A/N: Wah! I am a horrible, horrible person for promising to update more frequently in June and then not even posting! Forgive me, kind readers, especially since this story has reached ten, ten reviews! And a flood of alerts and whatnot. Sigh…

Then again, amigos, I prefer to take forever and post something decent then rush and deliver a piece of poo…still, I have learned a valuable lesson. As of this posting I already have the next chapter written, so now there's a pile to revise and post weekly, on…some day next week Bear with me, people.

A/N: Let's see, the chapter title is from a song sung by Nightmare. And if you can guess from what anime, you are awesome and part of the cool kid crowd…which this author obviously isn't part of…

Ahem. Once again I thank Lizzyhoneyizzy for helping me with Wesker's fight scene…I really need to learn how to write those better by the way, cause come on! Wesker! Practice makes perfect, I guess.

Anything else? If you're still reading, thank you so much for still reading! And if you're new and reading this in one go, hope you can see that I'm improving a tad bit!

Disclaimer: For those of you who actually think I might own these beautiful, beautiful people and creatures, I laugh at you, for you are a dumb bunny. However, Adrian and the Ts and Drake and his clean up crew are mine. If only Wesker and Chris were…now onto the show!

Chapter Three:

Alumina

"He won't make it." The confident drawl of one of the clean-up team's men broke the heavy silence that had fallen over the surveillance room.

No one turned to look at the redhead with mismatched eyes. To do so would be to confirm that Albert Wesker was approaching death's one wanted to face that possibility, not when the man had the potential to provide so much valuable information on Umbrella's experiments despite Uroboros being inactive in his body, or in the worst case scenario, flushed completely out of his system.

The world of science at least, would mourn his passing…again.

The redhead rolled his eyes and his white one piece uniform (matching the lab coats everyone else wore) rustled as he sighed.

"Three Lickers, gentlemen and gentlewomen." He told them. "Albert Wesker has met his match." Then he grinned. "I'm gonna round up my boys now. See ya, Docs."

Again, no one said anything as the white work boots thudded across the room and outside to the brightly lit corridors.

The room remained in darkness. All eyes were focused on the large plasma screen showing the video feed of a massive white room, as large as a high school gym. In the center stood a blonde haired man in a white t-shirt and pants, looking every bit the mental hospital patient the world thought he should have been a long time ago.

A pair of black shades covered his now grey eyes, interrupting the whiteness of the room. His hands were behind his back and his head slightly turned to the corners of the dimly lit room, appearing to absorb every minute detail.

Three crimson coated tongues flicked out towards the blonde man, followed by low growls that bounced around the walls of the room, trying to instill fear into their target. But the man wasn't fazed. He didn't even flinch.

Slowly and deliberately, the man turned to face the fourth unoccupied corner of the room. He raised his head and stared directly into the camera, and the occupants in the surveillance room felt as if the man were looking straight at them, not the object providing them with his image.

It was eerie, and the people's fears were confirmed when Albert Wesker smirked at them and shifted his attention to the three Lickers, as if the people observing him were nothing more than bystanders glued to the spot by the scene in front of them, too stupid to understand what was really going on in the room.

And they were. Because no one in the surveillance room knew the extent of what Albert Wesker was capable of, and that would be a mistake they would soon come to regret.

"Fools." Wesker rolled his eyes behind his shades, pleased that his sunglasses at the least, were on him. He had allowed the white clothes that made him seem like he belonged in a mental asylum because really, there was no other choice, what with his practically nonexistent ones.

There was that fact and one he didn't care for as much:

He was a prisoner here.

But there was no way that Wesker would allow anyone to touch his sunglasses. After the…incident, Wesker had managed to find a spare pair of shades moments before his capture and would have had no problem killing the person who tried to touch his prized possession.

The fools had understood this and left him alone, primarily because with or without Uroboros, Wesker was still dangerous.

And it was about time that he reminded them of that. The blonde man knew that no one expected him to survive this latest exercise. He had been pitted against groups of the undead, mutated dogs, even a pair of Lickers. But a trio of Lickers…by now the clean up crew was probably already mobilizing to sweep bloody remains into plastic bags.

But they wouldn't be Wesker's remains.

Wesker had been given a rusty old kukri as his only weapon. And that was it. No gun, not even tear gas or a grenade. No wonder they expected him to die. Anyone else would have, because no one wanted to engage in close combat with three Lickers without a dozen guns and grenades and most importantly, back up.

Not unless they were desperate.

And in Wesker's situation, not unless they didn't have a choice.

Wesker didn't dwell on a mission that according to everyone else he was doomed to fail. Instead, the blonde man cooperated with a voice in his head, warning him to slink into the fourth camera occupied corner because giving his back to just one Licker might result in his death.

Wesker tightened his hold on the blade in his gloveless hand. Choices, choices, so many choices, Wesker thought, scanning the enemy for any details that would determine the killing lineup as he very slowly began to inch his way to his corner.

As if they were waiting for him to make the first move, the mutated creatures launched themselves out of their shadowed corners, running at the blonde man with the gait of primitive predators.

Wesker watched them with a bored expression on his face, unimpressed by the raw, brown-red muscles of the Lickers closing in on him. Overgrown yellowed claws scraped at the tiled floors they ran across, their sharp heaviness keeping them from sliding across the room. Wesker could hear the scrape and clicks now as the distance was decreasing rapidly between him and his opponents.

"All brawn and no brains." Wesker muttered, holding back another smirk. "Just like Chris."

There was no chance of that smirk now. The five letter word had banished it to the depths of hell, because that was exactly where Chris Redfield had sent him to. Granted, it was better to be stuck here than at the bottom of a volcano, but still, Wesker was looking forward to planning his revenge.

Perhaps something including fire. Lots and lots of fire. Or heavy, blunt objects. Wesker hadn't decided yet…

But lately, Wesker was hearing interesting rumours from the guards and various lab technicians around the facility. They were all about his arch nemesis, rumours that were leading the blonde to believe that the brunette hadn't exactly been celebrating the supposed victory since Africa.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, irritated Wesker. It took all the satisfaction out of his return if he wouldn't be able to rain on Christopher's parade so to speak, and wipe the smug grin off the younger man's face when he saw that the Tyrant was still very much alive.

In fact, from what Wesker had heard, Christopher had long been deprived of a smile and his companions for months, and had ended up moving across the country and taking a job as a security guard. Gone were the heroic exploits of the past, and the camaraderie with Valentine and the rest of the group. In its stead was isolation and possibly depression, including an emergency night visit to the very same hospital he worked at just one month after the Kijuju incident.

Wesker knew better than to believe that such exaggerated accounts of major depression and suicidal tendencies were true. Chris was simply too annoyingly optimistic and lively to suddenly change, especially after a hard won 'victory'. But part of him wondered offhandedly, how the Redfield really was living, back in the 'normal' world.

Because if it was anything like how Chris used to live for almost a year after Wesker betrayed S.T.A.R.S and 'died' at the mansion, then there was a disturbing possibility that these rumours weren't just rumours after all.

"Adrian."

"Yes, Trent?" The answering voice was mild, to put it gently, not too put off by the interruption of observing the young brunette he held across his lap. The sedative had been administered almost two hours ago, and Redfield was due to wake up soon.

The company had made sure not to gawk at how easily their leader had taken the prisoner into his arms. His preference for men was no secret, as was his usually gentle treatment for anyone who was injured. But there was an unusual intensity to how Adrian was studying the unconscious man, not with the eyes of a besotted man, but of the plotting manipulator he was known worldwide to be.

The van stayed immersed in silence for another long moment before Trent cleared his throat and sneaked a glance at Ted with hesitant doe brown eyes. The redhead nodded in encouragement to Trent, and the brown haired man finally gathered his speaking cajones.

"The prisoner…um," he swallowed loudly. "He really doesn't know about Generation?"

Adrian's blue eyes narrowed. It wouldn't do for his men to speak so freely in front of Christopher, but he was still supposedly unconscious for a good ten minutes. And he did hate for anyone to be in an uneven playing field…

"No, Trent, I do not believe so." He answered, pale fingers gliding over Chris's neck to feel the still steady pulse before withdrawing. The leader of the merc team was tempted to touch the gaunt features of a man who surely must have seen as much combat as himself, including close encounters with the cursed dead but restrained himself. It would not do for him to display too much interest in the man he held despite being in a vehicle with two of his most trusted men, the third recuperating in a hospital from a concussion.

Oh, Terry, Adrian thought, ruefully. You always were a little slow on the uptake. How lucky our prisoner is still so innocent compared to us.

"So he doesn't know about…" Ted spoke up, and gave the unconscious Redfield an uneasy glance.

Adrian shook his head, his black hair covering half of his face, the pale skin the only other color on his entirely black outfit. What little face was left to view was blank, and jade green eyes coolly met the gaze of his subordinates.

"It is to stay this way." He told them quietly. "Until he sees for himself. Otherwise, the meeting will be compromised."

"Sir," the quiet spoken redhead returned his gaze to the road where conveniently enough, few cars seemed to be traveling on at the moment.

Trent gawked at the firm serious tone that the group's medic took and watched Adrian almost do the same.

"Christopher Redfield may already be compromised." Ted said, and waited.

"Explain." Adrian ordered and the redhead continued.

"The files you asked us to gather include recent hospital treatment at the hospital where he is employed." Ted told his boss. "Four months ago he came to the emergency room with massive blood loss due to multiple lacerations on his arms."

Adrian raised an eyebrow and the redhead rushed to explain.

"It was done exactly one month after he came back from a mission in Africa, where our newest…acquisition was found."

"Ah." Trent nodded and whistled. "Shit. Does that mean that—"

"It means that it is up to our acquisition," here Adrian shot Ted an amused look then a warning glance at the brunette. "To help our friend realize the extent of the situation. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir." The other two men chorused.

"Good." Adrian placed his hand lightly on Christopher's neck and felt the racing pulse there. He smiled. "Very good."

The Licker's enraged roar was cut short as the rusted blade sliced through exposed raw muscle and buried itself in the white wall behind the now permanently dead (and headless) creature.

One monster down. Two more to go.

Except…Wesker had let go of the only weapon he had.

Luckily for the blonde, the cannibalistic nature of the mutated creatures led them to fall upon their deceased comrade, devouring the cooling body as if they had never eaten before.

Knowing them, Wesker knew it was far (very) from the truth.

Slowly, Wesker strode over to his weapon, but didn't get further than 100 feet away when a low growl sounded behind him.

He raised a pale eyebrow.

"Clearly I didn't give this one enough credit." He mused, the muscles already tensing in his body, preparing to take flight. The blonde didn't plan on running, but clearly his body had other ideas…perhaps the part of his body that harbored Uroboros.

Wesker knew without a doubt that the virus lay dormant inside of him. There could be no other possible explanation for why he had survived his meeting with a volcano's interior. If Wesker had indeed had the virus flushed out of his system after his fall, then surely the blonde would not have been able to wade out of the sea of fire in one piece.

Now if only he could once again master control over the animal side of him...the side that apparently seemed to reveal its presence only when he was in danger, like now…

The creature gave another louder screech and with gaping jaws tried to land on all fours on Wesker's back. And it would have, were it not for Wesker vanishing seconds before the Licker's claws would have shredded through the cotton material of his t-shirt.

The Licker actually dropped its tongue in confusion, trying vainly to sense its prey…who was currently gripping the leather handle of the kukri embedded in the wall with what could almost, almost, be called an astonished expression.

Albert Wesker's eyes flashed crimson.

A smirk quickly followed, and the blonde man easily slid the inserted blade out of the wall as if the heavily layered plaster and cement were water instead of a more solid substance. With subtle, fluid movements all melting into the other, Wesker seemed to almost glide to the Licker that had dared to attack him.

It wasn't intimidated. The mutated creature roared again, and meat red shoulders rippled with rage. Claws skipped yards as the Licker charged at the blonde man. Wesker simply stood, feet comfortably apart, stature perfectly upright, the only sign that he was aware of the attacker was in the tightened grip on the kukri.

Thoughts on how to deal with the Licker flew through Wesker's mind in droves. He couldn't latch onto one, and before he could so much as blink, the world suddenly slowed, moving at the pace of dripping honey.

Wesker's mind stopped thinking.

It just started doing.

Because Wesker was no longer in control.

To the cameras, it would appear as if Wesker had given up all hope of fighting, of attempting to even escape. The man had just stood there, not even instinctively raising his hand to ward off the fatal blow from the Licker.

The Licker leapt, flicking its tongue in victory as it descended on the still blonde.

Yards became feet. Feet almost became inches. But once again, Wesker didn't meet the Licker. The mutated abomination met the ground heavily, and before it could stagger to its feet, Wesker delivered a roundhouse kick that sent it flying into the air, straight towards the wall at bone crushing speed. Even then it could survive, and Wesker refused to take any chances.

A white blur followed the Licker and leapt into the air to deliver a powerful slash with the kukri, severing its spine, instantly paralyzing the creature.

The Licker's momentum wasn't interrupted however, and the blonde's last attack only served to speed up its meeting with the wall.

The impact finished the job.

Wesker didn't bother glancing at the corpse, or the dark blood sluggishly oozing onto the floor. He turned instead to the last Licker. Two seconds later and a kick delivered the monster to the wall, causing the camera above the crumpled heap of flesh to shudder from the impact. Stunned researchers could only stare as the relaxed blonde Tyrant walked over to the dazed creature. Just as calmly, Wesker severed its tongue with one clean cut using the red-stained kukri before sending the tongueless Licker flying to the wall across the room.

Screeches of pain only grew in volume as an arm was left behind before the Licker flew once more to an adjacent wall. The wall opposite that one received the second limb.

Wesker only grew more meticulous as he methodically chopped off the Licker's body parts. The creature only grew more pathetic as it scrabbled uselessly to stand on its hind legs after losing its claws, leaving a messy trail of blood as it struggled to lift itself to its feet.

Soon only its bleeding torso and head was left. Blood was spattered across white walls, decorating it with slowly darkening stains that would remain permanently clinging to the walls.

But Wesker wasn't finished yet with his plaything.

It was now time for the finale.

The quivering, torn mess that was the Licker was picked up by Wesker with slender, delicate hands. Bloodred eyes regarded the creature with interest before the blonde carelessly tossed the Licker into the air. The Licker howled weakly as it rose up gently into the air, then slowly fell down, picking up speed as it hurtled towards Wesker.

As soon as it was within grabbing distance, Wesker dropped the kukri, took hold of the Licker's head and tore it away from the body with one sharp kick to the torso and one sharp twist to its head. Once the torso dropped to the ground, the blonde man stepped back and with a grin that could only (at this point) be described as feral and disturbing, flung the blood coated head straight at the camera, shattering its lens once head and glass collided.

Silence echoed in the death filled room and the surveillance room. The observers could only see static on the monitor and gaped in shock, mentally replaying the latest exercise over and over.

Inside the room in which Wesker stood, the blonde man's sharpened focus deserted him, and no one saw as he staggered onto his knee, kneeling as a sharp pain pierced through his head. Wesker kept one hand flat on the ground, refusing to clutch at his aching head like an idiot, focusing instead on tolerating the pain. Experience told him that the discomfort would pass soon enough, and it was a small price to pay for surviving this particular exercise.

But he had to admit, it was unusually bloody this time around.

At least he wasn't drenched in blood, and even his hands hadn't received more than a couple of drops worth of blood from the mutated creatures.

None of this seemed to dissuade Wesker from feeling frustration, though. Uroboros had gone as quickly as it had appeared, and this weariness meant that soon he would need to rest, meaning that analyzing this stupid (yet useful) exercise would have to wait a couple of hours.

"Some rest." Wesker muttered, slowly rising to stand, growling as another wave of dizziness slammed into him. "Rest would definitely benefit me at this point."

Maybe then, he'd stop talking to himself. Although at this point, it was more at the Uroboros virus than himself, which really, didn't bode well for his mental health. Falling into a volcano, escaping and dropping into an experimental facility of questionable ethics did that to a person.

How the bloody hell did everyone else do it without going completely insane? Wesker wondered. Perhaps it was a question best left for Redfield at their reunion, which always ended in Chris ranting about their past.

Now Wesker would have something to contribute to said rant.

I was wondering, Christopher, Wesker would say in an imaginary future. What pills or methods do you use to cope with the insanity that is your life? And please, do neglect to mention friendship and family. We all know there is no such thing for gods such as myself.

Before Wesker could dwell on how the imaginary conversation made his mental state appear even worse, two large doors that seemed to have melted into the whiteness of the room slid open. A redhead with mismatched eyes, one aqua blue and the other tawny brown, stepped in with a one piece cleaning suit. A team of cleaners with supplies followed, and all froze at the sight that greeted them.

Amusement shone in mismatched eyes as they met the cool grey ones of the underdog of the past exercise.

"Surprised you ain't dead, Wesker." The man said with a wide grin. He held out his hand at the side and received a pile of green bills.

"Boys," he said, a pleased smile breaking across his face. "I believe I win our bet."

"Only cause you steered us wrong, Drake." One of them men grumbled and the leader shrugged.

"You're only steered wrong if ya let yourself, Benny." The man said cheerfully and extended some bills to Wesker. "You get a cut too, Wesker."

The blonde man ignored the head of the cleaning team and walked past them to the corridor where he would be escorted to his cell. But before he left, he paused at the exit.

"There will be a time when you will be led wrong, Drake." Wesker said coolly. "And when it happens I'll personally be there to watch you die."

Drake shrugged. "A man's gotta die sometime, right?" he replied. "You would know, if you ever stayed dead."

A hearty chuckle followed the blonde man out of the bloody room, followed by barked orders to get to work.

Nothing stays dead anymore. Wesker continued his walk and for the first time in a very long time, found himself disturbed at that fact.

And that ladies and gentlemen, was never a good sign.

Not for someone like Albert Wesker.

"I will take our guest to his cell," Adrian said to his subordinates.

All three men, with Christopher in the head merc's arms were gathered in the middle of the long freezing corridor. To the left were the holding cells, the right held offices and laboratories, and well, everything else.

Once the group separated, the black haired merc glanced down at the slumbering man, noting that he was beginning to stir some more.

"Almost there, Christopher." Adrian muttered under his breath, ending his long walk in front of a white door with one square glass window a little above eye level. With one hand, the mercenary managed to extract his ID from his jean pocket and with only some difficulty hold it in front of a scanner positioned in front of the door. The scanner flashed green and a low buzz followed. Seconds later the door slid open and Adrian stepped into the cell, greeted by white.

White walls, white floor, and surprise…white bunk bed lodged in the farthest corner of the room. The merc couldn't suppress an eye roll at the color and walked over to the lower bed where a neatly folded up pair of sweats and t-shirt awaited him.

They were white.

Adrian quietly snorted and moved the clothes to the side before stooping down to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling of the bed above. Very gently, the merc set Chris on the bed so as not to finish waking him up, but even so, the brunette groaned and rolled over towards Adrian.

"Stay." Adrian grumbled, lightly pushing him back. He smiled faintly as Chris curled up to face the wall and the mercenary straightened up to leave.

"I feel sorry for you, Christopher." Adrian said softly, breaking the silence in the cell, speaking to the unconscious man. "I truly, truly do."

I feel sorry for you, Christopher. That voice, so full of regret…Chris opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of white.

I truly, truly do. Who said that? Chris tried to roll over and see who was speaking, heard the footsteps growing farther, but it was if his body had forgotten how to function.

And then a low buzzing sound shot adrenaline through him before the quiet click of a door made him roll over quickly and fall off the bed altogether.

"Ow." Chris winced and rubbed his head gingerly. That probably wasn't the best idea.

Blue eyes saw a blurry image. An all white image. Walls, maybe? What the hell was that clear square doing in the middle of all that white?

"Where the hell am I?" he asked, as if the room he was in would answer. Maybe it would, the sedative hadn't completely worn off yet…

Wesker really didn't like his guards.

They were yet another perfect example of all brawn and no brains, discussing last week's game of god knows what as if it were the highlight of their lives. Considering how stupid and easily pleased people like them were, perhaps it was.

It was times like these when Wesker was glad that he had a cell to go back to, a nice clean cell in which only he slept and didn't have to interact with these fools.

Just one minute and I won't have to see them for another twelve hours, Wesker thought, in an attempt to restrain himself from snapping their necks. Even without the virus active in him, Wesker was confident that he could take two guards out. It was the rest of the security team and team of tracker dogs that was the problem. And he had yet to memorize the entire layout of the facility, and without a set of blueprints…

Thirty more seconds…

"Hey Adrian," one of the guards said, noticing the lone black haired man walking towards them. "Back already, huh?"

"Yes." Was the distant reply, as if the merc's thoughts were elsewhere. Green eyes seemed preoccupied with something else but sharpened into focus when they met Wesker's stare.

Time halted as the two men locked eyes, expressions not hostile, merely…

Assessing. That was the word.

The short time in which the men had interacted had proven that their respective intelligence was on nearly equal levels, a fact that made them curious about each other. Wesker knew that it would be impossible to use the man with promises of money and power, clearly, the merc wanted to seek that for himself. But the blonde knew that the merc didn't exactly approve of the goings on in the facility, but he wasn't yet able to completely prove that theory.

Green eyes delivered two messages that Wesker found interesting. There was doubt for the first time in usually humor filled eyes, and worst of all, sympathy.

Grey eyes hardened behind dark sunglasses and Wesker nodded slightly in greeting. The nod was returned and when Wesker stood in front of a white door with a glass window just above eye level, he flipped through possible scenarios that warranted a reaction such as the one that the raven-haired man had given him. None of them were pleasant and included an interruption in what he thought was his personal time. Perhaps the next exercise was even more 'unfair', with even more Lickers?

Wesker dismissed such thoughts. In any case he could easily take care of those creatures, so there was no point in—

The door slid open with a low buzz, and a huddled figure in the middle of the cell room was the first thing that the blonde's eyes were drawn to. A figure that seemed familiar but completely strange at the same time.

Chris Redfield was pretty sure he was dreaming. Yep, dreaming. Because there was no way in hell that he could be sitting in what had to be a cell inside of a mental asylum. Only crazy people got sent there and Chris wasn't crazy—

Everything was still blurry. His head hurt, and he felt dizzy. Standing was out of the question and there! There was that annoying buzzing sound again! Was it that person who brought him here again?

Nope. Just another crazy. Hazy blue eyes managed to lock onto a tall man dressed in white. A patient. Except this guy didn't look crazy, he stepped into the room as if he owned the place. In fact, if it weren't for the set of black shades perched on the guy's aristocratic looking nose, Chris would even say that the guy really didn't belong here and was just a result of the sedatives…because seriously, who wore sunglasses indoors—

Sunglasses.

Blonde hair that seemed kinda slicked back, as if attempting to do the job without expensive hair gel.

Everything was becoming clearer, but Chris's mind only grew more confused.

This had to be a dream.

The man halted just in front of the door, the low buzz as it shut behind him ignored as he stared at Chris.

It couldn't be. Nonono, it can't! It's impossible! Chris's mind screamed in panic.

Pale, slender fingers took the pair of sunglasses off of the familiar face, revealing a set of eyes that belonged to an earlier time, before they became the glowing coals of a monster.

Shocked grey eyes met disbelieving blue.

AN: Holy crap! Ohmygodohmygod and ohmygod again! Not only is this the longest chapter yet, but we finally have Chris and Wesker face to face…for less than a page. Heh, don't worry, next update there will be more, so much more. Which will be soon. Really.

I don't know if I did, but thank you all for being so kind to this newbie! You're all awesome and I hope you're with me for the long haul, all the alerts and reviews tell me you're with me up until now, so yay!

Feedback, comments, reviews and alerts are always welcome! They're good for the soul, you know, as is coffee. But seriously, some feedback on the action scene would help a lot! And on Wesker's eyes…I'm really not sure what color they are and I did try looking it up… Until next time (waves with one hand while the other weakly lifts coffee cup to gasping lips)! See ya!