Chapter Text
Drip ...
Drip ...
Drip ...
"You're doing wonderful,"
You hear a gruff voice from a shadowy corner of your thoughts, the tone serene and comforting, a soft blanket of protection, "It's okay, this is what you wanted. You wanted this. To always be safe and protected," there is shifting, you feel someone shifting, alongside the sickening sound of rushing liquid. "Never trying to leave my side. No more struggling, just the way I intended. Nothing—no one—will ever hurt you again. You'll be home with me forever. You're doing incredible, I'm proud of you, dear." The person's words were beguiling. You knew that much. They sounded so familiar. A stern yet comforting voice.
More dripping. A silent roar of a device.
You were interrupted by a distant pause, causing a bitter buzzing sensation in your brain. White noise invaded your ears and pulsed painfully throughout your body. Yet the voice continued its gentle caress around your brain. "Do you want me to make the pain go away? You're doing so well. So obedient. Do you want me to make it go away?" Their voice was so honeyed and soothing, you couldn't help but feel a little better as your body grew listless, everything around you fading to black, the voice now sounding like it was in your ear, close enough to whisper charmingly to you. Weightless.
"Just say it, dear, just say you want me to make it go away."
The dull ache in your bones, the smouldering pain spreading throughout your body, made you want to say yes , yes, you wanted it to go away. Yes , it hurt. You weren't sure if you spoke, not even sure if you made a groan of acknowledgement to the person's voice who sounded like Wesker—was it Wesker? Sounded just like him—at least to your muddled brain. Maybe your head idled to the side. Maybe you did make a groaning noise. Though it felt like someone had laid your prone body on dozens, possibly hundreds, of the tips of nails. Did something happen? God, you couldn't remember anything.
Drip ...
Drip ...
A gasp was heard in response, the telltale sound of a medical instrument being carefully adjusted, meeting your hammering eardrums, your heart pounding in your throat. "Yes, yes—you want it to go away. You want me to make the pain go away. You trust me; well, of course, you do. You've no reason not to. I've got you, dearheart, I'll keep you safe now. Don't worry, I'll make it all go away soon, it'll be nothing more than a memory," The warmth in the voice grew as your consciousness began to fade away into dull static, your hearing giving way to bitter nothingness.
"Just a memory."
You weren't sure how much time passed before you woke up, but it had to have been a long time. You felt tired, almost numb as you slowly opened your eyes to feel a bright light on the ceiling above pulsating through your retinas. The room you woke up in was familiar in a way, of course, it was. It was a hospital room of sorts, you recall. You had spent many nights in places like these, and after a few minutes of trying in vain to move, you couldn't move your legs below the knees anymore, nor could you feel them, not even in the slightest. It was as if you were paralyzed.
That shadowy figure is in your peripheral again, just barely out of reach.
"Look at you—" A voice came from a corner near you, your name feeling like a cruel mockery. It seemed so similar to the voice you heard before, but you shelved that thought. Wesker and that person sounded so similar. "It seems like you had another little fright, hm? We can't let you move about too much. No, no, we can't," A comforting, gloved, yet rough hand laid itself right at the side of the bed you lie in, fingers curling at the thinly veiled blanket that covered your body. "You might tear your stitches. Your dressings."
At first, you strained to move, but you came to realise that you could not. The buzz inside your head and the hunger to escape was nothing more than a distant memory at this point. Yet, the voice was so comforting that you felt like you could lean into the touch. Was this heaven, were you dead? So many words rushed through your head, and even then, you couldn't even begin to vocalise them.
"I am aware, this is all so new to you. It’ll be okay, try not to worry yourself," the voice spoke soothingly as he came into view. You recognized him with a mix of terror and relief, as you saw that it was none other than Wesker, his hands moving towards you from the side of the bed, his sunglasses-clad eyes shining beneath the lenses, filled with gloom. He looked wary like he always did, but there was an underlying sense of excitement behind his amber eyes. As he felt lively. But you knew better. "I know, I know, you're never going to have to walk on those... legs of yours again. So much for walking away from conversations, no?"
You felt your breath begin to heave, the sound of your heart sinking into a pit in your stomach. "What," A sharp glance at Wesker left you breathless. You then prop yourself up on your elbows, beginning to peel the blanket off of your body. "Oh, my God." The words left your throat as quickly as they came, a shock sending a painful sense of dread and horror down your spine. Your legs. No wonder you couldn't feel them from the knee down. "I—I c... I can't..." The words caught themselves in your throat. Whichever feeling of relief was left inside was now substituted with the sickening sense of terror and aforementioned dread.
Your legs.
"It's okay, I told you it would all go away," he shrugged, his smile still showing excitement as he grinned wistfully at you, "Now I never have to worry about you running away. I shall rule with you by my side," he declares as he sat down beside you, his hand reaching out to tenderly stroke your hair, "I must say, you look simply stunning just like this. It's almost as if this is exactly how you were always meant to be." Wesker never followed human rules. Despite this, he spoke to you as an equal, and you felt comfortable confiding in him because he was an authority figure. A superior. He never spoke to you as if you were a child who had scraped their knees. As the dread sets in, Wesker pulls his shades from his face, exposing the snake-like eyes beneath, staring at you as if you were a prized jewel, though you cannot focus on that when there is a more important affair at hand.
They were chopped off.
"W...why—" You stare in horror, lifting one of your thighs, which you could thankfully do, staring at the bandage on your knees. "Why are they..." The words left you, the situation, the realisation sinking deep inside your chest. "I can't... they're gone," The shock and dismay spun around your heart and laid heavy upon your soul as you stared at what Wesker had done to your body. The mess he made of your perfectly capable limbs. The gentle woven pattern of the stitches that circled near what used to be your kneecaps, coated in the golden-brown substance of an antiseptic. The craftsmanship of the stitches and stables was spectacular—the pain was little to none, yet your brain was so foggy that you could barely even properly react to the situation at hand. Only muted gasps and short breaths.
"Hydromorphone," Wesker suddenly uttered, a surprisingly gentle hand resting on your upper thigh. "An opioid much stronger than morphine. Perfect for excruciating pain after limb amputation." The tight-lipped smile barely twitched, yet refused to leave his face. "However, mental fog is a symptom..."
Wesker was your companion—a superior, yes, though, there was mutual trust. That was what you thought, anyway. Trust can only bring you so far, and it’s so easily misplaced. A quiet yet sharp man who held the weight of the world on his shoulders. Someone confident in his actions. A man that you knew little to nothing about, rather than his military experience—his words, not yours—and knowledge on all the things you did not. And yet here you were, dazed out of your mind with a dull sensation in what was left of your legs, that he stole from you for a reason that you would probably never know. Your ears began to buzz painfully, your eyes staring directly at the stubs that were now your kneecaps.
"Don't look at me like that. The only thing they were causing was problems, and problems need to be fixed, dear," he said as he pulled his hand from your thigh, allowing it to gently pat your head, but there was a firmness to it, "I told you I'd fix it, and I did." he buzzes with that same thin-lipped smile, "You look so much better like this. I don't know what you think you're going to miss. Your friends, you say? Family ? Why, you have me. You’ll do just fine, I assure you."
Wesker spoke as if this was a completely normal thing to do. Was he trying to convince you, or rather, himself?
Shakily, the words escaped your mouth before you could stop them, "Did you do this? Did—did you remove my legs? Did..." Your voice trailed off as the awful truth began to resonate deep within your brain, spewing out its painful reality and forcing you to take hold of the situation in full force. There was no way around it. Wesker forcibly removed your legs.
"There, there," he shushes, leaning forward to whisper into your ear, "No need for tears. As much as I adore you in all your emotions, you were always just so theatrical..." His voice was frigid, but his eyes seemed much gentler, "You don't need your legs," he tuts, moving his hand to gently caress your cheek, "You don't need anything else, you just need me."
You weren't sure if you were crying or not, but your vision was suddenly blurry with the telltale sign of tears. At this revelation, the cold tone washes over Wesker’s voice again. "You know it pains me to see you cry," a pout. "Don't you remember?" The words in which he spoke were followed by a short gasp, his voice soft and satisfied as he gently caressed your cheek. Wesker stayed quiet for a couple of moments as if to let his words sink in.
But the fact remained, you didn't remember a thing . Not a single comprehensible thought pierced through your head like a bullet. The only thought that stayed was the fact that a bed you would’ve once felt comforted by now lay beneath you like a tomb, like a coffin, dragging you down into the cushions. It was suffocating you, and yet you felt consoled by it despite your brain screaming at you not to feel soothed. Without much of a second thought, your fingers trailed down your thighs, the muscles tensing up as you drew closer to the site of amputation, the skin becoming dense and tingly, no doubt from whatever pain meds—Hydromorphone, or whatever he called it—Wesker had you on.
Had you been stupid, you’d genuinely believe that he was a doctor.
As if reading your mind, Wesker spoke up. "I already told you, I'll take your misery, I'll preserve you, and you won't ever need to feel anything sinful. Just you and me—once I have the world in my hands, of course," he said as his hand slowly travelled down to meet your chin, the corners of his eyes wrinkled, filling with an unnerving smile, "You will adjust accordingly. I know that you will—you’re smart. It’s why I chose you, after all." His soft caresses continued despite his morbid words that sank into your spine. It made you want to get up and run, and yet, you knew you no longer had the luxury to do such a thing anymore.
You just wanted this to be over already, to fall asleep and wake up and discover that this was all nothing more than a nightmare. You were impatient, but Wesker adored this part—the anticipation, the teasing. Yes , he wanted to make you feel happy and protected, yet the fear was something he relished. This was something that was meant to happen; you were always meant to be like this. Wesker set his hand right above the stitches on your kneecaps, the corners of his eyes wrinkling to form crow's feet. He seemed proud of his work, circling the deep incisions and the fragile skin being pressed together. The silence was deafening as he wrapped gauze around the numb flesh.
So gentle in his ministrations, aware that one wrong move could burst apart your healing wounds.
As you two stood—clever choice of words for you, wasn't it?—there in silence, staring into each other's eyes, an unspoken battle of wills took place. You were the first to realise you were at a standstill, the silent acceptance washing over your curved spine. Slow resignation settled in the air, and a tense silence took over. The tension in the air was so thick that not even the strongest of military-grade combat knives could slice it in half. Ironic.
For a moment, Wesker’s facial expression began to darken, and he seemed bitter, but it changed so quickly that you admittedly thought that your brain was just playing tricks on you. His brows knit together, the wrinkle between them collecting a drop of sweat that dripped down his nose. The eyebags that hung below his blonde lashes hid a life that you would never be able to comprehend. "I did it for you," his voice is laced with a growl. " Yes . I love you. I always have. Did you know that? Hmm, I don't think you did . I don't think you ever cared to notice." Wesker’s eyes stared—the thin, narrow pupils that were reminiscent of a viper, or relatively, a feline, intermixed with the amber hues of his irises that blended into a deeper shade of red and yellow—at you with the utmost of love and adoration as if he hadn't just robbed you of something you held dear.
His words held little to no truth to them and showed nothing but the grotesque being that shone beneath the fragile and scarred layers of his skin. " I put you here because I'm selfish, and I'm scared I'm going to lose you ." He seemed to be holding back, the words unspoken but heavy on his tongue. And yet, instead, his next comments threw you through a loop.
"This is just the beginning, dear," Wesker’s bare thumb gently caressed your cheekbone as he shuddered, a sneering smile overtaking his stern features. If this were a different situation, you would've leaned into his touch and offered him your very own smile. "There is more awaiting you. And I believe," He pauses, averting his gaze, his lips parting as his wet tongue darts between them to wet his cracked skin. "I believe you're going to adore what I’ll do next. I will let you heal, of course, but—" Wesker’s fingers fall from your cheek to your coxae, his other hand joining as he grasps at your hips gently. "You will only know me. Everything will be me— us . It sounds magnificent, wouldn't you agree?"
It was almost like an unspoken admission of your place. Your very humanity is being stripped away and discarded like some sort of animal, a prized possession— cattle . Wesker drilled you this hole, a cavity barely deep enough to reach your abdomen, and yet you can't see the light at the top, so you drown in the shallow water that pools around you.
"What are you—" The words come out so shakily, quivering breaths and tensed muscles. "What are you going to do to me, Albert?" Some tears threatened to fall but no matter how hard you tried, they just refused to come. You still felt drowsy, your limbs heavy on both body and heart. Nothing but worry and disgust flowed through every limb—or lack thereof—like an unforgiving rush of water. You never truly know how good things are until they're gone.
In response to your words, however, Wesker grins while the corners of his eyes barely wrinkle. He looked like he was about to burst into fits of laughter, which was rare for such a stoic man. Wesker seldom had profound bouts of mirth. It was as if what you said was incomprehensible and not what one would consider English. Wesker was mocking you even if he thought he wasn't, the shift of his legs was a cruel mockery of something that you now lacked. Despite Wesker’s smile, it soon fell to a slight frown, the flare of his nostrils being an undeniable show of aggression. A couple of moments pass, and he looks away with a sigh, wetting his lips with his tongue.
The dull static in the back of your head returned once more. Everything screamed in you to escape the comfortable prison of bed. Time is not on your side nor is the universe. The world around you melts like wax in a furnace, everything slowly becoming twisted and corrupted. The tingling is almost blinding in what's left of your legs.
You can't escape.
It seemed as though he could sense the trepidation emanating from every pore of your body, and so Wesker’s caress on your cheek became even more temperate, it made you feel as if something was going to happen. Something that would permanently rewrite your brain chemistry. "Don't fret," he silences, "Please, my dear. You'll feel so much better once you just accept me." A rough hand reaches down to the bandages around your thighs. "Trust me. Don't you trust me?" His grip was comforting, but you knew better than to be comforted by this sad excuse for a man.
His eyes search yours for any hint of disobedience, sealing in your fate with a gentle caress.
"I will make you perfect. Only then will you be able to fit faultlessly into my vision of a utopia." His voice comes with a mischievous lilt. With an assertive tilt of his head and a determined quirk of his brow, he began to lean in even closer, further invading your personal space.
"Don't, please don't do this—" Your pleas fell upon deaf ears as all he did to soothe you was rub his calloused thumb against your cheekbone while he gently whispered words of encouragement. Was he trying to comfort you, or was he trying to comfort himself, you wonder. This entire situation was sick and twisted. His comforting words would once be something that you'd find solace in, but now it's something that made you feel sick to your stomach. “Just let me go— ”
"Just breathe for me. And stay still, would you?"