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They're red.
Chris can't understand what Wesker is saying, the words are garbled like they're underwater.
But they're red.
Chris blinks as if that might somehow change the fact his Captain's eyes are now red as they bore into him. He doesn't remember how he got here or what prompted the conversation, but they're in Wesker's office inside S.T.A.R.S. at the RPD like they would normally be…except it's just them and the rest of the office blurs in his periphery. If this were real, he imagines the hair on the back of his neck would be standing on end from the intensity of Wesker's gaze.
A dream, then.
Not his first work related one, either. But it's different than showing up in his underwear, or the one where Jill became head of S.T.A.R.S. or even the few he's had of Wesker before. This time, dread weighs him down. Without the comforting sounds of the other S.T.A.R.S. members outside, it feels cold in the office. Stale.
"Are you listening, Chris?" Wesker's voice is flat, like always, his mouth hidden behind his clasped, gloved hands. It echoes in the silence of the space, almost like it is coming from inside Chris' own head. The sunglasses Wesker normally wears are on his desk and his eyes…well.
They're red.
Catlike and slitted.
It's odd. He has never considered once before this moment, if a dream could be a moment, that there could be something off about Wesker. No. It has to be a dream because it doesn't make any sense. He knows his Captain's eyes are blue. He's seen them.
Right?
As he stares back, unable to answer this dream version of Wesker, he begins to doubt.
When is the last time he's seen Wesker without his sunglasses?
Has he ever?
Or was it a dream then, too?
He jerks awake to the sound of his alarm going off and tries to shake the newfound sensation of horror from his bones. Wesker…he shakes his head to rid himself of the dream.
As usual, he gets his morning energy drink and a breakfast burrito at the convenience store on the way to work. Mornings tend to drag for him, but luckily he doesn't live too far from the RPD. The walk takes maybe 15 minutes, and in the slight chill of the May morning, it's the refresh he needs to put his nightmare behind him. Hopefully.
The building looms ahead of him and for a second he falters. Wesker will no doubt be in already. In fact, it's almost a guarantee that the Captain has likely been there since 5:00am on the dot. Chris can only think of a singular time when Wesker has been late. That day, somewhat recently, the Captain had locked himself in his office and left before lunch muttering about disappointments and bureaucracy.
Odd how he can suddenly think of multiple times when Wesker has acted bizarrely. His brain helpfully lists each strange thing that comes to mind as he strolls up to the door.
The RPD is still quiet when he enters, the night shift having already changed with the first shift of the day. Chris waves a cheerful 'hello' to the two officers in the lobby on his way up the stairs to the S.T.A.R.S. office, without actually feeling all that cheerful.
Come on, it was just a dream. Snap out of it!
"You look terrible," Jill greets as he enters the office and Chris rolls his eyes.
"Good morning to you too, Jill," his fellow officer is perched on her seat, one knee up for her to rest her chin on as she types up a report. How she manages to feel comfortable like that, he will never know.
"Y'know it's Wesker's birthday, right? Gonna confess your love to him as your present?" She teases, wiggling her eyebrows at him suggestively. The comment prompts an even more aggressive eyeroll from Chris.
"Ha-ha, very funny." His admiration for Wesker is not an unknown to the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. members, and certainly Jill hears him wax nearly poetic (and complain) about Wesker more often than most of them.
"I know, I'm wasted as a tactical officer, I should do stand-up." She replies dryly, returning her gaze to the screen in front of her. He takes a second to look towards Wesker's office.
He's not there.
"Where's the birthday boy?" Chris asks and Jill shrugs.
"Maybe he took the day off to avoid the festivities Barry has planned."
Chris frowns. It's not impossible, but the Captain tended to just suffer through the comraderie instead of just skipping it entirely. Another weird occurrence to add to the pile.
//
The morning passes with Chris anxiously looking at the door every time it opens. Of course Barry and Jill rib him for being so eager to see the Captain but Chris can't shake the feeling that something weird is happening. Finally after lunch, which consists of pizza ordered by Barry, Wesker arrives. A hush falls over the S.T.A.R.S. members, all of them waiting for what he might say. Chris is transfixed by the sight of him in the doorway.
Wesker is just as rigid as normal. Just as put together. No acknowledgement of his lateness as he strides towards his office. His blonde hair is perfectly styled, sunglasses in place despite being indoors. Chris assumes Wesker starches everything down to his socks before work every day, that's the only thing that would explain the stiffness of everything. But…it's nothing out of the ordinary. For a second, Chris relaxes, comforted by the sharp edges and rigidity of the shape of the man before him.
"Good morning, team." Wesker says crisply, despite it being well into the afternoon,"I expect your reports on my desk by 3 pm."
That's it. He disappears into his office and the hum of conversation resumes around Chris.
Nothing else. No explanation, no apology.
Jill and him turn at the same time to exchange looks and silent "you go!"s. After an unsuccessful streak of rock-paper-scissors', Chris rises from his seat. All of a sudden, his limbs feel heavy, his palms sweaty. His dream, or rather nightmare, from last night unhelpfully comes to mind. He worries what he might see when he looks at Wesker. What if his eyes are red? What does it mean, if they are? He hesitantly knocks on the door before pushing it open.
Wesker sits at his desk, glasses set aside for a moment as he rubs his eyes. It's such an oddly human thing for him to walk in on. He looks tired, uncharacteristically slouched in his seat. The sharp profile of his face is softer without the sunglasses. Just a man instead of the rigid Captain. Chris holds his breath, waiting.
"Yes?" Wesker asks, finally looking up. One of those perfect blonde brows is arched, daring Chris to ask what he wants to ask, but Chris' gaze is locked on his eyes.
Blue.
"Uh, happy birthday, sir." Chris can feel his face flush in embarrassment at the near surprise on Wesker's face and the barest ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Get back to work, Chris." Chris smiles at the almost fond tone, butterflies erupt in his chest.
"Yes, sir." He turns to leave, looking over his shoulder just as Wesker puts his sunglasses back on, his smile faltering a little when he catches a glimpse of something else on Wesker's face.
A frown.
Not the first frown he's ever seen on his Captain's face but this one feels significant for some reason Chris just can't place. He sits at his desk and types up his report knowing Wesker will ask him to redo it twice anyway.
They manage to wrangle Wesker from his office long enough to sing happy birthday a few hours later, the store bought birthday cake decorated with a mish-mash of different candles bought for other birthdays. An amalgamation of the S.T.A.R.S. team for their Captain to blow out while begrudgingly wearing a pointed party hat and being sung to. The candles reflect off of his sunglasses and for a brief second Chris can imagine those red eyes again staring coolly at him. He stumbles over the second verse of happy birthday and Jill elbows him, probably assuming its the workplace crush making him fumble the words.
Happy Birthday, dear-
"Captain"
"Wesker"
"Albert"
Wesker sighs, almost dramatically, before blowing out the candles.
"Eat your cake, then back to work."
"Yessir!" Everyone choruses back.
Chris smiles to himself when Wesker takes a piece of cake back to his office.
Why is he so worried anyway? One nightmare and suddenly, what? Wesker's a terminator? Wesker has always been strange. Quiet and strange and slightly robotic, but…sweet. The word doesn't quite describe the Captain but Chris - maybe out of his own personal feelings - feels it's almost correct. It is something he debates often with Jill - she doesn't see the subtle care Weker shows, the silent affection behind putting up with their antics.
Either way, one dream does not change that. It doesn't change the fact Wesker is secretly fond of them all, or that he does his best to take care of the S.T.A.R.S. team.
//
Oh, how wrong he was.
Sometime through the whole thing of surviving the mansion. The lack of Wesker, the notes and random supplies left for him. The creeping, horrible suspicion that is confirmed by every damned Umbrella slide.
No, it couldn't be.
Wesker, a traitor in their midst. The orchestrator of this whole horrific night. And for what? A pharmaceutical company that wants to play God?
His comrades couldn't have died for this.
He thinks back to that moment in Wesker's office two months ago. To Wesker's late arrival, to the frown as Chris left his office. Was it all an act? Was it for him? For Jill? Just to string them along and-
And Wesker is right there. In this fucking lab beneath the mansion. Typing away like he is completely unbothered by the death and monsters.
"Wesker," he feels breathless.
Let this be a dream.
"So you've come," Wesker doesn't even look up at Chris. His tone is remarkably casual for the circumstance. The gloom of the lab presses in on them save for the glow of the large specimen tube that casts an eerie light over them both.
Please let this be a dream.
"Chris you make me proud," and he sounds it, or as close to proud as Wesker can sound. It makes Chris' heart pound and he curses himself for being so affected. Fuck. His approval has long been something Chris wanted, but now…" but of course you are one of my men."
Chris wants to throw up, but he musters up a sarcastic scoff, "thanks."
Wesker whips around and Chris barely blocks the fist aimed at his face. He gets his own hit in, the sunglasses skittering across the lab floor. Violent satisfaction takes root in his chest until a neatly executed kick takes him completely off guard once more. The subsequent kick knocks him to the ground. He scrambles to turn over and comes face to face with Wesker's Samurai Edge. A moment passes staring down the barrel of the gun. His unsteady breath feels loud in his ears. Instinctively, Chris traces the barrel up to Wesker's eyes, expecting the sunglasses to be there and finding only blue eyes. The expression feels unbearably open. Hate. Rage. Is that why he wore them? To hide how much he hated them all? Chris swallows thickly. He can practically feel the cold metal of the barrel against his forehead. Will he be next? Will Wesker simply squeeze the trigger and be rid of him?Wesker doesn't say anything and for a second Chris wonders if his Captain is having second thoughts. For once, Wesker looks conflicted.
"Since when, Wesker." Maybe he can get through to him. Maybe he can still salvage this. Maybe- his traitorous brain supplies-he can save Wesker.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Wesker sounds...tired? Resigned, maybe, as he stands over Chris. Without the sunglasses, Chris can easily read every micro-emotion that flits across his face. Pain, resignation, hatred. He thinks of the way Enrico had looked at him earlier in the tunnels. Of the corpses he found on his way to this lab. No. There's no saving him. He wants to feel bad for him, but the various evidence from the night plays through his head on repeat. Lead researcher A. WESKER. Photos of him in a lab coat with a team of scientists. All of the logs and emails. Unimpeachable proof of the deception.
"Since when have they been slipping you a paycheck?!" Chris demands, although the bite of his words feels shaky at best. Was it all down to that? Money?
Wesker adjusts his stance, his boots bracketing Chris' hips now. It feels weirdly intimate even with the gun currently stuck in his face.
"I think you're a little confused."
Oh.
Chris' blood runs completely cold. Those icy blue eyes stare through him, piercing him.
"I've always been with Umbrella. And S.T.A.R.S. were Umbrella's-" he pauses, disdain clear in his voice, "No, rather, my little piggies."
Chris' world is crumbling down around him. His family. His home. His mentor. All of it was a lie.
Wesker has always been this, he realizes. The cold floor beneath Chris' back does nothing to ground him as waves of horror and realization wash over him.
"The Tyrant Virus leaked, polluting this whole place. And unfortunately, I had to give up my lovely members of S.T.A.R.S.." It's like he's commenting on the weather instead of the team he created being wiped out.
"You killed them with your own dirty hands," The accusation Chris levels comes from deep in his core where the pit of his rage has been brewing all night, " you son of a bitch!"
He surges upwards, his hands grasping usefully for the gun as tries to wrestle it from Wesker. His attempt is easily thwarted by the older man who seems to have anticipated his move. Even without saying it, Chris can hear the voice of his Captain chiding him for being too slow. Too predictable. The heel of Wesker's black boot grinds against his sternum as a reward, crushing the breath out of him. Wesker's lips quirk upwards at the way Chris squirms.
He's enjoying it. The struggle. Chris' pain and discomfort. Without the sunglasses to hide his emotions, it's obvious.
"Yes…I'm a fair man, I'll destroy all of you S.T.A.R.S and this entire place too"
"You," Chris is shaking as he stares up at Wesker, fingers gripping at the boot on his chest like a lifeline. The man he had admired most looks at him like a disobedient pet. Is that all he is? A pet? Something for Wesker to keep on a leash and praise and train. He feels sick at the thought. Just a loyal mutt who was too dumb to see through Wesker's façade.
"Time for show and tell." Wesker steps back, allowing Chris to get a full breath "Get up."
Chris hesitates, keeping his eyes on the gun as he carefully gets to his feet.
Should I grab the gun? Run?
Wesker keys something on the computer, gesturing to a large tube with the barrel of his gun. There's some bizarre mixture of pride and longing on his face as he gazes at the creature before them. Dark shadows trace his under eyes and the glow of the tank maks his pale skin look sickly.
He is sick. He must be.
The humanoid freakshow in the tank to the left stands so much taller than any normal human. The grayish skin, made even more inhuman looking by the bluish fluid in the tank, is mottled and ruddy in places as if the flesh hasn't healed, or maybe it's actively decaying. One hand is large and clawed, much larger than the other and clearly made for cutting deeply into its enemies. A perfect weapon made of patchwork human parts sewn together by a team of Doctor Frankensteins. The heart beats outside of its ribcage. A huge target on this dumpster fire of a creation.
Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump.
The tank slowly drains.
"The ultimate lifeform, Tyrant."
And it just sits there in its glass tube.
A failure. All of this blood and sacrifice for a failure.
Chris feels the insanity of it all hit him. Jill, Rebecca, Barry…he has no idea if they're even alive. The hysterical laugh bubbles up in his chest before he can stop it. It spills out in near sobs as he clutches at his sides as if he might split in half from the violence of it all. Wesker pays him no mind, turning towards the tank with one of those looks that Chris would have envied a month ago.
His mirthless laughter finally ends with a bitter declaration, "Wesker, you've gone senile."
"Chris, you'll never understand." Disappointment colors Wesker's words.
Was he hoping I would switch sides after seeing this?
He won't. He will never understand how Wesker can work for Umbrella. How he can send them all to slaughter for this.
"It's magnificent,"
That magnificent being cracks through the glass and rips into Wesker, lifting him off the ground. It happens so quickly Chris couldn't have stopped it, but he finds himself reaching out anyway.
"Wesker-"
The thing, Tyrant, throws Wesker against a random console like yesterday's trash. He lands with a sickening thud, crimson bleeding onto the sterile lab floor beneath him. It's chilling and Chris struggles to tear his eyes from the sight of his mentor crumpled against the consoles. Dead.
Then, Tyrant turns to Chris. There's no time to grieve the man he thought he knew. No time to even process the suddeness of it all.
Chris squares himself to the advancing creature. If this is how he's going to die, he's going to at least take this Tyrant with him.
"C'mon you test tube freak!"
He is going to make it out of this godforsaken place.