"I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door, I must have it painted black
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts
It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black
No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes…"
Paint It, Black by Ciara
A tall, dark figure leaned against the second story window, gazing out at the darkening sea. The navy-colored water rushed up the sand, reaching for anything in its path. Dragging its prizes back out into its vast dark depths to never be found again, until those devouring waters grew tired of its trinkets and discarded them along the shore.
Blond brows furrowed into a glare, as his unnatural eyes glowed faintly behind dark shades. He detested the sea. But what he truly hated was that color. He wanted to rid it from his sight. Never did he want to see another navy-colored sea or sky. They all remind him of his eyes. Everywhere he looked there was something that reminded Wesker of him. Wesker turned from the window with his lips pulled into a sneer.
He strode over to the desk on the opposite side of the room, not once looking back. As he reached the desk, he plucked up the first manila folder he found. Flipping it open, cold eyes swept across the first page and came to rest upon the photo inside. The picture was of test subject LT-583. Navy blue eyes stared defiantly up at him from the picture, causing a snarl to slip past his lips before flinging the folder from his hand. Papers and pictures fluttered to the ground around him, as he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply through his nose. He needed a drink. Preferably something strong.
He strode away from the desk, the crunching of paper beneath his feet, toward the bedside table. Reaching the bedside table, he pulled open a drawer and grabbed a bottle from within. Not even bothering to glance at the bottle, he spun the cap off and took a long pull from it. The liquor burned the whole way down. With a quick glance at the bottle, he read the name of it. Stroh rum. At least it's strong. Wesker shrugged before downing some more.
A soft ding from behind him drew his attention back towards his desk. Striding back to his desk, Wesker ignored the mess beneath his feet, his sole focus on the laptop before him. A soft creak escaped from the leather of the chair as Wesker settled himself upon it. Leaning back in the chair, Wesker tapped on the blinking icon at the top right corner of the screen. Bringing his hand up to rest against his mouth, he was the picture of nonchalance with his other arm resting against the arm of the chair, bottle dangling in his fingers.
A well-muscled brunette appeared on the screen before him. The man's muscles rippled as he threw a jab at the punching bag before him. The bag swung violently away from him, apparently having hit the bag harder than he had intended to. He grabbed the bag as it swung back towards him, forcing it to remain in place. Sweat ran down his back, as he rested his forehead against the punching bag, hands still holding it in place.
Wesker contemplated the screen before him. Did Chris truly believe that he had accomplished impossible feats from just exercising to the point of exhaustion? There was no conceivable way for Chris to have been able to stand toe to toe with him back in Africa. Let alone punch a boulder out of his way, even with the use of steroids. Did he truly not suspect that he was different, superior to those around him? Did Chris not realize that he was under surveillance beyond even the B.S.A.A.'s normal vigilance?
Dark blue eyes glared balefully in the direction of the hidden camera, almost as if in answer to Wesker's silent musings. A soft hum slipped from his mouth as he rubbed a finger against his bottom lip. Maybe it was time that he paid Christopher a long overdue visit. It had been too long since he had last graced his ex-subordinate with his presence. The thought of seeing those defiant eyes scowling up at him as he imagined wrapping his hands around that muscular neck, had a dangerous smirk sliding along his lips.
Wesker rose from his chair with that image in mind and grabbed his phone along with his jacket. A swift message sent ahead of his arrival to the aircraft hangar would be his only warning to have his private jet ready for him. Hellish eyes alit with anticipation and a saccharine grin to match, Wesker strode from his home. Oh, how he couldn't wait for this reunion.