Work Text:
Wesker Germs
The observation room was dark. The theater seats were all folded up and covered in dust, the windows overlooking the surgery suite were dusty and showing signs of their age, but were still in fine condition. On the top row of the seating arrangements, an automatic double door opened, opening up to reveal the inside of an elevator as well as the sole occupant within.
Jill Valentine, wearing dark casual clothes underneath a brown overcoat, walked out of the elevator, and after seeing the light on the other side of the glass, descended the stairs quickly to reach the invisible barrier. What she saw in the surgery room below was a makeshift laboratory full of machines and other lab equipment, remnants from the late 90’s, but still more than adequate to pursue science. Beakers with viral cultures spun, computers performed their functions, and incubators kept their subjects in a form of ideal stasis until further experimentation was able, but what she was looking for was standing right in the center of it all.
A laptop computer and notebook was placed on the surgery table, while a Bunsen burner cooked a concoction in the center, and standing before it all was a tall figure, cloaked in a black coat, but his bright blonde hair gave his identity away immediately.
Wesker.
Jill’s hands balled into fists, that man… that monster… he had taken everything away from her at one point, three years of her life, her freedom, things she had taken for granted, gone. She reached into the insides of her coat and reached for an inner pocket a breast-level, pulling out a classic matte black 1911 pistol with wooden grips and aimed it at her tormentor. She took aim and prepared to squeeze the trigger, every fiber of her being wanted to do it, but her more rational side calmed her down. Not sparing him from justice, but warning that a shot into plate glass like that would not be enough to end him.
Barring her teeth, she used her free hand to dig into her coat once more and pulled out a small radio device, switched the power on, and tossed it aside, alerting reinforcements to her discovery. She pulled back on the slide of her gun, checking once again to see that there was a round loaded in the chamber before looking off to the side and seeing a staircase leading to the operating room.
She approached the exit, not knowing if she would be enough to stop Wesker, but knew that she sure as hell wasn’t going to pass up the chance.
Unaware of the spectator in the observation room, Albert Wesker’s mind was off in thought as he awaited the results on his current experiment. It was strange to think how things seem to always wind to where they had started. Through all the places that he had ventured in his travels, Albert did not expect to return to Raccoon City, but in hindsight, it made perfect sense. With the world celebrating over the incorrect news of his demise, it was fitting to find the place where the dead first came back to life, the place that had been destroyed in order to save the world, the place where he would create his new weapon to try obliterate humanity once again.
Mid contemplation, his aloof mind was brought back to reality as the alarm bells in his mind began to ring and the hairs on his neck stood on end. Like a cat, his superpowered sixth sense shot him to action as the synapses in his mind shot into action. Before he could react, his eyes watered at a sudden reflexive jolt, reeling back as his sinuses seized and his hands shot up to his face.
“Ah- Choo!”
“Damn this cold.” Wesker thought to himself. Umbrella could cook up a serum to make metahumans, could make horrific monsters and bioweapons, and raise the bloody dead from the grave, but they still couldn’t cure the common cold.
The madman looked around his workspace, finding his tissue box and cleaned off his nose. The seclusion of this secret lab was also one of its consequences. The bombed out ruins of Raccoon City were completely devoid of life, only nature slowly reclaiming it after almost 20 years, but that also meant that the stored supplies hidden within NEST-2 were the only provisions available. He made a mental note to add Airborne, tissue paper, and hand sanitizer to his shopping list for the next time he went to stock up.
He looked at his gloved hands and felt his skin crawl, the thought of them being covered in cold-germs repulsed him. Hell, his interest in biology was probably spurred on by his germophobia. He turned around from his makeshift experiment and prepared to make his way to the surgery sink to give his palms a thorough washing.
No sooner had he turned around, the emergency exit linking the surgery suit to the observation booth was kicked open, and the deafening sound of a gunshot filled the room. Wesker, his mind processing the shock, kicked into action, turned into a blur and shot across the room. Unarmed, he used his heightened reflexes and strength to dodge away from where he expected the follow up shot to go and lunged at his assailant and wrapped his hand around their neck.
By the time the first shot landed into a wall on the opposite side of the room, Wesker slammed his would-be attacker against the wall next to the door. Even with his sharp mind and quick wits, when he was dashing at his top speeds, there was still a lag between what he felt and his mind comprehending what his senses gathered. So imagine his shock when he returned from being a dark blur in the world and saw that Jill Valentine was in his grasp.
He lifted, causing the woman to uselessly kick against the air as he pushed her against the wall. Both of her hands went to meet his hand around her neck and pulled, lifting the strain away from her head and trying to pry his fingers away. A wicked grin began to stretch across his face, unbelieving who he had caught. His lost songbird, once flown from away from his grasp had now returned in search of its cage.
“My my,” he said, “Now isn’t this an interesting development.” He began to look up, seeing the top of her hairline, the dark brown of her hair filled the strands, but as he had predicted, the slight sight of blonde roots were beginning to sprout once more. “I’m please to see some of the… ‘upgrades’ still remain.” He scoffed.
Jill pushed, and then placed her feet against the wall and lifted her weight up at his mockery. She had spent three whole years being his servant, standing like a lifeless statue to endure his treatment and insults or do his bidding. In that moment, three whole years of built up rage returned to do the once thing that she couldn’t do before; talk back.
With less pressure on her neck, she lifted up in his collar like grip and spit, sticky dry saliva flying to the air and landed on the lens of his black shades, followed by a quick, “Fuck you!”
A spine chilling tremor ripped through Albert Wesker. It wasn’t just the baboon like act of spitting on another like some sort of primate, but the proximity. The mere thought that if he didn’t wear his sunglasses at all times of day, inside and outside, then right now he would her germs in his eye! Losing control of his tempered rage, Wesker scoffed at the remark. “”Fuck you’? No… fuck you, you worthless cur!”
“Fuck you!” she screamed back.
“No! fuck you!” he said, blood pressure rising by the second.
Once again, she retorted with a rousing, “Fuck! You!”
Not to be one upped by, of all people, a subordinate from the joke of a precinct that was the Raccoon Police Department, Albert Wesker armed the cannon to fire off another F-Bomb, but as soon as the first syllable left his mouth, his body stopped cold. Either from dust in the air or the shouting match irritating his nostrils, his sinuses began to seize up once more. He paused, eyes widening and causing a quick breath of air. This wasn’t going to be good….
Jill, not giving him an inch in this shouting matching, put all the effort she had into lifting her larynx free and opening her mouth wide to shout with all of her might, “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAA-”
“AH CHOOO!”
Only mid way between “Fuck” and “You” Jill Valentine was wide open and right in the killzone of Albert Wesker’s sneeze. The action, being witnessed right before her very eyes stopped her cold as she felt the particles in the air coat the inside of her mouth. Like she had just suffered from a spontaneous aneurism, she froze in mid action, the air dead within her throat and eyes wide open as she tried to comprehend the grossness of what she had just suffered.
Like the pain one felt in their loins from simply watching someone get kicked in the nuts, Albert Wesker dropped the woman in his grasp after watching first hand as his Wesker-germs flew out and coated her tonsils. Internally, he shrieked at what he had witnessed, as his body cringed from the disgusting accident that had just occurred before him.
He felt himself shiver within his own skin as the woman fell to the ground, choking in abject horror of what had just happened. Doubled over as if she was suffering from internal cramping, Jill stuffed both of her hands into her mouth and began to dig with her fingers while her body started to dry-heave onto the ground. Meanwhile, Albert Wesker stood there in shock, trying to come to grips with something so disgusting that he didn’t wish it on any man, woman, or Bio Organic Weapon.
Forty Five minutes later, the rapid attempts to make herself vomit onto the ground slowed and dissipated, her body exhausted at the continuous strain in reaction to the whole event. Wesker, torn between hating the woman and feeling a small sense of empathy, quietly broke the silence by asking, “Would you like a tissue?”
Slowly, exhausted, but not broken in spirit, Jill Valentine’s hand rose into the air as far as she could raise it while still facing down into the floor. Her hand was wrapped tightly like a fist before her middle finger rose up while her thumb kept the others locked down tightly.