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Who was he?
Well, he wasn’t Albert Wesker… but he looked a whole lot like him, and had his characteristics down to a T. It was like he was born with his knowledge, his past memories flicking behind yellow pupils in a hazy cloud he couldn’t quite understand or comprehend.
He was given the name Zeno, although he definitely wasn’t the first to exist. During his capture he had found himself completely surrounded by armed men in body armor, pointing guns at his face like he was some sort of… threat.
Sure, there were other clones who behaved much more hostile than him but… he in particular never did get the opportunity to become conditioned to such a degree. Zeno came out “wrong”, was what those people in the lab coats would say behind metal doors. He knew almost just about every skill the original had and yet he didn’t have a single fighting bone in his organically made body. He was confused, he was empathetic, he was awkward, he was…
Wrong.
He was eventually taken to this underground facility by the people who found him, keeping him locked away inside a heavily secured room. He didn’t blame them for being weary, of course. He understood what they saw in him. He understood that he looked like a dead man walking, because technically? He kinda was.
And so he waited, patiently inside his selected room until someone finally decided to make themselves known.
A bulky, tired looking man with a slightly overgrown beard entered the large room with his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
Zeno stared up at the man from his spot on the floor, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment before he tilted his head to the side in confusion. He recognized him, for some strange reason, and yet he couldn't quite remember why.
He slowly got to his feet, his eyes scanning the man's frame before he spoke after a period of silence.
"... Do I know you?" He asked, the tone of his voice cautious.
The man didn’t answer immediately, his expression blank as he studied the clone before him. It almost looked as if it was taking every ounce of his strength to remain stoic, to control the storm of emotions brewing within him. "You really don't recognize me?" He finally murmured after a minute, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
Zeno remained perfectly still, though his fingers twitched slightly at his sides—a nervous habit he didn’t realize he had. The man’s voice tugged at something buried deep in his fractured memories, like an echo from another lifetime.
His lips parted slightly, then closed again before he finally managed, "...Should I?"
There was something almost achingly familiar about the way the man carried himself, but the harder he tried to grasp it, the further it slipped away. He felt his chest tighten inexplicably.
Why did this hurt?
The man exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening. He took a single step forward, then stopped himself. "Name’s Chris Redfield." His voice was gruff, but something in it cracked on the last syllable. "BSAA. Formerly S.T.A.R.S." He went quiet for a moment to take a shaky breath, exhaling slowly. "...You were supposed to be him. But you’re not, are you?" His eyes flickered with something that looked like anger at first, before quickly morphing into something far more guilt ridden.
"Chris Redfield…" A pang of recognition struck him at the name, and for a split second, Zeno saw a hazy image of a young man with a determined glint in his eyes, standing among a group of others…
No. He pushed that aside, focusing on the present.
Zeno swallowed, his mouth going suddenly dry, the words spilling from his lips without thought. "No. No, I'm not."
Chris' shoulders slumped slightly, his lips pressed into a thin disapproving line. The anger had vanished from his eyes, replaced by a mixture of resignation and frustration. He approached slowly, stopping just a few steps away and regarding the clone with a scrutinizing gaze.
"...I know you’re not him," he muttered, voice low. "But seeing you… it’s like staring at a ghost wearing the face of my worst enemy." He clenched his fists tighter, knuckles whitening. "They told me you were dangerous. That you’d be just like Wesker. But that’s not true… is it? You haven’t even attempted to explore the room. We’ve been monitoring you through cameras and you’ve barely even moved.”
Zeno exhaled quietly, shoulders tense under Chris’ stare. He glanced briefly at the sterile walls, the unopened door, before meeting Chris’ gaze again. "...Would it matter if I did?" His voice was soft, almost resigned. “You think I don’t see the way they watch me? I could've left this room hours ago.” The admission was quiet yet not a threat, just a fact. His amber eyes flickered toward the door, then back to Chris.
“...But I didn't. I have nowhere to go because nobody wants me anywhere. I’m a dud.”
Chris gave a weak, bitter scoff. "A dud, hm? Yeah, your creators sure as hell messed up," he muttered, crossing his arms. "You're not like Wesker. You're too... soft. You barely look like you could fight yourself out of a trash bag, let alone escape this facility." He took a few calculated steps toward the nearest open chair to have a seat, not taking his eyes off the clone for a second. “What were they gonna do with you anyway?”
Zeno leaned against the wall, crossing his arms loosely over his chest, mirroring Chris' casual pose despite the clear signs of fatigue and stress etched across the other man's face. "They expected me to be a weapon. But the training didn't quite stick. I'm... defective." His lips quirked into a humorless smile. "Apparently, you can't mold a person to be a killing machine when they refuse to be one."
He tilted his head, studying Chris. "...Are you disappointed? You look… sad about something.”
Chris leaned back in his seat, his gaze softening as he watched the clone. “No, not disappointed..." he said quietly. "Just confused. Frustrated. And, well... angry." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I came here expecting to face... him. Instead, I find the person he was supposed to be, except not really. You're nothing like him." He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "But you're still stuck with his face and… whatever the hell else you have of his.”
Zeno exhaled sharply through his nose, amusement flickering in his amber eyes. "You'd be surprised how little of him is actually left in here." He tapped his temple lightly, voice dry. "Mostly just bad genetics and an unfortunate sense of fashion."
He pushed off the wall, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension there before hesitantly taking a seat across from Chris.
"...Would it make it easier if I wore a paper bag over my head?" It was a weak joke, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Chris barked out a short, surprised laugh that sounded rough and unpracticed, like it hadn’t seen use in a long time. He immediately tried to play it off with a cough, but the smirk lingered.
"A paper bag? You’d probably still look too damn smug under it," he muttered, shaking his head. "But seriously… you’re nothing like him." He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "Wesker never second-guessed anything. Never hesitated. Never gave a damn about anyone who wasn’t part of his grand plan."
Zeno raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. It was strange, how… easy this felt. Comfortable. As if he was talking to an old friend. He leaned back in his seat, making himself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other. "You sound like you knew him well," he commented, tone light, but his eyes held an unreadable expression. "You and he were… close?” It was an innocent enough question, but somehow there was an unspoken weight to it.
Chris tensed visibly. The smirk faded from his face in an instant. "Too close," he muttered. “You could say that, yeah."
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes flicked over Zeno, studying the younger man more intently now, as if trying to find the ghost of his old enemy hidden beneath his skin.
"You know, a part of me wants to punch you right now just because you look so damn much like him," he said finally, voice almost a grumble.
Zeno didn't flinch, continuing to hold Chris’s gaze. "...Then why don’t you?" He asked softly. "Because I’m not him. And you already know that… or you wouldn’t still be sitting there." His voice was steady, but there was the faintest crack in it that betrayed a deeper understanding. "I wear his face," he murmured. "But I bleed differently."
Chris sat forward sharply, his expression shifting as something raw flickered behind his eyes. He stared at Zeno for a long while, jaw working like he wanted to say something heavy but couldn’t find the words. "...I know." He mumbled quietly. He rubbed a hand over his face. "Hell, that’s the problem. You don’t act like him. You don’t talk like him. And yet every time I look at you—" He cut himself off with a sharp breath.
"...You remind me of what he could’ve been."
Zeno went very still, mentally calculating the correct response that wouldn’t get him punched. "...I don’t know what he could’ve been,” he said at last, voice low, almost reverent. “But I know what I don’t want to be.” He tilted his head slightly, the dim light catching the edge of his sunglasses. “You see a ghost. I… live with one. I wish for an identity that doesn’t match with his.”
"That's the thing though..." Chris said after a moment, his eyes narrowing. "You have his face. His genes. A face that's been plastered across newspapers, wanted lists, and every criminal database. You can't deny the past. You can't escape it." He clenched his jaw. "So how do I know it isn't lurking inside you, too?"
Zeno tensed, his face hardening in response to the subtle accusation. He leaned forward, gaze locked on Chris's.
"You think I haven't asked myself that same question every day since I got here?" He shot back, a hint of bitterness in his tone. "Do you truly believe i’m not terrified of what I can be potentially capable of?” He abruptly stood to his feet, fists clenched. “I don’t even know how to do that crazy martial arts dodge thingy he does! I’m literally the one clone who has been left in the dark because of my flaws!” He complained with an aggressive shrug.
“You could try torturing me and I still couldn’t give you all the answers because I don’t know them!”
Chris stood abruptly, mirroring Zeno’s stance… but instead of anger, his expression softened with something that resembled recognition. "...You really don’t know, do you?" He let out a short huff that didn’t sound quite like a laugh, nor something out of malice. "You think I came down here to interrogate you? To test you?" He shook his head. "No. I came because they wanted me to terminate the project."
Zeno froze, any anger or defiance in his body draining in an instant. He turned his face slightly, looking down at the floor.
"...Terminate…" He repeated, the word like a rock in his stomach. The weight of it pressed heavily against his chest, the air in the room suddenly feeling thick and oppressive. He forced himself to meet Chris's gaze again, the fear he'd been keeping hidden was evident in his eyes. For all the bravado he wore like a shield, beneath it, he was just a man terrified at the thought of being erased.
Chris stepped forward, his voice dropping to something firm, but no longer harsh. "Yeah. Terminate," he said. "But I don’t follow orders blindly." He held Zeno’s stare, unflinching. "I saw you on the cameras. You didn’t try to escape. Didn’t attack the guards when they brought you food. You sat there… like you were waiting for someone to tell you what you were supposed to be." He let out a quiet breath. "I know that look."
He reached up slowly, unholstering his sidearm but didn't raise it. Instead, he set it down on the table between them with a solid clack.
"...I’m not here to kill a ghost," he muttered. "And I’m definitely not going to help them erase someone who hasn't even had a chance."
Zeno's gaze flickered down to the sidearm between them, then back up to Chris's face, disbelief clear in his eyes. For a split second, a rush of relief made him almost light-headed. But it was quickly smothered by caution. This was a test, it had to be.
"...You're not?" He asked quietly, fingers clenching into a tight fist. "You're just… freeing me? Just like that? No conditions?" His eyes were wide; his heart drumming wildly in his ribcage.
Chris huffed out another rough laugh, shaking his head. "I'm making a choice," he said bluntly. "One that could potentially cost me my job if anyone finds out." He nodded his head toward the door. "As far as the BSAA is concerned, you're a failed experiment. A liability, and they want to destroy you. But I..." His gaze met Zeno directly, taking a small step forward that seemed friendly enough.
"...You haven’t proven to me that there’s anything malicious stirring up in you, and you haven’t done anything that’s resembled him by a long-shot.”
Zeno stared back, his thoughts spinning in a flurry of confusion and hope. Could he really trust this man, a stranger who seemed to understand more about him than he understood himself? But he was being offered freedom, a chance to escape this place and maybe even start a new life. He was tempted; every fibre of his being longing to run.
He forced himself to remain still, keeping his voice steady despite the emotions warring inside him. "And you really expect me to just… believe that i’m going to be able to roam freely without problem? If anyone catches wind of me out and about on the streets i’ll be killed on the spot.”
Chris shrugged lightly. "Believe it or don't," he said. "But I ain't gonna sit here and try to sell you a fairytale. You've been treated like a monster in here, and the fact is this world is going to treat you like a monster, too. They're not gonna see anything but a weapon, a killing machine, or a walking time bomb. No matter what you do, no matter how you start a new life, they're still going to be hunting you down. We're not exactly in a world where clones have rights."
"Then why give me a choice at all?" Zeno asked, voice barely above a whisper. "If the world’s just going to hunt me anyway… why not let them erase me like faulty code?" He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly. Human, but never allowed to be one.
Chris stepped forward, gripping Zeno’s shoulder with a firm, unyielding hand. "Because I see you," he said, voice low and rough. "Not as code. Not as a mistake. As someone who deserves to choose their own fight." He tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp but not unkind. “I didn't spend my life fighting monsters just to become one. If I walk out of here and let them wipe you from existence because you might turn into something dangerous… then I've already lost."
"Then... where do I go?" Zeno asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked up at Chris, searching the other man's face for any sign of deception or hesitation. But all he saw was resolve.
Chris' grip on Zeno's shoulder relaxed, as if he was releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "For now, you'll come with me," he said, voice low. "I have a place where you'll be safe until we can figure something else out, up in the northern mountains. No BSAA presence. No labs. Nothing special about it at all, which is exactly why it’s perfect.” He gave a small, almost reassuring squeeze before stepping backwards to holster his gun once more.
"...I don't know how to live like that," Zeno admitted quietly, almost ashamed. "Normal… free." He looked down at himself, as if expecting to find some hidden directive written into his skin. "But I want to learn. Maybe you could teach me…?”
Chris huffed softly, crossing his arms once more as he studied Zeno. "...I'll teach you the best I can," he said at last. "But I won't hold your hand through everything, understand? You're going to have to learn to survive just like the rest of us." He jerked his head toward the door. "You ready to go? I can't say how much time we have before we'll be noticed. I made sure no one was monitoring the cameras before coming in here.”
Zeno nodded, taking a moment to collect himself before pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning on. He followed Chris to the door, his steps uncharacteristically quiet for a tall man.
Unconsciously, his eyes dipped down to stare at Chris’s lips.
He knew what they felt like, what they tasted like.
….Why did he know that?
Zeno blinked rapidly, the image slipping away as quickly as it had come. He shook his head slightly, trying to dismiss the strange sensation. “What-… I mean, I don’t mean to step over any lines or anything… and feel free to ignore me but, what… exactly was your relationship with Wesker…?” He asked as he kept his voice low and quiet, cautious.
Chris stopped dead in his tracks at the question, his entire body going rigid. The air in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His jaw clenched so tight it looked painful, and when he finally turned his head just enough to glance back at Zeno, there was something raw in his eyes that resembled grief buried under layers of rage and regret.
"...We were partners," he said quietly. "Years ago. Before shit hit the fan. It was kept a secret from most people.” His voice was low, almost too rough to be human. "We trusted each other with our lives... stood back-to-back through hell." He swallowed hard. "And then... he burned it all down.”
Zeno fell quiet, his expression solemn as he listened. He hadn't expected such a heavy explanation, nor had he expected the emotions that came along with it.
Partners. Trusted with their lives. A bond forged and broken. It was a familiar story… but one he was hearing for the first time. There was a strange feeling in his chest, something uncomfortable and foreign.
"You loved him." It was not a question.
Chris swallowed hard, his jaw clenching painfully against something he had long-since buried. His head dropped slightly, the muscles in his shoulders visibly tensing. He took a slow, ragged breath. "He was the last person in this damn world I'd let my guard down around. I thought he felt the same." He whispered. "Maybe he did… at one point. It didn’t last though, obviously. He preferred power at his fingertips over a warm body in his bed.”
Zeno winced, sympathetic pain flitting across his face. The raw emotion in Chris's voice hit him unexpectedly hard, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He reached out without thinking, lightly placing his hand on the man’s shoulder. The contact was hesitant and cautious, but the gesture was meant to be reassuring.
"For what it's worth… I'm sorry." He murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Chris clenched his eyes shut and reached up to cover Zeno's hand with his own, swallowing hard. "Don't be," he murmured at last, voice low. "Wesker never felt sorry for anything in his entire goddamn life." He took a shuddering breath. "Not even for me."
Zeno's fingers curled slightly under Chris's grip, his thumb stroking a slow, rhythmic pattern into the fabric of his shirt. The contact felt strangely natural, like it was something he had done countless times before without ever realizing it. But he'd be lying if he said it didn't soothe the ache in his chest.
The heat of Chris's skin through the thin fabric, the faint scent of him and the quiet sound of his unsteady breathing… it was all so familiar.
“…How did you learn how to stop loving him?”
Chris' breath caught in his throat, his fingers involuntarily squeezing around Zeno's hand. He was silent for a long moment, just breathing, as if silently trying to sort through all the shattered pieces of his heart.
"I didn’t.” His voice cracked. "Some part of me still does." He exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes closed as if shielding himself from something only he could see. "Even after everything… the lies, the betrayal… watching him burn in that volcano like some goddamn madman screaming about evolution…" His hands moved up to rub at his face tiredly. “I never learned how to stop.”
Zeno's hand fell away, his chest tightening with a strange ache he didn't understand.
"...Then why help me?" He whispered, almost afraid of the answer. "If I'm just… his face. His voice. A reminder of everything you lost—why not let them erase me?" His fingers trembled slightly at his side, hidden beneath the loose fabric of his sleeves. "Why save a man that hurts you every time you look at them?"
Chris dropped his hands from his face, his gaze locking onto Zeno's with burning intensity. He closed the distance between them, grasping the clone's face between his strong fingers. "Because you're not his ghost," he said, voice rough with something like conviction.
"You're clearly your own damn person, even if you don’t know who that is yet." He exhaled sharply through his nose, a weak smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And maybe… helping you figure it out is how I finally stop seeing him everywhere. Call it selfish if you want.”
Zeno's eyes fluttered shut, the sudden touch leaving him overwhelmed. His hands clenched involuntarily at his sides, the touch and warmth of fingers against his face setting something primal ablaze in his chest. He had never been touched like this before. Not with the strange kind of intensity that set his senses tingling. The feeling was simultaneously unfamiliar and achingly familiar. He craved more, despite his better judgment.
"It's not selfish," he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. "It's just honest. You might be able to finally heal from him.”
Chris let his calloused thumb trace slowly over Zeno's cheek, his gaze roaming across the angular planes of the clone's face with something like reverence. "Yeah... something like that," he murmured quietly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "And maybe you can finally be able to be… whoever the hell you want to be. Hell, get yourself a desk job somewhere.” His eyes flicked down for a short moment before averting that same gaze to the door.
Zeno smiled faintly, his expression rueful but hopeful. "A desk job, huh?" He mused, his thoughts wandering to the idea of a normal, mundane life. It sounded... peaceful. Safe. A chance to just be.
"Do you think I'd look good behind a desk?" He joked half-heartedly, trying to lighten the thick tension in the air.
An actual, genuine chuckle left Chris, something warm and rough at the back of his throat. He gave Zeno a playful nudge.
"Probably look damn awkward the whole time," he said with a small smirk. "I'm guessing you've never done any paperwork before, have you? You're gonna be staring at it cross-eyed within the first hour."
Zeno rolled his eyes, a playful scoff escaping him. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," he retorted, feigning offense. "Just because I've never had to file TPS reports before doesn't mean I can't handle paperwork. I might surprise you, you know." He couldn't help a small smirk of his own, the idea of a simple desk job growing more and more attractive by the second. “I’m efficient in many cases.”
"Oh, I bet you are," Chris said, rolling his eyes. "You can probably multitask, too, huh? Type with one hand behind your back and everything?" The corners of his lips quirked with a smirk. "You're gonna be the model employee. Shit, maybe you'd even get promoted with that smart mouth of yours.”
Zeno raised an eyebrow as something new and indescribable bubbled up inside his throat, spilling out before he could properly identify it. “My mouth is efficient in many ways, too.”
His jaw clamped shut, eyes widening behind his sunglasses as he desperately tried to figure out where the hell that came from.
A brief, stunned silence passed between them as Chris looked to be fighting some kind of inner demons from within. "...yeah, I don't doubt that." His expression was almost pained, yet something else flickered in his eyes; something heated.
"Forget I said that. I don’t know why I said that.” Zeno muttered, looking away and adjusting his sunglasses with one hand. "...We should get going," he said hastily, voice slightly higher than usual. "Before someone realizes you didn’t terminate the experiment like you were supposed to.”
Chris took a moment to steady himself before letting out a low exhale and gesturing down the hallway. “Yeah, you're right," he said gruffly, his expression carefully schooled into something more neutral. "Let's get moving. The sooner we're out of here, the better. Stay close."
Zeno nodded hastily, the strange conversation already half-forgotten as he kept pace with the BSAA agent. He was acutely aware of their proximity, the subtle heat radiating off the other man's body, the faint scent of him… But he tried to force those feelings down, focus on something, anything other than how his skin prickled and tingled.
He was grateful for the fact his sunglasses hid his eyes, which were darting toward Chris far too often for his liking as they hurried down the hall.