#misszombieslayer

…

The BSAA’s unit of armed men didn’t fall to the ground like dead flies, as she and Wesker had planned. It seemed as if they had sent in every unit they had. An army - and the bullets from the machine guns, were beginning to gradually tear apart even her Plagas enhanced body.

How could normal bullets even harm her? That shouldn’t be possible.

Something had gone wrong…a trap? Had the BSAA been waiting for them, and not the other way around?

Meanwhile, Wesker was supposed to be dealing with Chris inside in the data collection area. Was he in the same trouble?

Her body was riddled with more and more injuries. Soon she wouldn't be able to stand.

"Come on!" she screamed fervently, spitting her own blood with every word. Strings of red life liquid ran between her teeth

All she could taste was the metallic tinge as the blood trickled over her lips, filling her mouth.

More bullets slammed into her.

The pain was so overwhelming that she was beginning to lose touch with it. Her body was nothing but a fleshy mass of agony.

Her slender frame was brutally thrown backward with each bullet. There was no reason for it - it was physically impossible for her to remain standing. But her body kept going, as if it hadn't heard the order to retreat, to die.

Pushing forward was the only thing her mind and body would allow. She kept going. Taking one man after another down into the abyss as her blades danced across the throat of every man who came too close.

Each further cut to her sides elicited a cry of pain. It was like salt in a wound. No, acid.

She didn't know what drove her on, what compelled her legs to keep pushing forward.

But the additional machine gun fire brought her to her knees. The bullets struck. They didn't ricochet as they should have.

When her executioner stepped before her, she simply burst into wild laughter. She clutched her stomach, laughing until she was breathless, gasping and squealing. The look in her eyes was pure hellfire, a hellfire that perhaps only Dante had ever witnessed.

And then he pressed the trigger one last time, and she lay still.

It was deathly silent.

…

The soldiers moved away, and Wesker, watching the security camera footage that had shown him the end of the bloody spectacle, saw no further movement. It was over.

…

Albert stepped across the true battlefield of the massacre. The ground was so saturated with blood that his shoes sank in with a squelch, and he could actually feel the wetness. It was a revolting sensation. The ground was deep black where the blood had already soaked in.

Everywhere lay the motionless bodies of the mutated bioweapons, or their offspring, pets, as his ally had called them. They lay around their mistress, their mother. Her body, delicate and still, bloodied among them.

She was dead. He knew this, since nothing, not a breath of air, had stirred while he had observed the scene, and still didn't as he approached.

Wesker stepped across the field, surveyed the area that had become a graveyard, before stopping before the dead body of his business partner.

Her bloodied face was rigid. Her expression…no mask of death or anger. The look of a blazing warrior who had seen the glory and honor in death when her heart stopped. There still seemed to be a glimmer in her eyes, but they were too rigid to be alive.

Without any emotion, and completely cold, he gazed down at her for several silent moments before kneeling and lifting her. Albert slipped his hand under her knees and head and lifted the cold, feather-light figure. She seemed to weigh nothing, absolutely nothing.

And like a rag doll, her lifeless body now just an object, he carried her away from this place and finally placed her on a stretcher in the hidden laboratory of his research facility.

"Is she…dead?" Birkin asked incredulously, looking down at the woman's bloody silhouette

"I don't know. Even though I don't know how they managed to kill her despite the dominant Queen Las Plagas parasite; her heart isn't beating and she isn't breathing."

Albert turned to his lab computer, and after countless security codes, a file opened.

"That...that was never in the Umbrella files."

"No, not like that. I never shared the complete records and successful data from the experiment; they always remained with me," Albert replied. The recipe for success, more successful than T-Phobos or Progenitor.

"If we replicate the virus serum exactly according to this data and administer it to her, then she should get up again."

…

After they injected her with the virus, it took a few moments, and then suddenly a jolt ran through her body. Her head remained rigid on the table, her gaze still dead and empty, and it was a strange sight to see her body trembling and shaking as if receiving electric shocks.

Her back arched, her chest rose, and her face remained so lifeless. Until the veins and arteries turned black, pressing against her skin as if they would burst.

A sharp, high inhalation as her torso jerked upwards, and she sucked in air as if on the verge of suffocating.

Her gaze, still dull, began to scan the room quickly before settling on Wesker.

"Back from the dead?" The cool voice held almost a hint of amusement.

Had she perhaps experienced some epic, hellish ordeal that she wasn't sharing with them? But she didn't seem traumatized. Just empty.

He watched as she repeatedly stared at her hand, moving it slightly. Something she used to do quite often, but always with a grin. Now, she was rigid, as if wondering why she still had flesh and bone.

Albert sat down beside her on the stretcher after checking all her vital signs.

"Why do you keep looking at your hands? I've noticed that for a while now."

“I see the blood on them. Even when they’re clean, I see every single drop of blood that ever congealed on them. Blood of the people whose lives I severed with the hard carbon nails. Blood that trickled down when I stabbed them with a knife, or blood that flowed when blunt force struck their skulls.”

“Are you sorry?”

A brief silence.

“No.”

“Then what do you feel when you look at them if it’s not regret?”

“Before, it was a feeling of satisfying power and strength. But actually… I don’t really feel anything. No superiority, no joy. Just dull nothingness.”

Her voice sounded just as dull and cold. She spoke like that from time to time. But not too often. At first, he’d wondered if it was an act, because she often broke into a grin. Sometimes, though, it stayed that way. And now he saw again that this was real. These words revealed her mind with honesty, without her intending anything, without her wanting to make an impression. She simply answered him honestly. What did she have to lose?

Wesker placed his hand on hers, which rested on the stretcher.

"Do you really never feel anything?"

He watched her face intently behind his sunglasses, noticing every tiny movement. Her gaze was fixed on her hand, his hand, and the hair that fell across her face from her bowed head made it somewhat difficult for him to see the look in her eyes.

But she froze, paused, and… Wesker took her hand in his, while with his other hand he turned her face toward him by her cheek.

Her eyes looked at him in confusion, as if he had said a word she didn't know, as if something was happening that was beyond her comprehension. He liked it when she looked so bewildered and questioning, as if he had caught her off guard.

Wesker pulled her close, and his lips touched hers, gently, so she could pull away if she wanted. But she didn't - once the initial surprise wore off, her lips met his in growing affection.

"I asked you a question before," Wesker insisted firmly after he had separated from her.

How could he ask her that? He asked if she felt anything?

When he placed his hand on hers, a tingling sensation shot from her hand to her stomach, then throughout her entire body. And then he kissed her, and the electric tingling, which no chemical in the world could have intensified, flooded her lips. He kissed her with his rigid expression, his coldness. And she wondered if he ever felt anything. Did he feel the same? Could he perceive the tingling in her body? Or was he just testing her again? Wanting to prove something? Wanting to confuse her, to manipulate her, to deceive her? Did he ever feel anything real?

His hand ran through her hair and firmly pulled the back of her head toward him. Once more their lips met passionately before his tongue entered her mouth, tracing its contours.

They both breathed heavily as he pulled his lips from hers, but his forehead remained against hers, his hand on the back of her head.

"I expect an answer."

"You're cruel..." she breathed, still breathless.

"What?"

"You're cruel for expecting an answer from me when you kiss and touch me like this," she continued. She didn't want to answer Wesker’s question, she didn't want to reveal herself to him. To give him power over her. But her mind went blank when that tingling sensation coursed through her body, and her trembling lips formed words that came from her heart, words her head couldn't control.

"I feel you," she admitted, her lips whispering softly. "Do you feel me?"

Wesker looked at her questioningly, what meant his head tilting slightly behind the sunglasses, but by now she could easily interpret his every move.

“At first, I only felt your body,” her voice rang out instead of his reply, “all that strength and passion. But then I began to feel you. All your anger, all your hatred, your vitality, your goals, your hopes. Until, finally, I felt myself. And then us. That’s why I’m asking if you feel me?”

Yes, she was numb. She was dead. Burned out. But when he touched her hand, when he kissed her…then, in the midst of it all, she felt life again. She felt alive. Nothing and no one else could do that.

“Every time we kiss, I feel you breathe your life into me. Every essence of you, not just your body.”

Large eyes, shining like a child’s, gazed at him. So honest, so incredulous. Endearing.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Wesker smiled.

His ally turned away, her cheeks flushed with offense. Did he see that correctly? Could the Queen of Evil and Madness seriously blush?

He drew her face towards him again, but she defiantly turned it away once more.

"Hey!" Albert grasped her chin reproachfully and firmly, forcing her to look at him. "In the future, if I ask you something, I expect an immediate answer. But I certainly appreciate your obedient reply."

The stern persona slipped away as he put his arm around her, one hand on her narrow back and the other in her hair, almost pulling her close, and kissed her deeply.

That was the second time Albert Wesker had shown mercy that day.

☣🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸☣