Resident Evil: Shadow of Me Chapter 2: Imagine Life Without MeHe worked so hard all the
goddamned time, that at
some point during work he
would stop suddenly,
clenching his fist and he
would have to sit and rub his temples. Age was also
getting to him… now
being forty-three; Albert
Wesker was starting to
give into Claire Redfield's
words: You can't work forever, babe. He spun around in his
chair, facing the opposite
wall made entirely of glass.
The ground below was a
view of the city below,
Prague's nightlife. One of the most beautiful places
on earth was treating
Wesker to a wonderful
view. He sighed, unable to
concentrate on the stack
of paperwork that had to be done by tonight,
spinning around again to
face his desk, Wesker
snatched up a picture of
Claire that nestled itself
between his laptop and paper tray. He smiled to
himself… the radiation of
her own smile made his
heart lurch within his
chest. He ran his thumb
down her pictured face… eleven years. It was all too
much to bear and so many
times he thought of
finding her, facing her
once more. Her reaction
would certainly be classic… a fresh slap to the face, a
couple f-bombs, and
maybe even a tear or
two… this made him want
her even more. He missed everything
about her. The very
essence of Claire made his
head spin with confusion,
she was a Redfield! The
very flesh and blood of Chris! When Wesker found
out that Claire had nabbed
something from his labs,
he was furious. The level
hate boiled over
immensely and all he wanted was to rip out her
little throat and watch her
bleed all over her carpet.
But… when the thought
in his mind clicked… he
could use her. Leverage against Chris that would
work out so wonderfully.
When he took her away,
he discovered that living
with her was one of the
most annoying things he had ever endured. She
was a mouthy brat who
was just like her brother
and it infuriated him, and
the more he looked at her,
the more he came to despise her. But one
fateful night almost took
her life… Wesker felt
compelled to help her. She
was wounded, if he hadn't
done anything, she would have been dog food. The
tears in her eyes stung
him… he wasn't supposed
to feel any sympathy for
her. It was Claire. How in the world could he
resist her? She was
beautiful, absolutely
stunning. Her blue eyes
swam with sheer
innocents even if she had some blood on her hands.
Those eyes would plead
him not to hurt her and in
the end… he didn't. He couldn't. Endless nights spent
thinking about her and he
would wake from a dream,
almost hoping she would
be there beside him. There was a knock on the
door, dragging Wesker
from his lost thoughts.
"Come in," he commanded. It was Conan from HQ.
"Hey, Albert! Nice day isn't
it?" He asked him happily
while seating himself in a
chair. "Dandy," Wesker
deadpanned. Conan chuckled, "You're
always the one to
brighten up my day." Wesker sighed heavily and
leaned back in his leather
office chair. "What is it
now, Conan?" The man winced and threw
a stack of paper on his
desk, pointed to the first
paragraph and tapped it
there. "That, that is the
data that HQ rounded up, it seems that your little
project isn't what it's
cracked up to be. They
think that you're up to
something, something to
spite them just like you did with Umbrella." "I am up to something."
Wesker replied coolly. "But
they need not fret. I've
got it under control." Conan pinched the bridge
of his nose. "Yeah but,
Al… this project of yours
is all the way in Africa.
And I see you in Prague.
Go on and explain that." "Like I said, Conan,
everything is under
control. I let nothing go
amiss in my plans. So you
tell HQ, Mr. Harper
especially that he has nothing to worry about." "Yet…" Conan said under
his breath. Wesker spun around in his
chair, facing the window
again. "I heard that." "Heh, sorry." Conan said
nervously. "Anyways…
would you like me to leave
this here for you to look
over?" "Yes, please do." Wesker
replied politely and then
swiveled back to face
Conan. "And do not fail
my request. I expect to
hear from Mr. Harper as soon as I get notice that
you have returned to HQ.
Understand?" Conan gulped. "Yes, sir." Wesker waved his hand to
the door and raised an
eyebrow above his dark
sunglasses. "I assure you
know where the door is.
Or do I have to escort you myself?" Conan shook his head
quickly, standing up and
pushing in the chair. "No,
sir that won't be
necessary. I promise you
that your message is safe with me." With a quick
salute to his superior,
Conan Jonson was free of
Wesker's office. He leaned up against the
wall, letting out a breath
that he seemed to be
holding in for ages. Albert
Wesker scared the bones
right out of his body, the man was the walking
definition of superiority,
power, and death. Every
one who worked with
Tricell, or for that matter,
knew Wesker's name, they knew that whenever he
showed up, disaster was
never far behind. It
followed him like a curse
but a curse that he utilized
and didn't seem to mind. He was a wolf without the
fur but he carried the
claws and fangs. Even to
prove how vicious he was,
Conan remembered on
young orderly who assisted Wesker daily with
lab experiment. The boy
was fresh out of college
and what made matters
worse, Wesker was the
perfectionist and let nothing go amiss. Then
one day, the boy dropped
a chemical fluoride onto
the specimen, a corpse of
a man whom carried the T-
A/W, mind you, the rarest T sample created my Mr.
Genius himself. The corpse
was their last bet on
harvesting a stable sample
otherwise; Wesker would
have to start from scratch. And that's exactly what
would happen. The corpse disintegrated,
and without proper
stoppage of the chemical,
it ate the entire body
away in seconds. Cowering did not help the
boy as his young blood
was slathered all over the
porcelain floor. Conan
recalled walking in on the
incident, the fumes set off the toxic gas radar and he
rushed into the situation
only to Wesker covered in
the orderly's blood. Conan
only called for a cleanup
crew; for he knew there was nothing he could do.
Wesker pulled the plug
before he even had time
to blink. After that, no one
interfered with him. He
didn't want anyone's help
and he strictly put rookies
with the cleanup until
they were properly trained. Steady hands and clear
heads was all Wesker
wanted. Actually, he
insisted on having no one
but… the help did make
things go a tad quicker. All the more time he could
relish in his success. Conan didn't want to
know what Wesker was
really capable of. He knew
the his Wesker's limits and
where he drew the line,
yet that was never far from calm, cool, and
collected exterior. What
when on in that man's
mind was beyond him.
What went on outside the
walls of this building was also beyond him. In all of
his years working with
Wesker, being nine years
exact, he never saw a ring
on his finger or a woman
on his hip. He seemed lonely as a rock in the
middle of nowhere and
never seemed to enjoy the
company of others. One sad existence Wesker
lived. And speaking of the devil,
just then, Wesker stormed
out of his office, clutching
a picture frame in his
gloved hand. Conan
doubled backwards when the office door slammed
into his face, crushing his
glasses and his nose. A
full-forced slam followed
as Wesker's hand whipped
backwards to shut it. Successfully breaking the
wooden door from its
hinges and it clattered to
the floor. Conan holding
his now bleeding nose, his
glasses clinking to the metal ground below.
Conan reached his arm out
towards Wesker, "Where
in the hell are you going?" Wesker's baritone voice
echoed through the
empty hall, "It's none of
your fucking business,
Conan!" He left it at that. He knew
not to push Wesker
buttons, for he would it
would result in Wesker
pushing you down a hole. XXXXX Albert Wesker stormed
down the hallways of the
Tricell building he worked
in, the picture in his hand
cracking from his brutal
grip. He dismissed elevators and took the
stairs instead, stalking
down them like a devilish
panther, the dark of the
building shading his dark
face, his sunglasses reflecting the puny light,
his arch-fiend eyes flashing
in the darkness. Janitors
who passed him cowered
and waited for him to
pass, late working lab techs saluted to him,
perking up to look
dignified, spilling a
nervous "Good evening,
Mr. Wesker" from their
chapped lips. He ignored them all, making his way
to the front entrance he
crossed the road, the chilly
night air clinging to his
breath. The bridge across
the road is where he ended up, overlooking the
lake beneath. He cocked
back his arm, the picture
ready to be launched to
China and back. He threw
all of his weight into is well awaited throw… but
he doubled over, clutching
the railing for support, his
boots slipping up and
almost propelled him over
the edge. The picture of Claire
Redfield still remained in
his weak, shaking hand. He gripped the rail so
hard, it bent with a dull,
metallic creak. Frustration coursed
through his inhuman
veins, it was Claire who
gave him what he never
had… it was Claire who
showed him that there was more to life than work
and success. It was Claire
Redfield who showed
Wesker the meaning of
beauty and forgiveness.
Ridding her from his life once and for all was the
worse mistake he would
have made if his hand
would have let go. The
photo was the last
reminiscence he had of her. Of the woman who
changed everything he
thought he knew about a
Redfield. Wesker's frown deepened,
he held her frozen self in
both hands, looking down
on it. Time seemed to
stop, as if she was really
there with him, standing beside him, leaning into his
steel frame. But his dream
was never a reality. Not anymore. Wesker turned around and
walked back to the
parking lot, and decided to
head home. He neared his
black Cadillac CTS V
Supercharge, clicking his automatic car starter on
his keychain. He opened
the door and started to
get into the luxury sports
car, when a whiff of an
unfamiliar scent filled the air. Something that he had
never smelled around the
building. Danger. He moved to the back of
the car and proceeded to
open the trunk. Suddenly, Wesker spun
around dropping the
picture on the pavement,
and grabbed a man by his
collar, the smell lingered
thickly on him. The man smiled sadistically and
laughed, taunting the
already immense pain that
was about to be given.
Wesker rotated the man
and grabbed him by his hair, smashing his face into
the back windshield of his
Cadillac. But the man kept
laughing. Mocking him in
the most annoying
manner. He slammed his face into
the car again; the laughter
was broken for a mere
second but painfully
continued, laced with the
coughing of blood. Wesker was fed up with this man's
games and could no longer
stand the sound of the
laughter. Repetitively, as if he had
no control of his arm, the
man's head met the
windshield until it was a
bloody slop of skull and
brains. No more laughing. He slid the man from his
car, blood soaking the
black paint. Time for a carwash. His unmoving form
crumbled to the ground
face first. Not that it
needed anymore damage. Wesker picked out piece of
paper from the man's now
filthy jacket pocket and
unfolded it to read the
contents. This was only the first trial
in your endless journey,
Albert. Quick decisions and
not afraid to get a little
dirty. I like that. Look
ahead for another surprise. He clenched the paper and
whipped it to the ground
with a growl. He walked
calmly over to the now
completely shattered
picture of Claire and picked it up off the ground. He
looked back over to mess
of a man and frowned. "You broke my picture."
Sat Apr 22, 2023 9:34 pm by 
