Kijuju - 2010
The blond-haired man knows that the B.S.A.A. are on their way to Kijuju, especially after the “tip off” that their local informant has gotten. The trade of a new B.O.W. that Excella promised others is a big thing, but bigger still is the prospect of taking back one of the B.S.A.A.’s own. It’s likely that one of his trained men, or even a small army, will descend upon Kijuju’s Autonomous Zone in the hopes of retrieving what they believe to be theirs.
On the ground, Lenka pants in agony, trying to fight back the malady that is incubating in him. He doesn’t show the weeks of torment that he was put through, but then again, neither does the cloaked figure prowling around Lenka like a tiger moving in for the kill. He is obviously male, with the broad shoulders and heavy steps, but the cat-like mask and the blue-gray cloak obscure his identity from anyone who may stumble onto the scene. From a makeshift seat nearby, the blond smugly watches the infection progress in his former second-in-command. Tricell has also been infecting many people in Kijuju with Uroboros and Las Plagas, either by force or under the guise of vaccinations, but what he gave Lenka...
The radio briefly crackles with the static of a found channel. It makes the cloaked, stalking figure falter in his movement. Lenka grabs at the cloaked man, who pulls away as dark tendrils and tentacle-like appendages emerge out of Lenka’s skin, from where the larger viral body was inserted painfully. Black bleeds into Lenka’s eyes. Only a bit of red remains, the last sign of the Prototype virus he carries.
“Captain DeChant here,” a voice says over the radio, “We’ve secured the underground route to the coordinates.”
“Is he good?” The blond asks as the cloaked figure walks away from Lenka, whose pained moans are beginning to sound inhuman as his transformation continues. The cloaked figure cocks his head to the side, as if wondering who is being asking about.
“Our dear captain and his men – are they a good team?”
There is a sullen silence before a tight nod.
“Good. Then we won’t have to witness anything, will we?” Albert Wesker smiles at the cloaked man he captured and kept with him for so long. The red eyes of the mask glow briefly. Wesker all but feels the tension emanating from the other man. The cloaked and hidden Chris Redfield never likes watching his former teammates deal with bio organic weapons, and he likes seeing them confront new variations even less, especially if it end in multiple deaths.
“The rest of the tests on Uroboros will begin later. In the meantime, there’s work to be done.”
Back when Wesker had first taken him, Chris once said that he’ll kill Lenka and Wesker both. Who could have known how well he would succeed in defeating one of the two men who’d taken so much pleasure from and changed so much about him.
Jill Valentine sighs as she loosens the tight bun of her hair. For the past month, she has been operating incognito as a potential aid worker than for her actual job, which she is now dressed for. She is clad in the new bodysuit the boys at R&D made for her. Beside her, Sheva Alomar, her liaison in Kijuju and a new member of the East Africa B.S.A.A., checks and readies her pistol and other weapons with a practiced ease that Jill has only seen in a few of the newer recruits. It puts Jill’s earlier worries to rest, though Sheva’s motions only remind her that this is her new partner.
She pulls out the one personal thing she found and brought with her, even though she is out of practice with it. She does her best to not get angry. She doesn’t know if she’ll even find Chris here, if the intel is correct. But if it is, and she finds him...
Not yet. Get everything together and keep it that way, Valentine. You need to find him.
Nivans was upset that he wasn’t cleared for this mission, but she did her best to prepare him for his mission to find the mercenary that Little and Ramiro mentioned in their debriefing. With the two’s testimonies on Simmons’s involvement with Umbrella and the destruction of Raccoon City, the B.S.A.A. managed, with some maneuvering, to arrest him. Sherry Birkin is now helping Leon Kennedy in the Secret Service, no longer under Simmons’s watchful and dangerous eye.
That leaves the mercenary from Edonia. Wesker has shown enough interest in him, to the point of sending Little after him, before Little and Ramiro were captured and released from the…device that was on them. It resulted in Ramiro all but quitting the B.S.A.A., or as much as one can after being traumatized in such a way. Little is partially better, though he remains laser-focused on finding the mercenary in Edonia. Everyone, Jill included, can’t help but fear what would happen if Little found the mysterious mercenary on his own.
It is why she wants Nivans with Little instead of with her. She can handle everything that comes up and easily deal with Jessica Sherawat and Excella Gionne. She can handle a misogynistic country with tensions running high from political strife, and she can definitely handle whatever TRICELL will throw at her.
“What do you know about Uroboros?”
Their local informant’s question snaps her out of her reverie. She considering the answer before pulling her cap over her head to hide her blond hair and most of her face. “Rumors, talk about a doomsday project.”
Every virus has been a doomsday project. That’s what Spencer wanted, some sort of apocalypse to recreate mankind in his image. That’s what Wesker is aiming for, and what Gionne and the others are facilitating.
What do they have Chris caught up in…
“Doomsday sounds about right,” the man answers in a thick accent, his face free of the turban and scarf he previously used to hide himself, “and apparently, it is no rumor.”
Sheva looks incredulous, but Jill is unfazed by this new information, not after every other biohazard incident she has faced since S.T.A.R.S.’s betrayal at the Arklay mansion. The man shakes his head and answers Sheva’s unstated question, “Irving’s our only lead, even after we brought in the other two. Whatever those two are doing, Irving’s in the middle of it.”
Jill nods in understanding. Even after the extra month – a month where she went to Kijuju early to prove she is able to go there without this suit, to get any scrap of evidence that will help her understand what had happened to Chris so she can get him back – the only lead to Wesker, Gionne, and Sherawat is Irving.
Find him, I can get Chris back.
Hold on, Chris. I will get you back, no matter what.
Chris tugs on the restraints securing his outstretched arms to a heavy wooden support suspended near the headboard of the unmade bed. Cursing under his breath, he tries to free himself while his mind is clear of the mind-control drug Wesker has been injecting him with. He is groggy and unfocused from the drug’s after effects, but continues to claw towards any possibility of escape from his sick captor and his inhuman focus.
Alpha team is dead, or will be soon, and…and he…he is…
“You said you’d kill him,” Wesker whispered in his ear. The strange, dissociative sensation, like he was a distant bystander to what was unfolding before him, made him unable to disobey the suggestion. “I’m sure that with this, you can keep that promise.”
The clump of Uroboros virus was heavy in his hand, pulsing unnaturally as some of the tendrils prepared to dig into his skin in search of a host, but stopped short. All the viruses were doing that now, because…because he’s…
I’m not, I’m not, no, that’s not true, it’s not!
“It doesn’t matter where it goes,” Wesker pulled the hood of the cloak over his head and fixed the mask over his face, “as long as it ends up in the body.”
“WESKER!” The voice was the one who’d helped Wesker after the first…after…and…and…
Zane, Hosea, Ramiro, Hawkins…everyone…dead and raped and…it’s his fault . Why not give in? I did say I’d kill him. I will.
I’ll kill him like he killed Zane and Hawkins.
The floating, divorced sensation fell over Chris like a fog as he stalked menacingly towards the man and pushed him down, holding him head down, ass up, and—
“The chemicals barely held up, I see.”
Chris freezes at the voice of his tormentor. The man takes off his sunglasses as he enters, closing the door behind him. “I’m sure that you’re going to stay silent as usual, or perhaps simply be upset, but I do need to get input about how things are going from you and you alone.”
He resumes struggling as Wesker puts down the cat-like mask, a tangible reminder of what he unleashed earlier because of his weakness of mind. He allowed the drug to take over and now, another team is going to be dead, infected, or…
A hand grips his hair tightly, the blond having no qualms about manhandling the other at his mercy. Wesker’s eyes are still red and reptilian, but the yellow is growing more prominent. Chris tries to hide his escalating fear. His shoulders and neck still ache from the aftermath of the last time Wesker’s eyes were like that. It happened after Wesker decided that torture was just as fun as rape and humiliation. The end result on his body is a patchwork of long, thin scars from broken switches and canes, black and blue bruises slowly fading into greenish splotches, and bitemarks that are just beginning to scar over. The first bite mark has been redone at least twice. Another mirrors it higher up on the other side of the neck, impossible to hide unless he wears a turtleneck.
The results of Wesker’s earlier “experiment” before drugging him up linger painfully along his back and sides. One cut along his flank is stinging even hours afterwards. Wesker tilts his head like a panther and watches intently. The simple motion is enough to let Chris know that Wesker’s control is gone, and probably will be for hours.
He gasps as Wesker’s grip tightens on the still-raw wound, tossing and turning in a vain attempt to free himself. An animalistic growl paralyzes him with fear, eliciting memories that are almost enough to override the urge to escape.
Please no, no, not again, no!
“Mine,” Wesker growls out, pulling Chris’s legs up higher and securing them to something overhead. As a pulley mechanism of some kind grinds into motion, his legs and ass are pulled up while his shoulders are lowered onto the bed. It’s an awkward and painful position, his ass too high up and most of his weight resting on aching shoulders. He is pulled closer to the edge of the bed so that his head is no longer supported, causing a dizzying rush of blood to his head. Wesker leans forward to lick along Chris’s length, which jumps eagerly at the attention. Chris tries to stay quiet as his traitorous body responds. He tightly closes his eyes, in pain from the awkward position and disoriented from the blood going to his head, even as more of it is redirected to his rapidly hardening cock.
His position suddenly changes without warning. He finds himself kneeling on the floor instead of being on the barren bed. He has yet to process the reason for the change before his jaw is gripped tightly and forced open. Wesker shoves savagely into his mouth, almost hitting the back of his throat. Chris chokes, seeing stars. His vision blurs from the lack of oxygen, airway obstructed by the relentless pace. Wesker pulls out briefly to let him suck in a hungry breath. He coughs hoarsely, face a mess of saliva, snot and tears. Before he can recover, Wesker throws him face down onto the bed. He is bent over the shorter width of the mattress with his head hanging down, then flipped onto his back.
“You suck my cock so well, I should return the favor.” Wesker climbs over to nip at the bruised and scarred skin. A hand returns to pry open his jaw, before Wesker shoves in again. He tries to twist out of the madman’s grip, but his own cock is unexpectedly taken into something warm and welcoming. He lets out an involuntary groan of pleasure at the sensation, the pain momentarily forgotten. Wesker begins to lick and worship the length of Chris’s cock while he moves in Chris’s mouth, the slow pace almost loving.
Stop, stop this, stop…
It’s worse than the torture and rape from before, because now he’s participating. He can’t stop himself from just letting go of his anger and just…and…
NO! NOT WITH HIM! STOP! STOP!
His body begins to react on instinct, hips stuttering up even as he tries and fails to to get in air, to think, to do something to stop this. As his body responds enthusiastically to Wesker’s ministrations, he almost wants to give in despite the pain and awkward angles, just to make it easier, to—
NO! S-ST-STOP, S-AH-NO, NOT…NAH…NNNN…NO…
If he gives into Wesker’s sick games, he might not…he…
He moans at his own release, the hot warmth of Wesker’s mouth swallowing everything. The blond shifts once more to casually fuck his mouth, pulling out briefly at times to give him air. A hand is wrapped around his throat while the other holds his jaw open. He gags as Wesker shoots down his throat, some of it coming back up. He hacks up the rest.
“Now then,” Wesker’s voice is calm and collected, his eyes red once more. He gently wipes away tears, snot, and cum from Chris’s cheek. “We have some time before we have to get back to work. Let’s spend it well, right Chris?”
His Pointman is still defiant, still fighting, but at times, Wesker can see signs of his surrender getting closer and closer. As much as he wants to continue using the P30, or maybe even a similar delivery system for the P30 that is keeping the other subjects permanently in line, Chris needs to be fully Wesker’s of his own volition, not just a slave in body while rebelling in mind. He has to learn that no one is going to save him and he can never escape Wesker’s hold on him.
Of course, Chris is giving in more and more. Earlier, he reciprocated the blow job that Wesker gave him and moaned in pleasure rather than pain. Eager to see how far he can push Chris this time, he tightens his grip on the younger man’s hips, causing him to inhale sharply. Chris is struggling in the modified pillory that Wesker made for him based on the older one Lenka offered up, back when the man was alive and trying to convince Wesker to give up Chris after having him. His ass is red from the punishment for his earlier defiance. More stripes from the switch mark his torso. The electro-stimulators attached to him power up again, his cock twitching from the jolt. His wrists twist futilely in the confines of the cuffs.
As enjoyable as it is to take Chris’s mouth, Wesker also enjoys giving him so much pleasure and watch his body strain to seek out more of what it desperately needs. Stimulating Chris in this way, then taking him from whichever direction sounds good for the day, always make the days go faster. Even when he denies Chris attention for days at a time, sometimes putting him in the sensory deprivation chamber running only white noise or old reports in the background, he finds himself thinking far more clearly and working far more efficiently than ever before.
Two months, and already, he knows every inch of Chris’s body - what makes him scream in pleasure or pain, how best to hold him down, where best to string him up. Right now, the electrodes are on his front while a hook with multiple progressively larger metal spheres vibrate minutely in his ass. Wesker watches the play of muscles as they spasm helplessly from the maddening vibrations down the hook. He wants badly to pull out the spider gag and take Chris’ mouth again, but he knows if he does, he may not be able to hold back as much as he wants.
Still…a clear mind is needed for when we deal with Irving, Vester, Sherawat...and with the B.S.A.A. team…
I wonder if they sent Jill, and if not, what they told her to keep her away.
He grabs a fistful of Chris’s hair, making the younger man glare tiredly at him. Chuckling, he holds up the gag, “Are you going to be a good boy today, or will I have to discipline you again?”
The machine briefly powers down. Chris almost sobs from overstimulation as he is kept from orgasm for the umpteenth time, but he grits his teeth, obviously not wanting to give in.
“If you let me,” he whispers, letting go of Chris’s hair to smooth it down while tracing a finger along his jaw, “I’ll let you cum, and I might even let you have a few minutes free in your little cell before we get back to our schedule. But you’d best make up your mind quickly, Chris. You know how…tight…things are.”
“f-fu…” His captive’s breathing is high-pitched and unsteady. His eyes are unfocused as the buildup of pleasure becomes painful. As the machine restarts on schedule, Chris is overwhelmed by stimulation once more .
“I need an answer, Chris.”
The brown eyes are squeezed shut in distress. There is a long internal struggle before his face crumples and he finally chokes out a barely audible “yes.”
Wesker’s smile widens, “Yes?”
Chris’s tearful expression is a mixture of defeat and anguish. A bit of the old defiance is still there, though greatly diminished for the moment. His Pointman is going to keep resisting in the future, but right now…
Wesker cups his cheek affectionately as more tears fall. “Open, Chris. I’ll be quick.”