Shattered Memories - ChrisxWesker Chapter 2

.:Chapter 2:.
The Room

"Find what you were looking for?" Chris asked from his firm spot in the doorway.

"Asking questions again, Chris? Will you ever learn?" Wesker asked clearly, his tongue clicking disapprovingly before he approached Chris. Once in front of the brunette, the blond clasped a hand around the back of Chris's neck and pushed him forward forcefully towards the doors.

Chris stumbled but remained silent as he began through the automatic doors leading back through the several floors they had descended to get to the labs. Wesker's mood had seemed to change dramatically for the better (worse to Chris) as he was now giving low throaty chuckles whenever Chris would trip over something in the darkness of the staircase or would accidentally run into a wall-- not knowing which turns were where. Light was increasingly limited, just as it had been when they had descended the staircase, but it was worse now that Chris was leading rather than following.

Once they reached the Great Hall, Chris stopped in front of the staircase leading to the second floor. He looked to Wesker for guidance but received none as the man was now striding across the room towards the Dining Room. With a hand pressed to the large door, Wesker waited for Chris to follow before actually going through.

The room resembled the Dining Room from the original mansion to a point where Chris was getting horrible flashbacks of the first encounter. The elongated dining table had been completely trashed-- remotely appearing as various other rooms of the mansion. The row of candlesticks were all knocked over, some candles resting on the red chairs that lined the table. To the right of the table was an old grandfather clock and to the left, windows that were darkened completely. The red drapery that normally sat around the windows was torn and scorched, laying on the stone floor around some of the fallen chairs. At the end of the long hall was an unlit fireplace with a sort of insignia above it. To the right of the fireplace sat a closed wooden door and to the left, a pillar, among others, that supported the second floor. The only light source came from the scones around the walls that were flickering threateningly or from the well lit scones from the Great Hall through the open double doors.

While Chris stood in the doorway in awe of the room's resemblance, Wesker strode towards the grandfather clock.

Wesker broke the glass that protected the face easily and began playing with the hands of the clock. After a long moment, a loud click echoed through the hall and the clock pulled out, revealing another safe. From Chris's position in the doorway, he could see a small smirk appear on Wesker's lips and to Chris's chagrin, Wesker's form blocked the contents of the safe once Wesker had it open.

Wesker shuffled about within the safe, allowing Chris to move casually to the left side of the table and attempt to look over Wesker's shoulder. By the time he was able to see anything, Wesker was closing the safe. He turned on his heel and in his palm sat a long black pouch that he was closing by a small draw string. He was able to slide the pouch into a large paper bag and Chris faintly heard it drop onto other items piled into the bag. Wesker looked up to Chris and nodded back towards the Great Hall.

"Go," he commanded and Chris obeyed with a deep sigh.

Chris began towards the doorway and a low shuffling behind him alerted the man that Wesker was doing something-- most likely ruffling around in the bag but Chris couldn't be sure. A small stab of pain in Chris's neck sent him reeling forward. A hand went to his neck and pulled whatever it had been that Wesker stabbed into him-- a syringe. Chris tossed it aside, his hand rubbing his neck before a slight blur overtook his sight and his legs began wobbling under his weight.

"W-What'd y--" The words came out in a long slur as he fell to his knees, fighting off the effects of whatever Wesker injected him with.

"Don't fight it, Chris. It will be over soon," Wesker spoke distantly before Chris collapsed across the broken stone flooring.

A large tanker flashed before Chris with too many details for him to grasp. Excella was the next vision followed by his own voice, though it was unknown to him what he had said. Now, it was Sheva's turn to speak but her voice was too blocked out. Seconds ran by in his mind-- pictures that he couldn't comprehend. Loud ringing burned his ears-- gun shots. The last thing he remembered was a small red label with white letters 'PG67A/W'.

Chris awoke with a startle and a sharp pain split through his head. He attempted to put a hand to his forehead but realized he was unable to. A metallic jingling forced him to look through the pain at what was holding his hands.

Chris was laying on his left side, both of his hands handcuffed with the chain around a bedpost. The bedpost was connected to a large bed with four posts surrounding it. Satin red cloth hung around the upper post and red satin blankets lay underneath him. The headboard had a large Umbrella symbol carved into it along with the wooden posts. A wooden door sat across from the bed and, much like the other rooms, scones were the only light source of the room. The room itself was windowless and without a visible clock, causing Chris to wonder how long he had been unconscious.

Chris strained his neck to look around the room but saw it was empty and became momentarily relieved-- this gave him a chance to contemplate his dream.

Was it a dream? Chris had been silently hoping that it was a memory but he had no way to prove it. The vision (or visions) had been completely choppy and he couldn't even comprehend most of the details. The scenes that played in his head seemed too familiar to be dreams-- they had to be memories. PG67A/W. It was too familiar yet he hadn't seen what the label was stuck to and what was PG67A/W?

"Glad to see you're awake," Chris hadn't heard or seen Wesker walk in.

"What did you inject me with?" Chris asked, pulling himself up as Wesker lingered around the foot of the bed. Wesker snickered as he responded.

"A bit of Chloroform. It may be used as an anesthetic but it works quickly and causes the injected to become unconscious," he spoke simply.

A simple look at Chris's stern, unchanging face revealed to Wesker that the man didn't believe him. Wesker chuckled again at this.

"I have no reason to lie to you, Chris, but believe what you wish."

"Why am I tied up again?" Chris asked hoarsely.

Wesker didn't respond. Instead, he turned on his heel and began for the door. Chris remained quiet as he vanished through the doorway then reappeared moments later, his right hand balancing a small plate of food. Chris watched intently as Wesker glided to the right side, where Chris was handcuffed to, and sat the plate on the side table.

"It has been a good few days since you've eaten and I'd rather you not die on me, just yet. The pitcher of water, as you can see, is already prepared."

Wesker had replaced his sunglasses but from the stern line that swept Wesker's lips, Chris could see he was unhappy feeding him. Granted, if the situation was flipped, Chris couldn't see himself feeding Wesker. Just then, the thought occurred to Chris-- perhaps Wesker didn't eat? Wesker wasn't human but did that mean he didn't need to do human things?

"How do you expect me to eat, exactly?" Chris asked, looking up at the man towering over him beside the bed.

Wesker let out a drawn out sigh and began digging in his pocket, quickly finding the key. He moved the little metallic object towards Chris's right hand and unlocked it but quickly grabbed the free cuff. He was able to wrap the cuff around the bedpost, Chris's left hand now attached securely to it.

"Great," Chris mumbled, twisting his right wrist victoriously in freedom.

Wesker smirked and turned on his heel again, both arms behind his back as he began strolling towards the doorway.

"I'll return once I'm finished with my work. It seems we'll be staying here for the next few days--"

Wesker's tone put Chris on edge. The idea that Wesker didn't have much of a plan returned and it, again, frightened him. The thought that he perhaps wouldn't be staying around to find out seemed to be the only comfortable idea but knowing in his position with healing wounds, he would not be able to face Wesker let alone escape from him.

"--make yourself comfortable, Christopher," Wesker said darkly, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

Chris sighed and his eyes fell on the plate of food in front of him. There was a large pile of partially frozen corn beside two bread pieces that were stuck together by peanut butter. The bread looked edible but Chris couldn't imagine where Wesker got it from. The corn, most likely, came from a bag that was frozen for years and peanut butter can stay fairly fresh if preserved correctly-- but bread? Something else also dawned on Chris-- perhaps Wesker put something in the food. Chris couldn't exactly say the food would be worth poisoning in its current state but he certainly wouldn't put it past the blond.

This caused Chris to frown.

The man sighed and instead, looked to the pitcher. There was completely normal looking water sitting in the tall metallic decanter. Chris shrugged and brought the side to his lips, tilting the jug upwards slightly causing the water to glide swiftly into his mouth. The brunette took several small gulps, tasting it cautiously before deciding it safe and setting it down.

Wesker had given no eating utensils so Chris, reluctantly, had to use his hands. Chris repositioned himself so his back was against the headboard comfortably while his left arm was bent above him and glued to the bedpost to his right. His right hand picked up the plate and sat it on his sturdy lap, allowing him to use his thumb and forefinger to pick little bunches of cold corn and drop them into his mouth. Chris shivered and compared the feeling to eating some sort of nasty frozen treat but was sure Wesker wouldn't bother poisoning it.

Chris, reluctant and slow, was able to finish off the mound of corn before continuing to the 'sandwich'. Before picking it up, he peeled the first piece of bread from the bottom piece allowing him to see the torn bits of bread stuck to the slapped on peanut butter. He frowned at the pale brown-white, slightly runny, 'peanut butter' and shrugged. It smelled the same, perhaps a bit stronger, but he was willing to take the chance.

Chris released the top piece and pressed it into the bottom before picking up the sandwich and taking a bite. He chewed slowly, studying the taste and feel of the food before swallowing. It left a slight sour after-taste but it could easily be washed away by the water. Knowing this, Chris took another bite, not bothering to be apprehensive of the food any longer. If Wesker wanted him dead, there would be no way he would get enjoyment out of it by simply poisoning him. Wesker is far too vengeful for that, Chris knew him all too well.

Chris finished the food as slowly as possible, despite the horrific after-taste. He wanted to give his stomach time to retaliate to the food before doing anything further. Once he ate the last piece, his abdomen was giving a bloated feeling telling him that he was actually full-- a feeling he had missed longingly since he had been in Wesker's capture. Cringing at the after-taste momentarily, he reached for the jug and tipped it quickly to his lips, drinking the water quickly in haste of repairing his taste buds. Chris made sure to leave at least half of the jug full before setting it down. Chris assumed he would be in this position for a good few hours and felt he needed to conserve the water in case he needed it.

Chris was, unfortunately, very right. Wesker left Chris locked up in the bedroom for what felt like days, but was most likely a good ten hours though he had no way to be sure. Time was nothing to him now and his own thoughts were growingly haunting him. How long had it been? How much longer would it be? Where was Sheva? Jill? What was that label? What was Wesker doing? Did he even have a plan?

Over and over, questions circled his mind-- just as they did when he was trapped in the darkness and silence of the car. Chris momentarily wondered if Wesker left him alone in the mansion and simply abandoned him. Perhaps Wesker's original plan fell through and his only option was to leave Chris there.

Chris outright laughed.

If put in that position, Chris knew that the first thing Wesker would do would be to kill him. Completely and totally-- gun to the head, death. This thought lead Chris into another question that he hadn't thought of since being in the car-- Why was he still alive? What purpose could he serve to Wesker? Maybe it was the same purpose Jill was serving-- but he never knew what the purpose was.

To put it simply, maybe he did know at some point but he just couldn't remember.

Chris groaned and sunk into the bed, his head hitting the pillow comfortably as he stared at the top of the bedpost. Despite the time lapse, hunger was still averted and he had yet felt the need to finish off the water. Boredom, loneliness, and confusion had remained with him for far too long and his mind seemed to react to it by sending him through intense logical questionings thus immersing him into physically draining himself from a mental action.

Chris yawned quietly, turning on his left side so that his left arm was comfortably able to lay on the bed with his right. He wanted more than anything to not fall asleep but he was stuck. The brunette didn't know when, or if, Wesker was coming back and he was a prisoner with nothing to do but sit and think. Both his body and mind couldn't take the constant badgering of questions any longer-- he needed sleep. Perhaps sleep would bring more forgotten memories and with that comfortable thought, he was able to close his eyes and sleep.

Sleep brought nothing-- no memories or dreams whatsoever. However, the distant echoing of a voice did startle Chris awake. He jerked upward, pulling his left arm in surprise awakening, twisting it in an awkward jolt. Pain in his wrist and forearm cause Chris to grit his teeth and hold it soothingly with his right arm, wishing he could pull his left against him nurturing. He looked around but Wesker wasn't in sight-- yet his voice rang through the room and perhaps the mansion.

"Good, the speak system still works after all these years," Chris looked around and spotted a small white speaker in the corner of the room, an object that easily escaped his vision earlier.

"So you're watching me," Chris muttered, shifting so that he was in a comfortable sitting position against the headboard again.

"I always am, Chris, remember that," Chris heard a low chuckle from behind Wesker's words that made him uncomfortable.

When Wesker said nothing further, Chris rolled his eyes and laid the back of his head against the wooden board. His eyes closed in relaxation, half attempting to go back to sleep as a way to pass time. Chris had almost reached the point of unconsciousness when an unmistakable scratch on the closed door caught his attention. Chris's eyes shot open and he sat up (to his best ability with his wrist still throbbing). His eyes narrowed and he watched the door intently, his ears at the ready.

Just as he thought that it was perhaps Wesker messing about on the microphone, it happened again. It was, distinctly, nail on wood. The door handle didn't move as if anyone was trying to get in but the scratching definitely continued. Chris held his breath, looking around for possible weapons he could use. The plate perhaps? Though, what good would that do to a zombie? Maybe if he--

SLAM.

Chris jumped slightly as the door fell forward with a human shape on top of it. His eyes widened and he straightened up to look over the edge of the bed to get a better look but couldn't see anything from the spot he was secured in. When the figure didn't rise, Chris looked up at the speaker but Wesker's voice didn't ring from it-- maybe Wesker wasn't watching. A low moaning sound told him it must be a zombie but how was he suppose to fight the damn thing?

Chris looked at the plate almost desperately. Perhaps if he could break it and get a large enough piece of glass, he would be able to use it to his advantage. With a quick swipe, Chris picked up the dirty green plate and smashed it against the end table. He watched the large pieces shatter, some falling to the floor while others stayed on the table. His hand ghosted over one of the larger pieces, gripping it tightly in his large hand, he waited for the infected human to make its reappearance.

The zombie moaned as it stood at the foot of the bed and rounded to the left, where Chris lay handcuffed to the bedpost. The rotten flesh was practically falling from the zombie, the white Umbrella lab coat barely visible due to the dirt and dust. The clothes underneath the lab coat were barely recognizable as a shirt and tie with dress pants. They were torn, his pants both at the knees and various other places while his shirt was falling apart-- showing off grey skin. An unreadable nametag stuck to his lab coat and his hair was long enough to tell Chris the zombie had been waiting since the place went under.

Chris slipped from the bed while the zombie slowly made his way towards him, he felt much more comfortable fighting the thing while on his feet. His left arm was completely incapacitated, twisting behind his back while his right hand held the glass piece. The zombie's head tilted upwards slightly, its beady eyes landing on Chris as if just noticing him. Chris saw the small 'click' within the animal that made it attack and within seconds had plunged the glass piece into the side of the zombie's head, through all of the matted greasy hair after it lunged forward.

It stopped, momentarily, but it obviously hadn't plunged into the brain and was attacking again. Chris was about to kick it back when it pounced on him and pinned him between the bed and side table. Chris's right arm was now attempting to keep the zombie at bay while his feet beneath him were attempting to keep him standing.

A loud gunshot rang out and the zombie immediately dropped in front of a shaking Chris who leaned onto the bed to keep himself from falling over. He looked up to see, none other than, Wesker standing with his gun raised. He smirked and made a small 'hm' noise before looking at Chris from behind sunglasses.

"Pity, I wasn't expecting that," he muttered, sheathing his gun at his waist.

Chris was still in a bit of shock-- Wesker had just saved him.

True, Chris knew Wesker himself wanted Chris alive for something but if put in danger he never would have expected Wesker to save him. The simple thought itself spurred haunting memories that he'd long forgotten after years of chasing Wesker.

Chris arrived with Jill to a scene of utter disaster. There were six or seven police cars blocking off an entire main street just outside the Umbrella Corp headquarters. Chris parked just outside of the police car blockage and was immediately approached by his Captain and the Bravo's team leader, Enrico Marini. Wesker and Marini both already had bulletproof vests strapped around their torsos with a radio on each, also strapped somewhere on their chest. Wesker had his handgun at the ready, unlike Marini, as he approached them.

"Sir, the rest of Alpha team should be here shortly," Jill spoke as she was handed a vest. "What is the situation, Captain?"

"I'm going to wait until the rest of the team gets here. I want to explain it to you all at once," Wesker spoke, looking from Marini to the two in front of him. "Bravo team has already arrived and are ready to enter the situation yet Alpha remains absent," Wesker muttered, adjusting his sunglasses intently.

A car pulled next to Chris's that they all recognized as Barry's grey Lincoln. He stepped out of it and closed the door, jogging up to the group.

"Vickers and Frost are carpooling," he informed the group as Marini ran to fetch three more vests. "They were behind me when I was on my way here," he continued after the Bravo leader returned. By the time he had slipped on the vest and was suiting up with a gun and ammo, a car had pulled up behind both the previous cars, shielding it in plain daylight.

Vickers practically fell out of the car, stumbling forward ahead of Frost who walked up casually, retrieving both of their vests..

"Nice of you two to join us," Wesker spoke through gritted teeth before turning on all of them. "Right. Like the rest of the recent cases, this one is also about an Umbrella researcher--"

"We couldn't tell that from standing in front of the Umbrella building, I'm sure," muttered Richard who had appeared behind Chris along with the rest of Bravo team.

"Aiken--" Wesker began, glaring from behind sunglasses. He remained silent and Wesker continued. "The situation is simple-- a woman by the name of Angelica River with a gun. She's completely lost her mind, by the looks of it. The original report was that she began tearing her clothes off in the office, claiming to feel things crawling in her. She had a gun in her desk, according to some co-workers she didn't trust other Umbrella employees, and she ran out into the street, threatening to shoot herself supposedly to get rid of the feeling. Since then, she's clawed at herself multiple times and was bleeding viciously so approach with extreme caution. Bravo team, I want you all to circle Alpha team while Redfield, Burton, and I approach her. Valentine, Vickers, and Frost follow between the three of us and Bravo team."

"Yes, sir," repeated the team.

"Right. Redfield go in front, Burton I want you behind me as backup and the rest of you follow behind and get into position," Wesker directed before nodding for Chris to go.

Chris entered the closed off section and the moment he did, the police seemed to pull back completely. He eyed the woman in the middle of the street with a look of confusion. Long blond hair hung in the woman's face as she sat on her knees with her head down. The gun was in her right hand which was limp at her side while the left was covered in blood, most likely her own, and in her lap. She had scratches going up her right arm and both thighs, her black underwear hiding her private lower half. Her top half still had a shirt, though completely torn at her slim stomach which also had scratch marks going across it, and it was a slight off white. The bottom of the shirt was completely stained with the blood dripping from her stomach while the middle of the shirt was covered in vomit. Chris could see she was obviously wanting to scratch more of herself by the looks of the way her gunless hand was twitching yet she was holding some self-control.

"Miss River, please drop the gun," Chris said, pointing his gun towards her and moving to the right, stopping several feet in front of her. Wesker stayed to the left, his gun also raised at the ready.

She muttered something which in turn began into needless rambling. Chris caught only a few words and they were well spread out. Hunger… Sleep… Die. Then, he was able to catch a full sentence.

"I don't want to die," it was spoken in a hushed and painful whisper that sent shivers up Chris's spine.

"Angelica, please, you have to put the gun down. We have medics that can help you," Barry said from behind her.

She shivered and fell forward, vomiting onto the pavement in front of her. Her blond hair dragged through it as she lazily pulled her head back up, her hair falling in her face again. She stayed sitting as she lightly sobbed, muttering more nonsense that none of the three closest S.T.A.R.S members could understand. She suddenly fell silent, her thin and paling form slumping a bit further though not falling completely over. She seemed to be fighting sleep now-- though that was only assumption by observation. Chris, in reality, had no idea what was going on and couldn't guess why she was acting in such a way.

According to the Captain, she had come running out of the building, waving the gun but by the looks of it, she had no energy. He wouldn't guess that she could even stand let alone run around. He also observed that, even though the gun was still in her grip, it was limp and he would guess anything that she couldn't even raise the weapon.

"Angelica, if you need medical assistance, put the gun aside and we will help you," Chris spoke loudly and calmly as Wesker spoke something into his radio most likely telling medics to be on standby.

That was when the girl looked up. Slowly, her head twitched up and she was able to see through the knotted blond hair, the man standing in front of her with a weapon raised at her. Her head tilted to the side and she shakily got to her feet. Shoeless feet stumped around on the hot pavement, her entire gun arm was limp, not even bothering to raise it as she slowly began walking towards Chris. He stood his ground, raising his gun slightly higher in warning.

"Miss River, you need to drop the gun," he said tempting to take a slow step back as she continued towards him, gun still in hand. "Miss River--"

It all happened rather fast. The woman lunged at him, growling and showing her teeth like a rabid dog. She had been in mid-attack, her hands almost on him, when a shot rang out. The bullet had hit her directly in the side of the head, throwing her to Chris's right and killing her instantly. Chris turned to see Wesker's gun smoking ever so slightly, telling the brunette that the blond had just saved him.

It was a memory that Chris had long forgotten, purposely for the most part. Having a mission to kill his former Captain made him want to completely forget that full year of S.T.A.R.S but it was something he knew he could never do. Instead, he just locked the memories away and focused on the present and future-- that's all that mattered.

Though, it did make him wonder, at times if it was worth fighting for. It was true, he wanted a future without fear of Wesker or people dying of unnatural causes. He wanted the world rid of evil companies like Umbrella and Tricell-- but what could he do exactly besides what he was trying to do with Sheva? He'd been dealing with maniacs trying to take over the world for almost a decade and Chris was wondering when all the tyranny was going to end-- but he didn't see it coming anytime soon despite not remembering the prior couple of days.

"It seems--" Wesker's voice pulled Chris from thought, "while they were trying to clear out of the mansion, not everyone got out alive," Wesker said, sheathing his gun.

"Were they working on the virus here too?" Chris asked, looking from his now swelling left wrist to Wesker.

"Of course. While clearing out, they obviously didn't dispose of them correctly. The injected have been holed up in the mansion after all these years," Wesker snickered. "There shouldn't be too many of them. I'm sure one sweep of the mansion will do."

To Chris's surprise, Wesker rounded the bed and walked over to Chris's handcuffed hand. He took out the handcuff key and unlocked them both, pocketing them before looking at Chris expectantly.

"I'm going with you?" Chris asked, rubbing his left wrist with his right hand.

"Of course. Without me, you would find yourself in another zombie situation within minutes," Wesker explained with a sigh.

"You need to stop doing that," Chris hissed, sliding from the bed and pushing past Wesker.

"Oh? What am I doing, Christopher?" Wesker asked intently with a bit of a smirk.

Chris stopped and turned on his heel, looking back at Wesker.

"You need to stop acting like you're still my Captain."