Reprieve
July 25, 1998
Chris Redfield opened fire, as did his fellow STARS Jill Valentine, Barry Burton, and Rebecca Chamber. The treacherous Captain Albert Wesker was dead, thankfully, but the freak of science he unleashed before it impaled him—the prototype thing called the Tyrant T-002—was a tough son of bitch. They fired everything they had only for it to seem to have little effect on the behemoth; and in fact, it seemed to be akin to flies striking it.
Even Barry's Colt Anaconda was barely hurting it.
Was this it? It couldn't end like this! He felt cheated—by Wesker, by Umbrella, by the turn of events, by the hand of life from the death of his parents to this moment—and there was nothing he could do about it.
A sudden thud hit the ground: a big ass rocket launcher.
"Chris!" he suddenly heard along with the blades of a chopper. Then he looked up to see a helicopter above them which he had failed to notice—and not just any chopper, but there. Piloted by Brad "chickenheart" Vickers, the one who got spooked and abandoned them at the start of all this. "Use that!" He pointed to the launcher. "Kill it! Whatever it is!"
Without another word, Chris pulled up the M202 FLASH onto his shoulder, thankful that chicken shit actually came back—so happy his anger toward the pilot for leaving them to this nightmare of an experience momentarily being abated.
He took aim for Wesker's precious Tyrant and with a "Fire in the hole!" he pulled the trigger. The blast of the rocket disembarking did not knock off his feet but it caused him to stagger back a step.
It was dealt with.
The chopper landed, and they all rushed aboard. Remembering the self-destruct captain Wesker—no, just Wesker, now—was still in play and they needed to make themselves scarce, fast. Once they were on, Chris told him "Brad, take off! Now! The place is about to blow!"
"What!" Brad gasped, even more eager to get back into the skies and away from there. "Why didn't you say so sooner!?"
Their ride pulled out and they were off. Getting away with a front row seat to the explosion to follow. Chris sighed in relief to have gotten out of there.
Blissfully ignorant of the figure running among the trees.
Jill pulled off her beret with her own sigh, resting her head on Redfield's shoulder. Chris looked at her resting visage, she was tired just as they all were. Having her pretty face resting on his face almost made the whole ordeal worth—the loss of their friends, the nightmare that would haunt them until their dying day.
If Bruce had been there, Chris imagined he'd be ready to beat the crap out of him then and there.
Looking over from Jill to the others, he saw Rebecca resting as well while Barry was checking his revolver. He and Burton were not on good terms, but they were also not on bad terms. Chris was grateful that his old friend survived with him—that he was not a fake as Wesker had proven to be.
He could forgive him. That dead mole they left on the floor in that facility to go up like Hiroshima? Not so much.
This mission, that night in the mansion—it was hell. They lost so much, both in the sense of reality and their friends. But Chris hoped it was over; and hope was all which he felt the most of in his heart. It was all he wanted to feel in that moment of elation.
Now they just needed to return home and update Chief Irons.
As the chopper flew away, through the trees of the Arklay mountains, a lone figure moved with stains of blood still on his mouth. The smoke steamed up into a cloud in the distance from where the Spencer Mansion once stood. Albert Wesker did not look back, he had enough of a gander when the fireworks went off—so why bother.
That Prototype Virus certainly did the trick.
His body felt exalted and Wesker's only regret was that he could never give his old friend as well as long-time rival, William Birkin, much thanks for this wonderful boon.
Everything he was before was gone. The old Albert Wesker—whoever that may once have truly been, who that Serbian woman loved, who played the Pentagon for fools just as he had now would do to Umbrella—was dead. He died the moment he was impaled by the T-002 Tyrant Prototype! But this neo Alber Wesker was different. He was beyond humanity.
The thought made him smirk arrogantly.
"Wesker." he heard Trent through the comm. "Do you still draw breath?"
"Yes, Trent." Wesker responded.
The shadowy agency would be useful allies for the time being, but even they would soon be discarded. Of course, when he found it the most useful.