‘Just take her.’
‘She can barely sit upright.’
‘No one will know where to even look for her.’
‘She will thank you, later.’
“Here, I want to show you something.” He says, steadying the panicked stream of consciousness that attempted to cloud his mind. It was difficult, seeing someone like her, so weakened, by the betrayal of the human body and its inherent frailty.
“I have no intention of harming you.” She knew that much, of course. They would not be conversing now, had he such intentions in mind. But, something in him wishes to reaffirm his intentions, anyway. Perhaps, his bedside manner has improved somewhat, after all.
He takes off his glasses, neatly folding them onto the table between them, and looks at her with the eyes of a tyrant reborn, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips when she, predictably, doesn’t even flinch.
“Look at me, for a moment.” He speaks each word slowly and deliberately, softer than usual. He cannot penetrate her mind fully like he would with an infected individual, as the virus in her dwells dormant, for now. But, he can just caress the surface.
Something within her blooms and spills over, warming her blood, pumping it with slow, loud thuds in her throat and the back of her head. Something distorted, crimson and gold, gleams akin to a twisted sun against the darkness of a pitch black void, hungering, yearning to grow bigger and better, endless and eternal.
His feelings pour into hers. He wants her to know his power, to find hers, and to be worthy of something more, something bigger, something new that will belong to those worthy of breathing the same air as them.
He is so bitter, so filled with malice and resentment, so hurt - there is nothing else left inside of him. His presence is cold and suffocating, even under the burning crimson sun. He looks to the flame with hope for …something.
Something different.
Something better.
It all blurs into a mess of red and gold, trickling down her spine in a cold shudder, settling into a knot of impending doom in her stomach.
Alyssa Ashcroft is not dying, and was not dying. The frailty of the body was on full display, and Wesker lingered around like a fly rubbing its paws together while she wasted with drugs. It made her sharp at the edges and more prone to spasmodic fits of restlessness and rage. More rage, than anything. She really wasn't in any shape to do much.
Or so she thought. Because he did something to her. She didn't know if it was the eye contact, staring at him again. A few authors wrote about the abyss as less of a metaphysical concept and more of a physical state of being, and it seeped into the scar in her brain that was still there. And made her cold, and furious.
It was like looking at an empty skin of a man, whose fingerprint and shape had been left behind but the rest was utterly dead and rotting. A lesser evil would've been compulsed to cow before this unbelievable void of malice and emotion. There was something final there, and a realization that came full circle.
She hated him. She hated very few people in the world. People were obstacles or they were allies, and stupid or self-actualized. There wasn't anybody that drew on her hate quite like this thing that was Albert Wesker. And it caught like a wildfire.
Pity's the only thing you deserve and I'm not giving you that.
She turned his cheek with a hand, very slowly, almost in a daze, sitting up to collect his face into her hands and draw herself close. It's something he'd wanted for ages she thinks.
She pulled her lips back, and bit him faster than she thought possible, her horrific teeth punching through his eye and sinking into the flesh while she thrashed, a zombie with its own faculties.
She snared and ripped back, and bit him again like a wild animal, her noxious teeth seeping into his blood. She can't overpower him.
But she can make him hurt, and sick, and coat the entire floor with his toxic body.
Alyssa pushed her weight against him to let gravity yank him to the floor with a deep, distorted growl.
"Get out."
