Birth of a God [Pt. 2/?]
Well, I finally started writing again, but with my life hitting a slightly crazy turn, the words didn't flow as quickly as I liked. So this part is a bit short. [Still no sexy, I don't know if I'm just writing to a good part to introduce it, or I'm afraid I won't do it right, so I'm just killing as much time as possible before I has to.]
As he opened his eyes, a bright light penetrated, almost blinding him. He shielded them and slowly sat up. Spots of brightness remained in his sight.
He was no longer on the airship that much he knew. He no longer heard or felt the powerful engine that drove it forward.
“What the hell…?” Once he fully adjusted to the initial brightness, he looked around a bit.
The room had walls of some kind of gleaming metal, he couldn’t readily tell which. He turned his gaze to the lights above, a cluster of fluorescent bulbs shone strongly, giving the room a hospital feel. He tried not to stare for long, for the pain in his head returned twofold.
Clenching his eyes shut, he laid back down.
“What the hell happened…?” His eyes shot open. “Sheva! She’s…and Uroboros…” His mind jumped to the final skirmish high in the sky. Tears welled up once more.
Sheva died by his hand.
Uroboros was released.
He had failed his mission.
“Goddamn it!” He sat back up, but it was too fast for his battered head to handle. Sharp pains struck him and he clutched onto his head. He sat there for a while, eyes closed and his head in his hands, pressing on his forehead.
“Wesker…” Realization soon hit him. “Wesker!” He yelled at the lights above him, hoping that his will alone would summon the tyrant.
He shielded his eyes once more, but against his best judgment, he slowly stood up. The pain continued to its barrage, but he ignored it as best he could.
Standing up fully, he walked gingerly to the large door ahead of him. The only view he had on the outside world was not much a view at all. The door had a small window, bars lined up to block most of what he could see. Outside the door, he saw a hallway, doors similar to his lined up on either side. It looked like some kind of prison, or testing facility, he wasn’t too sure.
With the view only depressing him further, he took a step back and turned around. What he saw before him took him completely by surprise.
A simple bed, made up with a small pillow and sheets, with a pile of folded clothes on the center. Beside it, there was a sink and a small toilet. He thought he was insane, that they were just hallucinations, for he hadn’t seen any of this before. “Maybe that hit caused more damage than I thought…” He rubbed the back of his head gently.
He glanced again at the clothes on the bed and then looked at his own. Months of dirt, sweat and grime stained his previously light green shirt and white cargo pants. He smelled of blood, dirt and a little bit of Uroboros, which in his mind smelled of rotting flesh and vinegar, he felt grimy and awful.
Warily, he began to slip off his clothes, his eyes never leaving the clean garments on the bed, as if they were going to rush and attack him. He slowly stripped until he was left in his boxers, once bright blue, could now be mistaken for jet black. The first piece of clothing he grabbed was an olive green t-shirt, ironed of any possible creases. It fit comfortably, which bothered him. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t remain in only a t-shirt and his underwear. He slipped on the black cargo pants and the combat vest. Each part fit fine on him, but it only made him more nervous, especially the tactical vest.
Securing his empty holsters, he stepped to the small sink. Twisting the left knob, he saw water gush down, which looked relatively clean. He took his chances and splashed it onto his face, the cold forcing goose bumps. He dripped some of it onto his hair and scrubbed, the dirt clumping up and falling out easily.
Shaking himself clean, he sat down on the bed, bouncing a bit, testing the springs. It had to have been brand new, if not only slightly used.
“What is Wesker planning to do to me?” He looked at the wall before him, trying to force an answer out of thin air. It was, of course, to no avail. He didn’t think Wesker would even return, leaving him to suffer hunger, thirst, and inevitably death.
He fell back, exhaustion hitting him immediately. He could barely keep his eyes open, his sight losing focus again.
“I can’t fall asleep,” He shook his head and returned to the sink. “God knows what he could do to me…” Cold water splashed his face once more.
He looked into his own reflection in the slowly draining pool of water. All he saw was a scared, broken man, and those eyes. Glowing red, those eyes reflected the other’s anger. Slowly, he began to see the man who was the source of his personal hell.
Blonde hair slicked back, tan skin, barely showing his age, he stared back at Chris. So vividly the man’s face was, but no one else was here. Just him and his memories.
His hand reached into the water, disturbing the image. The waves pushed any remnant of his visage, and so only his face remained.
It was always Wesker. He always found a way to Chris; he always made sure to keep him alive, even if it meant killing others, just so he could be the one to kill him. This time was no different.
“Let him kill me. It won’t matter anyway.” He looked around his cell. “I have nothing more to live for anyway.” He stared at the last bit of water circling the drain.
Shaking off the creeping exhaustion, he returned to the door. The sight hadn’t changed from the last time, those same lonely cells, the same sterile walls, the same door at the end and bright fluorescent lights everywhere.
A smile crept onto his face.
He had a plan.
~
[I hope this amused you people at the very least. :>]
As he opened his eyes, a bright light penetrated, almost blinding him. He shielded them and slowly sat up. Spots of brightness remained in his sight.
He was no longer on the airship that much he knew. He no longer heard or felt the powerful engine that drove it forward.
“What the hell…?” Once he fully adjusted to the initial brightness, he looked around a bit.
The room had walls of some kind of gleaming metal, he couldn’t readily tell which. He turned his gaze to the lights above, a cluster of fluorescent bulbs shone strongly, giving the room a hospital feel. He tried not to stare for long, for the pain in his head returned twofold.
Clenching his eyes shut, he laid back down.
“What the hell happened…?” His eyes shot open. “Sheva! She’s…and Uroboros…” His mind jumped to the final skirmish high in the sky. Tears welled up once more.
Sheva died by his hand.
Uroboros was released.
He had failed his mission.
“Goddamn it!” He sat back up, but it was too fast for his battered head to handle. Sharp pains struck him and he clutched onto his head. He sat there for a while, eyes closed and his head in his hands, pressing on his forehead.
“Wesker…” Realization soon hit him. “Wesker!” He yelled at the lights above him, hoping that his will alone would summon the tyrant.
He shielded his eyes once more, but against his best judgment, he slowly stood up. The pain continued to its barrage, but he ignored it as best he could.
Standing up fully, he walked gingerly to the large door ahead of him. The only view he had on the outside world was not much a view at all. The door had a small window, bars lined up to block most of what he could see. Outside the door, he saw a hallway, doors similar to his lined up on either side. It looked like some kind of prison, or testing facility, he wasn’t too sure.
With the view only depressing him further, he took a step back and turned around. What he saw before him took him completely by surprise.
A simple bed, made up with a small pillow and sheets, with a pile of folded clothes on the center. Beside it, there was a sink and a small toilet. He thought he was insane, that they were just hallucinations, for he hadn’t seen any of this before. “Maybe that hit caused more damage than I thought…” He rubbed the back of his head gently.
He glanced again at the clothes on the bed and then looked at his own. Months of dirt, sweat and grime stained his previously light green shirt and white cargo pants. He smelled of blood, dirt and a little bit of Uroboros, which in his mind smelled of rotting flesh and vinegar, he felt grimy and awful.
Warily, he began to slip off his clothes, his eyes never leaving the clean garments on the bed, as if they were going to rush and attack him. He slowly stripped until he was left in his boxers, once bright blue, could now be mistaken for jet black. The first piece of clothing he grabbed was an olive green t-shirt, ironed of any possible creases. It fit comfortably, which bothered him. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t remain in only a t-shirt and his underwear. He slipped on the black cargo pants and the combat vest. Each part fit fine on him, but it only made him more nervous, especially the tactical vest.
Securing his empty holsters, he stepped to the small sink. Twisting the left knob, he saw water gush down, which looked relatively clean. He took his chances and splashed it onto his face, the cold forcing goose bumps. He dripped some of it onto his hair and scrubbed, the dirt clumping up and falling out easily.
Shaking himself clean, he sat down on the bed, bouncing a bit, testing the springs. It had to have been brand new, if not only slightly used.
“What is Wesker planning to do to me?” He looked at the wall before him, trying to force an answer out of thin air. It was, of course, to no avail. He didn’t think Wesker would even return, leaving him to suffer hunger, thirst, and inevitably death.
He fell back, exhaustion hitting him immediately. He could barely keep his eyes open, his sight losing focus again.
“I can’t fall asleep,” He shook his head and returned to the sink. “God knows what he could do to me…” Cold water splashed his face once more.
He looked into his own reflection in the slowly draining pool of water. All he saw was a scared, broken man, and those eyes. Glowing red, those eyes reflected the other’s anger. Slowly, he began to see the man who was the source of his personal hell.
Blonde hair slicked back, tan skin, barely showing his age, he stared back at Chris. So vividly the man’s face was, but no one else was here. Just him and his memories.
His hand reached into the water, disturbing the image. The waves pushed any remnant of his visage, and so only his face remained.
It was always Wesker. He always found a way to Chris; he always made sure to keep him alive, even if it meant killing others, just so he could be the one to kill him. This time was no different.
“Let him kill me. It won’t matter anyway.” He looked around his cell. “I have nothing more to live for anyway.” He stared at the last bit of water circling the drain.
Shaking off the creeping exhaustion, he returned to the door. The sight hadn’t changed from the last time, those same lonely cells, the same sterile walls, the same door at the end and bright fluorescent lights everywhere.
A smile crept onto his face.
He had a plan.
~
[I hope this amused you people at the very least. :>]