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After the Fall

Summary:

Wesker never cared about the constellations above.

But there was one star that shined more brightly than the others.

Work Text:

     Were there always this many stars?  Wesker thought to himself as he blinked away the sea spray stinging his eyes.

     Of course, he obviously knew that the stars had been there long before his time; it's just that in his entire 42 years of life, he'd never once bothered to look up.

     Even with his vision bleary and obscured by blood and salt water, the unending void of darkness around him eccentuated the night sky in a way that churned his stomach.       

     What was the point in caring about insignificant masses like the stars, when the sun, a star the same as all the rest, was the one that truly dominated the open sky?          

     Though, the moon, many would say, is just as substantial. Where there's a god of the sun being worshipped and praised, there is a lunar god at it's side.       

     When the crest is full, to the naked eye it takes up no less space in the sky than the sun does when it has it's turn. But unlike the sun, being one with the stars, yet dominating over all, the moon is, and always has been on her own. She shines brightly, but in her ignorance, doesn't realize that it's not of her own free will.       

     If the moon knew that the brilliance of her light were not her own, and only the forcibly manipulated reflection of one deemed kin, would she too, eclipse the sun out of spite?       

     Pathetic.      

     Billions of years from now, when the sun dies and in its final, fantastic burst, takes the planet where its adoring fans once lived, it will also take the moon, leaving nothing but an empty void in their place.      

     Wesker huffs to himself. He can't stand to look at the sky anymore. He tries to turn his face away in disgust, but it only pivots an inch before he's stopped by an excruciating surge of pain that radiates a foot down his spine before it stopped. As a matter of fact, before it all stopped. He couldn't feel anything from the chest, down. There was nothing at all.       

     He strained his eyes in an attempt to get an idea of his surroundings. All he could make out was sharp rocks wet with the ocean water lapping up around them. He was bent at a strange angle, but from the elevation of his head, he could just make out where his left leg folded beneath his broken body.      

     I'll heal, he thought. He always did. But he'd never been quite so wounded before to know when his spine would fuse back together enough to move.     

     He sighed and closed his eyes, listening to the crashing waves when he picked up on a second set of laboured breaths. Agonal breaths. 45 seconds in between. It wouldn't be long now. She was probably already dead, and the body's automnous reflexes were firing once more before they'd finally stop.           

     What a pity.       

     Her one last feeble attempt at stopping him, and now he'd finally get to watch the final flickers of life fade before the little star finally fizzled out for good. If only he'd smothered it out sooner.      

     Why did I hesitate?      

     He'd never hesitated before. Not when the test subjects pleaded for their lives, not when he'd been ordered to kill Dr. Marcus, not when he'd lured his team to the Arklay mountains, nor when he manipulated Burton or shot Marini.

     Not when it meant protecting his interests.       

     But he had hesitated. When Chris made it to the lab. He'd had him. It had all come together. Even if it weren't exactly according to plan. The gun was loaded, safety was off, his finger was on the trigger. And yet. He didn't pull.      

     Why, indeed.            

     It's not as if he relished the idea of killing off the men he'd worked so hard at molding. It was simply a means to an end.

      At least that's what he told himself.       

      But somehow, despite the very nature of who he was, he'd allowed something that was supposed to be a minor inconvenience take over his rationale. Like a cough that lasts long after a cold, or a petualnt wine stain left on white fabric. You can scrub and scrub and scrub, but there will always be a little left behind to annoy you lest your mind wander.     

     That goddamn kid had wormed his way in, chewed holes right through his tough, wooden exterior and nestled deep inside of his core. He thought that once he'd died, that the pest eating away at him from the inside would finally move on, but it turns out that his particular pest, preferred his dead, withering core.   

     He hissed in disgust at the thought he'd let anyone, let alone that stupid, naive kid sink his claws into him, when he was the apex predator. But he knew he had a tendancy to play with his food. To bat it around and get his kicks before he was hungry enough to devour. But he'd slipped, and his prey had gotten away. And nothing had ever made his mouth water quite like Redfield.  

     He knew he needed a way to keep a part of him close; a bait to lure him back so that he might finally sink his teeth into the flesh of the one he couldn't forget. 

     He felt his body come back to life once more, and he knew he had to act fast. Little Polaris was fading quickly, and he needed to keep her bright, as he knew she would eventually lead Chris home.