DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! ESPECIALLY, THIS FAN FICTION! ALL CREDITS GO TO gigacat. THIS FAN FICTION BELONGS ENTIRELY TO HER!

- WARNING! CONTAINS LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, AND ADULT SITUATION (slash) -

Visit the community for fans of Resident Evil yaoi Here! (fan fiction was found at this site as well)

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Chapter One: Haunted                                                                     

       Chris Redfield took immense pleasure in slowly sinking onto his bed. Not a hard cot issued for missions to get by on, but a genuine pillow top mattress to cradle his aching muscles. The ordeal in Africa had been hard mentally and physically; He was tired and sore, but it felt good to be back in the USA and in his apartment which was as close as he would ever get to a ‘home’ again. Sprawling on his back and staring distantly at the ceiling, he relaxed with only a towel around his hips from the shower he had taken only moments ago. Reaching idly over he turned off the lamp beside his bed.

   He had finally done it. He had finally killed Wesker. It took two fucking rocket launchers and a volcano filled to the brim with molten lava, but Albert Wesker was finally dead. It was harder than hell to wrap his mind around, so he settled on just not thinking about it at all, only letting the pictures play out like a slideshow in his mind; The Majini. Sheva. Uroboros. Jill. The Progenitor Virus. Tricell…

   A long, ragged sigh escaped the BSAA member. He wondered time and time again if his efforts were worth it, if the seemingly endless fighting, the vicious circle of working for a world of peace only to find something worse had come from the warpath was really worth it. Reports revealed Wesker had sold viruses to other companies along the way -- That was a thought that made Chris’s skin absolutely crawl. What the hell would happen now that others had control of the volatile biological weapons?

   Reaching up and raking a hand through damp brunette hair, he could only sit now and wait for the next mission to pop up. Jill was being closely examined by medical researchers to see what exactly had been done to her and Leon was already off on another mission at an undisclosed location. It was only a matter of time before Chris would be packed up and shipped off as well.

   Nevertheless he couldn’t afford to lose his determination, even during these times where all he wanted to do was stay in bed for the next ten years. He couldn’t do that -- he had to make a difference in all of this madness.

   Dark blue eyes slowly drifted shut, dry and scratchy from fatigue. Even though the week was used for recouping it often felt as though he hadn’t ever slept a wink, mostly due to the strange and frequently chilling dreams that haunted him…

   Chris once more didn’t register drifting off to sleep.

~*~

   Boots pounded the ground hard as Chris ran as fast as his legs could move, weaving through the maze Wesker had quite literally kicked him into, his steady albeit strained breathing beginning to border on frantic. ‘Don’t get cornered, don’t get cornered, don’t get cornered…’ he thought in an obsessive mantra. Perspiration formed beads of sweat at man’s brow and rolled down the side of his face while his eyes darted around looking for any kind of nook or cranny to hide behind, hoping to sneak a shot into the monster that his ex-Captain had become.

   “You can’t hide forever, Chris!” Wesker bit out in taunting manner, the sheer volume of his voice telling the other man he wasn’t far behind; he was toying with Chris, something the brunette knew all too well. Sheva was heard from in the main room defending herself from Jill, of who was under the control of the cunning blond tyrant.

   Spotting a small room off of the short hall he just turned down Chris bolted inside and quickly swung around a small wall just a few feet beyond the doorway. A large treasure chest-type of container sat a few feet from him, filled with who-knew-what. It could be investigated later when his life wasn’t in peril. Forcing his mouth shut to breathe more quietly through his nose he swallowed dryly, listening for Albert; if he timed this right he might be able to plant a bullet between the tyrant’s eyes…

   Chris’s heart pounded furiously, blood rushing through his body while adrenaline mercifully kept the spot on his chest where he’d been so politely booted through a door numbed for the time being. Another droplet of sweat rolled down his face, traveling along the bridge of his nose, ‘Come on…’

   A new surge of panic coursed through Chris’s veins when he could no longer pick up the sound of footfall. Not even a disturbed crunch in the dirt and gravel coating the ground. Only Sheva and Jill’s guns were heard erratically firing along with strained combative shouts. Chapped lips tucking in he futilely tried to moisten them so they would stop cracking. Chris very slowly moved to glance around the corner, S&W 500 gripped tightly in hand.

   The man barely saw past the edge before a leather clad hand impeded his vision; “Shi--!” his outburst was cut short.

   A low and pleased sound rumbled from Wesker upon roughly shoving him away from the wall, seizing the hand holding the magnum and twisting Chris’s wrist almost to the point of breaking, all of which was done in the span of a few mere seconds. Chris bit back the pained noise that wanted to tear out of him and dropped his weapon when the vice grip on his face abruptly left, relocating instead to his neck where it latched on far too tightly. Wesker sunk his other fist into the brunette’s side and forced him further back from the wall, lifting him briefly before slamming him onto the treasure chest with ease.

   Despite being unable to breathe much Chris fought back as best he could; He grabbed at the wrist attached to the hand around his neck and struck Wesker on the ribs with a knee. Yet nothing made Wesker even flinch, the blow only causing the blond the minor inconvenience of his breath hitching.

   A cold and mirthless smile ghosted over the ex-Captain’s lips as he kept the brunette pinned to the treasure chest. He lifted a knee and rammed it into the outside of Chris’s thigh before cracking him across the jaw with a fist. “Chris,” Wesker tisked, “if only you would open your eyes and see the world I’m about to create. Our playtime wouldn’t be so rough if you would just drop your pathetic little goody-two-shoes hero act.”

   Chris struggled against the grip around his throat, gritting his teeth over the pain that was seeping past the adrenaline in his system; the blow to his chin felt like a sledgehammer had hit him and he was vaguely surprised to find his jaw hadn’t broken. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, a taste far too familiar by now. He swallowed and struggled to breathe, Adam’s apple bobbing just slightly under Wesker’s hand.    “A world you're going to create…?” the brunette hoarsely spat back, “Your world isn’t gonna happ — hnh!” The hand around his neck squeezed powerfully and for a chilling moment, completely closed off all air intake. Chris writhed against the hold, his short blunt nails digging into Wesker’s wrist. His other hand shot out and latched onto the tyrant’s throat, squeezing as hard as he could in hopes of returning the favor before the lack of oxygen could weaken him.

   “Your optimism always grated on my nerves, Christopher…” Albert sneered and idly pried the hand away from his neck by the wrist, holding it tight. He squeezed the damaged joint harshly as he spoke, “The world is not made of rainbows and kittens -- It’s riddled with filth and vermin that need to be cleansed from this planet!”

   Becoming lightheaded from the asphyxiation Chris choked and gagged, grip growing weaker on Wesker’s wrist as his other hand was pried away and squeezed. The tender joint throbbed angrily and sharp pains shot down his arm with every beat of his heart. Albert frowned quite suddenly and before the brunette’s dazed mind could register movement, Chris was thrown to the ground.

   He hit his side hard and slid for a foot or so on the rough surface, the skin on his right arm scraping off in areas while his thigh painfully reminded him of the blow it had received earlier. Sharply sucking in precious air, the brunette spat a mix of blood and saliva to the ground with a choked groan slipping from him. Dark blue eyes, having screwed shut upon impact, opened to find a black boot by his waist.

   “The world will be filled with an advanced race,” Albert drawled with his usual superior tone, “One that I create and command. I am a God now, Christopher…”

   Chris rolled onto his back as pain from the collision was closing in on his senses far faster than he ever wanted. He found the tyrant standing over him, the other boot by the opposite side of his waist. With bitter hatred he looked up at the man and wished he was within reach of the magnum that lay by the doorway. His machete was unfortunately trapped under his back in its place on a shoulder holster. “My optimism keeps me going so that I can save the world from people – no,” his upper lip curled, “from monsters like you…”

   The blond crouched swiftly and gripped Chris’s sore jaw harshly, nose wrinkling in some form of anger or disdain. “Monster or not, I have power,” he hissed callously. “Power that is going to make a difference, one that you sadly will not live to see,” his fingers squeezed with emphasis.

   Grunting roughly to keep from letting out a deeper sound of pain, Chris grabbed at Wesker’s hand and tried to pull it away while taking aim with his fist, swinging out deftly. The blow hit the tyrant on left temple which knocked the dark sunglasses from his face, the hit hurting his knuckles probably far more than it did the Albert. The grip on his jaw left and in a flash Chris was struck solidly across the cheek, his head snapping to the side from pure force, dark spots littering his vision for a blinding moment of agony. A fresh flow of blood filled his mouth and leaked out, trailing down his chin thickly.

   “Christopher…” Wesker breathed out in a sultry sort of purr, voice like liquid silver. The man beneath him went rigid as something stirred in his chest, something he had tried very hard to keep suppressed and buried away for years now. A slight smirk crossed Albert’s lips at the reaction, “Your admiration for me always treaded a fine line, didn’t it?”

   Initially shocked as always over seeing how the ex-Captain’s once blue-grey eyes had become a beastly torrent of blood red, Chris’s own azure depths widened at the words that came so coolly from that smirking mouth. His lips thinned and fresh blood wept from the splits in the bottom one, clenched teeth causing more of the red fluid to seep from his gums near a set of back molars. His hands clawed on the ground, rage boiling within.

  “Admiration was something I had for you before you stabbed us in the fucking back,” he hissed through red-smeared teeth. Heart palpitating erratically as the emotion kept suppressed churned, burst through that inner barrier and mixed with the anger; it was a nauseating sense of furious betrayal awash with stifled respect, albeit a lost one. Chris sat up abruptly and viciously lashed out at the blond, “You’re not the Captain I admired!”

   Not fully expecting the outburst Chris’s fist hit Wesker’s chin solidly before a shoulder was grabbed and a knee drove into his back. The ex-Captain arched his spine with the twinge of pain that resulted, jaw tightly clenching as their roles were swiftly reversed; Chris rolled up and slammed him into the ground, hastily moving to straddled Albert. “Go back to Hell!” he shouted acidly, winding back to strike the man beneath him once more.

   Teeth barring from fury Wesker had had enough of the brunette’s temper tantrum and jerked his head to the side. Chris’s fist missed its mark and smashed into the hard dirt and gravel covered concrete below. The moment he recoiled Albert slammed a fist into Chris’s side and effectively knocked him off; something snapped from the blow and the strangled cry of agony and the fiery burn shooting up in his side told the BSAA member a rib or two had just broken. Falling back with an arm reflexively clutching his injured side it suddenly hurt to breathe, causing him to cough and sputter. Blood and spittle spattered the ground gruesomely and Chris involuntarily shuddered, eyes screwing shut as he struggled to inhale. Wesker was already up on his feet pacing a semi-circle around him like a predator before wounded prey.

   “There is no Heaven or Hell, Christopher,” Albert stated venomously. “There is nothing waiting for anyone after death. There is only the here and now, and nothing will keep me from shaping it into a whole new era!” Stopping behind the brunette he reached down and pulled him to his knees by his hair, Chris hissing out and finally gaining the gulp of air he needed. Wesker leaned down further, already close against him and whispered icily into his ear, “Give up your pathetic little beliefs. Give up your juvenile heroism. Give up your feeble ideals and maybe I’ll let you live.”

   Unable to take his arm from his side Chris’s free hand clutched the one pulling his hair. His neck was forced back to an almost painfully awkward angle and perspiration rolled down his throat in thick trails. He could hear Sheva calling for help from the headset in his ear, her voice ragged, exhausted and frantic. There was a tenacity welling up within Chris, one that always appeared in these dire moments that erased all fear of the tyrant most likely about to break his neck… yet there was also a sense of guilt underneath that came from the lightest thrill over the brief brush of Wesker’s lips against his ear; and then he was all the more angry.

   Chris was getting dizzy from having to take such sparsely short and rapid breaths, “I’m not…” he panted, “giving anything up, Wesker…” His body writhed slightly in reflex from the agony coursing his body, “If you don’t think there’s an afterlife, then kill me… I’ll find out for you,” defiant dark blue eyes wrenched open and glared sideways up at the blond. “Threaten me all you fucking want…I’ll keep fighting no matter what!” his breathless snarl echoed the room.

   An annoyed noise rumbled in Wesker’s chest as he jerked Chris’s head further back until the brunette let out a reluctant yelp. He tilted his own and glared back at those rebellious eyes that irritated him to no end, and for a moment both men just barred their teeth at one another like two feral dogs aiming for each other’s throats… until Wesker smirked.

   The curve to his lips was chilling, disturbing, and it confused and somewhat startled Chris. “Alright then…” a deviant purr returned to Albert’s collected tone, “If you’re so open to death, then why don’t I find something else to throw in your face?” It was far too boring to kill his only nemesis when he so openly embraced his fate now.

   Heart beginning to erratically palpitate once more Chris’s brows furrowed in bewilderment, “Wha--?!” he uttered but froze as Albert quickly closed the gap between their faces. Chris went rigid and he suddenly couldn’t breathe again as he felt his ex-Captain’s lips just barely brush his own, his eyes wide and locked onto the half-lidded blood-tinged burgundy pair only inches away.

   At that very moment a sharp little beeping noise sounded from Wesker’s watch, and not a second later was Chris released and shoved to the ground.

   The man hit the floor hard, smacking his head and accidentally letting an arm dig into his injured side. Almost too stunned to react he distantly heard himself let out cry of pain before twisting onto his back.

   Wesker wasn’t in the spot he had been standing only moments ago, but now loomed in the doorway leading out to the hall. He was focused on his watch, and his sunglasses were slowly being placed back on while that cruel smirk remained painted upon his lips.

   “Playtime is over, Christopher…” he drawled, and with that said he was simply gone.

   The next thing Chris knew, he was kneeling in a helicopter with a rocket launcher balanced on a shoulder, aiming down at what had become of the blond machiavellian tyrant. It chilled him to the bone to hear Wesker continually bellow out his name, and only his name, as he sank slowly deeper into molten lava.

   One of his elastic tentacle-type arms latched to a leg of the helicopter, jarring them around considerably. Chris’s side burned and ached as he fought to keep his footing, sweat getting in his eyes and God, he was so very tired. He exchanged glances with Sheva who readied her own RPG-7 and took aim again, Chris following in identical fashion.

   Chris focused on the crosshair, heart hammering marks against his ribs, and fired.