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"Heroes can save the world, but villains can change it."
- J.M. Frey -

Hands of darkness

1.Leather

"It suited you the blue, Al." she murmurs, rubbing the hem of his tactical pants between her thumb and forefinger.
"It matched the color of your eyes." she adds, letting her hand fall on her thighs.
Wesker turns, touching her bare back with his fingertips.
Alex relaxes under his touch, her spine uncoiling like the coils of a snake - an elegant, sinuous movement that highlights even more how much weight she has lost in recent months.
"Now I think leather is the most suitable material for you." she whispers, tilting her chin to the left and looking at him over her shoulder.

"Kevlar and titanium, carbon fiber and leather. It's the attire of a man at war, not a god in his kingdom, Al."

Both of their skins are too fragile to bear any more pain.

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2. Inflation

There is a dull anger in Alex's eyes: a frightened disgust.
The female Cerberus lets out an exhausted yelp, collapsing on the laboratory floor - between her legs a brood of deformed and hungry puppies.
"She can reproduce." William states, raising an eyebrow.
"It is a good news." he comments, chewing on the end of the pencil.
“This will significantly reduce costs.” he continues and one of the cubs bites her mother's paw, chewing it.
William steps closer to the containment glass, the plate distorting his features, making them a mask of flesh and blood - eyes pulsating and rolling in hundreds of sockets without order.
“And we don't even have to feed them.” he chuckles, the little cerberus pounce on her mother, tearing apart her belly still swollen with fluids and placenta.
"Marvelous." Birkin exclaims, clapping his hands together once, twice - the smell of the melted chocolate bar in the pocket of his lab coat makes her nauseous, the crunch of the dog's bones being torn deafens her and Annette's monotone voice 

Maybe you should stop taking those fucking pills, you fucking idiot.

presses on her temples, the virus pulls and shakes and bangs between her thoughts and...

"Only two survived, Lord Spencer."
"Who?"
"Number Twelve and Number Thirteen: a male and a female."
“Their vital functions?”
"Normal, for now."
"Um. Good. One day we will be able to breed them and continue the species."

Plotch.

One of the puppies looks up and points straight at her.

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3. Hate sex

It's not love: it can't be.
Leon rubs his bandaged side, staring at the gray wall in front of him.

"How old are you, kid?"
"Enough."
"Uhm, enough to do what? To die or to fight?"

It's not love: maybe it's respect, maybe admiration. Maybe desperation.

"A survivor of Raccoon City. They say it was hell down there."
"...the dead walked, Major."
"And you were one of them? Looking at you, you almost give the impression."

Leon starts to get up, stops mid-gesture - presses his lips in an uncertain grimace, feeling the weight of the knife against his thigh.

"It's a faster weapon than the pistol, kid. More reliable."

He sits down, running a hand over his face and closing his eyes - behind him Krauser's profile is a bulky, tangible presence.

"It's personal. With a knife you need to get close to your target - to feel it under your fingers, in your hands."

He bows his head, pulling a strand of hair to the right and holding back a clump of words that would make him look ridiculous — the same lost puppy who chased a woman in red through the streets of Raccoon City without asking questions.
Krauser's calm breathing is a counterpoint to the frenetic pounding of his heart.

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4. Teratophilia

One of these days he's going to kill you, he told her, pressing his index finger to his right nostril.
Maybe just as you were fucking, he had giggled, putting the tip of his nose close to the table and inhaling.
Would you like it, Excella?, he asked her without really caring about the answer - at least two thousand dollars worth of Colombian cocaine up in his brain.
Excella had smiled at him indulgently, drumming her pink and gold lacquered nails on the arm of the chair and swinging a bare foot in the air.
He won't do it, was her reply, dryly.
And if he were to try I know how to stop him, in the Chanel Boy model bag in hammered leather the syringe of PG67A/W to give her (false) security - power.
Ricardo had limited himself to looking at her with a somewhat absent look, in which his total distrust towards her statement was very clear.
Excella had clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, standing up with her back to him - dismissing his words as the babblings of a small, envious man.

Crack.

"Stay down." he murmurs, touching her face with a delicacy that contrasts brutally with the way he is pressing his hand on her back, just above her buttocks.
Wesker smiles against her cheek — baring his teeth — and there's a vibration trapped in his chest, a quiver that resembles laughter.

Cold, derisive.

Excella inhales, stops halfway through the gesture - the muscles of her side tighten around her lungs and tear a pained, helpless moan from her.

"He's a monster, Excella: perhaps the best performing we've ever met. And one of these days he's going to break that beautiful smooth back while you're still calling out his name."

Wesker welcomes Excella's suffering in an orgasm as ferocious as his thrusts.

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5. Sweat

She's like you, Birkin's leitmotiv.
You two are made of the same stuff, he told him at least once a day, swinging his pen over his curled upper lip.
Assholes alike, he commented afterwards, rummaging through the pockets of his lab coat looking for a snack.
All those words come back to him at once when Alex makes a sound somewhere between dissatisfaction and annoyance, shifting her weight from one hip to the other.
He sees her instinctively put her hand behind her back, then close it into a fist and bring it back to the desk.
Birkin pops a chewing gum balloon, the sweet smell of it in the air.
Wesker turns moving closer to her and placing his black leather belt with square buckle and nickel finish at her face level.
Alex shoots him a sideways glance, an almost offended glimmer in her eyes.
"Are you hot?" he asks her, and when she looks at him it's like reflecting himself in a mirror.
"No." she retorts and Wesker curves one corner of his lips upwards, brushing a lock of her hair away from her cheek and opening his fingers at the nape of her neck - his fingertips brushing against warm skin, damp with sweat and more.
“I can always turn on the air conditioner.” he offers then, Birkin slams his foot against the corner of the archive and unbalances himself forward.
Alex narrows her eyes, rotating in the chair and spreading her legs around him.
"Fuck you."
“It was what I wanted to do to you.”
"Then you should have closed that fucking door."
And he smiles, Wesker, because her frustration makes her vulgar - petulant and demanding.

She's like you, Al.

Birkin kicks the drinks dispenser, the centrifuge signals the end of its cycle with a sharp, lively beep.
Desire is a vice that crushes both.

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6. Dubcon

It was what she had always wanted.
It was the feeling she had sought in the endless nights between the laboratories and the containment cells - the attention she had craved, the recognition she had deserved.
Carla watches as the coffee slides into the cup, lightly splashing around the edges and staining the Carrara marble counter.
She tilts her chin to the right, resting her gaze on a nondescript, smooth, chrome kitchen timer.

Like her. 

The coffee machine flashes once, twice: it confirms the end of brewing, turning off after a few seconds.

Click, click.

There's a used spatula in the sink, a leftover turkey sandwich in the fridge - a man she loves in her bed.
She closes her fingers around the handle of the cup, ignoring the heat burning her knuckles, rising up her thighs, into her, where she had welcomed him as if he had been all - teacher and partner, father and mother.

"Will you do it for me, Carla?"

In the mirror her face no longer belongs to her.

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7. Waxplay

She's annoying.
She is annoying and she hits him between his shoulder blades when he tries to move, leaning towards him and glaring.
“You have to try to guess.”
Wesker sighs, feeling the annoyance be licked by mild amusement.
“It's child's play.” he retorts, turning his head to the right and closing his eyes again.
"Humor me." she teases, rocking back and forth - her thighs parted around his hips, a burnt candle in her left hand.
Wesker flexes his shoulder muscles, releasing a sound somewhere between a grunt and a laugh from her.
"You're childish."
Alex lowers herself down his body, pressing her breasts against his back and clasping her hands at the back of his neck.
"Maybe it was a nice thing."
Wesker cracks a mocking smile, narrowing one eye - blue, cold as the sky above Raccoon City.
"Or an insult." Alex then adds, tilting her head to the side.
"Now you won't know anymore." she comments, blowing out the candle and plunging the room into darkness.
"What a disgrace." he murmurs, the embrace from just before leaving him satisfied, calm.
Alex is silent, the silence interrupted only by the sound of the snow that has begun to gather in the streets of the city.
"It was a nice thing." she then tells him, the first traces of sleep in her voice.
Wesker curls one corner of his lips upwards, the wax hardens on the skin of his back, leaving translucent, reddened drools.
Over the years Alex will engrave those words between his bones and with her blood.

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8. Breeding

They are a new breed.
They are the offspring of an experiment already attempted - a successful Lebensborn Project.
They are the beautiful face of a Reich that cannot die - a dream rooted in the very nature of men.
We all want to be better: we all want to write history and be its conquerors - the role of the victim is a farce, the symbol of a weakness to be eradicated and fought.
Winners are remembered, losers mocked - a fate even worse than being forgotten.

Obedience breeds discipline, discipline breeds unity, unity breeds power.

Wesker lifts his gaze from the documents to Alex's.

"I'm part of it too, Al."

He tightens his fingers in the sheets, crumpling them - at the bottom of the pupil a furious, very hard glimmer.

"How many?"
"Hundreds."
“Why are there only thirteen here?”
"...they didn't make it, Al. None of them."

Alex presses her lips into a thin, whitish line - a scar cutting across her pale, angular face.

"There's only the two of us left."
"... Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why now?"
"...I felt alone, Al."

"You always knew."
Alex looks at him, holding his gaze.
"Yes."
Wesker curls his lips in a disgusted grimace, steps back, immediately regains his composure and lets a neutral, indifferent expression slide across his face.

"We can kill him, Al. We can get revenge."

Alex lifts her arm, leaving her hand suspended mid-gesture of reaching out to him — a plea and an offering.

"Us? There is no us, Dr. Fayer."

She lets her arm fall to her side, eyes still on his.
"Power is life." she murmurs, quoting the conclusion of the company motto.
"Knowledge is power, Al." she adds, a sad, melancholy expression in her eyes.
“And without that power you can never be free.” she concludes, the virus languishing in his thoughts, hurt and pained.
Wesker holds onto a past of which he no longer wants to be either a victim or a pawn.

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9. Stripping

They look at each other, and they both know what they are.

Traitors.

Leon tightens his fingers around the handle of the knife, feeling its weight, its solid, cold consistency.
Krauser tilts his head towards his shoulder, his lips tense in a smile in which pride mixes with resignation.
"Kid." he calls him and his memory deceives him, bringing him back to a bed that is too narrow and too full.

"You're here to forget, but it won't work, kid. It never works."

Leon inhales sharply, tenses his thigh muscles - ignores the flames getting closer to their feet.

"Who was she?"
"Nobody."
"Uhm. And you were sent all the way down here for a nobody? You suck even more at lying than you do at fighting."

Krauser advances, swings the blade in the air - a familiar gesture, repeated in the training camp gym as well as in the privacy of his room, when there was no longer any rank or skin left to hide them from each other. other.
“Did the bitch in red screw you again, huh?” he asks, but it's not a real question.

“Wipe that naive look off your face, kid: you're practically begging others to kick your ass.”

Leon presses his lips together, refuses to answer - to admit the truth.
Krauser smiles and for a moment - a breath - it's all so wrong and unfair and this isn't how things should have been and maybe he can still change them and...

"I trained you well, Leon."

Regret will be the only thing that will remain of them.

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10. Praise kink

You're magnificent, he tells her as he bites her.
You're perfect, he repeats, touching the depressions left by his teeth.
You're everything I ever wanted, he murmurs on her skin, squeezing her neck with gold threads and pearls.
You will be by my side forever, he whispers to her, promises bleeding onto the sheet, between her breasts.

"You will be the first, Excella: queen of all of them - ruler of the world I am preparing fo us."

When the Uroboros penetrates her blood, tearing apart dreams and hopes, Wesker's smile still seems beautiful to her.

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11. Humiliation

It is Pestilence come to claim its place in the apocalypse they are writing.
He is a vengeful and anger-prone boy who is unable to accept defeat.
He is a genius trapped in a reductive-limiting and limited body.
William throws the centrifuge to the ground with the test tubes still inside, compulsively crushing the glass under the sole of his shoe - a hideous faded and worn moccasin.
"She's not smarter than me." he barks, staring at them with bright, feverish eyes.
Alex raises both eyebrows, at her  side Wesker - quiet and reserved as a shadow.
"She's just a slut." he hisses, snapping the pen — blood and ink between his fingers.
"I will destroy her." he promises, and the smile he gives to Alexia's photo is fierce - magnificent.
Annette swallows another Tavor's pill and accepts William's humiliation for what it is: the fear of being nothing.

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12. Somnophilia

It is while he watches her sleep that he decides to lie to her.
It's as she presses a hideous green sock with Christmas reindeer drawn into his side that he understands what that painful ache in his chest is.
He looks at her, barely touching her cheek - her survivor instincts have made her sensitive to even the slightest movement.
Only one message on the mobile screen,

the number you called is no longer active

the letter A. remind him of a promise and a debt.

"You love her."
"I'm not sure and..."
"It's not a question, Karl."

Claire mumbles in her sleep and rests her head on Cadou's scar, smiling.

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13. Size difference

She is small, and young.
She lets her gaze slide along the walls of his office, wearing only blood and a smoky lace panty (La Perla, Peony line) and silk - a tremendously adult garment for a little girl just on the cusp of puberty.
She approaches his desk, leaning over the edge and shooting a curious glance at the documents on his desk pad.
"A new virus?" she asks him and Wesker stiffens his back, remaining silent.
The little girl - Natalia - turns, staring at him - around her pupil there a reddish, infected halo.
She studies him for a few seconds, approaching in a fluid, graceful movement - around her a known, loved smell.
She stops, lifting her chin and looking up at him; she presses her index finger into his shirt, just below his left pectoral, then curling her lips into a grimace.
"You were already taller than me before, but now you're really huge." she protests, frowning at him and stepping on his shoes with her bare feet.
Wesker tilts his chin down, examining her carefully - a little thing, barely five foot six, pale and having just ripped through his soldiers with her bare hands.

"It's me, Al. It's Alex."

Natalia Alex smiles at him like a lifetime before.

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14. Orgasm denial

Tic, tac.

The metronome swings left and right, left and right.

Tic, tac. Tic, tac. 

Alex holds up the next page of the report on the D-03 experiment, on her wrist a watch with a diamond dial and galuchat setting, Cartier, Indomptables collection.

Tic, tac. Tic, tac. 

The heads of a panther and a tiger respectively bite the two ends of the dial, their emerald and sapphire eyes stare at him with derision and pity.

Tic, tac. Tic, tac. 

"Everything okay, Daniel?"
Fabron looks away from Alex's wrist, finding Wesker's eyes already in his - amused, cold as his hands around his throat, along his cock.

Tic, tac. Tic,

Alex closes the file, sighing - bored, restless.

Tac.

Daniel presses his lips together and waits.

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15. Shotgunning

Wet, warm; still red from the marks of his  bites - her eyes half-closed in the torpor of sleep, one hand on her breast, the other on his abdomen drawing imaginary lines.

Click.

A cloud of smoke expands above them, fire-cured tobacco and maninka in the air.
"You are worried." she murmurs, leaning on one elbow and resting her head on his chest.
Wesker exhales, tapping his thumb on the filter of his cigarette - Parliament Filters.
Alex follows the languid movement with which he inhales, holding the smoke in his mouth for a few moments and then releasing it in soft, gray swirls.
She stands, wrapping her legs around his hips and lifting herself onto him.
"Al." she calls him, but there is no reproach in her voice, no annoyance.
Wesker lets his arm dangle over the edge of the bed, a pent-up tension under his skin - painful.
"The mortality rate is 100%." he confesses to her, dryly.
Alex looks at him - a trickle of blood around his left nipple, between her thighs the stickiness of a just satisfied orgasm.
“I have to find a way to lower it.” he continues, neutral - a poorly concealed irritation in his voice.
"If I can't..." he begins, but Alex brushes his lips with her fingertips, stealing his words and his breath.

"You will fail. You will fail and I won't be able to save you, Al."

She bends over him, kisses him - desperation and desire under her tongue.
The cigarette falls to the floor, forgotten.

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16. Public

An Elie Saab in silk and gold and silver crystals; around the neck threads of the same color, transparent tulle - the back bare almost up to the buttocks, the hips narrow in a mermaid model with long sleeves.
Wesker lifts his chin, shooting her a flattering look, to which Alex responds by smiling from behind the rhyme of the flute.
"She speaks well." she begins, taking a sip of white wine - a Gaja Gaia & Rey Chardonnay Langhe strongly desired by Excella.
Wesker twists the stem of his flute between his fingers, spilling its contents into the nearby plant.
"Among other things, I guess." Alex comments, and under her elaborate hairstyle and light makeup he can see the anger coloring her eyes, her cheeks.
Excella shakes hands with investors, focusing in particular on a lanky, balding man - Logan Myers, owner of 73% of the North Peak company, in the oil sector.
A waiter passes them by, tilting the tray slightly towards them and withdrawing it when they both ignore him - Wesker's reptilian pupil hidden behind a pair of blue contact lenses.
Alex studies him in silence for a few seconds, then extends a hand towards him.
Wesker follows his movement out of the corner of his eye, watching her brush against his eyelashes, the space under his eye.
"They don't look like yours at all." she murmurs, her gaze lost in an old memory - an old moment.
Wesker wraps his fingers around her wrist, kissing her palm — another stolen memory.

"It's a new world you're contributing to, gentlemen."

Time will not spare any of them.

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17. Vore

It's need, obsession.
It is torment and relief - urge and hunger.
It is delirium and possession, tragedy and passion.
Alex spreads her fingers across his face, blood between her teeth, down her chin.
She looks at him and breaks him down, searching him with the same curiosity with which she conducted an experiment or tortured a guinea pig.
Wesker grabs one of her legs, pulling her closer until he hears her hip bones creak - he thrusts into her as if he could reach inside her, absorb her and make her his forever.
Alex moans, letting herself be led - she pushes herself on his cock with the same urgency.
And it's not enough,

it never will be

but that languor has become voracious, demanding; it asks and asks and devours, making us both want to bite and tear and carve a space in each other's skin, so that there's no more space between them, breath.

"I know what you want, Al, because I want it too."

Alex runs along the tense line of his neck with the tip of her tongue, lingering on the left corner of his mouth and then seeking him out in a sloppy, languid kiss.
Wesker tangles his fingers in her hair, comes - presses her against his chest, crushing her until she breathes just because he breathes too.

She lives only because he lives too.

Alex clings to him with the same, fierce, urgency.

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18. Olfactophilia

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. 

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19. Uniform

She has a different uniform, but what remains of her still clings to the memory of him - of his warmth.
She always wears the colors of blue and purple, but her uniform is tighter now - more performing.
She still wears her hair in a low ponytail, but they has lost all color - texture.
She strikes, and there is the same practiced efficiency in her gestures - in her movements.

"Jillian."

Jill raises her head,

"Hey, supercop."

she follows his voice,

"Next time we see each other I'll see if I can bring you some alfajores."

she meets unknown eyes, reptilian and monstrous.

"And so the old man had another villa in England: who knows why this doesn't surprise me."

Wesker gives her a neutral, almost annoyed look: Excella joins him, staring at her as if she were a broken, useless toy.

"Be careful, supercop: guys like him destroyed a city to cover up their shit."
"It's nice of you to worry about me."
"Oh, I'm just doing it because then who would understand my wonderful sense of humor?"

Carlos' face is the only thing keeping her from screaming when Wesker injects her with P30 and her blood burns.

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20. Foodplay

A filet mignon in Franciacorta sauce; a handful of baked potatoes, rosemary and basil-flavoured oil in the air.
Alex looks up at him, taking a sip of water.
"Aren't you hungry, Daniel?" Wesker asks him, cutting a piece of meat.
Fabron inhales, tries to resist the nausea that closes his stomach - under his tongue bile and the acidic residues of vomiting from an hour ago.
"He wants to be a model." Alex teases, resting an elbow on the table and crossing her legs - the black midi skirt goes up, revealing her pale, toned thighs.
Wesker curves his lips into an indulgent, almost affectionate smile.
"So cute." he retorts, pressing the tines of his fork into the fillet and watching the blood staining a roast potato.
Alex rests her chin in the palm of her hand, leaning towards him - the shirt so white it's transparent, threads of gold and lapis lazuli between her breasts.
"I find you fit very well." she states, looking him up and down.
Wesker lets out a line somewhere between a laugh and a snort, earning a teasing sound from Alex - a dialogue that only they understood the meaning of.
"Al." she teases, swinging a shoe on her toe.
Daniel swallows, lowering his gaze and staring at the now cold medallion of meat - a handful of limp, soggy green beans nearby.

"You have to parch the meat to make it tender: tear ligaments and skin, fatty parts and bones."

Alex smiles,

bares her teeth

Wesker puts another piece of meat in his mouth,

"The cord that runs along the piece must be removed from the fillet, cutting the skin that holds it together with a pointed and sharp knife and then pulling it towards you, Daniel."

running her thumb over her lower lip - blood on her hands, in Albert's eyes.

"It takes strength, and determination."

Alex looks at him, then stretching her fingers towards his face and touching his cheek in a red and white caress.

"Especially when the beast is as unruly as this French cow."

When they touch him, his body responds faster than disgust.

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21. Tickling

"The rookie will be a problem."
Wesker zooms in on the village square, on Kennedy's confused face.
"I told you so."
The left screen sends him Ada's vital signs, in the upper corner the photo of Spencer in Romania - next to him men already dead.
"She will betray you."
He turns a knob on the control panel and the three-dimensional model of The Amber comes to life, tilting forward, then back again.

Cling.

A sigh; a lump of unspoken words.
"She has a weak heart; she likes the rookie."
"I know." he retorts back at her, leaning back in his chair.
"Uhm." is all she answers, pressing her toe between his ribs.
Wesker turns, grabbing her ankle and receiving an amused, sly smile in return.
"Are you going to kill her?"
“It's a helpful asset.”
Alex frowns, lips curling into a pouting grimace, not at all happy.
"Traitors die, Al." she murmurs, tensing — under his fingers her muscles contract, the tendons flex.
Wesker tightens his grip around Alex's ankle, tugs, pulling her towards him - the chair she was lying in hitting the arm of his.
Alex supports herself with her hands, lifting her hips and bending her leg towards his chest.
"Control, do you receive me?"
Ada's voice vibrates in the air, static - distant.
"Control, we have a problem."
Alex looks at him, a wild, merciless glimmer in her eyes: not at all amused - deeply irritated.
Wesker holds his position, his earpiece flashing with each incoming transmission.
"Control, there's more activity than I expected: I might..."

Click.

Alex presses the red stop button, an ambiguous, severe expression on her face.
She studies him in  silence for a few more seconds, then breaking into a beautiful and fake smile - the same one that he also offered to Excella every time.
"You're tickling me, Al." she whispers, jerking her chin towards his fingers around her ankle.
"You know I'm sensitive to certain things." she adds, mellifluous - dangerous.
Wesker flares his nostrils slightly, sensing her  anger - her insecurity.
When he opens his hand Alex recoils like a wounded snake already thinking about her next move.

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22. Bondage

“These are not normal knots.”
Wesker ignores him, continuing to read.
"Where the fuck did you learn to make those? In the army?"
Annette refrains from intervening, sighing.

Thump.

"Holy shit." Birkin hisses, falling out of his chair and slamming his shoulder into the desk.
"Release me, Al." he repeats, tugging at the makeshift rope binding his wrists, his ankles.
"No." he replies dryly.
William's eyes widen, opening and closing his mouth like a dry fish.
"Al!" he screams, writhing on the floor.
Wesker puts the file down, thumb marking the page he had reached.
"When you learn to act like an adult." is the only thing he replies to him, taking off his glasses and folding the arms against his chest.
Annette lets out a thin, almost hysterical laugh; she raises one hand to her chin, putting her free hand into the pocket of her lab coat. 
Wesker gives her a neutral, detached look; he stands, leaning over Birkin and curving his lips into a half-smile.
"Ask Dr. Fayer; she's very talented when it comes to kinks." he murmurs at him, patting his back and walking past him.

Plop.

Annette pops the white cap off the Tavor package and swallows two tablets.

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23. Deepthroating

It's a reflex; an instinct.
He puts a hand to his neck, feeling the stiffness — the epiglottis moving up, then down, the inner walls of his pharynx burning, forcing him to clear his throat.
Alex gives him a sidelong glance, the shadow of an unpleasant, knowing smile on her face.
Daniel ignores her, taking a sip of water - up and down, an annoyance that reminds him of when his tonsils were removed and when he woke up he suddenly felt a sense of emptiness, as if there had been too much space.
He stares at the lemon floating at the bottom of the glass, a eucalyptus candy under his tongue.
"Did you get cold, Daniel?" Alex asks him, fakely interested.
Fabron presses his lips together, dilating his nostrils.
"You should care more." she adds, looking over her shoulder.
"Ours is a constant job; we can't afford sick days." she comments, widening her smile.
Daniel shifts his weight from one hip to the other, stops when a hand lands on the back of his neck, just above the collar of his shirt.

"It's not difficult, Daniel: just breathe through your nose and concentrate."

He crushes the candy between his molars, stares at Alex — the fingers at the back of his neck tangle loosely in his hair and squeeze.

"Open up, Daniel: if you tense like that it might hurt a little."

Wesker flanks him and maintains his hold.

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24. Crossdressing

Their father had always dressed her in black and red, but when she wrinkles the wisteria fabric between her fingers she understands that she is not Veronica - that she will never be someone else's pathetic dream.
"You are very beautiful."
Alexia places the dress on herself, turning first to the right, then to the left.
"I know." she retorts, but there's a hint of sincere flattering in her words - in the satisfied expression that lights up her face.
Alfred flanks her, overlapping her in an unnatural symmetry - the same straight and aristocratic line of the nose, the same slim and smooth physical structure.
"Can I try it?" he asks and Alexia has a twinge of jealousy, curling her fingers in the hem of her dress.
Alfred closes his  mouth, hurt - her twin, her omega; always so painfully synchronized with her emotions, the restless movements of her soul.
She presses her lips together, sighing.
"Here." she tells him and when Alfred smiles she knows why she must do it - because the Father must die and they will survive.
Wisteria is also her brother's color.

Chapter Text

25. Human furniture

She had claimed the right to call Ada a useless slut; to call Albert Wesker a colossal imbecile.

Pathetic.

She had destroyed to create her revenge - she had torn away the hope of hundreds of people, deceived and killed so that she could be worthy,

Excella thought she could be one too, you know? But she never really was – and neither are you.

to be loved - wanted.

Plotch.

Carla closes her clawed fingers on the wound in her shoulder, watching as the helicopter hovers overhead — Kennedy screaming, Redfield advancing.

One, two, three steps - right foot in front of left foot, pelvis slightly rotated and gun raised; the good soldier who came to bring her to justice.

She turns, seeing them - ghosts and monsters, nightmares and dreams.

An object; nothing more than an instrument, not unlike a piece of laboratory furniture: this is what you were. This will always be you for him.

Carla opens her arms and falls.

Chapter Text

26. Overstimulation

He wakes up to a roar - a silent sound that explodes in his head, behind his eyelids.
The virus flares up, chases every nerve ending, every cell - finally finds,

finally

a handhold of flesh and blood and bone.
His eyes widen, but in reality he can't see is that his sockets are empty

for now

and that pain is the only pulsation that he can perceive - understand.

It hurts.

There are images even before there is a fully formed brain

"You will fail. You will fail and I won't be able to save you, Al."

uncoordinated, confused sensations.

Sticky and hot; soft and smooth - sharp and rough.

There are thoughts that don't make any sense,

"I can't lose! Not against you!"

memories that seem like hopes.

“What if you don't come back?”
"Then wait for me, Alex."

Under the astonished and frightened eyes of Monica Ravoski the god rises again and screams. 

Chapter Text

27. S&M

It's a game where they're both losers.
She pulls, Alex - he resists, closing his fingers around a chain of glass and edges.
She bleeds, Alex - he sinks, holding her heart and feeling its fragility, its heat.
She's a fucking sadist, Al: but I guess you like her that way, William had said, unwrapping a peanut and chocolate Wafer Roll.
Wesker lifts her chin, watches her descend on him like a curse and a promise - around her neck the prints of his fingers stand out brutally, red on white.
Alex slips her index finger under his leather collar, scratching him - engraving her very existence on his skin, his soul.
She looks at him, tilting her head towards her bare shoulder, a trickle of blood between her lips, where she had bitten herself when he hit her.
For a few moments they simply remain like that - suspended between a role and a mask.
Alex then folds her index finger, drawing him towards her - she slides over his body in the same movement with which she takes his breath away, kissing him.
Hurting themselves is the only way they know to find comfort and peace.

Chapter Text

28. Body Worship

There is an unexpected delicacy in Claire's gestures - a form of shy reserve that hurts, pricking his heart and conscience.
She does it without thinking; a pat on his shoulder as they walk, her feet pressed against his back when she tries to hug him in her sleep.
She touches him, Claire, and her fingers are gentle - they run over his scars without asking questions, listing their own to him as if it were a competition, a game.

"You are not alone, Alrich."

Claire squints one eye, between her thumb and forefinger the metal plates - a Russian action film on television.
"You're soft." she murmurs and Karl lets out a sudden laugh – sincere and surprised.
“No one has ever called me that.” he retorts at her, moving the ice cream bowl a little further to the right.
Claire closes her eyes, settling better against his chest and stretching her legs over the arm of the sofa.
"Because they're all idiots." she mumbles, resting her head in the space between his shoulder and neck.
“And you smell good.” she whispers, then slipping between sleep and wakefulness.
Karl opens his mouth to reply, immediately closing it again.

"You taste like death and desperation, Alex: and anger. So much anger I could choke the whole village with it."
"And you smell like a wet and tormented dog, Karl: you carry it around like a blanket - not even motor oil and the putridity of corpses can cover it."
"Then I guess we're two losers, you and me."

Claire is everything beautiful and right that Miranda had mercilessly taken away from him.

Chapter Text

29. Incest

He isn't sure what he had expected of himself; perhaps indignation. Worry, annoyance. Sure not disgust or revulsion; those were feelings he certainly wouldn't feel over a fuck.

Or for her.

He rereads the results of the tests - genetic compatibility at 89% - grasping their uniqueness, their singularity.
“Sesquizygotes.” he states, placing the paper on the coffee table.
Alex stares at him with the same neutral expression since she handed himthe document - her fingers loosely intertwined, her elbows resting on her thighs.
“It's a pretty rare occurrence.”
“So were the Ashfords.” Alex replies dryly.
Wesker waves one hand in a disinterested gesture, reaching for his cigarette case in his pants pocket with the other.
"They were created." he points out, taking out a small silver box and opening it.
He takes a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it to his lips and lighting it - he inhales, holding the smoke in his throat for a few moments before releasing it into the air.
"Not us. Not in that sense, at least." he then comments, shooting her a sidelong glance.
Alex studies him in silence and Wesker knows that she is dissecting him - he can feel those too blue and too transparent eyes searching him with the same arrogance with which she did everything else in life.
"I'm your brother." he reiterates and saying it out loud has a different flavor - it gives it consistency, depth.
"Twin." she points out and there is now the shadow of a smile - sharp, sly.
Wesker exhales, stretching his fingers out in front of him - inviting her.
Alex contemplates the gesture, then reaches out for his hand. 
"Second thoughts?" he asks her, but it's not a real question.
"No." she replies, standing up when Wesker pulls her slightly towards him and sitting down next to her.
Wesker puts out his cigarette in the ashtray, his fingers firm around Alex's.
"Good." is all he says before pushing her back onto the pillows and towering over her, tracing the bare skin of her abdomen and up to her breast, then squeezing her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. small and pink - delicate. .
When he kisses her - when he repeats to himself that she is his, really and only his - something in him finally finds relief.

Chapter Text

30. Free use

He finds himself thinking this as he stares at the green cap of the milk bottle — a fleeting image, touching the dark corners of his memory, waiting.

“Do you really want to help me or are you just doing it to use me?”

The coffee machine flashes green, signaling the end of brewing - in the air the smell of slightly burnt bread and the stronger smell of scrambled eggs.

"You're naive, kid: you still believe that love exists - that suffering makes us human and that pain unites us."

He remains suspended in the gesture of pouring milk into the cup, in the corridor of the apartment building the sound of a door slamming, the chatter of a child with his mother.

"You make yourself available to others as if it were a beautiful thing: as if you expected them to ask, instead of taking and then throwing you away."

He presses his lips together, turning off the burner under the pan and watching the blackened eggs - down his throat burnt flesh and molten metal.

"The horror was seeing them all die! Everyone! And what did the government do for me? For you?"

He abruptly moves away from the kitchen counter, leaning against the fridge - Krauser's accusation cruelly overlapping Arias'.

"He was a remarkable man, Albert Wesker. The void he left will now be filled by jackals and hyenas."

“For who do you work now?”
"A professional never reveals her secrets, Leon. You should know that."

He grits his teeth, dropping to the ground and putting his head in his hands.

"It couldn't have been her, Chris: not Ada."
"My men died because of her, Kennedy, so get the fuck out and stop protecting that bitch."

"You have two choices, Agent Kenendy: work for us or be transferred."

The elevator on the floor comes into action with a harsh, jarring sound: the coffee begins to cool, the milk drips from the counter - plic, plic, plic, plotch.

“Was anything ever true Ada Jack?”

Leon presses the back of his hands to his eyelids and swallows his innocence.

Chapter Text

31. Tentacles, Heartbeat, Breathplay

It is in the darkness of the room that his new and deformed heart beats, releasing a faint orange glow.
Alex stares at him with an almost childish curiosity, touching it with her fingertips.
She follows its contours, tracing a depression with her little finger that then slides under his skin, fitting into the aortic arch.
She leans forward, watching out of the corner of her eye as a black thread curls around her wrist, running up her arm and soothing the space between her neck and shoulder.
"You're awake." she states, quietly.
Wesker breathes, his entire body seems to (re)awaken, coming to life.
Alex rises with the movement, her hand still open on his chest.
"It's leathery." she adds, lightly tapping her index finger on the apex of his heart.
Wesker opens one eye, the reptilian pupil contracting, reducing itself to a slit swallowed by the red iris.
“It remains a weak point.” she specifies and the sound that reverberates in the palm of her hand is that of a stifled laugh - an amused and arrogant quiver.
Alex clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, gasps when a second tentacle slithers up her thigh, coiling at her crotch and yanking her downward.
She presses her lips together just in time to prevent a surprised moan from escaping, she finds herself enveloped by the Uroboros - a smooth, liquid cloak.
"It's not funny." she mutters and one of its offshoots opens around her throat, touching her exactly as he always had before — when Raccoon City still existed and their humanity was still an impenetrable, intact mask.
Alex tilts her head to the left, rubbing a tentacle between her thumb and forefinger - an extension of his master.
“You must really enjoy being able to walk around with that wandering appendage of a virus.” she states, haughtily.
Wesker curves just one corner of his lips upward at her, rising on his elbows and brushing his fingers across her cheeks - flesh and blood, skin and muscle.
Alex leans towards him, feels the Uroboros absorbing her - enclosing them both in a very black and hot shell.
She looks at him, and as much as they look like two children hiding under the sheet to escape the Babadook of the story, now they are what hides in the dark - the monster under the bed, the nightmare that has come to devour you while you sleep.
He is pale, her brother, but so is she - white on her skin, in her hair; a diaphanous creature, which is colored red only in the eyes, between her thighs.
She smiles, Alex, because the horror has won - the hero has been defeated.
She smiles, seeking him out in a languid, demanding kiss — releasing a wild and majestic creature.
Wesker lifts her by her waist and Alex releases a moan from her as he thrusts into her — the Ouroboros expands, making them One and All.

The same heartbeat; the same breath.

Alex arches back, Wesker moves between her hips leisurely, wrapping his arms around her and the Uroboros  -pulling her to him as if it wasn't enough to be inside her, but he wanted to devour her whole.

"I told you I would find a way."

The orgasm tears away every other thought from them.

"You are mine, you know you're mine, he cried wildly.
The moonlight twisted in through the vines and listened,
the fireflies hung upon their whispers
as if to win his glance from the glory of their eyes."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald -