Chapter Text
Der Herrgott nimmt (The Lord takes)
Der Herrgott gibt (The Lord gives)
"Finally awake, I see."
Awake was an overstatement.
Through the remote lens of a computer screen, Wesker observed the reanimation of his newest test subject. Overhead fluorescents illuminated the boy's features as they pinched together in a squint, a muddled groan sounding from behind closed lips.
It was a small, sterile room in which he was housed, surgical in nature yet detached and isolating like a jail cell. Everything was stark white or chromed steel, with no windows and only a single door in the farthest corner. The boy was shirtless, strapped down to a medical chair, alone in the room yet under perpetual surveillance by Wesker's security system.
As amethyst eyes finally began to take in their surroundings, the captive cursed beneath his breath. ".... The fuck..?"
—It almost made Wesker smile.
As troublesome as this one was to capture, it made it all worth it to watch him squirm. "I must say," began the doctor over the intercom, "I'm quite impressed with how quickly your body metabolized the sedative I gave you. Usually its effects last four to eight hours—but you regained consciousness after only one."
His captive lifted his head, confused, furrowing one brow and quirking the other. He didn't recognize the voice speaking to him, although admittingly Hidan was always better with faces. He never forgot a face.
This voice, though... something about the cadence... It wasn't quite American, nor was it British; it was somewhere in between, reminiscent of the transatlantic accent of Old Hollywood.
"What the Hell are you talking about?" Hidan griped outwardly to the empty space, temper already nearing its limit, "Fucking pussy. Why don't you come out from hiding and talk to me face to face, huh? Heh. What? You scared of what I'll do to you?"
Wesker could feel the aggression through the monitor. He wondered if it was just as striking in person. Up until then, his captive had only come in contact with his henchmen and, surprisingly, had actually succeeded in killing two of them during the procurement mission (quite the accomplishment indeed). What roused the doctor's interest in the first place were the tales he heard through the grape vine of a man who appeared to be "unkillable." Multiple eyewitness testimonies told accounts of the same silver-haired young man, all of which included him sustaining life-threatening—or frankly, life-ending—injuries yet walking away unharmed and unscathed. One account described him as being shot in the back of the head, and though his body initially slumped forward, it would raise only a few seconds later, eyes wild and grinning so wide he "appeared demonic." Another reported him falling from a twenty-seven-story building, landing on concrete. His body was flattened and gnarled from the impact, vital organs seemingly pouring out of every orifice. But miraculously, before first responders could arrive on scene, his limbs twitched and remoulded back into place, cracking and mending until he finally stood upright. His body appeared to be in pristine condition, with nothing but residual blood and bodily matter as the only sign of his fall.
Considering Wesker's current venture to procure and perfect his own immortality, the prospect of somebody (and an apparent civilian no less) appearing invulnerable to death intrigued him greatly. Yet despite these curiosities, Wesker still hadn't decided if the boy was worth his time. Those stories could have all been blown out of proportion. And though he was impressed this boy had somehow managed to kill two of his own men, he decided it best to keep him at a distance until he had witnessed some of these miracles for himself.
"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll be acquainted soon enough." Answered the doctor, "In the meantime, I'd like to run a few tests."
Tests?
As if on cue, the door to the room unlocked, and a woman clad in a tight, silken mini dress entered. Hidan's expression instantly fell into one more docile the second he laid eyes on her, his gaze cleaving shamelessly down her body, down her curves, prompting a wide, licentious grin to spread across his lips.
"Ah - ha.. I get it now." Purred the immortal, tone shifting from combative to suggestive. "You had me going for a second there. Who put you up to this? Was it Kakuzu? Ah fuck it. This is the best early birthday present a guy could ask for. Hey toots —" A lift of the chin in the woman's direction, his crooked smile ever present, "No need to go easy on me, eh? I like it rough."
The silence that followed was heavy. Now it was Wesker's turn to quirk up a brow. Sure, Excella was an attractive woman, and the ridiculously provocative outfit she wore didn't leave much to the imagination, but to mistake her for a prostitute given the boy's current circumstances was just downright... stupid.
The doctor narrowed his eyes as he awaited his confidant's reaction. He knew such brazen disrespect would leave Excella less than amused, but he had given her very specific instructions, and of all the things Excella was, she was nothing if not loyal.
Her eyes meet their captive in a stone-cold death glare. Quips and insults rattled the tip of her tongue, begging to fire, but she bit them back and managed to water down her response to a mere rolling of the eyes. The things she does for Albert Wesker...
Wordlessly, Excella approached their subject and focused on obtaining the samples requested of her. Manicured fingers reach toward Hidan's face; every inch closer furthered the look of excitement in his eyes, but much to his disappointment, and her disgust, all she did was pluck a strand of hair from his head.
"Ow!!"
She rolled her eyes again and placed the sample into a small bag. Drama Queen.
"That's uh.... some interesting foreplay." Mumbled Hidan, wishing his wrists weren't bound so he could rub the now throbbing spot on his skull. "Can't we just skip to the good stuff?"
Ignoring him, Excella turned to grab some items from a tray nearby. When she returned, there was a smug upturn to her painted lips, her hand holding up a syringe with a thick, elongated needle.
Immediately Hidan's eyes go wide, and she thought maybe this idiot finally realized the position he was in, but just as quickly did they reignite with a thick, perverted thrill, his grin turning absolutely Cheshire.
"Now we're talking! What's that for? Have I been bad?"
This time Excella couldn't hide her disgust. With a scowl, she slammed her hand down on Hidan's naked bicep before brutally puncturing the skin of his inner elbow. She had no regard for his comfort or well-being. Hell, he could bruise or bleed out for all she cared.
Just like with the hair sample, Hidan exclaimed and screwed his face up in confusion.
"Hey - what the fuck? What the Hell do you think you're doing!?" The longer the needle was in his arm, the more he fought, tensing and twisting and using all his might to try and break free. But it was no use. The shackles holding him down were thick and ironclad, better suited to subdue the strength of a beast than that of a man. All he could do was watch helplessly as blood was unwillingly drawn from his body. It was then that he began to think this woman might not be the kind of nurse he was hoping for.
Once satisfied with the collection, Excella snatched the needle from his arm, making sure to damage a few neighbouring vessels on the way out.
"Oops," she said flatly.
Hidan sneered. "Bitch."
"Pig."
And with that, she gathered the samples and left, but not without shooting a glare toward the security camera to convey her contempt to Wesker for having her perform such a task. He was lucky to have someone like her. Nobody else would put up with this bullshit.
From the control room, Wesker watched, as he often did, with stoic scrutiny. He'd deal with Excella's complaints later. Now that he had the samples, it was time to search for answers.
"Hey!" Yelled the immortal's gritting voice from the chair. "You gonna tell me what the deal is here or what?!"
There would be no reply, which only annoyed him further. His rage was soon shouted and sworn, shifting from threats of a Holy smite to manic barbarity. "Ha! You idiot. You have no idea who you're fucking with. Lord Jashin will have your head—do you hear me?!? An eternity of endless suffering awaits you! You'll be in so much pain you'll be begging me to kill you!! Do you have any idea who I am!?"
That, Wesker thought to himself as he exited the observation room, is exactly what I'm hoping to find out.
Regrettably, the test results showed nothing spectacular. In fact, everything came back mind-numbingly average. Too average. CBC,
BMP, platelets, electrolytes, hemoglobin; all the numbers weren't just in range, they were perfectly median. He's never seen such textbook blood work. Not even Wesker's had such stable markers. It... irritated him.
Hair follicle tests were inconclusive as well. The boy showed no signs of drug use, toxins, heavy metal poisoning, or genetic mutations. On paper, he was healthy. Normal. Human.
Wesker narrowed his eyes behind his shades. This was beginning to get interesting.
As he approached the door to the isolation room, he expected to hear Hidan still screaming obscenities on the other side, but was surprised to hear only the dull hum of the ventilation system. Perhaps the boy finally tired himself unconscious.
The door opened, and Wesker's assumptions were proven false. The chair Hidan was strapped down to was empty, the silver-haired zealot nowhere to be found. It wasn't often a man like Albert was caught off guard; he usually was five steps ahead, capable of anticipating even the most unforeseen and unlikely circumstances. This... His eyes cast upon the empty shackles on the chair... This he didn't see coming. All four cuffs were bent and covered with blood and gore. The boy must have broken his bones and shredded his skin to escape. How intriguing.
But— where did he go? There was only one way out of the room, and the alarms would have sounded if he tried to open it. Unless this boy could also somehow turn into vapour... that meant he had to be —
A savage war cry interrupted that train of thought. It came from behind Wesker's shoulder, and despite Hidan's quick agility, his attack was skillfully countered by the doctor's reflexes. All Wesker had to do was raise his hand, blocking Hidan's fist with his wrist and rolling it to grab hold of the other's forearm. He then threw the boy over his shoulder, nonchalant, like it was nothing, like Hidan weighed nothing, and slammed him into the floor face first.
Hidan responded with a sputtered groan, coughing some blood onto the vinyl tile. He was certain he had the upper hand in that attack, how the fuck did this guy block him so fast? And his strength... it wasn't human.
"Aren't you bold." Lauded Wesker from above, smirking as he stared down his nose at the boy. He brought the sole of his boot to press against his captive's upper back, pinning him down.
Hidan glowered for a moment before baring his bloodied teeth in a grin. "Lucky shot," he mocked. "My mistake for going easy on you." And with that, the immortal twisted from his belly to his back, reaching for Wesker's ankle in hopes of yanking him off balance and sending him toppling onto the floor. He manages to make contact, lavender eyes brightening in sadistic glee. Aha! Got'cha!
And at first, Wesker appears to be falling, only he doesn't plummet, instead gracefully manoeuvring the motion so he springs off one foot into a B-twist over Hidan's body. When he lands, his back foot swings forward, kicking the immortal square in the nose with a force so strong he nearly shatters bone. Hidan's face snaps to the side, his hands coming to shield his now bleeding nose. "Ack!" He exclaimed, frustration getting the best of him."Fucking bastard!"
Having not so much as even broken a sweat, Wesker pushed his glasses back into place and exhaled through his nose.
"Have you finished throwing a fit?"
Hidan's teeth clenched so hard it sent a sharp ache down his jaw. He drastically underestimated this guy. Whoever he was, he was much more powerful than anyone he'd encountered in his many years of life. But strength and speed were moot compared to the power of his mighty Death God. Jashin's blessing gave him a gift so powerful that not even a superhuman could survive it. All he needed was to ingest one drop of Wesker's blood... Then it would be game over.
"Fuck you." Spat the immortal. Clearly brute force and ignorance wasn't going to get him anywhere, so he'd have to play along if he wanted to gain the upper hand. Speaking of which, Wesker paid mind to Hidan's own hands then, both of which were mangled and caked with blood from his escape. Despite the damage, there were no signs of open wounds or debilitation. Fascinating.
"Your hands appear to have already healed."
That makes Hidan's angered expression morph into one a little more arrogant, and he half chuckled. "Yeah, can't exactly restrain someone like me."
Wesker hummed in consideration, taking a step forward. "Yes. Like a rabid animal." Cocking his head to the side, he takes in the entirety of his subject's form. His musculature was impressive, not too big but not too lean either. He somehow embodied both pure, raw masculinity and a soft, boyish youthfulness. There wasn't a single blemish or wrinkle on his skin. His next question comes unprompted. "How old are you?"
Hidan's face twisted, puzzled. "Huh?" Where'd that come from? "What kind of question is that? Why the fuck do you care?"
The doctor folded his arms across his chest, elaborating flatly, "Your DNA suggests you're between the ages of twenty-five and thirty, but if the rumors I hear of you are true, I'd think it safe to assume you're quite a bit older."
"—Yeah? And what rumors would that be?" The immortal finally rose from the ground, coming to meet his captor eye to eye. Though Wesker appeared disarmed, Hidan was still itching to fight. Just one drop of blood... that's all I need....
"Of your immortality, of course. You've drawn quite a lot of attention to yourself as of late."
Shit. Usually Hidan was more careful. Being immortal, as convenient as it was, brought a number of difficulties to everyday life. Stay in one place too long and people start to notice your lack of aging. No matter how much he tried to keep to himself, there was always the potential of somebody somewhere recognizing him. And although he didn't particularly care if they did, mortal meddling notoriously got in the way of his divine mission. Jashin's commandments demanded total slaughter, which was surprisingly hard to do when the authorities were breathing down your neck. So, the Jashinist was forced to practice his faith behind closed doors. He had gotten extremely talented at covering up his debaucheries, and though he was eternally twenty-seven, this would be Hidan's one hundredth and third year on this earth. He had watched this word adapt and change through decades of war, famine, plagues, and political movements... each generation just as despicable as the last.
That was why his mission was so important. Humans simply didn't deserve to live. They deserved to suffer.
Hidan clicked his tongue in a display of apathy. "So what? You some kind of a stalker or something? Aren't you a little old to be obsessing over someone?" He then took the opportunity to regard his captor fully in that moment. Wesker was only slightly taller, with a similar build and the same slicked-back hairstyle, only his hair was blonde instead of sterling. He was dressed in a suit that hugged his body so tight you could see every outline of muscle, with the fabric resembling both leather and latex, yet textured like reptilian skin. Everything was black, from his turtleneck to his boots to his fitted leather gloves. Donning it all was a similarly styled black lab coat and sunglasses.
"You should be honored," replied the doctor, taking yet another step toward him. "It's not often somebody catches my attention. It's only a matter of how long you'll be able to keep it." He turned to look at the chair his subject was once bound to, seemingly in deep thought. "Procuring this next sample would be much easier if you were still restrained..." he muttered, but turned back with the same blank, unreadable expression, "But I suppose we'll have to make do."
A sinister grin split Hidan's face in two, his eyes darkening with bloodlust. That must be the demonic expression the eyewitness was talking about. He could see how it might startle a feeble commoner, but it concerned Wesker none.
"Do your worst." Dared the immortal, which made his opponent's stone-cold expression finally break into a smirk.
With no warning whatsoever, no dialogue or sudden movement, Uroboros snaked from beneath Wesker's sleeve and shot out towards Hidan's throat. The boy had no opportunity to react. All he knew was a thick, slimy tendril had somehow curled around his throat, cutting into his trachea so brutally he could hear it crunch beneath its hold. Choking, the immortal's hands flew up to try and tear the tendril off, nails digging into its fat, muscular flesh as it continued to suffocate him. Wesker then began prowling forward, as though Uroboros was a tether between the two of them. His smirk grew wider, more smug, as he watched the boy gasp and sputter for oxygen. Another tentacle came to join it, doubling the amount of pressure applied to the Jashinist's throat until his once beautifully pale face turned a darkened hue of purple.
Soon, Hidan's knees were unable to support his own weight, and as a token of goodwill, Wesker allowed him to collapse, Uroboros still coiled around his neck. Once more did Wesker leer down at his captive from above, revelling in the pathetic sounds he made as the ability to breathe was torn away from him.
He looked good like this: collared, helpless, and at Wesker's feet. His eyes were frantic with the innate human instinct to try and desperately cling to survival. Yet through it all, they still held hatred. They smoldered up at Wesker, bulged and reddened. The doctor met his gaze through his shades, savouring every moment until — crunch.
Hidan's neck was obliterated, flattened with a gruesome squelch that left him nearly decapitated. The boy's body lost all its fight, going limp as his hands fell to his sides. He was dead. Undeniably and totally dead.
Satiated, Uroboros retracted back into the cuff of Wesker's coat, and the doctor took in the sight of his mangled subject.
Catching his eye was a silver glow amidst the gore of the boy's throat. He bent down to examine it further, finding it to be a necklace with a peculiar, esoteric pendant. Wesker had noticed him wearing the jewellery but didn't pay much attention to it until now.
An inverted triangle within a perfectly shaped sphere. He had never seen anything like it before. Gloved hands removed it from the puddle of blood; there was no need to unfasten it due to the trauma of the boy's neck. He held it up in the bright light of the room, scouring his mind for the meaning of its symbol. Albert was well versed in all kinds of mythologies and religions, but none of them had imagery quite like this. Tucking it into his pocket for further analysis, he then took out a small specimen cup and collected a chunk of the boy's flesh for the very same purpose. A biopsy of dead tissue from a supposed immortal would certainly prove interesting. Would the cells still produce heat? Would they be replicating?
Coming to stand, Wesker took one last look at his victim. Poor, pitiful thing, he thought to himself.
Mercy would be him just staying dead.