#the Tragedy of S.T.A.R.S

[messenger-of-babel]

Alive In Memory

Summary: Even after everything he endured, the memory of you kept him alive. Even if that meant losing you forever. (Leon S Kennedy x fem!reader)

Word Count: 2.5K

Notes: Two Leon's coming up in a row wowwwww. This was written earlier but completely just me forgetting to post since I had an event on tonight. A little OOC I believe but I'm trying to pull it back in. I'll hammer out the fanon aspects that swirl around and re-engage with the canon like I normally would, but I have SH2 now so resi replays are gonna need to chill for a bit. Much love!

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Leon often thought about September 30th, 1998.

It was the day his life changed forever, entering as the bright eyed, kind-spirited rookie and leaving with all of that stripped away from him. His hands became stained, and he'd seen more death than ever before, coating his skin with the ashes. The years passed and he was forced to recount the story over and over, like a toy responding when it's string was pulled. He'd speak of the horrors he saw that night, the tragedy that was Umbrella, the destruction that littered the city. Yet he also remembered the night for another reason, a reason that he kept tucked away in the corners of his memory, just for him.

It was the day he lost you.

You and Leon had been dating well before he left for Raccoon City. You had shown up to every cadet function he had; arm linked with his when you went to get drinks. You got along well with his friends, you patched him up when he got bruised from falling off obstacle courses, you came to pick him up some days and you'd go get a treat down by the pier. Even after all these years he could still see your face, all rugged up and cup of tea in your hands, crook of your knees thrown over the edge of the couch. You'd stay there while he studied, a soft presence behind him while he studied, head in his hands. You were there for him always, and that included when he graduated. He had sought your eyes out first thing, seeing you in the crowd wearing an ear-to-ear grin, eyes sparkling. His chest had puffed out in pride, beaming back down at you.

That was supposed to be the start of your new life together.

The life you had both decided to build. He was planning to get a job, start off as a desk cop rookie and move his way to detective. He'd save up all his money so he could get a plane ticket to fly to your folks’ place and ask to speak to your parents about something important. He was going to save up all of his bonuses so he could buy you a pretty ring, with enough left over that you could have anything you wanted at the wedding should you choose to say yes. He loved your parents, the way they treated him like a second son. He loved you. So that's why he had no hesitance in heading to Raccoon that night. The sooner he started, the sooner that dream could come true.

"I'll be back." he said softly, kissing you on the cheek as he got into the driver’s seat. "I'll head in and see what's happening. I'll phone you."

Despite his reassurance you still frown, fingers curling around the door so he can't close it. "Didn't they call and tell you not to come?" you ask, eyebrows furrowed. "In that case shouldn't you be staying here?"

He shakes his head. "They won't respond when I ask. I think it'll be faster if I go and ask myself. I'm sure it's just a mistake. The movers are still scheduled this week to pick us up and move us in. If I get time I might get the keys to the apartment early, and we can go see it together." he smiles softly. He can see the way your jaw clenches thoughts racing around in your mind. "Hey," he says, placing his hand over yours on the door. "I'll be fine. It's not like I'm a SWAT team or S.T.A.R.S." he chuckles.

"S.T.A.R.S?" you inquire, and he waves his hand.

"They're a special task force in the RPD. Way above me." he says. He sighs, seeing you're not convinced. "Honey, I swear I'll be okay."

You fiddle before sighing yourself. "How about I pack a bag too, I'll stay at a hotel while you’re working and figure it all out. That way there's somewhere for you to sleep too if they say you've got another start date. I don't want you to drive back tired."

"And miss your big presentation tomorrow?" he raises his eyebrows. "That's super important to you. You could get promoted for that, and you've been working hard on that for weeks." he says, recalling the sleepless nights you had sacrificed. "I'll be fine." he muttered, swinging his legs out the car and standing up briefly just so he could kiss you again. You melted under the contact, fingers loosening against the door.

"I'll be fine." he soothed you for the millionth time, offering you his boyish grin before sitting back in the car and buckling himself in. "Go get some rest."

"Love you." you say quietly, hand coming through the window to grip his shoulder as he turned the engine over. He smiles, hand coming off the wheel to cover yours and give it a squeeze.

"I love you too."

And then he was gone, pulling out of the driveway while your eyes chased his taillights into the darkness. Little did you know that he had kept his eyes trained on the tears staining your cheeks and the bridge of your nose, heart panging as he saw you on the rearview mirror shrink smaller and smaller.

No, he hadn't lost you, you had lost him.

he had survived Raccoon with the desperateness to go back to you, your parents, his family. He cursed himself constantly. He shouldn’t have come, he should have listened to you, he should have thought about it a bit more. Yet if he could go back, he'd make the same mistake again and again, unable to stop the thoughts that there could be someone in trouble if he had never come. He just thanked every god above that he hadn't caved when you had asked to come with, his heart settling knowing that you were safe (albeit worried) back in your home. When he had finally gotten out of Raccoon, all he wanted was a cold shower and to go back to your shared place. To take a break and scrub his brain of everything he had seen. His hands shook when he wiped his face of the grime, uniform biting into his skin and making him feel like he was suffocating.

he wondered if you would be angry at him when he told you he wanted to quit the force after a single day.

Yet he never got a chance.

They had been intercepted almost immediately after the city was destroyed. At first he felt relief, he thought he had been rescued. That it would all be over soon, and you were closer than ever. However, it turned out to be quite the opposite. He was locked in a room with some agents for the better half of a day, wearing him down till he agreed to work with them. he was unable to return to his old life, everyone and everything that had made him who he weas before Raccoon.

 He could no longer go to you.

They redacted his files, pulled his documents and ID. He sat there with dull eyes seeing his digital footprint be wiped from the map, all the photos of you together being deleted off his media before his account was shut all together. He had managed to keep that flame of himself alive all through the city ordeal, but with each deleted image it flickered more and more until eventually, it was extinguished with a defeated breath.

They had put him almost immediately in the army training, all of their communication monitored. Every day he still thought of you, writing you letters you'd never get. He knew they were burning them, the way he'd drop it in the collection box for soldiers knowing that would be the lasty time he saw them. He liked to imagine differently, that instead of being sent to the burner they made their way back to you. You would know that he was still alive and hadn’t been caught in the explosion. That he loved you, and he wished more than anything that he could go home. He imagined the letters decorating your mantle or filling up in a shoebox while you waited for him to come home, instead of his handwriting curling with tongues of flame until his words never existed.

As the years past they broke him in more and more, until he was an agent with the DSO, no longer a flight risk and allowed to be unclipped from his leash. It was nearly a year after he had gone to Spain and rescued Ashley that he found himself in a bar in some big city, hunched over the whisky he knocked back. He kept himself holed up in the corner, obscured in the shadows and scowling at anyone that came too close, leaving the booth free to himself.

He spent a lot of nights like this now, fiddling with the callouses on his fingertips while he counted the grains in the wood table. Until a laugh makes him pause, head rising. With the chiming of the bar door, a group of women all walk in. He watches as they settle at a reserved table near the bar, and when the sea of dresses part his heart stops in his chest.

 It was you. Older and more mature, but you nonetheless. It didn’t matter that you had worn your hair differently, he could still point out the way it framed your face so nicely, eyes the same sparkling colour he remembered. The lines of your face, the arch of your nose, the dip of your lips, he had committed all of it to memory in those long nights alone. He studied your face like a saint, the image permanently etched in his mind’s eye.

His fingers twitched with the urge to go to you, to see if you remembered him. If you could still tell it was him under all the scars and bruises, and the way his lips always sat in a frown now. If you could still see that his eyes were the same shade as always, even if they had dulled a little. If you would still tell his hands were the same when they interlocked with yours, even if they were calloused and rough now. He pushes his drink to the side, standing up slightly before he gets a look at what you are wearing and slowly lowers himself back down.

The hope that was in his chest sputters out, and he bites back the bitter taste of reality. Of course, just because his life before Raccoon got frozen, doesn't mean that yours was. To you, he had died in a horrific incident and was a number among the thousands of deaths. You still had to dry your tears and go to work the next day and the next and the next, knowing he wasn't going to be coming home. You had pursued your career undoubtedly, winding up in the big city, and now you were in this bar seven years later wearing a white sash printed 'BRIDE' in gold lettering. He calmed the shake in his hands with a trained breath, hanging his head.

He was happy for you. He was happy, knowing that him leaving hadn't destroyed your life. The question of what you were doing now, that he thought about every single night, was finally answered. You were alive. you were happy. You were getting married, just like he had always wanted to.

 He slips a hand into his shirt, fingers toying with the worn silver chain. He tugs it to look at the silver engagement band lying there. It had always been fruitless, and honestly quite selfish of him. However, Leon couldn't find it in his to scold his past self, still a lovesick puppy who had been kicked in the ribs by life. He couldn't scold the young man who had taken a walk down the main street the day he got his very first pay check working as an agent. Sure, there were still a few eyes on him, he could see them trailing him, but he couldn’t care less. The pay was good, exceptionally so, which allowed him to push open the glass doors of the jewellers and pick out a ring. It was your favourite stone and your favourite cut, things he had asked your parents before he had left. he knew it wouldn't ever reach you, but it soothed the young man at night when he was restless and tormented by nightmares.

He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, watching at how it still had a spark of light despite how worn it had become from missions and late nights alike. He tucked it back inside, closing his eyes to recall the face of you like he remembered, looking at him as he shut that car door.

He never should have left.

he then opened them and looked up, taking a mental snapshot of what you looked like now, the way you smiled and the way you laughed.

he needed to leave.

Silently he slips from the bar, a few bills left under his half-drunk glass. He casts one last glance at you, smiling softly. He has to pry the fingers of his rookie self off of his chest, his young love making his heart beat faster. Eventually the internal war ends, the young cop backing off and slipping back into the corner of his mind that Leon had shoved him into. When your eyes meet, he's already leaving, controlling the clench in his fists.

You were happy. You were safe now.

 Your girlfriends are giggling and drinking around you, chatting with each other as you celebrate your bachelorette. The night has been fun, attention focused wholly on your future. However, the ringing of the bar bell manages to steal your attention for a moment, making you look up from your drink. You catch the eye of a man as he walks out the door, a jolt of lightning running down your spine and hair raising on your arms. His eyes that were so deeply familiar yet foreign to you, then they were gone. You see a glimmer in the eyes of a stranger that leaves the bar. It might’ve just been the alcohol or melancholic speeches your entourage has been reciting all night, recalling the ‘good old days’. That’s what logic dictated to you.

But when you listened to your heart for a split second, a barely tangible moment, you saw a glimpse of a young police academy graduate you knew years ago, a glimmer of a young boy you once loved but now struggled to recall the name of.

[deniable-masterpiece]

dead head | Leon Kennedy x Zombie

a/n -- I don't want to say this is an 'x reader' because it's not written like one, but the zombie he gets head from is not described in detail at all! so you can be the zombie or the zombie is just a zombie. also I lied, this is the halloween fic im writing and posting with 20 minutes to spare

words -- 1.8k

warnings -- not proofread (really bad), Leon gets head from a zombie, oral, Leon cums easily, necro, implied gore, monster x human

~~~

The sky was black and heavy, darkened by the night and imposing rain. The night encroached into the halls of the Raccoon Police Department, tears streaming through the inconsistently boarded windows. Some broken, some repaired, some still intact. The occasional crack of thunder sent shivers down the rookie’s first night on the job. Was it a zombie finally snapping the soaked boards at each window? No, he had already shot them all—idiotically, of course, because more came, attracted by the noise of gunshots. Leon didn’t want to stick around to find out, so he took the opportunity to head to the second floor of the RPD upon reaching them. He had already dealt with more zombies than he would have liked to, but what he came across was much worse.

He cut through the showers to get around to the office labeled S.T.A.R.S. for some much-needed information. Marvin directed him that way, so he listened. He said something about one of the computers being frequently used by an expert in the field of biomedical studies as well as high-ranking officers alike, so he concluded that there was crucial information to learn on it. Leon tried to remember his directions to a tee, and found himself heading down a hall that looked remarkably close to what Marvin described. The epitome of lost hope being a guise to the air of power that the hall evoked, signaling that he was on the special wing of the elite rescue service.

Just like the hallway preceding the room, the room itself was messy and overturned. Leon just assumed that it was like most other things in the entire building, objects finally being demeaned in the wake of a tragedy that extended beyond the scope of everything’s little purpose. Who would give a hell about a stapler, unless it could be used to defend yourself? Someone cared, because it was the first thing in Leon’s path to the desk he needed to get to. He kicked it aside and walked all the way to the back of the office where the placard of an indiscernible name couldn’t be read because it was shattered on the floor.

The desk itself was unusually clear, reflecting the flickering light above on its shiny, polished wood surface. There was a bloody handprint along the side of it that indicated something had breached the room during the outbreak, but it was dried, and Leon presumed the thing was long gone. Like a painted tree on a hike, it was a symbol of who had been there before. The only thing on the desk was a boxy computer, filling up about half of the desk on the left side if you were to sit at it regularly. The coast looked clear, the room was silent except for the buzzing light above him, so Leon took the reprieve and sat in the chair pressed against the wall a short roll away from the desk. He sat back in it, and the wheels screeched as he moved closer to the desk. He funneled his legs underneath it, reaching for the keyboard, but then he felt a presence under the desk. 

“What the—?” Leon wheeled the chair back. Underneath the desk and next to the wide-stacked drawers scaling the right side of the desk was a figure, curled up with their knees to their chest. “Woah there.”

The figure slowly realized Leon’s presence and used the given space to crawl out. It followed the voice on all fours. Weakly, it crawled out from under the desk, and in the dim light of the computer screen, Leon could see that this wasn’t a person anymore. It was a zombie. Leon went for his gun, still getting used to the fact that it was on his hip and not haphazardly shoved in the waistband of his jeans. He was still finding a use for it, his hand still taking a second to search for it. His fingers glided along his thigh—he knew that part well enough—and over the shiny new plastic holster for his gun. As expected, it was there, and when he pulled it out, he wasted no time holding it point-blank at the zombie’s head. With his finger wrapped around the trigger, he squeezed, but the gun never went off. The graceful arm pushing back all these creatures of the night had run its course.

In a hasty decision, he remarked, “Damn, I’m all out!”

The zombie was attracted to his sound—the way his fabric whirred in a haste reminded it of the last few moments it faced before turning into one of the creatures. The sound of the gun failing to fire reminded it all too well of their panicked coworkers emptying several clips on one of their feral colleagues. Lastly, the voice. Warmth expelled from his breath, hiding the panic and thudding heart deep within him. It yearned to be him, to take those things from him, and embrace him for all that the reanimated corpse failed to be. 

Its fingers curled around the edges of his left kneepad, not strong enough to tear it off, but only enough to guide it forward. Its knees nudged them forward as they waded through the waves of feelings crashing into it. It needed Leon—it wanted Leon. With its weak grip, its fingers slipped along Leon’s thighs, tracing them with a chunk of flesh missing entirely from its right hand. The fingers aroused a sensation out of Leon, who was speechless until the zombie neared even closer. It had practically filled the space between his thighs by the time he spoke, so close to his crotch that he wasn’t sure if it was going to take a bite or do what his mind trailed off to.

“Is this what you want?” He asked, adding with a quick hesitance,  “No biting, okay? Jesus, can you even understand me?”

Foggy eyes stared up at him—both in awe and uncontrollable withering. The eyes glazed over with lifelessness. He could see his reflection in them. Only the silhouette was distinguishable from its glassy eyes, but he knew that the creature saw something more than what he could. It understood him and his frustrations, and its remains looked human enough. Something deep inside of it was still human—still there, but lost some things that made it the perfect fuckhole for him.

Leon made quick work of his utility belt and undid the fly of his navy-blue trousers. The zombie seemed to stall and wait for the bait to find its way out. Naturally, it wanted to spring up and away from the pressing confines of his new police uniform. Those paling eyes watched it bob until it stood upright. Leon lifted his hips out of the chair and pushed his pants down to his thighs, letting his balls sit between his legs freely, and it would make sure everything could be accessed. He gripped the base of his dick and pointed it forward at the reanimated corpse. It was smart enough to see it as an attractant—something to lurch forward at, and to hopefully not bite as it got closer.

Part of the flesh was missing around its lips, exposing the barred teeth. It snarled as its mouth opened, strings of saliva connected the yellowing teeth, and its dark-colored tongue fell out of its mouth. Leon expected it to snap its trap shut and painfully bite at his sensitive cock, but the cold skin met the tip of his head. The creature didn’t quite exactly know how to make the proper sucking motion, but it managed to shut its mouth around his girth. Leon could feel their swollen tongue against the underside of his cock, making it a bit tighter to slide in and out of its mouth. His cock was forced to the roof of their mouth, and the force was something he actually liked. The way that it had gotten rougher due to the lack of hydration and rotting skin made it feel more tactile over his insanely sensitive head. 

Leon moaned, wanting to go deeper. The zombie knew what it wanted but was passive when it got Leon’s big piece, giving all the more reason for Leon to take control. His hand reached forward and cradled their decomposing head, his hand sinking into their scalp as the skin had lost its viscosity. He was worried that one tug would rip whatever was left of their hair off and take some skin with it, so he tried to be gentle at first.

The motions came to him pretty easily, guiding the zombie further down his cock. He managed to force it down to the base pretty quickly without getting much feedback from the zombie. It didn’t keep up with his rhythm, just mindlessly slathering its tongue over the underside of his cock and occasionally twitching its head, but that was not of its own volition. Its breaths were staggered and inconsistent, breathing down his pubic bone and drawing in air through the eaten-away flaps of where part of its hollow cheeks would be. 

Leon lifted the zombie up to the tip of his length again, seeing a trail of dark saliva-like goop coating his cock. It looked unsanitary but felt so good to be the lube for his wet fucktoy. Whoever this was in their past life had been reborn as his cocksleeve, and maybe they deserved that for succumbing to the virus running rampant over the city. 

Having a zombie deepthroat him was like no other feeling. It was impossible to tell where its throat passage started and the back of its mouth ended. Its throat was tighter, but then again, fuck, Leon couldn’t focus. The whole expanse that his cock reached into was tight and wet, and the soft, uncontrollable grazing of its teeth sent shivers down his spine. That same greedy, hungry mouth was now being filled with his thick dick. His balls slapped against its chin. It was being a good zombie, no biting as he commanded. 

His head tilted back into the chair, and he forgot that he was forcing himself deep into the dark canal of a zombie’s throat. The only thing was the lack of a swallowing motion, but Leon didn’t care. He would have traded the suction for fucking their throat at any pace for as long as he wanted. Plus, no gag reflex. That let him move faster—let him force his desperation for release onto the zombie, whether it was ready or not. 

Leon spent his round in the zombie’s mouth. He whined and came. Hard. Thick ropes shot out and coated their throat, and he bucked his hips to make sure it went deep into them. Nothing seemed to come out as he pulled off of them. Maybe he could postpone escaping Raccoon City for a bit to enjoy this a little bit longer.

[ficfield]

Chris Redfield: General Headcanon

Request: "I saw your post wanting more requests/head cannons, and I was wondering if I could request again? if not that's chill lol. but if you are I'd love to hear your head canons just about Chris in general."

I had an idea to try and do two timelines seeing as Chris has been through a lot, so I did some for pre-trauma and post-trauma, hope you guys enjoy

Happy reading my lovelies

Pre-trauma Chris (before S.T.A.R.S & Early days in raccoon city) (Basically, before the horrors of the spencer mansion & umbrella’s bioweapons wrecked his life)

Optimistic but reckless – Chris was always a bit of a maverick, known for his rebellious streak in the air force before being discharged. He believed in justice but wasn’t afraid to bend the rules if he thought it was the right thing to do. He had an innate desire to protect people, but back then, it was driven more idealism rather than deep personal scars. 

Big brother mode – He was probably always overprotective of Claire, even before their parents passed. He likely worked multiple jobs to support her, possibly taking on security gigs or military contracts before joining S.T.A.R.S. when she went off to college, he definitely called way too often to check on her.

Life of the party (kinda?) – Before everything went to hell, Chris was actually more sociable. He enjoyed going out for drinks with his S.T.A.R.S. teammates, cracking jokes with Barry and Joseph, and teasing Jill about being too serious. He wasn’t exactly wild, but he had an easy-going charm that made him well-liked.

Adrenaline junkie – Even his early days, Chris had a habit of throwing himself into danger. He loved high-risk activities: skydiving, rock climbing, motorcycle racing. He was that guy who thought nothing of jumping out of a helicopter for fun.

Terrible cook – The man could survive in extreme conditions but could not cook to save his life. He either ate out a lot or relied on MREs way more than he should have. Claire probably tried to teach him, but he never really got the hand of it. 

Post-trauma Chris (post-spencer mansion, post-Raccoon city, BSAA days & beyond) (Basically, after Resident evil 1 and progressively worsening after the tragedies in Code Veronica, RE5, RE6 ect…)

Burden of leadership – After losing countless teammates and friends, Chris became more of a hardened leader. He still had a deep sense of responsibility, but it weighed on him differently. Instead of reckless optimism, his hero complex became almost self-destructive. He constantly put himself in harm’s way, believing it was his duty to bear the burden. 

PTSD & Survivor’s guilt – No matter how many missions he completes, how many bioweapons he destroys, he never feels like he’s done enough. The ghosts of spencer mansion, Raccoon city and Kijuju haunt him. He likely has nightmares about the people he couldn’t save, whether it’s his fallen S.T.A.R.S. teammates, Piers Nivans, or even enemies like Wesker, who embodied the fight he could never truly escape. 

Alcohol as a coping mechanism – During his darker moments (RE6 timeline especially), Chris turned to alcohol to numb the pain. He never let it affect him in the field, but when he was alone? He drank to forget. This was especially bad after losing Piers, Chris went completely off the grid, drowning in guilt before being pulled back into the fight.

More closed off, less playful – The guy who used to joke around and enjoy team outings became more distant over time. He still cracks the occasional dry joke, but his humour became darker and rarer. Only people like Jill or Claire could get a real laugh out of him. 

Still a protective big brother – Even after everything, Claire remains one of the few people who can get through to him. He still worries about her constantly but tries not to smother her (she absolutely calls him out when he does). He keeps tabs on her work with TerraSave, sometimes anonymously ensuring her safety.

Military precision, almost to a fault – By the time of the BSAA, Chris became even more disciplined, almost machine-like. He planned missions meticulously, trained obsessively, and pushed his body to the absolute limit. He knew that one mistake could cost lives, and he refuses to let that happen again.

Aging warhorse mentality – By the later games, Chris is exhausted. He knows he’s getting older, he knows he can’t keep doing this forever, but he doesn’t know how to stop. Retirement isn’t an option in his mind, he believes the fight won’t end until he’s dead. (Or until someone, like Claire or Jill, convince him otherwise.)

Still has a good heart – Even after everything, Chris never lost his core. He still fights for the innocent, still risks his life to stop bioweapons from spreading, and still believes in doing the right thing. He’s just a lot more battered, bruised, and wary than he used to be.

[silna-pdf]

what if Jackie survived RE1?:0

Featuring @feng-shui71 ocs

Surviving the mansion incident, Jackie is immediately hospitalized after. She is placed in care outside of raccoon city, Avoiding the T-Virus outbreak in the city, and the subsequent destruction….. and the dissolution of Umbrella. During this and the next 11 years she is rehabilitating, the trauma, her injuries, and complications due to her prior TBI during her military service (prior to S.T.A.R.S) putting her out of commission for the time being. Jackie doesn’t maintain much contact with any members after besides occasionally with Jordan or Chris

It isn’t until 2009, after the retrieval of Jill. Jackie is persuaded by Jill’s torment with P30 dosing and brainwashing and Jordan’s struggle being a hostage, having a deep internal conflict that she hasn’t done enough to pay back and help the people who saved her life. She feels she needs to act less selfishly, So she takes up an offer from Chris into the BSAA. Which she believes will make her feel like she is helping prevent future tragedies, like the ones she and her people have experienced. Eventually landing a position in the SOU Chris leads into Edonia, with their countermeasure attempts against J’avo being used in the war 😏

(I tried, the initial scene when Sherry and Jake cross paths with Chris and Piers)

Jackie begins to keep in contact with the twins more once she’s involved herself in this life again. Constantly checking in to ensure Jordan is taking her retirement seriously. If she is to also somehow survive Edonia, she would retire after. Clearly death is calling her name out there, and NOT following the voice would do her some good Lol

[cho-aaacho]

To you who will be gone

Masterlist

Warning : Angst, Heavy Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Tragedy, Betrayal

He's always been alone; that's just who he is. He doesn't need anyone; he never has. Saying that people fail to understand him, saying that his entire life is a facade, saying that he doesn't need love.

For 15 years, he's spun a web of lies; each one is like cancer. Each lie hurts him deeply. 

Sometimes he wonders if it's worth it, and sometimes he thinks about stopping himself, running away from his life, and leaving everything behind.

"How about if I stop and drown myself in the river?"

But he never did that. Never.

He fondly recalls his time in the S.T.A.R.S. office, surrounded by his men, and all the beautiful things at that time. Their smiles greet him each morning, sharing coffee and laughter. Those were the days when every moment felt like spring.

But... S.T.A.R.S. is now gone. Every gesture he takes now feels agonizing as he betrays them, opting for a path of violence that severs the bonds he once shared with his men. His hands, now covered with their blood, serve as a constant reminder of his betrayal.

He knew that Chris hated him, Jill cursed his name for his betrayal, and perhaps Rebecca and Barry secretly wished for his death. He understood that his actions would inevitably lead to this. What did he expect?

He still recalls the last time he saw your face at the RPD, on a pleasant summer morning. Despite how happy you are that morning, joking with Chris and Joseph, talking about a new movie and music, and teasing Jill, Wesker feels sad. Something inside his heart broke him into pieces. 

Everything seems unplaced and wrong. Empty. Alone.

"How could I do this to everyone here? They're all my friends, aren't they?" He thought to himself.

"But... friends did not stay longer; they could leave you." He continued, trying to make everything better from his point of view.

He always hates summer, and he confided this to Birkin, and the summer of 1998 was the peak of his dislike. 

He couldn't quite pinpoint the reason behind his hatred—perhaps the heat was frying his brain, or maybe he was just overwhelmed by thoughts of his mission.

Time flies, and days pass. Every time he glances at the calendar, a frown is painted on his forehead, and his lower lip is caught between his teeth as he lets out a frustrated sigh. What happened to him? What is the sudden feeling?

Despite his sunglasses shielding his blue eyes and expression, Enrico caught glimpses of Wesker's melancholy, and... in the silence, he would ask, "Is everything okay, Wesker?"

...curious probably worried.

And as an answer, Wesker would dismiss it with a giggle, assuring Enrico that he was fine and had nothing to worry about. Just like that, Enrico would forget, as if it never happened to his partner.

At the end of his shift, Wesker spotted you alone in the hallway, leaning against the wall. You seemed lost in thought, and Wesker couldn't read what was on your mind. Perhaps he didn't want to; cheering on his colleagues wasn't a priority.

With a stack of documents in hand, Wesker stood there awkwardly, like a fool, and didn't say anything or greet you. 

You gazed at your phone and groaned, and it startled him, but as you glanced up at Wesker, the anger on your face softened into a calm expression. A smile curls on your lips. It's cute, to be honest. At least in Wesker's opinion.

"...evening, Wesker," you greeted.

Maybe you'd had a breakup, he thought, or perhaps you were disappointed about missing out on some Digimon merchandise at the toy store.

"You're still here?" he asked, moving closer to you.

"Yeah, Chris pulled a prank on Brad, and now his motorcycle's blown up somewhere because of his prank. He wants me to go pick him up. Useless."

"Oh!" Wesker chuckled. "I thought maybe you'd lost your Digimon merch," he teased, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. Yet a tinge of sadness flickered in his eyes.

"I've given up on that merch. It's too hard to find. But, damn, I still want it so badly! Maybe... I'll get to touch it at least once before I die."

Wesker's smile faltered. "Why do you say that?"

"Well... considering our line of work, I'm not sure I'll make it to old age," you replied. "Maybe I'll meet my end by the end of '98—caught in an explosion."

Silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts, and after you mentioned the explosion, a voice inside his head pleaded. "Please, just run from me." 

"Oh, I'm sure you'll make it to old age. I can imagine you with a family, maybe even grandchildren, someday. I'll be there to lend a hand," he said with a chuckle, his voice tinged with warmth. "But I do wonder what I'll look like in 30 years."

You laughed and playfully punched his arm. "You'll probably look the same, Wesker. I mean, just look at you. When I first saw you, I thought you were the same age as Brad. I often wonder what your skincare routine is like. But knowing you, you'd probably just say it's just a moisturizer."

He smiled. "Oh, I'm definitely aging. Maybe you just haven't seen me up close. I've got wrinkles too, like Barry."

"Oh, yeah, you're right. But you are aging slower; I've always known that!" 

As both of you laughed, Wesker caught a glimpse of rosy cheeks on your face, prompting him to reflect on his actions. "How could I have done that to you? Should I..."

"Eh, Wesker, I overheard something during lunch," you said, your voice taking on a mysterious tone.

"What did you hear?" Wesker furrowed as he tightened his grip on his documents.

"Well, they're saying people are disappearing in the mountains, and some claim to have seen ghosts. I didn't catch all the details, but apparently this ghost is preying on humans. Cannibalism seems far-fetched, doesn't it?"

"Don't worry too much. It's probably just a rumor. But if it bothers you, you could discuss it with Enrico," he suggested, pausing. "Or perhaps with me?" His last words came out almost as a whisper.

Before you could respond, a phone call from Chris interrupted you, drawing your attention to run to the entrance.

That night remains etched in your memory—cold and chilling, your chest feels hurt and burnt. Chris cradled your bleeding body, rendering you unable to move or speak. Despite your efforts, opening your eyes proved to be a struggle. All you could do was listen.

Oh... Wesker is arguing with Chris. 

"You've killed them with your dirty hands!" Chris' voice pierced the air.

"I think you're a bit confused. I've always been with Umbrella."

Suddenly, all your senses returned, flooding you with memories of what happened to Richard, Forest, Enrico, and everyone else.

You still remember that time. You were on the balcony, locked in an argument with Wesker, desperately trying to make sense of his betrayal. 

He had been a Judas all along; his kindness, smiles, and everything is a facade.

"So, everything was a lie?" Forest's bleeding body startled you. "But why?"

"Don't point fingers at me," Wesker said, but it was devoid of warmth, colder than anything you'd ever heard from him.

You remembered how his laughter and smile used to fill the room with warmth, always making you laugh along, or how gentle he was. 

He pointed his samurai edge at you, a smirk curling on his lips. "I'm sorry it had to come to this. You were the best subordinate. I didn't want to kill you. Perhaps I could have taken you away, run with the wind," he paused. "But I know that's not what you'd want."

Then he shot you right in the chest, sending you plummeting from the balcony to the ground below. As you fell, you caught a glimpse of Forest's lifeless body nearby, with Wesker standing at the edge. He seemed to say something, his lips moving in slow motion.

"Please, just run from me," he whispered, disappearing from your sight.

A/N : Hey there, sorry for my disappearance! I was planning to write another Wesker fanfic but got distracted by something. It's funny how that happens, right?

Btw, I'm writing this after listening to Sakayume by King Gnu and Confused Memories by Yuko Tsuburaya. You should check them out when you get the chance!

[ao3feed-adaleon]

Two the end together

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/wBL1GVt by Primosvemos ─━━━━━━░★░━━━━━━─   September 29th. 1998. The twins Leon and Leah S. Kennedy have graduated top of their class from their academy and are now ready to take on their new job in Raccoon City’s police department. However, something goes horribly wrong. But it’s alright. Everything is going to be alright. After all, they have each other.   …Right?   ─━━━━━━░★░━━━━━━─ Words: 1505, Chapters: 1/14, Language: English Series: Part 1 of 3 9 2 0 0 7 (L and L’s adventure) Fandoms: Resident Evil, Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City (2021), Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: Other Characters: Leon S. Kennedy, Claire Redfield, Ada Wong, Annette Birkin, Sherry Birkin, Marvin Branagh, Original Female Character(s), Albert Wesker, William Birkin, S.T.A.R.S. Unit Ensemble (Resident Evil), Leah S. Kennedy, Twin Sister - Character, Twin Sister - Reader, Reader is a Twin - Character Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy & Claire Redfield & Original Character(s), Leon S. Kennedy & Reader, Leon S. Kennedy & Sister Reader, Leon S. Kennedy/Original Female Character(s), minor Leon S. Kennedy/Ada Wong - Relationship, Leon S. Kennedy & Claire Redfield, Minor Leon S. Kennedy/Claire Redfiled, Leon S. Kennedy/Reader, Leon S. Kennedy/You Additional Tags: Twins, Leon S. Kennedy Needs a Hug, Leon S. Kennedy Sister, Twin Siblings, Minor Leon S. Kennedy/Ada Wong, Minor Leon S. Kennedy/Claire Redfield, Abandonment, Zombies, Game: Resident Evil 2 Remake (2019), Raccoon City (Resident Evil), Angst, Fluff and Angst, Sad Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Tragedy, Protective Siblings, No Incest, Leon needs a fucking hug, Leah is super duper sad, Claire Supremacy, G-Virus (Resident Evil), Infected Reader, POV Multiple, Strong Language, Swearing, Ada is my fucking hero, Platonic Relationships, Sibling Love, References to Pygmalion, Captured by Umbrella read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/wBL1GVt

[damadisangue]

Snow and blood; a light aftertaste of argan, under her skin, where the disease rages, the stench of death - of defeat. Wesker hides his face in her hair, breathing - listening as her smile turns into a fragile, discordant laugh. "You're tickling me, Al." she murmurs, but clings to his body as if they had reached the end - the clock has now lost its hands, the hourglass its last beads. And he can't lose: he wasn't built for that. He cannot fail: it is not contemplated. He cannot stop: not until the world is purged - made worthy. Alex opens her fingers on his chest, studying the line of an old scar - the bead of a bullet that had broken his collarbone when he was still captain of S.T.A.R.S. She inhales, and he knows she feels it too – he can tell by the way she curls up against him, closing her eyes and growing even smaller, thinner.

Broken.

On their skin the smell of tragedy has always been stronger than all the others. 

Amazing and stunning art from the lovely @multieleonora96

[forgotten-retrouvaille]

⌨ What’s a situation you’ve always wanted to RP with the muse?

📝 Favorite headcanon for your muse? 

🌌Favorite alternate version of the muse?

Situation I've always wanted to write :

Quite a few here , honestly . I'm interested in exploring Jill's early period of time in Africa potentially way off in the future as it's something I still haven't developed a ton quite yet, as well as being able to really explore the whole GAP of time in between Death Island and present day , which I am writing up a rough timeline for . Investigation into Umbrella , her merc operations in South America . A BIG ONE would be immediately Post-or-Pre Arklay , which I think could be really interesting . BSAA corruption. Early S.T.A.R.S. days . Anything not directly explored indepth in a game. Up for a lot honestly.

Favourite headcanon :

Incredibly close to any of my medical headcanons with her + her mechanic/vehicle maintanence interest . Both of those are incredibly integral to this portrayal , and I love playing around with things that affect her directly e.g the way her eye colour changes , the way her canines/back teeth get significantly sharper, etc plus all the other side effects / being in contact / host of practically nearly every kind of virus out there . Big fan of her mechanical interest and her interest in sketching/photography as well.

Favourite alternate version :

Jill in her Hadestown au by FAR . Jill's werewolf verse is also incredibly up there at a close second , but I've loved exploring Jill in a Hadestown concept + really diving into her Eurydice / songbird motif and the ultimate tragedy that is her existence and her oath to the people of the world.

[mystalwartheart]

Sirens howl. The sounds of helicopters roar overhead as searchlights pierce the blackness to fixate on their target. Boots pound the pavement and incomprehensible military orders are barked into the still night air as the neighborhood is turned for a moment into a warzone.

Jill regards the scene outside with grim resignation and sadness. Suburban tranquility is often only superficial, as the events of the past few weeks have aptly demonstrated, but it makes for a pretty picture and for some...it's all they have. She hates seeing it, doubly so because a friend has been hurt. But Joy left her with no other choice: Justice will be served, and it fell to Jill to be the one to deliver it. Or maybe that's just what she tells herself.

Inside Shy's house, the personal tragedy of the two once-lovers reaches its crescendo just as masked soldiers dressed in black wearing full combat gear pour in through the front door and move into position, weapons primed in a defensive stance. And in the center of it all is Jill Valentine, now all kitted out in fresh combat fatigues and body armor courtesy of S.T.A.R.S. Cincinnati, personal handgun aimed squarely at Joy.

"Freeze. Both of you," Jill orders in a flat, calm voice. "Joy, back away from her. Shy, go tend to your family and guests, but don't leave the house: We're going to have to ask you a few questions, and we have the premises surrounded." Her eyes zero in on Joy like a laser targeting system. "Joy Carmichael, you are under arrest for the crimes of robbery and attempted murder...And for your own protection." Jill's face softens, regarding them both one last time. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

[starsandspicedpeaches]

The Alternate Approach

Chrisker Week 2023

Chris Redfield x Albert Wesker

Warnings: None

Word Count: ~1,700

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47571694

“I don’t think you want to die just yet, I have something that is of some interest to you.” 

Wesker turned to a nearby computer and tapped a few buttons. Within moments, the liquid began to drain from the large tank at his side and Chris felt his stomach drop. Inside stood a mass of flesh, humanoid, but certainly not human. Talons ripped out of its hands and pale white flesh clung weakly to its massive frame, creating the illusion that the abomination could be dead, but its heart, dear god —its heart was attached to its chest, beating slowly, making it oh so clear this thing was somehow alive. 

“The ultimate lifeform, Tyrant!”

Chris was horrified, he thought he might be sick but steadied himself, refusing to show any weakness in front of the man standing across from him. All the lies, pain, and the deaths of his fellow S.T.A.R.S. members for this thing? Years spent serving with Wesker only for him to throw Chris and his friends to the mercy of the mansion, to fight horrors the likes of which he assumed would only exist behind a TV screen, knowing that most of them would not only die but suffer in the meantime. It was deplorable. So deplorable it was amusing. Chris felt a laugh rising in his chest, a feeling of hysteria in him that could only be brought out by the Captain making the whole tragedy seem like an elaborate joke. But then he looked at Wesker. 

His captain, who always was so stoic, who Chris looked up to as a model of bravery, the man who had torn through both warfare and the daily dangers of Racoon City, and who had been his strongest support when the job was difficult when things went wrong and lives were lost, was looking back at him. Rarely did Wesker betray emotion on his face, but there was an abnormal tenseness on it right now, like he was waiting for something. Wanting something. Then a strange thought began to dawn on Chris.   

Chris looked down at Rebecca. Wesker had shot her without hesitation. Why not him? And why did he want to show Chris his little science project in the first place? Chris was no scientist, he had no knowledge or appreciation for this kind of thing. So why try to explain it to him? 

Wesker was still standing silently, gun pointed at Chris, watching. Waiting. 

“Wesker. What do you want?” 

The older man looked confused for a moment. “Is it not clear?”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Is anything you say ever clear?”

There was a long pause. “Chris.”

“Yes?”

“I want you to join me.”

Chris nearly laughed again.

“Why? I’m not a scientist, I don’t understand any of this shit. I failed half of my classes in high school and went straight into the military.”

Wesker smiled at this, not maliciously, but enough to annoy Chris.

“I don’t know the difference between an acid and a base,” He continued, “Much less how to play with whatever shit you’re apparently into. I can’t help you, I'm just another S.T.A.R.S. member and the rest of us seemed pretty disposable to you. So why me?”

Wesker glanced away for a moment, brows furrowed but still holding tightly to his gun. Chris considered trying to grab it from him while he was distracted but knew that his superior was, well, superior, at least physically. So they both waited in silence. 

“Do you remember Barry’s New Year’s Party?” Wesker finally asked.

Chris was stunned. Here they were in the middle of a secret lab, Wesker having killed all of Chris’s friends and coworkers, right in front of a giant mutated monstrosity and Wesker was asking about a New Year’s party that had happened months ago. He knew the man had no social awareness, but — Jesus fucking Christ. 

“Yeah, I remember.” Chris grumbled, “I remember everyone but you being drunk, and how you kept complaining about how it was too loud and how you were clearly miserable and left before it was even midnight.”

Wesker sighed, clearly not thrilled with Chris’s response, but continued anyway. 

“Do you remember that, even though you were already drunk, you were the first person to greet me?” 

Chris grimaced, remembering vaguely how he had nearly tripped over the coffee table, running up to the captain like a dog that missed his owner. It certainly didn’t help that he was already two shots and a few beers in by nine when Wesker had arrived. 

“Yep, I remember that.”

“And you remember how every time people would start getting loud you would yell at them and check in on me?”

That memory was even fuzzier, but it would definitely explain why everyone kept teasing him and calling him a buzzkill the next day in the office. 

Chris simply nodded back. 

“And this you probably don’t remember either, but before I left, you offered to walk me home just to make sure I was alright, even though you were the one who clearly needed an escort.”

That memory was hazy too, but Chris remembered being alone with Wesker next to the door, catching him by the shoulder before he left, and gentle words shared between the two of them along with an overwhelming feeling of concern. He remembered moving his face far too close to his captain's, the nagging worry that maybe his breath was bad or he was sweaty and not being sure of the last time he showered, and then he remembered almost leaning in before Wesker gently pushed him back and wished him a good night. 

Oh. Now he was starting to get it. 

Chris took a step forward. Wesker’s hand tightened around the gun, but he didn’t move to shoot. 

“Why are you bringing all of this up now?” 

Wesker didn’t respond. 

Taking a deep breath, Chris slowly, gently reached out, placing his hand on top of the gun aimed at him, and began to push Wesker’s arm down. There was resistance for only a moment before the older man complied. When the gun was aimed at the floor, Chris took another step forward and the two were now nearly pressed against each other. His face was far too close to his captain’s. He felt a nagging worry that maybe his breath was bad. Or that he was sweaty and after hours of running around in this godforsaken mansion he definitely needed a shower. But Wesker didn’t move away as he leaned in and Chris decided chances were all of that didn’t matter. 

“So I take it you’re asking for a little bit more than just for me to join you?” Chris asked. 

His superior chuckled. “Yes, I suppose I am.” 

This time, Wesker leaned in the rest of the way and pressed his lips against Chris’s. Almost on instinct, Chris closed his eyes and wrapped an arm around his former captain’s waist, pulling him closer before pushing deeper into the kiss. He felt the blonde man’s arms wrap around his neck and allowed himself, just for a minute, to forget everything that had occurred, what the man touching him had done. And if he could forget for a minute, he could forget for a little bit longer. Why not join him? 

Finally, he pushed Wesker away, taking a moment to catch his breath, his partner’s arms still wrapped around him. 

“Just what are we getting into?” Chris mumbled. 

“Well, for one, a boatload of money when I sell all the assets I’ve stolen from Umbrella, which will then be used to fuel a quick escape from the country and a life of avoiding the company’s attempts to find us for my betrayal.” 

Chris looked back down at Rebecca. Was he really ready to not only assist the man who shot her and Enrico? The man who currently had Jill trapped in a cell? But then again, what would happen to Jill if he refused? Wesker would make quick work of him and then no one could save her. Chris was certainly drawn in by the deal Wesker was offering, but he also knew he could potentially bargain for more.

“What about Jill? Are you going to kill her too?”

“Not personally, but I am preparing the entire estate to self-destruct. I don’t expect she would survive.” 

Chris’s heart began to race. No, he couldn’t let that happen. 

“Let her out. Let her escape and I’ll go with you, help with whatever you need. I want to join you but I won’t have S.T.A.R.S. blood on my hands. I won’t have Jill’s blood on my hands” 

Wesker’s lips tightened and he gripped his weapon a little tighter. 

“I appreciate your loyal mannerisms Chris but don’t want to leave loose ends.” 

“What could she do? Even if she does survive it would be her word against the entire Umbrella Corporation, and you don’t plan on sticking around anyway, right?”

Wesker pondered this idea for a moment and Chris held his breath, unsure if he had made the right play. 

“Fine.” Wesker finally responded. “If I can trust that your future loyalty lays solely with me I’lll let her go.” 

Chris breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Deal, now what are you going to need from me?”

“I’m not quite sure yet, but I do know you don’t have to worry about being a part of any scientific work I choose to complete in the future, I’m more than capable of handling that by myself.”

Wesker had only just finished his sentence when a near-deafening shatter of glass pulled their attention back to the tank that housed the monster. The abomination had broken through the glass, its talons seeming to have shredded the material with nearly no effort. Chris and Wesker glanced at each other.

“I hope the scientific work you plan on handling includes that fucker too.” Chris groaned as the two pulled out their weapons. 

~~~

Happy Chrisker Week everyone! I hope that you’re looking forward to all the content this celebration will encourage and be sure to seek out other creators participating, many of whom I have interacted with and know are fantastic in their respective domains. Speaking of other creators I want to give a huge thank you to the creators who helped me with this story. Thank you to Ardnaif (AO3 and tumblr), Regnard (AO3), and Tea (theredfields on tumblr) who all looked over this piece, made suggestions, and helped me edit. As a small creator it meant the world to me to get these people’s opinions and I know they helped me grow as a writer. I will post the links to their pages below, make sure to give them a follow! Enjoy Chrisker week and feel free to join in, we can always use another creator!

Ardnaif - https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ardnaif/pseuds/Ardnaif 

Regnard - https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regnard/pseuds/Regnard

Tea - https://theredfields.tumblr.com/

[biosurvive]

fun facts with dj, i do love my three main ships for chris, but i do have a big soft spot for s.t.a.r.s. era chr*sker because the tragedy of chris getting betrayed by a man who has been dicking him down for over a year is too spicy for me to not like (*YGFHJFKL

chris getting dicked down in the military and getting discharged chris getting dicked down in raccoon city and then almost getting killed by said man

talk about gay trauma

[ao3feed-cleon]

The Fall of Umbrella

by FallenHero_Achilles

Following the tragedy of the Arklay Lab incident, a small group of survivors enters the fight of their lives when the T-Virus escapes from an Umbrella facility and completely transforms Raccoon City into a sprawling necropolis. Isaac Holiday meets the mysterious Lydia Richards, who wants to discover the truth behind the outbreak. Rebecca Chambers fights for her life as she tries to provide assistance within the war zone that has become the Raccoon City Police Station. All while Jill finds herself being hunted by the powerful and horrifying weapon, Nemesis. Meanwhile, rookie cop Leon Kennedy teams up with college student Claire Redfield as each of them enters the city for reasons of their own, unsure of what was really unfolding. Meanwhile, Umbrella sends out another weapon to compliment Nemesis, a surefire way of eliminating not only all members of S.T.A.R.S, but any chosen individuals who possess evidence to incriminate the powerful corporation.

Words: 2199, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of The Raccoon City Saga

Fandoms: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/M

Characters: Original Characters, Leon S. Kennedy, Claire Redfield, Brian Irons, Marvin Branagh, Carlos Oliveira, Jill Valentine, Rebecca Chambers, William Birkin, Annette Birkin, Sherry Birkin

Relationships: Rebecca Chambers/Original Male Character, Leon S. Kennedy/Claire Redfield

Additional Tags: Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Cigarettes, Smoking, Body Horror, Violence, Graphic Description of Corpses, Raccoon City, Destruction, Biological Weapons, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Guns, Lots of guns, Gun Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Action/Horror, Survival Horror, Nuclear Solution, Umbrella Corporation ruining everyone's day, Resident Evil movie references

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/24030094

[kingkumas-world]

Of all the horrible things I've seen in my life, the one image that will forever haunt my mind is the sight of raccoon city getting hit by a missile barrage. I wasn't in the city long that night but the hours that past me by felt like years, seeing innocent people die by the hands of monsters created by umbrella, having to gun down my co-workers in the police department, dealing with the B.O.W.s, having to kill William Birkin, but watching that explosion and hearing the broadcast that followed..... clicked something in me. I vowed never again to let a tragedy like this happen again, so when the government offered me a position to become a special agent to fight against B.O.W.s I couldn't refuse.

Every few years I stop by the memorial that the government placed not to far from the crater of the city, its atop a hill overlooking the ruins, made from obsidian its honors the victims that were killed in the chaos of that tragedy. I'm not the only one who stops here though obviously, the occasional tourist stops by and some survivors from the city who managed to escape in time come here to pay their respects too, but also some friends of mine who helped bring down umbrella like Claire, her brother Chris and his friend Jill along with their colleagues Barry and Rebecca. Sherry sometimes stops here too but shes always a wreck if we stay here too long, can't say I blame her, watching her father transform into a monster and to watch him die as an abomination would do that to a person. Chris had brought a photo of his S.T.A.R.S. team from when he was a member to leave here on the memorial so people would know the sacrifices they made to protect people.

I'll never forget this city and the horrors that were wrought upon it, the missiles the struck the city destroying all the B.O.W.s and whatever survivors were left inside, they way the cloud formed almost made it looked like a nuke dropped on the city. But the other thing that sticks in my mind just as vividly as the explosion was the news broadcast I heard play that was covering what was going on in the city and why I will never stop fighting against bio-terrorists and the monsters they unleash.

"And now we have a rather unfortunate turn of events. It seems that the President and the Federal Council have passed judgement over the civilians of Raccoon City. The President and Federal Council have ruled that the Bacillus Terminate operation... is the best course of action for this extreme situation and have since... executed it. Based on that fact, Raccoon City has been literally wiped off the map. Current reports have the death toll surpassing the 100,000 mark. Our hearts go out to those poor civilians... of Raccoon City."

[godstrain]

giovanni isn't wrong about most organizations- if wesker had learned anything in his life, it was that true goodwill was rare / nearly impossible to find, and even when it was, it could be easily tainted by cynicism. he'd thought that of interpol when he'd been brought in for questioning.

he'd been put in what he could only describe as a holding cell meant for absurdly powerful things. they'd put him in there when he lashed out / showed that he was far from ordinary. the mess he'd left behind and the possible scandal had been quickly swept under the rug- and he expected to be trapped like some animal for the rest of his days in this new place, until he met kain.

every bit a bitter hero who held to her ideals, her actions were rather controversial. her sense of justice veered toward aggression, and she would not stop until she saw a task through. he'd lashed out at her, too. she kept a straight face when she shot him, and that straight face remained when he sat up again. most things that were shot like she'd shot him remained dead. after that, they'd talked like civilized beings. she decided to give him his old position back- captain of an elite team that she would hand pick.

❝ i have always been rather cynical of the motives of organizations myself, but there is something startlingly different about my superior- something raw and genuine. ❞

then, giovanni asks of his last investigation. the one where everything went wrong and he'd lost everything- where he'd died and come back to life and had let himself be consumed by his rage and hate- the one that he never meant to end like that.

sometimes, he still lived through it in his nightmares. the pain he'd felt when his own creation turned on him- the way chris had called his name even knowing the truth. chris had been softer, then. he remembered seeing sorrow on the younger man's face before his vision went dark.

❝ it came after a series of what we thought were rather brutal murders- not only mysterious disappearances. our chief of police was ... rather lacking in morals, and i'm certain that if we'd acted sooner ... maybe the tragedy that followed would've been prevented- ❞ it's easy, he finds, to fall back into the role of a noble captain. the hero the members of S.T.A.R.S. had believed him to be. it's easy to talk about this like that wesker would, and it made for a better story. half truths and half lies. ❝ in total, twelve officers went to investigate- not counting myself, five made it out. the evidence that was discovered in the mansion was ultimately lost- the place had a self destruct sequence that was triggered- ❞

this time, eight people were heading into a mansion which served as the source of it all. this time, there's no umbrella to betray, no organization to impress- he tells himself this over and over- as if it will help. as if making it out with this team in tact will somehow assuage the guilt he had buried in himself- the guilt he never wanted to feel (because it meant he cared / meant he failed / made him flawed, because gods didn't feel grief, did they?). ❝ i'd like to think i've learned from that tragedy so that i can help prevent this one from escalating more than it has already. ❞

yes, it's startlingly easy to play the role of the hero captain. maybe it hadn't been such an act in the end / maybe somewhere deep down he'd wanted to be that person. and it does feel better, in a way, to talk about what happened. a confession of sorts. another step toward finding himself under the layers of whatever spencer had made him / what he convinced himself he had to be. it feels better. foreign. hopeful.

Giovanni raises a brow on an otherwise stoic face. He didn't expect anyone with an Interpol uniform (even one he didn't recognize the division of) to be so glib with him of all people. But the older man isn't complaining. For all intents and purposes, they were on the same team together, and so long as no one tried to stab him in the back, he was content to extend his peace.

Interpol in its current form hadn't existed as long as the disappearances had been happening, and the troubles with war and other regional fallouts- he supposed it made sense that it would take this long to act on this particular case. All things considered, the world had been peaceful on the surface for much longer than many were used to.

The smaller scope things could be examined without having to justify the resources and expenses.

But this captain draws his interest, because of all that had assembled to help with this case, Wesker was the only one that did not have any apparent connection to anyone else in this case.

"Tch-" he snickers, "So, you were sent because of the disappearances? Forgive my cynicism. I'm not used to organizations acting on goodwill alone."

To be truthful, he might have thought that with the way this case was going that there may be something within the mansion that Interpol might want to recover for their own sake, before anyone else could.

He still has that thought, but he'll keep an open mind. Part of him wonders if he'd simply been in the business too long.

"I do appreciate the honesty," he says. It's a relief to hear when people don't try to insist on having 'good' reasons to be somewhere.

He tilts his head, "... How did the last string of disappearances you investigated go?"