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Chris stared at Wesker’s placid face.
It was disturbing what the BSAA had done to him. He didn’t approve of punitive justice. If he’d had the choice, he would have brought Wesker down peacefully, without casting him into the volcano; without striking him with rockets until he was subdued. But Wesker hadn’t given him a choice.
In retrospect, death might have been kinder than this - his mind torn away by his own P30 concoction, conscious but impotent, not even able to scratch his own ass without someone's say-so. It was injected periodically through a collar on his neck, the device on his nape injecting the serum into his bloodstream every few hours to ensure compliance.
So far, he’d been successfully field tested. Chris had read the reports: he was exceptionally effective against enemy combatants, capable of tearing through B.O.W's faster than any trained squad. On paper, the results were difficult to argue with. Which didn't stop Chris from arguing with them at all, of course.
His superiors hadn't deigned to tell him that they'd managed to recover Wesker from the volcano and stuff him into a dark corner of the BSAA North American headquarters. Or, rather, they'd deliberately kept him in the dark, because they must have known he would disapprove.
The man might have done awful things; he might have stripped Jill of her autonomy; he might have killed thousands and tried to kill billions, but he still didn’t deserve this. No one deserved to spend their life being a doll at someone else's command.
Though Chris had helped found the BSAA, he had limited power here. He would need to go through the proper authority if he wanted to release Wesker, lest he end up with the entire organisation on his ass. It set his teeth on edge to wait; he was itching to tear off the collar right now and leave Wesker to languish in his cage without it, but it would be foolhardy. And not only because the BSAA would consider it insurrection.
Wesker was still afflicted with uroboros, the size of two men, with tendrils crawling under his skin and leathery flesh where his outer shell had peeled away. He was still a walking bioweapon. If he released Wesker now, without any sort of backup plan, the man would probably rage through the facility, and then Chris would have more than just a prison sentence to worry about.
“Wesker.” He took a deep breath, stepping up to the bars. “No matter the shit that’s happened between us, I never authorised this. I need you to know that.”
Wesker didn’t respond, curled up in the corner of his cage with his glazed eyes looking past Chris’ shoulder.
“I’m going to get that off you,” he assured Wesker. “We’ll find some other way to subdue you, something that doesn’t strip you of your autonomy to this extent.”
Again, no response. But he hadn’t expected one.
He stepped back, finding it difficult to keep his eyes on Wesker while he was like this. He’d never seen the man brought so low. He thought he spied a dirt smear in the shape of a boot on his collarbone, and it further set his teeth on edge.
O’Brian never would have let this happen. His successor/s clearly had fewer moral compunctions.
“I’ll have them transfer you to me,” said Chris, curling his fingers around the bars of Wesker’s cell. His voice was hard with conviction. “I’ll be wholly responsible for you, and I won’t let anything like this ever happen again.”
Wesker’s eyes flickered, just briefly, rising to look at Chris for the first time. A shimmer of recognition before it faded beneath the P30.
Getting the North American Branch leadership on board with releasing Wesker into his care was, as expected, very difficult. He ended up having to leverage every inch of influence he had within the organisation and threaten to walk to make them concede to his demands. They handed Wesker over with bitter reluctance, unwilling to risk losing their best soldier - nor anyone else who supported Chris’ decision - over what constituted a walking liability. But they made sure to tell him he would be criminally responsible should Wesker ever cause problems.
Surprisingly, Jill agreed with his decision. Even bitter and traumatised by what Wesker had done to her, she too agreed that no one deserved to suffer the P30. Not even the man who had developed it. Cruelty only abetted more cruelty. They needed to keep the BSAA in check on that front.
So, the device was replaced with something else: an injector that would subdue Wesker when necessary, but would not control him, along with monitoring equipment that would alert Chris to signs of violent intent.
The fact that they could have done this all along and had still chosen to utilise P30 disgusted Chris. He was going to need to keep a closer eye on BSAA operations.
Wesker was uncharacteristically quiet while being transferred to his new, far more comfortable holding cell, though that might just have been him fighting off the vestiges of the compound. By the time he was settled on his new bed, his bulk dipping the mattress until it touched the frame, he was looking noticeably more cognizant.
He eyed Chris warily, as though expecting the man to lash out at him.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” said Chris from the doorway, to which Wesker snorted.
“No,” he said, turning his face away, seeming chagrined to have been caught expressing any vulnerability. “You don’t have the heart for it.”
“Guess I don’t,” Chris admitted. “Doubt you would have extended me the same courtesy, but that doesn’t make an iota of difference. I never would have left you there.”
Wesker was uncharacteristically silent for a time. “You’re an odd man, Chris.”
“I’m a principled one,” said Chris, a little dry. “Foreign concept, I know, but I have lines I won’t cross no matter what.”
Wesker scoffed softly and leaned over his thighs, his gaze sliding back to Chris. “Your organisation doesn’t seem to align with you on this.”
“I know,” said Chris. “And I’m going to work on that.”
“You may find navigating the bureaucracy more difficult than any fight with a B.O.W.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. But I’ll do it anyway.”
He wouldn’t let the organisation he founded rot from within. He’d find the root of the issue and carve it out, clean things up, until he could be proud to be associated with this organisation again. Making sure the other branches didn’t fall into abusive power structures… well, that would be harder, given that he primarily worked with the North American branch, but he did have allies in all of them that would be willing to act on his behalf.
He moved to settle beside Wesker, side-eyeing the man. “I’d like to have you moved somewhere more comfortable, eventually,” said Chris, unable to stop himself from staring at their new size discrepancy. Wesker had always been taller than him, but now his thigh was roughly the size of two of Chris’. “But you’ll need to earn that privilege, obviously.”
“How generous,” said Wesker, sounding strangely sincere. “By performing field work, I presume?”
“And not causing problems,” said Chris. A tall order for someone like Wesker.
“And pray tell, what problems could I cause from within a cell?”
“You’re a clever man, Wesker,” said Chris, his voice light rather than accusatory. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Wesker folded his arms. “Such faith in me,” he said wryly. “You know, I wouldn’t need to cause problems if I had something stimulating to keep myself occupied with.”
Chris paused, then looked around. It was only then that he realised the orderlies hadn’t prepared any sort of entertainment for Wesker. None of the books Chris had requested, nor writing tools - basic niceties to make sure Wesker didn’t go insane sitting in an empty cell all day.
“I asked the staff to provide you with some books and things to write with,” he said, frowning. “But I guess them overlooking that isn’t the worst thing.”
He reached into a back pocket and drew out his phone, tapping the screen a few times to bring up the notes app.
“Now you can tell me what books you want instead of me guessing. I’ll fetch them myself.”
Wesker stared at him. “You’re an odd man, Chris,” he said again, and it almost sounded like a compliment this time.
Chris couldn’t deny the accusation, given his oddly personable treatment of his former enemy. But he saw no reason to be cruel toward a prisoner, and one who had already endured abuse at the hands of people who should have known better.
The corner of his lips twitched into a smile. “I know.”
Wesker opened his mouth like he wanted to say something more, before sighing and shaking his head.
“I’ll give you some genres and a general synopsis of things I would enjoy reading, and you can work from that,” said Wesker. With that, he began a methodical list of his interests, and Chris scrambled to tap everything into his phone.
Chris couldn’t begin to guess what Wesker had just held back, but he liked to think it was gratitude.