between her thighs. She was creaming all over the sheer panties she was wearing. Shameless.
"No. Never." She wound herself tight around him, pulling herself so close it seemed like she wanted to climb into his body.
And be one with him.
His fingers wrapped around the exquisite curve of her neck. His thumb tilted her head to an angle he liked.
Then he stole her breath with his vicious mouth.
The P30 drug was wearing off by the time he was laying her down on one of the plush sofas. She gasped upon realizing that the last effects of it was slipping away. Fast. She had never seen it as some sort of a thin wall separating her from the harsh world outside. Protecting her. Shielding her from the vile truths her body had become a slave to.
She wished she could still pretend it was someone else moaning loud out there. Someone else getting lost in the throes of lust. Someone else wantonly begging for more.
But as he finally slid into the thirsty heat of her...
She realized it was Jill Valentine who threw her head back against the cushions.
Lost in painful pleasure.
It was her high pitched screams that filled the room in time with each of his thrusts.
Lost in burning passion.
It was her body that surrendered so peacefully to his assault.
Lost.
So lost in him.
There was no escaping this.
Whatever was happening here.
There was no escape.
I'm coming... She thought, breathless, as she pulled on the tattered remains of her little black dress. Trying to hold onto something as his pace increased in a punishing rhythm. He had torn the hindering material in his haste to sink himself into her willing body.
"Come for me, Jill." A command.
His breath was so hot against the skin of her leg. So hot and wet. He nipped there at the back of her knee, making her shudder.
"Yes. Yes... Yes!" She bit down on her knuckles, preventing her mindless mouth from damning her further.
But as her vision turned white and her body melted into a convulsing mess...
She wondered what was the difference.
Hell was paradise.
When she came down from her high, he had already flipped her over. Her unsteady hands and knees tried to find purchase on the cushions. She felt vaguely empty. He had pulled out during the height of her orgasm. And judging by the absence of the familiar heat of his ejaculate, he hadn't finish with her.
She whimpered at the thought, before she could even attempt to stop herself.
Her sweaty forehead rested on the cushioned arm of the sofa. Her eyes studied that little space between her shaking legs. She watched him rub himself along her weeping slit. He was like a fire brand. It felt like he would melt right then and there with each teasing stroke. Melting into her skin. Merging with her.
Her hand moved to reach for him, slipping between her legs and wrapping around that heavy length tormenting her. She bit down on her finger, muffling the cry that tried to escape her mouth when she pressed the swollen head against her engorged clit. She moved herself back and forth against it, creating delightful friction. With each needy brush, she quivered like a bow string.
She gave him a few good strokes. His low groans mingled with her soft whimpers. Oh how he throbbed there in her small hand. So robust. Her mouth watered at the feel of him. Her pussy even more so. She closed her eyes, biting on her lower lip as she aligned him at her waiting entrance. She slowly pushed him in. Tremors ran the length of her body as she steadily worked him inside. The girth alone made her strain as he stretched her so wide.
Always testing her limits.
She managed to take about half of his length in, relishing in the way his enormous cock rub along all the sensitive parts of her as she purposely contracted around it. The shallow thrusts she could make left her breathing hard. Her fingers massaged her neglected clit in time with her sensual movements, intending to have another sweet release soon.
She guessed she could take pleasure from him for a change.
It didn't last long.
He grabbed her by the crook of her elbow, forcing her slightly upright with a rather impatient tug.
Then he filled her completely with the rest of him.
A conference call was part of Wesker's schedule that evening. He was done with Jill by the time the shrill ringing of his phone disturbed the silence that had taken residence in the room. He adjusted his pants before taking the call, moving to lean on the wooden desk containing his current work.
His eyes skimmed over the various reports and data scattered there when he saw her move. He had left her sitting there on one of the upholstered chairs. Pleasantly warm and sated.
Focus disrupted, he tried to keep his attention on the person on the other line. His business partner talked about making some necessary adjustments that need his immediate action.
Jill moved in her seat and he watched each weighed movement.
She was uncoordinated as she slipped a hand between her legs.
Almost unconsciously.
She touched herself.
There.
Obviously trying to soothe the dull ache that had resulted from their rough activities. She shifted, just slightly, so she could assess herself in a more comfortable position.
Then she parted her legs.
He lost count how many times he had emptied his load inside of her. Not that he was actually counting. Not that it actually held any significance. But he stood there, transfixed at the startling white stream of his ejaculate flowing out of her. The hunger that seized him in the next moment was far from comprehensible.
He stared intently as she worked a finger in her supple flesh. Ignorant still to the animalistic want brewing inside of him.
The delicious moan that escaped her lips sounded almost as if it was just right beside his ear. The person who was actually at his ear asked him a question. Several questions. But he was unable to hear anything else besides her.
She carefully moved to pick her torn dress up from the terrazzo floor. He didn't miss her wince at the movement. She used the hem of it to wipe at herself. Slowly.
Enticing.
Surely she couldn't remain clueless. She just couldn't. Not with his eyes devouring every inch of her.
"Albert?"
"I'll call you later." Jill seemed to be jolted from her task by the sound of his voice, instantly reminding her that she wasn't the only person occupying the room. She stiffened at the sound of his phone crashing on the desk when he discarded it there.
She watched him approach with wary eyes.
Of course.
Her next dose was long overdue. And the time he would call as her 'free time' was long overdue as well.
He supposed he could dope her up now.
But there was no time for such a thing as he found himself cupping a hand at the base of her neck. His eyes flicked down on her lips - swollen, bitten, and glistening, waiting to be claimed by him. His fingers involuntarily curled in her sweaty golden locks.
Pulling.
Testing.
He intended to tug her up so she would meet his mouth. She resisted.
Very well.
He leaned down so he could capture her lovely lips in a ravenous kiss. She recoiled from him.
No more false obedience then.
Her hands grappled on the tightening grip he had on her hair. He jerked her out of the chair and straightened himself up, leaving her no choice but to stand on the tips of her toes. His mouth worked on prying hers into submission.
She tasted the same. Like all those years before. Melting warmth and life. Hints of powder dust. She felt familiar in his arms, hauntingly familiar, the familiarity scratching at his memories, at who he was before the virus.
His length swelled in his pants, causing him to press up against her. Her futile struggles only weakened when he slipped a hand between her legs. Her surprised gasp fueling the desire burning within him.
"No.", she gasped out against his mouth as he brought her left leg up, fitting himself tight at that heated juncture between her thighs. "No more, Wesker", she whispered again, short of breath, panting in exhaustion or want he could not pinpoint.
Her hands had given up on their mission to get his grip off of her. They had softened and settled on his face, absentmindedly caressing the skin there.
Almost lovingly.
As if she could soften the sharp angles there. As if she could soften him.
As if she could.
He withdrew his hand from her drenched heat. He stared into her pleading eyes rimmed with tears.
Her skin had become so pale, patches of pink and darker red tainted all that length of white. The rich earthy color of her hair no more, replaced by something light golden.
All these changes left permanent by the cryostatis...
And yet she remained so familiar. His very bones ached at the feel of her.
His eyes fixated on her lips again. They were forming words, a word and a name, attempting to fool him.
He blocked her spell out, lifted and coiled her around himself. Her sweat-covered skin sticking along his.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, reluctant and giving in.
Wesker carried her helpless form over the cluttered wooden desk. Sweeping everything off of its polished surface before spilling her over it. He was frantic, like a child overly excited to play.
Jill felt him free himself from the constraints of his pants. He was pulsating hot against her. Well-lubricated with so much precome. She threw her head back when he sheathed himself back inside of her. His movements were hurried. The rhythm of his thrusts erratic.
It wouldn't last too long.
His hand settled heavily right in the middle of her breastbone - grounding her.
Like she possessed the capability of shaking him off.
She laid there yielding as he fucked her raw, already too tired to contemplate on doing anything else.
She wished she could close her throat off so she would stop herself from moaning. Her body had become too accustomed to him, made incapable of not enjoying his ministrations.
He started thumbing her clit. She gasped, legs twisting about his waist. She braced herself on the arm securing her against the desk. She didn't want to come anymore. Her body was already bordering on over-sensitivity. She feared another orgasm would drive her to the brink of insanity. But she felt it, the pleasure accumulating, fast and steady.
"Come on, Jill." The next thrust jostled her, making her whimper. "I want to feel you.", he grumbled in his lust.
He tore at her relentlessly until her body finally came apart in his arms.
Like it always did.
She watched him with half-lidded eyes. He dragged his hand from her breastbone... to the valley between her heaving breasts. His palm wrapped around her left tit. Squeezing for a moment. Her heartbeat against it so palpable.
He was staring too much, savoring every inch of her, familiarizing...
She closed her eyes, tongue running on her bottom lip. His hand eased its way down to the heat continuously pooling at her belly. Her body was milking him well. She could still feel him pulsing inside of her. Spurt after spurt. Seemingly endless.
It was so good.
It was so warm.
It was so much.
She briefly wondered if she could get pregnant from this.
What an absurd thought.
Displeasure - it was the feeling that remained in him when everything had been done. His face set in a furious frown.
Wesker placed the sunglasses back on. Busied himself with picking up all the fallen objects that once inhabited the desk they had just desecrated. The intricate Tiffany table lamp was in pieces. The laptop was broken. Some of the paperwork were torn. The rest were crumpled.
All this mess.
Because of one woman.
He found his phone among the pile. The screen was cracked. He remembered then that he had an important phone call to make.
His displeasure increased with each ticking second.
All this mess.
Because of Jill Valentine.
From the corner of his eye, he watched her busy herself with trying to put on what remained of her dress.
It was a lost cause.
She gingerly reached for his discarded dress shirt. He didn't say anything when she slipped it on. And he tried to ignore the effect the sight of her in his clothes had on him.
He would not let her do this.
She seated herself on one of the chairs. He took notice of how she chose the farthest one from him. From there, she proceeded to wait on him like a doll in the corner.
"Go clean yourself up."
He dismissed her. Eager to rid himself of her distracting presence.
They acted like she was under the P30 when she walked out of the study - a telling limp in her steps and his seed running down her thighs.
Even in her absence, the potent scent left by their excessive coupling continued to stoke the fire in him.
He couldn't do anything else but detest it while his body entertained other ideas. All seemed to be involving her.
The handset was crushed in his grasp.
With agitation riding his spine, he figured this was the price to be paid for saving her wretched life he first intended to take.
He had not been that invested in her recuperation after the fall.
"Are you planning on turning this into a habit?" Behind his ever present glasses, he had surveyed the room, unconsciously taking notes of what could be salvaged and what could be not.
She had made quite a mess.
Everything in the room appeared to be broken. Useless. Including the slip of a woman trying to stand there with her fractured body. In the end, he found himself apathetic to the destruction she had wrought.
He would just have her transferred into a newly furnished room. Again.
"What am I doing here?" Her breathing was quick and heavy. Labored.
"What did you do to me?! Where is Chris?! What did you do to him?!" Same questions. Every damn time. Not that he was in any way present to the past demonstrations of her 'outbursts'. There were more pressing matters worthy of his undivided attention. Like his development of a new virus. He had yet to name it.
But Jill seemed desperate for some of his attention, having killed four of her attending physicians in cold blood. He almost wanted to applaud her tenacity. They were an expendable lot. But surely it was somehow required of him to draw the line somewhere. Four seemed to be a bit too much. So he decided to finally intervene.
He watched her for a few more seconds. A bitter rage was marring her pale face. But he knew she wouldn't be able to remain standing there for much longer. It was too taxing. Her legs were in casts for a reason. A reason their owner blinded herself to time and time again. Her bones couldn't heal properly since she awakened from her coma.
Her stubbornness would be the death of her.
"What did you do, Wesker?! Why am I here?! Did you infect me with something?!" A second later, she collapsed - breathless. Her body couldn't stand the strain any longer. Her face was covered with tears he knew she wasn't even aware she was shedding.
She looked so weak that it should be disgusting.
He took a step towards her crumpled form. She was sobbing, so much suffering in her cries.
"What did you do?" She asked again, despair in her voice.
"I believe the act was called 'saving your life', Jill. Are you aware of a better word for it?" He stopped right in front of her. His eyes fixed on the object held by one of her bony hands. The bloody scalpel glinted under the fluorescent light. He could almost feel it sinking into his skin hungry to draw his blood.
"Why... save me?"
She was too slow though. Even a lowly human could have predicated her move. He crushed her offending hand right under his boot before she could anticipate it. He could hardly feel any resistance as he ground her wrist onto the floor. And she writhed there in even more pain. Like a worm being doused in salt.
"I believe you said you didn't want to die."
He could tell she was in so much pain when she came to again. Her head lolled heavily against the pillows. Her eyes were bleary. He had sedated her. But didn't bothered with any pain killers. He watched with morbid fascination as she realized the absence of the casts on her legs. Feeling the grotesque swelling of her limbs. Feeling the sharp bones protruding through her skin on one part then on another.
"You should appreciate your doctors more, Jill." A choked sob escaped her mouth upon hearing his taunting voice. "They've done quite a decent work on 'fixing' you. And yet you repaid them by slashing their throats open. How heartless."
"They worked for you!" Through gritted teeth, she justified her impulsive actions. Her retort was expected.
Self-righteous fool.
"They did. And now you've rendered at least three families fatherless." Horror and guilt mixed and bled through her light blue eyes. "I thought you finally bonded with the last one. He was young. Aspiring for so much. Talented. He wants to develop a cure for cancer. His poor mother is being ravaged by the treacherous disease as we speak. But her only hope is extinguished by one ungrateful patient."
She turned her face away from him. Away from his words. Her remorse was so tangible. He could taste it in the air.
He almost wanted to tell her the truth. The truth that her last doctor was involved in a little project he had given to TRICELL. The lad lacked imagination. Unable to produce any satisfactory results with the enhancement of the Las Plagas sample he had provided.
Her doctors before that simpleton were tinkering on the t-Abyss virus. Something he knew Jill was very familiar with. They volunteered on taking her as a patient for the role she played on the Queen Zenobia incident. Hoping that the vaccine she had injected in herself with would have left behind some interesting pieces in her bloodwork that they could make use of. They came up empty-handed. Just disappointing him in the end.
Before her remorse could completely consume her, he lifted her into his arms. His grip hard but careful enough, just a tinge of gentleness.
"The other physicians are now far too terrified of you. So that leaves you under my care. This time..."
His hold on her tightened a fraction and she cried in obvious distress. Her body weakly trashed, trying to get away from his warning touch.
"You'll realize your folly."
He was not that invested in her recuperation after the fall. He merely browsed through reports on her recovery whenever he could spare the time. Both of her legs were broken, irreparable by mediocre science. One of her arms had been dislocated. Her right one pulled roughly off of its socket. He would take credit for that injury. The rest of her was riddled with cuts and bruises.
She was rather fortunate still, he supposed.
The fall had snapped his neck. The impact had cracked his skull open. All those bones breaking. Then piercing every muscle they could find in him. But it was her hands. Her dainty hands that bled him. Made him bleed there on the dirt. Like livestock.
He died again that night.
And then Albert Wesker saved his murderer.