Chapter Text
Cold.
That was the only word that rang in his mind as he came to in the suffocating small space. The cold was inside him like it never planned to leave, set deep into his bones and making him shiver uncontrollably.
As his eyes open fully, the harsh light inside of the freezing space makes him immediately squint his eyes back against the brightness, teeth chattering. A red light blinked somewhere above him, making his eyesight even worse, and once again, he wished he had his sunglasses on him. His breath fogged the glass in front of him as he tried to make sense of the situation he was in, attempting to work through the massive headache currently throbbing inside his head.
His memory was foggy at the moment, the last thing he remembered being hands. Multiple sets of them, pinning him down, dragging him somewhere. He blinked once, twice, willing his headache to go away, but to no avail. He remembers those gloved hands more than any other memory right now.
Cutting into him, with no care about what his body can handle.
He suddenly bangs his hand onto the glass weakly in a burst of emotion, not expecting it to do much of anything with how pathetic the hit was, but to his astonishment, the glass shatters right under his palm into a million tiny pieces, and so he stumbles out of the chamber slowly, barely catching himself upright on the frame of the pod.
The glass must've been weakened or damaged already, because there was no way someone didn't temper with it. Umbrella was always thorough with having only the best equipment for their little projects. The continuous red blinking light above him was evidence that something had went wrong. Perhaps there wasn't enough electricity in the place to support the chamber anymore and activated the emergency thaw protocol automatically, waking him up.
Wesker feels really sick and dizzy suddenly, nearly falling as he vomits hard all over the floor beneath him, getting some on his socks. He scrunched his face up in discontent, blinking a couple of times, willing his eyes to start working normally.
Wait, socks? He patted himself down. Where were his clothes? His S.T.A.R.S. uniform was nowhere to be seen, all he had on him was a white shirt, a pair of white pants, and the white socks. Wesker looked down at himself in disdain. What was he, some kind of lab rat?
...
Wesker shook the thought away, as if that would erase the hours of pain and agony he had gone through under the hands of scientists who performed unethical surgeries on him in search of something. Spencer had thought it was appropriate punishment for the sabotage Wesker was planning on and allowed them to do those procedures without anesthesia. Who would wanna waste resources on him, right?
Wesker never found out what they were trying to do then. Perhaps he could find some info in this lab? That would be helpful.
Oh, that's right, that was why he wasn't in his uniform. They must've changed him for the procedure. He wonders if he could get his uniform back, or if they cut it off him while doing the procedure. Wesker couldn't remember that part clearly.
His brain is foggy as he looks around the place, but he's immediately alert, ready to fight anyone coming his way, even while knowing he would never be able to put up much of a fight in his current condition.
But no, the facility looks as dead and cold as the chamber he was just in.
Empty and dark.
No matter. He doesn't have much time to dwell on such pointless details anyway. He has a team to save, and he's not about to let them just die by Umbrella's hands. Not when he can prevent it.
He will make sure the Arklay mission doesn't end with his team's bloodshed.
...
He just needs to sit down first before he falls. His knees buckle before he can reach a chair though, and he goes down badly, pain shooting up through his knee as he catches himself on his bad leg.
Wesker inhales sharply, letting himself rest on the floor for a minute, thinking over his situation. He knows he needs to get out. Umbrella's facilities may appear empty at first sight sometimes, but they usually never were, and if you didn't pay attention to your surrounding or sounds, any wrong movement would get you killed.
But this facility seemed too empty. Almost eerily so. Wesker didn't recognize the place. It wasn't one of Umbrella's known labs. How did he get here? He was last in Spencer mansion's basement when he got taken.
Papers were haphazardly thrown around all over the place, cables were pulled or cut in a poor attempt to hide evidence after themselves, some desks were shifted and moved halfway towards the door, like someone wanted to barricade the door, but had given up on it.
...Or ran out of time.
The lack of blood was creepy in and itself. There were clear signs of struggle all over the room, but Wesker couldn't see a single drop of blood anywhere.
His stomach churned, but he swallowed it down, searching around the room for any kind of weapon that would help him in the long run. But there were no guns, no knives, nothing. As if the room had been deliberately cleared out. He settled on taking one of the larger pieces of glass from the chamber he was in, moving painfully slowly towards one of the only monitors that didn't appear completely busted.
He plugged the monitor back in and tried to turn on the screen, wanting to find something useful that would help with anything, but all he found as the screen switched on was a dumb note from one of the researchers basically just saying, 'it got out'.
Wesker squinted his eyes at the harsh light, reading it again.
...
What got out? Why would someone waste their precious time by writing a message that would not help anyone? Who would even get to see this message? How would it be helpful to anyone if someone did see it?
Sometimes Wesker wondered what kind of people Umbrella was hiring, because at that point it just felt like Umbrella was running out of people to recruit. Or maybe they were doing this on purpose.
Wesker clicked the mouse a couple of times, attempting to see if there was anything actually useful, but it appeared that the device was malfunctioning because the screen was just completely frozen with only the image of the note still showing. The date at the corner said 7/26/1998.
As Wesker sees this, he exhales in relief that he doesn't even try to hide.
Okay, alright, so he wasn't that late then, right? Wesker could only hope so. The report Wesker had found before said that they had planned to deploy S.T.A.R.S. Bravo team to the Arklay Mountains sometime in late July, followed by Alpha team not long after. It was still possible that they haven't followed through the mission yet. He needed to hurry.
He wouldn't let them die. He just couldn't.
It was a new feeling. One he himself didn't fully know what to feel about. Umbrella had always spent so much effort in making sure his empathy was cut out of him, making sure it never gets in the way of his missions.
But here he was, trying to save the people he had only been working with for 2 years, some not even that long. The sense of belonging he had felt in those ordinary days while playing Captain on Umbrella's orders were some of the most liberating experiences in his entire life.
And Wesker didn't want to admit it, but he cared for them.
Perhaps too much.
He cared about Chris, who was unbelievably stubborn towards any kind of authority figures, but loyal to a fault.
He cared about Jill, who had earned her place through skill and nerve, even when so many people were wary of her past.
He cared about Barry, who hid his worry behind bad dad jokes, but still looked at younger members like they were someone worth protecting.
He cared about Brad, who got scared too easily, but still showed up. Still tried, even when fear had its hands around his throat.
He cared about Joseph, who was loud, reckless, and far too eager to run straight towards danger, who was immature and hot-blooded, but always had his team's back.
He cared about the members of the Bravo team too. Enrico, with his steady voice and sharp eyes. Rebecca, the newest addition to the team and too young for the weight placed on her shoulders. Forest, Richard, Kenneth, Edward. All of them. Every single one of them people he was supposed to use, supposed to sacrifice, supposed to walk away from.
No.
He will not let Umbrella win.
Not this time.
Wesker swiftly pulled the plug back out, not wanting to leave any evidence of his presence there, and looked back towards the cryosleep pod one last time, his body trembling uncomfortably at the sight of it.
Never again.
He will never let anyone drag him in there again.
Wesker sniffled, feeling the effects of hypothermia kicking in at full speed, and then sneezed suddenly, glaring at himself for the moment of weakness. He limped slowly towards the exit of the room, unable to speed up due to the cold numbness in his limbs.
Gosh, how long was he in there anyway? He was taken by Umbrella on June 11th, a month after the breakout in Spencer mansion's basement laboratory, caught snooping around in files he wasn't supposed to have access to. That was like a month at most, how did his body get so weak in such a short period of time? He had seen other people come out of the cryosleep chamber in a far better condition than him, and some of them have stayed in there longer.
Something wasn't right here.
Wesker looked at the exit. The rusty metal door in the far corner of the room was open by a few inches, with multiple bullet dents in the upper frame of it.
Who in here was stupid enough to shoot at a metal door? Or incompetent enough to miss so many times? Wesker wondered as he pushed it open wider with great difficulty, the door moving with a loud creak and groan, making Wesker wince at the sheer volume of it in the otherwise completely silent facility.
Giving the room one last look, he finally steps out of the cold lab, appearing in some kind of a long corridor that seemed to stretch on forever.
Clutching the piece of glass tighter in his hand, he traversed slowly through the narrow hallway, checking corners almost obsessively in his paranoia. Most of the doors he came across were locked or had something blocking from the other side, and Wesker had no intention of finding out what, or whose body was barricading them, so he quickly moved on from those.
Because no, the blood seeping under the door in a big pool was enough to tell him how that story would end.
He looked almost like a ghost, walking around the empty facility slowly, with his skin so pale, and his lips so blue. The white clothes definitely didn't help with the similarity in their appearances.
He stepped over a sparking cut off cable carefully, his hand resting on the wall next to him, already out of breath from all the movement. His muscles were so weak that they barely felt like his own. They couldn't have gotten so atrophied from just a month of unuse, right? That usually took 2-3 weeks to even start.
Wesker shook his head, shifting his focus away from the thought as he had no use in that anyway. Not when he's trapped in this facility God knows where. Why was he moved anyway? Surely if Spencer wanted to keep an eye on him, he would've picked somewhere closer to the mansion, closer to him. Wesker knew all the Umbrella labs near the place, and this wasn't one of them. So why?
He really ought to find some file that explained it all. Why couldn't they just leave an actually convenient note that gave actual information?
Wesker sighed, finally reaching the end of the hallway, coming across a set of stairs, leading both up and down. Wesker paused, thinking over his next move.
Logically speaking, cryosleep chambers were most likely to be placed underground so that it could be kept cold at all times easier, so going down would most probably just lead him deeper into the facility, away from the exit.
Wesker looked towards the stairs that were leading up.
You have got to be kidding me.
As if dragging himself out of the pod wasn't humiliating enough, now he had to climb up the stairs in this condition? His lungs burned as if protesting at even the thought of it.
"...I hate this place." Wesker whispered to himself hoarsely, absolutely miserable.
He eventually grabbed onto the railing on one side and hauled his body upwards, dragging himself up 3 whole floors begrudgingly, before a sign above a door caught his eye. He stopped, panting and heaving raggedly as if he had just run a marathon, trying to catch his breath, resting his hands on his knees that were threatening to buckle under him.
EMERGENCY EXIT
Wesker let his knees land on the floor upon reading that, leaning against the wall to make the breathlessness go away sooner. Wesker brought a hand up against his chest weakly in pain, as all of this burned his lungs badly. He desperately needed to hit the gym after he got this over with because it was just impossible to operate efficiently with a body like this.
Cold sweat gathered on the brow of his face, making him tremble even more than he already was. It was weird. He was already on ground level, and it was summer outside, surely it would be a bit warmer here? There were no windows to check, so Wesker just decided to assume that it was nighttime at the moment, hence the freezing conditions inside the facility.
Suddenly, before he could fully relax, he heard a deep growl-like sound come from the darkness near the stairs leading to the upper floors.
Wesker immediately pushed himself up, groaning as he did so, knees protesting under his weight. He kept one hand on the wall, balancing himself on it.
Shit. Shitshitshit—
This was bad. Like really really bad.
He was vulnerable, weak, and only had a pathetic piece of glass as a weapon that would probably do absolutely nothing against, what he could feel, an enormous creature in the dark.
The growl came again.
Closer this time.
Wesker looked into the dark once again, trying to see at least the shape of the creature, gripping the glass so tight against his palm that the edge bit into him, drawing blood. Wesker winced, looking down at his bleeding hand for a second before immediately snapping back up, heart hammering in his chest.
Well, that definitely wasn't a Cerberus.
Nor a Hunter.
Wesker moved along the wall carefully and slowly, trying to head towards the corridor in front of him, while still keeping himself faced towards where the sound was coming from.
Something heavy dragged itself across the floor towards him slowly, like it was preparing to lunge at him at any moment now.
Wesker took one tentative step back, his foot nearly slipping on the smooth floor behind him, his heart catching in his throat. The broken glass in his hand suddenly felt stupid. He looked down at it again for half a second, then back at the dark stairwell.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" He mumbled, his voice raspy.
It lunged.
Wesker barely had time to react and dropped to the side, landing on his butt ungracefully. The creature missed the lunge but then its claws shot out and caught onto his white shirt, ripping across the shoulder and painting it red. Wesker gasped, it being the only sound his throat was able to make. His hand spasmed, but Wesker held on, not dropping the only chance he had at survival.
Under the weak red emergency light, the creature stood tall at 7 feet at least. It looked a tad bit familiar to Wesker. Like a tyrant model, but a more upgraded version of it. It appeared almost human, but also not, in that uncanny way. Its skin was grey, veins black like wires underneath. One arm was huge compared to the other one and had even larger claws that looked to be designed for impaling its preys.
Well, that would explain why this facility was abandoned.
Wesker ran.
He threw himself behind one of the crates in the corner, just as the tyrant's claws barely missed him by an inch and hit the box instead, shattering it. It stopped for a moment then, moving its head around in an attempt to... scent him?
Wesker stopped for a second, staring directly towards the tyrant's face, seeing it's pale eyes and unfocused gaze clearly for the first time.
Oh.
Oh.
It was blind.
Maybe Wesker did have a chance. The blood currently pouring out of his shoulder certainly made things a little more complicated, but he had a chance.
While the tyrant was trying to sniff him out, Wesker stayed crouched, moving backwards slowly but surely. Granted, it didn't work for very long. The tyrant seemed to catch onto his scent almost immediately because it started growling again and moving towards him, albeit cautiously like it wasn't completely sure he was there.
Wesker closed his eyes for a second, clutching the piece of glass in both of his arms tightly, before raising his arm above his head and throwing the glass towards the stairwell, hearing it shatter again and clink down the stairs.
Wesker didn't dare to breathe and watched as the tyrant's head snapped towards the sound, its quiet growl turning into a roar as it charged towards the stairs, going down and soon disappearing from his sight. He couldn't move for a second once the silence returned again, making sure the tyrant wasn't coming back anytime soon.
He took this chance and staggered to his feet, barely staying upright, limping through the long hallway and inching closer and closer towards the exit door desperately.
He was maybe 10 feet away from the exit when one of the side doors behind him burst open with a loud bang and roar. Wesker almost slipped and fell down again but managed to hold on with the last of his strength.
The creature's claws scraped against the floor right behind him.
Wesker threw himself forward towards the heavy metal door with everything he had left, barely pushing it open a few inches and falling face first into the snow.
The outside air hit him all at once. It was freezing, cold.
He barely had time to register it as the tyrant's hand slipped through the open crack and tried to grab at his ankle, managing to scratch it quite badly.
Wesker cried out, twisting onto his back and giving the hand at his leg a solid kick. It refused to let go, claws digging deeper into his calf.
"Damn it." Wesker gasped.
He kicked again, harder this time, and the hand let go enough for Wesker to now kick at the door, slamming it on the hand and forcing it to free his leg and pull its limb back. Wesker gave the metal one last kick and finally shut it for good. The click that it gave as it closed indicated that the place had an automatic lock set up. How convenient.
"Didn't see that coming, huh?" Wesker muttered.
For a second, there was just silence, only interrupted by the occasional grunt of pain from Wesker as he tried to process the entire situation.
Then the tyrant hit the metal from the other side.
Wesker jolted backward on the ground, scrambling away while facing the door as it dented outward from the impact.
Then another dent appeared.
And another.
Wesker dragged himself backwards until his shoulders hit a tree. He couldn't stand even if he tried. His lungs were on fire at this point, his legs were shaking too badly, the ankle was probably in a worse condition, and his entire body was just trembling with cold and adrenaline and exhaustion.
The creature slammed into the door one more time.
It held. Barely.
He stared at it, panting, one hand pressed over his chest as if he could physically stop his heart from escaping, waiting for the tyrant's next hit.
But it never came.
The monster roared from behind the door but didn't attempt to open it again, having given up. Wesker heard its heavy footsteps finally moving further away from the door.
Desperate to fill the silence with anything, Wesker looks towards the door one last time and says "Sorry, visiting hours are over." Then lets his head fall back and rest onto the snow beneath him for a few minutes.
Speaking of which.
Snow?
Wasn't it summer right now?
Wesker pushes himself up onto his elbows, looking down around him as if he didn't see it right the first time. The cold is already setting back in his body, and Wesker can't hold his sneeze in again. The sound is very loud in the silence.
This must be some weird fever dream he's having at this point. But he doesn't plan on dying of hypothermia after everything he just went through, so he gets up slowly, brushing the snow off himself, shuddering at the icy feel on his skin. He really should've grabbed one of the coats in the lab when he had a chance. It was too late to go back now anyway.
Wesker starts walking away from the facility, not even bothering to look back once, eager to get away from the place. He still had no idea where he was though, so his only option was to just move forward. The abandoned facility was practically in the middle of nowhere in a forest, so he could only hope that going straight would get him out of this and that maybe he would see an actual human being that could explain anything.
He underestimated the pain of having to walk through snow in socks though. It was painful enough that it made Wesker actually consider going back to the facility just to see if he can find any actual current weather appropriate clothes.
He must've been walking for a while now, because the sun was starting to set behind the mountains, painting the terrain in a warm palette. Wesker almost stopped just to enjoy the scenery, but he forces himself to keep moving.
It feels as though he didn't get very far away though, because he could still see the outline of the facility behind the trees as he looks back.
That is when he suddenly hears multiple sets of footsteps somewhere near him and voices talking. These ones sounded human enough, but for some reason that made Wesker more wary of them than of the literal tyrant. He quickly moves to hide behind a tree, but somehow one of them, who Wesker assumes to be their leader because they're in front of everyone and in the center, notices him and immediately raises their rifle at him. They also must've noticed the snow tracks that he was leaving behind, which, yeah, was not a very smart move of him.
"Who's there? Show yourself," Came the voice of their leader, firm and steady.
Wesker stays behind the tree, not willing to risk it yet, but as he's standing there, he also realizes that there was something familiar in the man's voice. Like someone he knew, but also not exactly. It was almost frustrating, trying to piece together where he heard that voice from.
He risks a small glance from behind the tree, but doesn't notice much because of his position, so he sighs and decides to reveal himself. He's weak, hypothermic, and about to die of cold anyway, he's never beating a whole team with his condition.
He steps away from behind the tree, squinting his eyes at the brightness of the sky as he tries to look at their faces. Once again, he really wishes he had his sunglasses back, because at this point, the migraines were gonna be the death of him.
Then he finally sees the leader's face. Wesker freezes in his place, blinking a few times to make sure he's not a hallucination from the hypothermia or something. Maybe his mind is playing tricks on him, because that couldn't be...
"...Redfield?"