Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

Optio	By : Ripsi Category: +M through R > Resident Evil Views: 8319 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Resident Evil fandom/franchise or any of their characters. I make no money from this fanfiction. It is merely a piece of fiction written by me.

Chapter List
- 1-Annus Novus
- 2-Domus
- 3-Calor
- 4-Posco
- 5-Ludus
- 6-Felix Dies Valentini
- 7-Desiderium
- 8-Dormientes
- 9-Curre
- 10-Gravatus
- 11-Vita
- 12-Vigilo
- 13-Arcanum
- 14-Phasma Phasmatis
- 15-Possessio
- 16-Mutatio
- 17-Anniversarium
- 18-Monstrum
- 19-Lues
- 20-Vita Post Mortem
- 21-Iterum
- 22-Eam
- 23-Fidelitas
- 24-Veritas
- 25-Pacisco
- 26-Mundus Novus
- 27-Febris
- 28-Chemia
- 29-In Aeternum
- 30-Frater
- 31-Historia
- 32-Familia
- 13
- 14
- 15
Optio
Chapter 14: Phasma Phasmatis
November 17, 2001 Saturday 3:46 PM

Subject: Redfield, Claire
Location: Mayo, Yukon
Status: Bored
When I say this was like Red Lodge redone I wasn’t fucking joking. At least in Red Lodge I could go places, though they were boring places I could still travel to and fro without worrying about being stranded and freezing to death. Honestly I hadn’t been outside since I was carried from the car into this place, and it wasn’t any fun that I could recall the last time my feet touched the ground outside. It was the day I had fallen ill.
Wesker must have believed that he was doing me a favor by allowing me to do some yoga in the gym, but it was less interesting than watching paint dry if that were even possible. I stretched my calves to cool down and hopped to leave, no longer wanting to be this close to him. I passed by his office without glancing at the door, without hesitating to wonder what he was doing, and I made my way to the elevator in silence. Upstairs I dressed down, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and some boy shorts, which was the only style of underwear I had been supplied with. Modesty was not on my list of things to worry about lately, but the fact that I hadn’t been hungry since I got my weight up dampened my plan to pig out on muffins and watch SpongeBob.
I just couldn’t eat when I was healed up, and it was honestly annoying but I wasn’t going to hurt myself just so I’d eat. Plus, I got a high running temperature when I was recuperating and it made me uncomfortable in my own skin.
So I watched television, bored as all hell and unable to think of anything better to… Wait a minute I was Claire Redfield, and if there was one thing I did it was snoop, according to Chris. He brought it on himself, I thought to myself as I headed for the hallway containing the scientist’ rooms, and I had no idea which one belonged to Wesker but I’d figure it out. I hoped that they would follow their usual patterns of only emerging for lunch or late at night, so that left me with plenty of time. The first room I entered had pictures on the nightstand, immediately telling me that it did not belong to Wesker, so I tried the room across the hall, but the colors were green and blue.
That was definitely not Wesker’s décor, so I looked to the last door on the right, skipping over the other one completely. I looked in at a room quite similar to the one in he had in Red Lodge and to my surprise it wasn’t locked. Black sheets and a dark colored wooden armoire was the dead giveaway I needed. The sense of déjà vu was strong as I neared the bed, hesitantly taking a seat on the edge while I remembered the days we spent together in Montana as a quiet couple. For a while it was nice being the talk of the town, attending events together like we were really engaged, and for a change that gave me a taste of normalcy.
I was Sara Ivanov, the daughter of Russian immigrants, and I was someone’s chosen mate. I was the mystery of Red Lodge and the envy as well, two things that I never got to be in real life, but Wesker had managed to make that real for me. My fond thoughts of him had come out of nowhere, but did I really want to stop the reminiscing. Some part of me was not done with Wesker and the relationship we had in Red Lodge, and though I told myself so many times that I didn’t want to resume a physical relationship with him it seemed that I had only been trying to convince myself.
The first thing you did when you woke up and saw him was hug him, and what you wanted to do next…
Carefully I scooted up on the bed, laying my head on one of the silk wrapped pillows and I inhaled his scent. Somehow I felt closer to him, immersed in him, and now I could finally tell myself how I really felt now that the physical aspect of our relationship ceased to be: I wanted that again. Maybe it had to do with my virus; as soon as I woke up I felt that ache, but that just seemed ridiculous to want to blame my desire on that. Before I knew it I was getting comfortable, even though I was having second thoughts about everything I managed to get myself sleepy with my slow inhaling and exhaling. “Get up Claire,” I muttered to myself, jumping up once I felt tears spring into my eyes, and I didn’t want them to stain his pillow.
My initial intention of snooping around was forgotten as I got to my feet and left the bedroom. In an effort to pass the time I turned on the television, finding that I was a glutton for punishment by watching a heart-breaking movie where the man decides to pursue his own selfish wants rather than to continue his long relationship with a woman who idiotically gave up her myriad of opportunities in other men for the chance to chase what she thought was true love with him. He wanted to experience more while she was ready to throw away the time of experimenting. It wasn’t commercial that’s for sure, yet it definitely hit home with me. I had given myself to Wesker when I had so many other opportunities ahead of me with men who hadn’t committed so many murders that the human life equates to that of a fly in his eyes.
Wesker was as selfish as that man, yet a part of me wanted to believe that he was sparing my feelings by quitting our relationship cold turkey, but I needed the closure he professed that he was unable to supply. Either he needed to tell me that he wanted me or he didn’t so I could come to terms with the outcome of our fling and move on. If he wanted me but could not act on his desire, then it would hurt but I’d know, and if he said he didn’t want me at all I’d feel like I was dying, but then I could work on getting over it. If I hadn’t gotten pregnant, hadn’t been in a stasis for six months, then I know that I could have been done with it.
Long after the movie had ended I cried to myself on the couch, deciding to lie on my side and hoping that I could manage a nap. With the thought that I would always be thrown such luck in my life I shut my eyes, refusing to open them, and my tired mind shut me off from the world.
November 17, 2001 Saturday Time Unknown

Subject: Redfield, Claire
Location: Mayo, Yukon
Status: Tired
Sensing that there was now a silence in the air that didn’t exist before, I opened my eyes and sat up to find that I was still in the den, except now it was shrouded in darkness. The television had been turned off, and a tall, dark figure stood to the left of the couch with his arms folded.
“Maybe you should go to bed.” The deep voice chilled me to the bone, the cold tone like a knife in my heart, and how I wished that the virus that infected me could heal me emotionally as well as physically.
He started to walk away but I shot up from my seat and said, “Wesker wait.” Standing still as a statue, he tilted his head downward to show me that I had his attention. “This has to end,” I supplied vaguely. “I can’t continue to be around you without closure.”
Though it was dark I could tell that his eyes were on the floor, and as he inhaled his chest rose visibly, and I dared to take a step towards him. In the dark his eyes were aglow behind his shades, and I felt him take my right hand in his own, lifting it to his mouth so that he could kiss my knuckles. “Dear heart,” my breath caught in my throat, “it is not realistic and I can only permit myself to speak the truth.”
Snatching my hand away I demanded, “You don’t want me?” Silence weighed heavily in the air as he chose not to answer, which could easily negate the point that he was trying to thrust onto me just a moment before. “I don’t give a fuck about realism, I asked what you wanted.”
“It is not what I want, but what needs to be done.”
Desperate, I threw myself at his chest, standing up on the tips of my toes to reach his lips with my own, but he took hold of my arms firmly and held me back. Like a baby I began to cry, anxiety making me bounce up and down to release the extra energy that would have made my legs shake like jello in an earthquake. I found no point in pushing against his grip; he was too strong, and the light of his eyes disappeared so I assumed that he shut them. Even when I tried to pull away though, he wouldn’t release me from his hold, and I sniffled pathetically when he finally released his grip.
Dejected and disappointed, I fled from his sight, locking myself in my room though I knew that he would not come for me, knowledge that made the pain of my rejection even worse. I just needed to hear it though, that he had no desire for me, and until that day I would be stuck in a sort of emotional limbo and haunted by my own personal ghost. How cruel.
Yet had I really said that he didn’t want me? Had I really been so cliché and so blunt when our relationship was more complicated than that? I actually had the nerve to pretend like it was an open and shut case of, “Let’s see other people.” I slid down the surface of my door, giving a sad laugh at what I had been reduced to, willing to embarrass myself all for the acceptance of a man I was supposed to hate. Then again there was no true logic as to why I should hate Wesker.
Sure he had slapped me around in an attempt to hurt my brother yet had he truly done anything that I should take personally? We had been enemies in that instance, both fighting for different things: he for a virus, and I for freedom. Now bear with me despite how pitiful I sound trying to justify his actions, but I had no actual reason to hate him. He didn’t turn me into a zombie and he had saved my life twice in one day by rescuing me from the CDC and then by infecting me. Even in my last day in Red Lodge, he saved my life rather than run off.
Was this the reason that I had become open to him and the idea of having Wesker as a sexual partner? That could very well be the case but it was no use in evaluating my choices now that the honeymoon was over, and now that he had somehow become obsessed with doing what should be done over what he wanted.
Rather than confine myself to my room I peeked out of my door to make sure he was not hiding in the shadows, and I made my way to the kitchen. It was strange how I came here when I wasn’t even hungry, and I just completely ignored the living room that was meant for mental rest. Instead I sat at the counter on one of the stools, finding that it was the lighting of the kitchen that I enjoyed. At night it felt like I was bathed in moonlight, and I had to admit that I missed feeling free, so I took this as a substitute. The glass of the bulb over the sink had a blue tint to it, not too dim and not too bright and it created the illusion that I was outside.
Ha, if I stepped outside I’d probably freeze to death, if that was even possible, but I wasn’t willing to risk any extremities just to test my accelerated healing and my body’s reaction to extreme cold. No, I needed to keep my ass planted in this stool and pretend that I had the choice to go stand outside and think.
That feeling to turn around again crept up on me, and I knew who to expect. “Dr. Lister?” The mousy, little scientist immediately turned her gaze to the floor, her head bowed in what was possibly intimidation, something I didn’t quite understand.
“I’m sorry,” she squeaked, turning to leave, but I jumped down from my stool.
“No!” The volume of my voice surprised me while it frightened her, but she listened and chose to stay put. “This is your house,” I said softly, getting back onto the stool. As I watched her make her way to the refrigerator she pulled her blue, silk robe tightly around her small frame like she was showing too much skin. The damned thing reached her ankles for Christ’s sake.
As she pulled out the bag of bread and a slice of cheese she said shyly, “But you’re his guest.” For a moment I thought about that and what she could have been inferring, but as she handled the portable, electric grill I stayed quiet, not needing her to drop it and wake everyone up. Why was she so… strange?
While she waited patiently before the grill I gave a sigh and gave in, damn that natural inquisitiveness of women! “A guest isn’t put before your needs.”
Then she spoke some barely audible words, possibly because she knew that she would sound out of line. “Only when you’re Wesker’s guest.”
Losing my patience with her hints I snapped, “Why does it matter whose guest I am?” I saw her small body flinch, and I angrily went over to the wall to flick on the lights, but she didn’t even look back at me then.
“It’s just,” she began, finally turning around to face me, “it’s his house.” She looked young, but her posture and weight would make you think otherwise if you couldn’t see her face. Her brown hair was a tangled, wavy mess that reached her waist, not because she liked it long but more than likely because she was too preoccupied with work to care about her appearance. She certainly had potential, a thought that ripped through my mind wielding razors, and now the seeds of doubt would be planted. There was no way Wesker ever had anything with her, she lacked confidence outside of a lab filled with cylinders and microscopes, and she was afraid to speak her mind apparently.
Unless he was into weak women, then what would that say about me exactly?
With a huff I turned my attention back to the sink ahead of me across the counter, “Like I said it’s your house.”
As she reached for the cabinet to her left for a plate she replied, “No, it’s his house.”
I could tell that she wanted to convey an attitude but was too weak and afraid to do so, so I threw my glare onto her, “I bet he’s only been here like three times.”
“Actually,” she got a spatula from a drawer and removed her grilled cheese sandwich, letting it slide onto her saucer, “he’s been here once before for a total of three minutes.” With a frown she took a seat across from me, “At least I think it was him.”
Furrowing my brow I asked, “You’ve never seen him before now?”
“Oh I’m sure it was his shadow,” she offered, taking a rather large bite from her meatless (ugh) sandwich. I had become such a carnivore.
Poking the countertop excitedly, I asked, “So it’s his house but he barely comes here, whereas you and the other two are here daily?”
With a shrug she took another bite of her sandwich. “I thought you would know such things.”
At her assumption my eyes narrowed and I realized that I probably should have let her go to bed hungry. “Why would I know?” I continued to play into it, hoping she could tell me something that I didn’t know about Wesker, but if I dug too deep I’d end up learning something that would hurt me. I was prepared for the worst.
“I just thought that you were his…” She trailed off, refusing to look up at me out of embarrassment. It never was an easy thing to be completely wrong about people and their relationship status; it actually made you look quite foolish. “Especially since he’s working so hard to help you.”
My mouth opened but no words left it, and with a shrug Dr. Lister continued to eat her snack in silence. My presence was now being ignored by her, something that did not really bother me. I had now resolved to do what I had originally intended to do, and maybe I’d find something worth the trouble I’d most likely get myself into.
November 17, 2001 Saturday 11:03 PM

Subject: Redfield, Chris
Location: Denver, Colorado
Status: Suspicious
It was never in me to question the intentions of my sister, not when she had fought for the good side before. I had gone through her closet though, looking at price tag after price tag, gown after gown that ranged in the area of five hundred dollars, and I began to ask myself if I could continue to be willfully blind. My sister couldn’t afford these things unless she was stripping, and the state of denial that I was willing to reach was so strong that I almost accepted that as an excuse. Why would a stripper need fancy gowns? Why would a stripper have no “outfits” for the job?
Vera Wang, Prada, Versace… Never had my sister shown an interest in these things, and these clothes had never been worn. Something within me screamed that Wesker hadn’t kidnapped Claire, but that she went with him of her own volition.
That is the reason I sat here now, waiting in my car as rain beat down from every direction, and why I was willing to place just a little more faith in the man who failed me last time. The passenger door opened, the sound of rain grew louder and a few drops made it inside before my contact got in and slammed the door shut behind him. As he wiped rainwater from his eyes I inhaled deeply, clenching my teeth in what was possibly anger, but why I would be angry was a mystery to me. After all, Sergei had done what he could to get rid of Wesker.
“I am surprised that you called for me,” he said loudly, a smirk settling on his face. Whatever feeling Jill had about him, so did I, but his hatred for Wesker rivaled my own, and right now I was willing to try everything if it meant getting my sister back home where she belonged. It didn’t matter if she had betrayed me; I was sure that she had a perfectly good reason for doing what she did and we would figure it out when I got her back.
Gripping the wheel tightly I ground out, “Wesker has my sister.”
I could see that he wanted to laugh, but despite it not being in a mocking way that he wished to do it, he chose not to. “We have yet to find Albert.” His gaze was on the windshield, watching the water stream downward after hitting the glass in small droplets, and for a moment he looked satisfied. “What do you propose we do?”
“Find him.” My response was final, short, and sweetly to the point. The man had taken my comrades from me and now he had taken my sister, and though I hated to think of it in that way he could have been the one to have taken her in the “Biblical sense” as well. Everything seemed to be falling into place now, I mean all I had was time to think about these things, and it began to make sense.
At my words Sergei gave a small chuckle, his shoulders rising visibly, and he seemed quite constrained in my car. The man was massive, and his imposing height did in fact intimidate me just a bit with help from his creepy scar. “He will give himself away sooner or later comrade.” Before I could argue with him he added, “Time is important to you yes, but he will not be able to stay low for much longer. Something is happening soon and he will lead us to him.”
And I believed him. What mattered to me though was finding Claire and receiving an answer. Soon enough I would have the truth, and I prayed to God that this was all just a huge misunderstanding.
November 18, 2001 Sunday 1:06 PM

Subject: Redfield, Claire
Location: Mayo, Yukon
Status: Anxious
To make sure I wouldn’t get caught I waited until after the scientists’ lunch break and after Wesker gave me the results of some more blood work. Now I would have until tonight if chose to move at a snail’s pace, but I had a feeling that what I was looking for was hidden in the nightstand anyhow. Who would dare sneak through Wesker’s personal things? With shaking hands I slid the drawer open, finding a single book that looked like a diary of some sort set in the middle of its space like he wanted for me to find it. It was old fashioned, black and leather with a latch on the side.
As I picked it up I noticed that it wasn’t too old, and upon opening it to the first page I found that the first recorded date was April 29, 2001… These were notes on the child we had conceived, and I understood very little with so much scientific jargon. So was this a diary or a workbook? With a frown I turned the page, and where there should have been more of his neat cursive there was instead a picture wedged between the pages. I nearly dropped the journal, deciding that I should take a seat on the side of the bed.
I had never seen “it” before except through sonogram, and how I wished that it remained that way. Its eyes were orange, angrier than its father’s somehow, its form unnatural of a perfectly formed child, and its teeth were bared even in death. Behind the picture was a short description of what the photo contained.
Physical Appearance: Embryonic
Notable Attributes: Over-extended coccyx, two full rows of teeth top and bottom, eye color
Sex: None
Eyes: Orange
Hair: Bald
Length: 6’’
Weight: 3lbs 4oz
Project Name:
Nothing had been written for a name, something that struck me as odd since Umbrella employees dubbed everything with an alphabet and number. The fact that he hadn’t even put “none” next to the word made me believe that he simply couldn’t label his offspring like it was a failed experiment, giving me a strange sensation within that made me shake from the inside out. He had some feelings for it despite showing me that he did not.
The next page mentioned me…
I watched her die quietly; a part of her still apparently hoping that somehow our offspring would become miraculously normal and demand a proper birth. Strangely enough I wished for the same, however, my reason for it was for her wellbeing, not the child’s. There has been no desire within me as of yet to father children, and the outcome of this failed pregnancy shall in no way affect my demeanor. However, one part shall I say will not affect me.
I have placed Claire Redfield in the stasis tank with the hope that she will soon be revived by William Birkin’s untested virus. Although the risk could have been great I knew that I could not infect her with my own when it had been made for me and only me. Though I have seen no changes in vitals or brain activity I have resolved to continue to keep faith in my old colleague’s efforts, knowing Will this could all be a part of the rehabilitation. I shall keep vigilant watch over Miss Redfield, not leaving the Cheyenne facility until she is awake.
I turned the page, finding a photograph of me suspended in that liquid I awoke in, arms stretched out beside me, and there was a look of calm over my face. Well what did I expect, I was dead?
The next few pages were about statistics and some other stuff so I skipped it, finding that he had little to write about until last night.
Her presence here has become problematic, and my only other option would be to send her off somewhere with protection of course. She has become a distraction to my work while here, and I have been taking into account her feelings more so than I should. I have been. This could have unfavorable consequences; it should be about her needs right now, not about her wants. I must do what is necessary to help her, no matter how dangerous the methods. She will survive it.
The next paragraph held words like feelings, liaison, smart, and a reference to last night but at the sound of a man clearing his throat I stopped reading. Like a deer in headlights my eyes widened so that I was sure my eyebrows reached my hairline, and I placed the diary back in the drawer where it belonged. Shakily I got to my feet and my breath caught in my throat as a frowning Wesker stared at me angrily, his arms folded over his broad chest. I took a step to the left, although at this moment I didn’t care to make my way around the bed while he stood there. If there had been a window I would have jumped from it.
“Wesker.” My voice was husky with embarrassment and fear. How angry could he get right now? I didn’t wish to gauge the emotion since I knew that I had committed a huge crime against him; a diary was a very personal thing, and I had crossed him more than once while here. At this point he had no reason to trust me while I had no choice but to trust him, oh how role reversal was not fun. “I… I’m sor-”
“Get out!” he bellowed, not a muscle twitching despite his obvious rage. Not challenging his order I rushed past him and to the bathroom and ran over to the sink. Still shaking in fear I gripped the porcelain sink and stared at my ghostly reflection, feeling the strong urge to throw up. His anger had frightened me more than any other Tyrant’s, and his tone had ripped through me like a ragged blade. The way he looked, sounded, it all made me feel like I was the bad guy in all of this, and actually I was.
I had betrayed his trust while he had been doing what he could to help me, and I repaid him by reading his diary. Though I didn’t find much it was the principle of the matter, and if I possessed anything as a Redfield it should have been a sense of principle. Perhaps he should have shipped me away, yet I would still be reminded of him every day that I woke up to isolation, but he would have been able to work in peace without his constant reminder floating around aimlessly throughout the day. If he would let me go then, I would go, and maybe then I could gain some sense of freedom. Because now we were causing more harm than good for the other, and we only served as each others’ ghosts.
- 13
- 14
- 15
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Optio