Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil.

So very sorry this has taken so long to get to, I'm back in school so a lot of my time will be dedicated to that but I'm trying my best to find time to write! A lot of you reviewed the story while I was away so thank you to everyone who recently discovered it and for those who have come back! This chap is gonna be all Wesker so buckle your seatbelt.

Chapter 12: Bloodborne

It did not matter where he came from, who he associated himself with, or the things he did. The past was now just a cloud of dust in his wake and the future stretched before him vibrantly. He could see his opportunities, he could see his targets, and he could see his influence spread just like the virus he created. Slowly, he was sinking his claws into the sides of his prey and it would only be a matter of time before those claws of his ripped them open, spilling the insides of that prey all over the floor. While he was under some sort of control now, it wouldn't be much longer until he toppled this organization and either lopped off its head or made it his own.

Either way, he would win. He always did.

As the weeks went by, his "job" had become quite the recess for him. He found great pleasure in hunting and killing his targets seemingly for sport. HCF gave him almost complete free range over their multiple resources and connections, allowing him to go anywhere, rent anything, and kill anyone. With a little persuasion, he was given a small military force to manage with Ada as his right hand. Missions were completed swiftly and without error for Wesker had a very strict way of running things. However, and Wesker even had to admit this himself, he had been getting out of control lately. He had to fight the virus inside of him for dominance, it was a vicious and starving entity that lived within him. An animal with its leg caught in a trap, snapping and gnawing at that trap just waiting to be set free. Wesker had to push it down more and more every day and in turn, it became harder to be himself. It became harder to control his urges…

These urges included the smell of blood in his nose and the taste of it in his mouth. He often found himself staring at certain individuals as if they were prey. Unbeknownst to others around him, he was scoping them out, picking and choosing although, he never indulged. He would sometimes hear voices in his head, provoking him to do terrible things. And while Wesker was one to partake in "terrible things", he had an image to upkeep now. However, in the blackness of night, he would pace rampantly in his quarters, clenching his hands into fists so tightly, his fingernails would break the skin on his palms. His thoughts would race here and there… violent images of his past and some he had no recollection of, people he had encountered and destroyed… Spencer was at the end of each memory, mocking him although Wesker thought he had won this time around, it felt as though the old man still had a grip on his life and it angered Wesker to no end. Then he thought of Claire, the way her eyes would grow soft at his pain after she had learned the truth of the man she claimed to love. Unfortunately, Claire was no longer apart of his life. Wesker silently scolded himself for putting her through his personal turmoil, and in turn, bringing about her own. However, it was a sacrifice, one that he wished he could take back. He tried to keep her out of his thoughts but her image was too powerful, the very idea of Claire Redfield made Wesker want to melt into her once more, like the first time she grabbed his hand out of fear, or the first time she moaned his name through bated and pleasurable breath… or the first time she told him that she loved him. The life he had was merely a concept to him now, a fleeting memory on his iron path to freedom. Freedom from chains that Spencer had once shackled him with, attempting to tame the beast that harbored within him. Freedom from the humanity that still lingered in the darkest corners of his form. The body that carried the blood in his veins was the vessel for his coming storm… and he carried the wilderness in those veins. One could watch it in his stance, the way he walked himself down the halls. One could hear it in his voice, a thunderous sound that reverberated against the walls. One could see it in his eyes, the burning infernos that raged like the fire of a dragon. Among all of these things, Albert Wesker was a master of precision, a man who, in all sense of the saying, kept his friends close but his enemies closer. Much closer.

HCF was just another stepping stone to his throne and he would do to them what he did to Umbrella. He would sink through their ranks like water through the tightest spaces, assets and allies would be formed, time and resources would be accumulated, and finally, after every piece fell together, he would conquer them. His fight to the finish looked greener on the other side but for now, the game would commence.

XXXXX

"Please…" The man begged helplessly from his bloodied lips. "I have a family…"

Wesker was not phased by what the man was telling him, he could care less about what he has, rather her was much more interested in what he had.

"You're wasting my time, Mr. Richardson." Wesker said bluntly, the barrel of his Samurai Edge pointed between Mr. Richardson's eyes.

Ada sighed behind behind him, indicated that she was becoming bored of this game. "Can we speed this up, Wesker? We have to places to be."

"I will allow you one more opportunity to tell me what I want to know." Wesker spoke lowly, his baritone voice vibrating against the walls of the small office. "Don't make me ask you again." He pulled back the hammer of his gun and Mr. Richardson visibly flinched at the sound.

The mans hands came up in surrender. "Okay, okay!" His voice was raspy with fear, sweat and blood beading down his face. "Paris. You'll have to go to Paris to retrieve the samples you want."

Wesker clenched his jaw. "Go on."

"It's highly secured. You'll need my access code." Richardson's voice was cracking with every syllable.

"The code?" Ada interrupted, clearly annoyed with how much time this was taking.

"2-0-4-8." Richardson replied. "It's confined in a small freezer and that's all you need to know. The documents are in the desk." He said pointing behind him with the arm that wasn't broken.

Wesker motioned his head towards the desk and Ada quickly began to rummage through the drawers.

"I've made my deal with Umbrella…" Richardson quaked as he proceeded to cradle his broken arm.

"Umbrella is gone." Wesker replied swiftly. "You answer us now."

"And I answered!" Richardson cried. "So please let me go!" The fear on his face was palpable and Wesker gathered that he had never been put in a situation such as this. Richardson was a retired Umbrella researcher that worked strictly on the Progenitor Virus when it was being used to formate the G-Virus. He had never met Wesker, only heard of him and with that, heard of his supposed death. And now that the man himself was standing stagnant before him, Wesker couldn't have that now could he?

Ada held up a multitude of enclosed files for Wesker to see. "Let's go." She said dryly.

Wesker looked down to Richardson again and shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't let you live as you've disclosed very privy information to someone who's supposed to be dead. And what better way to keep your mouth shut than to keep it shut permanently."

"No please!" Richardson begged, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. "I won't say a fucking word to anyone I swe—"

Wesker's shot rang out harshly, making Ada flinch every so slightly. Richardson's brains were splattered onto the carpet beneath him and Ada rolled her eyes.

"They told us not make a mess." She scolded.

Wesker holstered his gun and wiped a few droplets of blood that found their way onto his jaw with the back of his hand. "Sorry."

XXXXX

If he were to pull back his person, the flesh on his bones, the insides on his inside, and the blood in his veins, he would be left with only his humanity to comfort him in the late hours of the night. Parts of him that were too ingrained in his self to be bleached away by years of imprisonment. Parts of him that weren't stripped clean by Spencer or Marcus or his father. Those parts were loyalty, intelligence, leadership, and kindness.

His loyalty was fierce. On multiple occasions he had dedicated himself to something and at one point, he had dedicated himself to someone. It was the mold of his personality if one were to describe him without appealing to his other, more sinister traits. Not only was he loyal to his work, he was loyal to meaning of that work. In the beginning, he tried to strive for the betterment of the human race however, the human race showed him no mercy and he resented them for it.

His intelligence was unmatched. His head swam with more knowledge than scholars, philosophers, and idealists combined. He craved knowledge almost as much as he craved the kill, if not more at certain times. And it wasn't just academic, it was strategic. A powerful mind that could present powerful ideas which could actually bring about an action. He coveted the things he knew and he anticipated for the things he would come to learn.

His leadership was ruthless. A leader, it was what he was born to be. He believed in personal strength but he also valued strength in numbers. He proved his ability to control a severe situation when he saw war, the faces of his comrades as they were mercilessly struck down hardened him, chipped away at each emotion until they were raw. During his time with S.T.A.R.S., his captainship was tested daily by the individuals he called Alpha Team. Most saw him fit to be that leader whereas others thought him to be cruel and severe. Whatever they thought of him then did not matter now, he saved all their skins anyways.

His kindness was fickle. Despite all the things one could say about Albert Wesker, only some could speak of that kindness. A seemingly absent trait to a man who was often associated with cruelty and coldness. Very few people could latch onto him and gain the most from him, bearing witness to every emotion he had to offer. There was still a low burning flame of humanity within him and without it, he would simply be an artificial being created for the sole purpose of destruction and weaponizing his own power.

With all of these things and then some accounted for, Wesker was still an extremely complex man who sought power to faction his own control over every situation he was put into. The world would fear him and he would make it so. He did not want glory in the sense of recognition for good and moral deeds, he wanted glory in the sense of the ability to petrify his opponents. He did not want power to do good for others, he wanted power to do unto others what they did to him. Despite bringing down the company he called home for a significant portion of his life, he still needed a place to call his own without the number thirteen tattooed on his neck. He needed an empire to rule and control and without it, everything he had worked so hard for would ultimately go to waste. He was no longer a beast with a burden, he had shed that off of his back like snake skin. What awaited him was a long and tedious road to freedom from Spencer and freedom from the very idea that one could control him again. He was programmed to follow Spencer's every whim, programmed to heed to his every order. It sickened him to the core to think about what he had done for that man, the people and situations he had forcefully manipulated just to please him. The end of S.T.A.R.S. was not something Wesker wanted to partake in, he openly and swiftly rejected the very idea of disposing of their lives. However, Spencer yanked his chain and Wesker obeyed… just like he always did.

XXXXX

"Do we even know what we're looking for?" Commander Skinner boomed, his steely eyes scanning over the documents Wesker and Ada had brought to him from their previous mission.

The two agents were seated in front of his desk, Ada was busy inspecting a nail while Wesker sat stiffly in his chair, shaded eyes glowering at Skinner's accusation.

"He said we'd find the rest of what we're looking for in Paris." Ada commented dryly.

Skinner looked up from the documents, "And he didn't tell you anything else?"

Ada's eyes rolled slightly as she looked over to her partner. "He didn't get a chance to spit anything else out before Wesker blasted his brains all over the floor."

Skinner sighed and closed the folders. "Okay, then you two will head to Paris within the next few days. I'll have to make some arrangements but it shouldn't be long." He stacked the folders on top of each other and looked at the two agents across from him. "In the meantime, I expect you two to prepare for a long trip, you might be in for a surprise. If I know anything about old Umbrella factions is that they always have a damned trick up their sleeves. He gave you the information but surly at a price."

Wesker did not respond, he rose up from his seat and Ada followed suit.

"Wesker." Skinner boomed. "You stay."

Ada glanced at Wesker before she took her leave and as the door shut behind her, Skinner slammed his hand down on his desk.

"What the hell are you doing out there?" He demanded harshly. "You didn't need to kill him for god's sake!"

Wesker's jaw clenched and his eyes flashed behind his dark shades. "I was under the impression that our enemies will use anything they can against us." He turned to face Skinner. "And I worked with that man, meaning he most likely heard of my death. So I took the liberty for him and made sure he would keep his mouth shut."

"You could've threatened him." Skinner argued, his eyes stern towards his agent.

"I hardly threaten." Wesker growled. "It's useless. But if you would like to take your chances then by all means, take them. Just do not say I didn't warn you." He began to walk away, dismissing himself with that statement.

"Wesker." Skinner's voice echoed through his office. "I know how you used to operate and I know you're used to that kind of approach but here, you follow my orders… is that clear?"

Wesker glanced over his shoulder and slowly nodded. "Crystal."

XXXXX

Oh what he would give for a dark and brutal kill. He lie there in his bed, sheets draped over his body, hands clenching the fabric as he fantasied about humans running about like bleating sheep. He was always the wolf among them, stagnant until his time came. His piercing red hues eyeing his prey as they brushed by him without a second glance. They considered him one of their own, just another man on the street, walking against the flow. And although he gained a look or two, he simply blended among them for years, feeling out their lives, observing the way they communicate, the way they suffer, organize, even the way they love. He learned from them, a human once himself, they had taught him to be callous but caring, fearsome but a facade. He put on his sheep's clothing over his teeth and claws, over his matted and bloodied fur. However, despite all of the destructive behavior they had seemingly imprinted on him, they had also taught him how to be benevolent.

They had given him a woman. A woman who brought out his true colors. Claire Redfield gave Wesker a taste of his own medicine. She was confident and complicated girl, a real pain in the ass too. But Wesker would get down on his hands and knees for her. Claire and Wesker had much more in common than they thought and it was a hard truth to swallow. They were parentless, at a time, penniless, and had to conform to a harsh lifestyle that molded them into the people they were today. Wesker clenched his hands into fists at the very thought of her; not out of anger but out of fear. He feared what had become of her since the outbreak. He feared that his act of leaving her behind sentenced her to a violent death in that city they once called home together. Wesker would eventually need closure, he had spent too much time with her to forget everything they had done. Claire, unlike most, had given him a second chance. She had traced the scars on his back and nourished his cracked exterior, reminding him that he had turned from porcelain, to ivory, to steel. They had come so far together it would be a crime to forget what she had given him. Raccoon City had become true desolation and the life that he had left there, would be buried with its ashes. He just hoped Claire made it out unscathed. Wherever she ended up, Wesker would find her… dead or alive.

A/N: Sweet victory! I wrote this chap in 3 days because I was on a hardcore roll! Enjoy!