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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
- 15
- 16
- 17
Optio
Chapter 16: Mutatio
November 21, 2001 Wednesday 1:54 PM

Subject: Redfield, Claire
Location: Mayo, Yukon
Status: Afraid
I began to feel faint, my vision slowly faded to black as my torso fell forward, and for a while I saw nothing. Next thing I knew I was floating down the corridor, not sure if I’d been out for an hour or a few seconds, but Wesker’s blurry face stared straight ahead, his mouth moving. My eyes began to focus, and everything began changing from fuzzy and obscure to solid. Dr. Seaborne flanked us, walking up to get the door for us, but I couldn’t make out anything he was saying. Whatever it was he spoke the words quickly, yet at the same time he attempted to convey a sense of calm for my sake I assumed.
I recognized the familiar table where I had been “violated” and began to squirm against Wesker’s chest, but he ignored my protests and laid me down.
“No!” I yelled, knowing this was what I needed, but for some reason I couldn’t hush the voice inside of me that said to fight. My battle was short lived as I felt a pinprick on my neck, and the dosage had to have been so much that it knocked me out right away because when I awakened I had no idea what time it even was.
Instantly I recognized the silk sheets beneath me as Wesker’s, and my eyes flew open as I sat up. Somehow I knew that he was the one who drugged me, and even though I planned to ramble a stream of curses at him his absence made that impossible. The room was dim, barely lit by the lamp on the nightstand, and since I had nothing to take my anger out on I threw myself back down onto the mattress, grumbling angrily to myself.
The feel of cotton rubbing against my legs made me frown; I wasn’t wearing sweat pants when I was last awake. Someone had put me in a red boyfriend tank and a pair of black sweats, but that wasn’t the strangest part. The familiar feel of a Maxi Pad made lying down more annoying than ever; still it made me remember that I was bleeding just before I fainted. Exhaling sharply I attempted to get to my feet, instantly being punished with a sudden gush of a warm liquid forcing itself out of me.
“Are you fucking serious?” I groaned as I just got back into bed, not wanting to spring another leak. “My period.” My words were muffled by the pillow that I buried my face into, finding that this was a “be careful what you wish for” situation. I heard the doorknob turning but I decided not to get up since I knew who it was.
Wesker seemed to be making sure that I was up for company, and as long as he was going to provide answers then I was. He locked the door behind him and came to sit on the bed next to me, a gesture I found as sweet, but it was more likely that he did it because it would put me more at ease than him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “How are you?”
For a moment I thought, turning on my side to face him and hug the pillow beneath my head. “Both good and bad.” He gave a single nod, his jaw taught with an emotion that I couldn’t discern. “Wesker what’s happening to me?” The question came out shakier than I intended, yet I believe I deserved some slack since my world had once more been turned upside down, or right side up. Hell, I couldn’t even tell which way was which anymore.
“You failed to conceive during ovulation.” His answer was simple, but I sensed that he knew more that would possibly upset me.
Being the Redfield I was I asked, “I actually ovulated?”
“Last week.” For a moment I stared at the pillow beneath me, sitting up as I tried to remember anything out of the ordinary, and honestly the weirdest day I had was the day Wesker and I had sex. Noticing that I was having a hard time figuring out when this alleged ovulation took place, the blond clasped his hands in his lap. “There was a reason I was unable to fight coming to you that night Claire.”
“Well how’s it a week…” My jaw dropped once I realized that I had yet again woke up to find that a considerable amount of time had passed without my knowledge, making me feel even more powerless than before. Only because I needed to I asked, “What’s the date?”
He got to his feet, and I noticed that for such a large man he was as quiet and stealthy as a cat. “The twenty-fifth.” Though that upset me I was grateful that it was only a week this time instead of another half a year. So that meant that for four days he had been… oh God I wanted to die of embarrassment. When I held my face in my hands he kneeled down to pull them away, assuring me with, “You were unable to care for yourself. Your body has gone through yet another change while in this new condition, and it was too much.”
Before I ended up crying and scaring him away I blinked a few times and nodded my head, trying to ignore the fear that was creeping up my spine to sow more seeds of doubt in my mind. If this virus was still changing me what if it mutated until I couldn’t control it? What if this thing killed me?
“I should’ve known better than to trust a virus.” Though I had reservations about the admission, it just came out without my permission.
“There are benign viruses. Many are beneficial to our health. Cowpox saved many from smallpox. There is a virus that kills breast cancer. Your virus saved your life.” Knowing it was the truth I let my head drop, shamed that I owed a virus created by an Umbrella employee for my existence and well-being. “However, as I stated before it is bound to you, therefore it almost no longer exists as separate. In the equation of you and the Aceso Virus, it has the product of a completely new organism that this world has never seen and more than likely never will again.”
So I was definitely no longer human. “You’ve named it I see.” That part didn’t really bother me at all; I mean at least he knew enough about it to name it at this point. So he was studying it, and since that was the case I knew that if I were in any danger he’d let me know. Now that I was at ease my mind wandered back to what he said before, and I cocked my head to the side and asked, “There’s a virus that kills breast cancer?”
“Dear heart we cannot risk another pregnancy.” He released me and stood up straight, walking a few feet away from the bed.
Despite my desire to protest I only nodded my head in agreement, understanding that to not care would make me a monster. If I got pregnant this time there was no telling what we would conceive, and it would hurt me to have no choice but to end another life that didn’t ask to be brought into the world only to be ripped out. As badly as I wanted Wesker, as badly as I desired to figure out what the hell this was, I couldn’t risk another life -no matter how inhuman- all for the purpose of gaining understanding. And there was no way around this with the substitution of another form of sex; if my hormones could drive Wesker to forego common sense then I knew that in the heat of the moment he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from taking me.
With no desire to continue down the road of emotional conversation I made sure to ask him about my period now. His answer was that it should have been over the same day it started, however due to me being unconscious and still for days, it would only finish today. It explained why standing up didn’t work out so well earlier. My ovulation had lasted for one day, so my window was only slightly opened, yet we had no idea how many of these “heats” I would experience in a year so we had no choice but to play it safe. The most important factor in this equation was Wesker himself: we had no idea how long his sperm could survive.
Call me an idiot but I thought to myself that super-man would equal super-sperm. What I wasn’t ignorant about however was that since my virus would keep me slim it would definitely change the frequency of my periods, though I was unsure of how long since, once again, I wasn’t sure of how many times I’d ovulate. I was glad that Wesker was able to hold off on fucking me silly though. Had it been a day or two prior to my ovulation I would have gotten pregnant without a doubt, so we definitely dodged a bullet there.
Still I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d be able to follow through on our vow of abstinence with the chemicals in our bodies raging. It was a test of time, and maybe next month would bring some clarity to this all. God I sure hoped so.
November 22, 2001 Thursday 2:22 AM

Subject: Arti, Maritza
Location: Castle Rock, Colorado
Status: Alert
Leon’s work was a Godsend at this point. How the fuck else could I have got up in the middle of the night and followed this guy for half an hour unnoticed? He’d been too worried about covering his ass that he actually failed quite miserably in making it to his destination without anyone tailing him, and damn had I been pretty close a few times. I made sure my bike was in a safe enough location and removed my helmet, shaking my hair out and tousling it a bit.
He’d led to me to some dump of a bar, and since it was a loud place I wouldn’t even need to hide myself from him. He knew me, but we never got to the point where he’d instantly be able to pick out the back of my head in a crowd. To avoid being seen I followed pretty close behind him, and once inside of the bar he made his way to a booth in the back, and just as I passed him I managed to gently touch the back of his jacket without him noticing.
In the crowded, dimly lit establishment I was a ghost almost, and without even taking in my surroundings I quickly turned to leave. Back at my bike I removed my small backpack and pulled out a little silver remote with one red button present on it, and I pressed it. Just as quickly as I arrived I mounted my bike and headed back to Denver, having nothing to do but wait. Something told me that the meeting would be quick, but there was no point in me leaving at the same time as my subject since that would up the chances of me being caught for sure.
No, I’d beat him back and be in my own apartment playing back the content of his conversation with his contact, and he’d never know. Once I was home I sat down on my couch, syncing the remote with the speaker on my coffee table. I adjusted the volume to the max and hit the green switch. For the first ten minutes I heard nothing but bar-talk, the game playing on the television, and eventually he spoke.
“Sergei,” he greeted, and I instantly frowned. Chris Redfield was getting wrapped up with a major player in Umbrella?
“Comrade Redfield.” I rolled my eyes at Colonel Vladimir’s stubbornness in accepting that the Soviet’s time had fallen. Great now I was referring to him as Colonel. “There is news of strange dealings within South America with a drug lord named Javier Hidalgo.”
For a moment there was a pause, and I leaned forward, interested in this meeting even more than I had been before. “A drug lord?”
“Da. I’m not sure what our friend is up to. He has not been quiet about this deal; however there is another one in progress in Greenland. That one, we know even less about.”
“So we should be concentrating on that one?” For a moment I was tempted to cross my fingers, taking the determination in Chris’ voice as a sign that he’d be headed in the complete opposite direction of Wesker. It seemed the intentional outbreak would lead him away from my employer’s little experiment in the Amazon.
“I believe that South America is a ruse. Wesker has been seen near Greenland as a matter of fact.” My hands became fists as I shook with anxiety, what more faked evidence would they need?
“You’re right.” I released a breath I didn’t know that I was even holding. “South America is too large, too many people.”
Right, I said to myself, no one gives a shit about Greenland.
“Have your men standing by,” Chris ordered. “Umbrella is going down, but first I want Wesker.”
My eyes widened at his declaration. Chris Redfield had no idea who Sergei really was. “Wesker, you’ll want to know about this.”
December 25, 2001 Tuesday 7:26 AM

Subject: Redfield, Claire
Location: Mayo, Yukon
Status: Out cold
“Claire?” Usually being awakened was an unpleasant experience, but somehow Wesker managed to ease me out of sleep, a sleep that it took forever for me to get into. No sex meant: No late night exertion (we couldn’t even kiss without him pulling away and leaving the room), which meant Claire, was a grump in the morning, but then I remembered exactly what today was. Christmas. Though I didn’t expect anything from him, I decided to wake up anyhow, hoping that just maybe we’d spend the day together, although what could we possibly do to pass the time?
We wouldn’t bake Christmas cookies, or watch Rudolf, and in all honestly Christmas lost its hype for me when I turned eighteen. Since then the holiday had consisted of Chris and me telling the other what we wanted which took the mystery out of it. Nope, there was no question of, “Will I get that ‘blank’ I’ve been hinting at?”
So as if my eyelids carried weight I pried them open, sleepily staring up to Wesker and a steaming, white porcelain mug. As I did every morning I rubbed my eyes, wiping the crust from them and I gave a yawn to prove that I was up. Wordlessly I took the mug from his hands and forced myself to bear the heat of the coffee, not worrying about scalded taste buds since they’d heal themselves in a few seconds. Obviously he wanted caffeine in my system for a reason, so hopefully whatever he had planned wasn’t so tedious that I’d fall asleep.
With that thought I asked, “What are we doing?” He removed the empty mug from my hands and stood up from my bed, and I followed him down the hallway ignoring the fact that I was still in my yoga pants and a t-shirt. He led me into the kitchen where a few plastic bags rested on the counter, and a chair that belonged in the dining room sat behind it. What surprised me more though was the sight of a tall, slim woman of Asian descent standing with her hands on her hips like her precious time was being wasted. Somehow she seemed familiar…
“Ms. Wong, please inform Claire why you are here.” He placed the mug in the sink and leaned against it, “Ms. Wong” throwing him a glare.
She rolled her eyes and looked to me with a mysterious smirk. “I heard someone has made the World’s Most Wanted List and needs a makeover before she can travel.” With a sway in her walk, she made her way around the counter to me, circling me and looking me up and down. Feeling like I was in a display case I crossed my arms over my chest, trying not to appear too intimidated… or ashamed of my homely appearance but I had just woke up so maybe she’d cut me some slack. “Your body has changed since I or anyone else last saw you so that took care of itself, everything else on the other hand…”
“Excuse you?” I asked, angrily putting my hands on my hips and placing my weight on one leg. Something about her trailing off offended me, and damn it I wouldn’t sit here and take any of her shit lying down.
Ignoring my question she stopped directly in front of me and extended a perfectly manicured hand, “Ada.” Hesitantly I took it, narrowing my eyes at her and her mocking smile. Her outfit itself screamed, “bitch.” She wore a pair of dark jeans sky high, deep red leather boots that matched her top and she had obviously removed her coat; there was no way that skin-tight turtle-neck sweater had kept her warm. I was willing to give her a chance since we apparently had something in common with our obsession with red, that didn’t mean she was off the hook for being snobbish upon our first meeting.
Then I thought for a second. “Ada,” I murmured to myself. “You know Le-”
“I apologize for my… icy reception to you, but the Yukon isn’t my kind of place.” I found her interruption odd but the sudden change in the muscles of her face made me realize that mentioning our mutual friend was unwise in the presence of Wesker.
“Ada is one of the few people we are able to trust.” Finally looking back to him I gave a nod of understanding, although what I didn’t understand is what I’d trust her with.
My question must have been showing on my face because Ada announced, “You came in auburn-haired, and will leave something else.” So that’s what she meant by makeover. As she tucked a strand of her short, black hair behind her ear I prayed she didn’t plan on gracing me with her ‘do.
At the news that the “girly” session would begin Wesker stood up straight and headed for the doorway, “I shall leave you two to it.”
Smirking at Wesker’s back, Ada purred, “Men.” As I eyed the bags on the counter she rubbed her hands together and said, “Let’s get to work shall we?” She ushered me over to the chair where a heavy, black cape waited, and she shoved it into my chest. The action was not done rudely, but more in a manner that said I was taking too long to complete the obvious task. After figuring out where the sleeves were I took a seat and listened to her mix something in a bowl.
Fearful of the possible outcome of this I asked, “So what exactly are we doing?”
“Can you get those sheets of foil out of the bag to your right?” As I searched around for the material she mixed away for another fifteen seconds before finally saying, “I thought about blonde but it’s so overused and it doesn’t suit your skin tone. Sure it’s different but do you really want to look like a Swedish maid?” Placing the precut strips of foil before me I furrowed my brow, trying to figure out if she was throwing out insults or trying to be constructive. “Then I thought black would be better, even though your hair is dark now this will make you stand out more.”
Turning my neck as far as the cape would allow I asked, “Isn’t that what we’re trying to change?”
“Sweetie the way you’ll stand out after we’re finished is a compliment.”
“In comparison to…” How I looked now?
“You look like what you were.” She placed the bowl to my left and stared down at me. I decided to decipher that as: hot college student for her sake. “What we’re going for is… model who doesn’t know what hard work or motorcycles are.” Her stressing of the word “motorcycle” told me that my fascination with them wasn’t dainty enough.
“So I’m expected to be somewhat exotic with a last name like Wishkar?”
“Swedish and Persian,” she supplied, making me feel odd for living different lives and actually enjoying it.
With as much sarcasm as I could muster I said, “Great, two cultures which I know nothing about.”
“Please, Americans born in America know less about the US than you probably do about Sweden and Iran.” Nodding my head I admitted to myself that she had a point, I mean I learned quite a bit about Persian history in my college courses that covered Xerxes’ rule so maybe that would count for something if the subject of “Illyria’s” heritage came into question. Odd that no one dwelled on Sara’s Russian heritage for long but I had a feeling that Illyria would be a different story. There’s no way I’d luck out with another community of people as daft as the ones in Red Lodge.
As she began sectioning off pieces of my hair I found that my eyes were beginning to hurt, mainly because in my attempt to look at the back of my head I was about to dislodge them. “Just so you know,” she started abruptly, “black dye is the hardest dye to remove from your hair.”
“Meaning?”
She gave a single chuckle as she began pasting the dye on a section of my hair. “You’d have to strip it to remove it.” That’s not too bad I thought to myself, I was sure I could find something to get it out when I needed to. “And then your hair will be orange.”
“WHAT?!” It seemed she anticipated my reaction so when I whipped my head to the side I ended up feeling a sharp tug at my scalp. Sighing heavily my “stylist” began securing the coated section of hair in strips of the foil she had brought, curling it upward so that it wouldn’t be in the way. As if nothing happened she repeated her actions a few more times while I frowned in disbelief.
“Oh and you will have to dye it immediately after stripping it,” she added, dipping the brush back into the bowl.
I rolled my eyes and frowned although she couldn’t see it. “I didn’t think of that, I just thought I’d walk around looking like Vitamin C until it grew out.” Cynicism laced my words heavily, but it only caused her to giggle at my frustration. When she was out of hair to dye she took a seat at the stool on the other side of the counter, and so I could see her eye-to-eye I left my chair for the stool next to me.
I inhaled deeply at the silence between us, wondering if boredom so strong would hit me that I’d end up falling asleep despite my caffeine fix.
“I was there the night you died,” she threw out suddenly, her fist under her chin as indifferent as if we were chatting about the weather.
Her sudden statement certainly threw me for a loop, and I struggled to recall the events. Never had I really tried to, and now all of it, including what I remembered before was blurry and forgotten like a dream you awaken from. Its details had faded, something I considered to be for the best, yet a few key things stuck.
“I remember promises being made.” My gaze was aimed at the marble counter, confused by my failure to forget such a traumatic experience, and regardless of the outcome being a monster I felt guilt sharp as a knife poking me in the gut for ignoring that I was a mother at one point. A mother is a mother the second she finds out she’s pregnant, I though miserably, finally recalling a sudden and unfounded want to ensure that the little life within me survived.
The quiet had bothered her, I could tell by how straight her back had become, and she clasped her hands tightly. “Did you ever see…”
It seemed she felt just as much guilt as I over referring to the baby as “it” but what else was there to call it? The child was sexless, and giving a name to the… creature would have been senseless and too much.
Blinking once I looked back to her chocolate colored irises, feeling a fluttering just beneath my ribcage as I realized that I had no obligation, motherly or otherwise to give a damn about what had grown in me as a parasite. “I saw pictures.” Knowing that it couldn’t compare to seeing something in real life, close up, I asked, “Was any part of it normal?”
Her jaw tightened noticeably, giving me my answer but she swallowed and chose to answer verbally. “Not a bit. Wild isn’t strong enough of an adjective. Feral doesn’t come close.”
Disheartened I gave a single nod of understanding, having just been told that my child was completely devoid of humanity really made my Christmas morning. I had been willing to give my life for it…
We sat in silence the rest of the time, not even looking at each other, and I ignored that irritating desire to scratch when you knew damn well you couldn’t. When it was time to rinse my hair I happily let her remove the foil and then jumped to my feet, beating her to the faucet. As she rinsed the left over dye I watched it swirl down the drain, actually somewhat excited to see the end result of this. Of course I’d have to wait until she was completely done before I could do this. When the water ran clear she led me back to my chair, removing a tube from one of the bags.
“Now what?” My question had a tone of true curiosity to it; something that I hoped would make her forget about our serious conversation earlier.
“Conditioning.” She seemed like she was letting it preoccupy her so I let her have at it, understanding why she wasn’t in much of a talkative mood: she had to rinse my hair yet again. When that was over she towel dried my hair best as she could and tousled it, running her fingers through it along with some sort of balm that smelled wonderful. Finally she allowed me to see the finished product when she produced a mirror from one of the bags, and I had to agree that I looked completely different.
“Um,” I began, squinting at my reflection, “my eyebrows don’t quite match.”
Waving her hand through the air she gave a scoff. “Well because we haven’t dyed them yet.”
Okay, this was all new to me, but as she mudpacked the dye over my eyebrows I listened to her instructions just in case I had to do this on my own. After three minutes she took cotton balls to remove the dye and then removed any excess with some dye remover. It looked much better.
“Keep your eyebrows like that,” she ordered, referring to their current thickness. With a frown I looked in the mirror once more, my puppy-dog face managed to guilt her into shaping them a little but she refused to make them as thin as before.
Still I found one more thing to complain about, and I had a feeling Ada wasn’t too happy that I criticized her work at every turn. “Don’t you think the black hair and blue eyes are a little too… fierce?” They were also a dead giveaway if any of my pursuers cared enough to study my face, and Chris would definitely be able to spot me by my eyes alone. Whether or not that was a bad thing… the jury was still out.
One last time my stylist for the day pulled something from her bag, a rectangular box that said “Blends” on the sides; at the top opening it read “hazel.”
As she began to put everything away she announced, “Brown would have definitely made it seem like you were trying to hide something.” After handing me the bag of boxes that read “Root Touch Up,” eyebrow dye, and contact lenses she looked me in the eye and said, “It was a pleasure Claire.” Oddly enough she gave a slight bow, making me question whether or not the polite thing to do would have been to return it, but she turned on her heel before I could.
“Thanks,” I called after her. Once I heard the heavy doors past the foyer shut I hurried to my bathroom to further inspect my new look. If I had changed my look as Sara, maybe it would have been easier for me in Red Lodge, but I definitely couldn’t call myself Claire Redfield now when I barely looked like her anymore.
Pasting on a smile I tried out my new introduction, but hopefully I wouldn’t have to give anyone a bio. “Hi, I’m Illyria!” Frowning at the awkwardness I exhaled deeply and tried again. “Illyria. Illyria Wishkar. I’m Illyria Wishkar.” Pretending my reflection was someone else, I managed to create dialogue for a whole scenario. “Well my dad’s Swedish. My mom? She’s Persian. I’m American so I don’t know too much other than English.”
The sound of a man clearing his throat interrupted my practicing though, and I saw Wesker leaning against the doorframe with a hint of a smirk on his face as my cheeks undoubtedly were flushed. “You look different,” he observed, not leaving his perch.
Mortified, I smiled down at the floor, barely able to say, “That’s the point.”
Suddenly I heard his boots against the tiled floor, approaching me quickly, something that actually shocked me but I just turned to face him. Ungloved hands took hold of my face gently, and he caressed my jaw with his thumb before leaning in so that our lips were merely inches away from each others’.
“Merry Christmas,” he whispered, pulling away and leaving me standing there on the tips of my toes. Somehow though, just from him being that close to me and letting the tension build had me woozy in the head. Everything was changing at this point and there was no way Wesker would be able to continue avoiding resuming a sexual relationship with me. I’m not sure why I wished to pursue a relationship with this man but I knew this for certain: in South America I’d get him to change his mind.
- 15
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- 17
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