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Optio	By : Ripsi Category: +M through R > Resident Evil Views: 8318 -:- 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
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Update: I am updating the story from the ground up.
Optio
Chapter 1: Annus Novus
December 31, 2000 11:03 PM
Once again I was in big trouble. With unfocused eyes in the dimly lit hallway of my apartment complex, coupled with the unfortunate symptom of numb fingers I attempted to figure out which key was which. Bike, parents' cabin, and the other two keys on the ring had to have been the ones to my abode. I struggled with sticking the key in the lock, wrong door key, so I tried the next one and bingo. After struggling a bit with the lock over the doorknob I managed to stumble across the threshold, the sound of my boots against the wooden floor allowing me to hear just how ungraceful "Drunk Claire" was.
Tonight I was a pussy. On top of proclaiming (proudly might I add) that I was going home before midnight so that I would avoid passing out at Byron's house, I ended up puking after three shots of Vodka and four shots of Tequila. Usually, I prided myself on drinking frat boys under tables but tonight I was sure to go down as the final person on the "Weenie List" of 2000.
I was back in college after deciding to live life up rather than chasing after Chris in his pursuit of justice, something he practically begged me to do after a break-in at his apartment. To prove to him that I was done meddling in his affairs, I moved to Denver, hoping that a city like this could keep me entertained and out of trouble. Being twenty-one, I could legally drink, so that meant party, party, party and study, study. Although I still couldn't help but worry about how Chris was doing, and I chalked it up to how overprotective I became after the incidents in… I couldn't even say it anymore.
Every shadow in the night was cast by Umbrella, every creak in the floorboards was a monster, and every dream I had was about my failure to save someone who saw me decent enough that his dying action was to sacrifice his life for my own. Sometimes drinking is what kept me from losing it, yet I couldn't bear to immerse myself in alcoholism to escape what I needed to remember. And I needed to remember so that I could truly heal someday, but sometimes I needed to forget…
It took so much more will than usually needed to close the door, lock it, and secure the chain. Once I completed that task in the dark, I did a one-legged hop in a pathetic attempt to remove my brown boots that had been through hell and back along with me, and I actually fell trying to remove the one that stubbornly stayed on my left foot.
Then I was struggling with my jeans while on the floor, apparently, my struggle with the evil denim had caused quite a commotion because the tenant below me began banging the ceiling with his broom. Old bastard. I decided to keep on my red sweater since my arms got cold during the night, however, the tequila I'd ingested earlier had me burning up, but the heater had gone off in here at some point so I knew I'd need more than a quilt and sheet tonight. I can't remember if I crawled to the bed or what, just that I hit the mattress pretty hard without caring if I actually broke it. I just accepted the embrace of darkness, pulling me under into a sleep that I thought couldn't even be disturbed by the ringing in of the New Year.
December 31, 2000 11:45 PM
I don't know what woke me up, or why I even felt compelled to get up out of my bed. Sobriety had been progressing during my slumber, which made me glad I threw up earlier, but I still felt slightly woozy. A piercing silence had settled in my apartment, the kind that kept you alert because it was too silent to be normal, almost like it was deliberate and enforced. My hand searched underneath the cool side of the pillow my head rested upon, and I soon found the hilt of the combat knife I kept stored. I was supposed to be calmer now that I was back in college, however, someone had tried breaking into my home one night, but lucky for me the rusty fire escape ruined his plan of covertness. Give a girl some credit; I'd stored a knife near me whilst I slept, not a pistol.
Fearing that haste would create the slightest rustle I slowly slid the blade from beneath the pillow, sitting up on my elbow I moved at a snail's pace just in case the coils of my mattress betrayed me. My socks were still on my feet, smothering any sounds that may have alerted anyone to me being awake as I crept on the balls of my feet. How strange I must have looked right now: a red sweater, black bikini panties that nearly always exposed one cheek, and black socks. Oh yeah, I was sure to intimidate the hell out of anyone who dared to trespass. Speaking of appearances my ponytail barely existed anymore and the band that had secured it earlier was threatening to fall off, but I couldn't be worrying myself about whether or not I was fashionable during a possible break-in (though my hair was now down my back which could have been a detriment in a struggle).
As I reached the living room, despite being a little tipsy still, I remembered that it would be foolish to flick on the lights, because if anyone else was in here neither of us would be able to see. I knew this place like the back of my hand, paranoia being the reason why I walked around blind-folded until I did when I got this place almost three years ago. The couch, coffee table, and television were to my left, while the door was to my right. On the side of the couch was my only other escape, the window that led to the fire escape which I viewed as a huge danger when I first looked at this place. With the misadventure Chris claimed was "cooking" when he visited last spring, I began to see the value in it once I considered that it could have been the only way out once the fire extinguisher failed.
And that memory brought me to remember the importance of owning great kitchen utensils, some including hooks on the end. A butcher knife could also come in handy assuming an intruder was dumb enough to not search for and hide them.
Failing to see anyone, I crept to the center of the room without even the light of the moon to help; my curtains were doing their job for once, but now wasn't the time I needed them to. Of course, it would not just be advantageous to me if there was a sliver of light shining through the window, so I would simply make do and try to see if I could feel another presence.
I wasn't alone.
I heard the floorboards creak behind me, and trusting in the Redfield luck people claimed Chris and I possessed I spun around, slashing the knife through the air. My attacker, a figure hidden by the darkness caught my arm and twisted it behind my back, and the knife fell to the floor. The hilt hit the wood so hard that it created a thumping noise that should have awakened Mr. Sidorov, and if it did then hopefully he would reach for the phone and call the police (with my luck he'd reach for the broom). Before I could scream a cool, leather glove clamped over my mouth, rendering me mute.
A whisper that bordered on a hiss uttered a familiar phrase, and despite my grunting, I could make out the words that had interrupted my progress on Rockfort. The words of a ghost. "The lovely Claire Redfield."
A shrill cry was muffled by the intruder's glove and I struggled against his grasp, picking up my leg and swinging it back into his crotch as hard as I possibly could. Never had I considered trying this on him, but if the man shrugged off steel beams to the head like they were headaches I doubted that my attempt to slow him down would work.
To my surprise he cried out in pain, trying his hardest to keep the volume of his voice to a minimum as he released me to grab hold of his injured genitals. I would snicker about that later. Catching myself on the palms of my hands I immediately began scrambling for the door on all fours, hearing Mr. Sidorov banging the broom against his ceiling.
"MR-" Before I could finish my attacker grabbed me by the ankle and tried to drag me back to the middle of the room, but I put my legs to use again. With my mouth twisted into a snarl, I bent my left knee, twisted around until I was on my back and pulled my leg back until it reached my abdomen. With a grunt of exertion I kicked him in the head as hard as I could, and since his shades clattered to the floor I assumed I got him right in the nose, although it was hard to tell with the lack of lighting. Albert Wesker screamed once more -shocking me yet again- as he cupped both hands over his nose and toppled over the stand next to my couch, the lamp crashing noisily to the floor.
Quickly, before he could regain his composure I knocked over the umbrella bin next to the closet by the door and felt around for the 9mm I kept in case of emergencies, flicking on the light as I neared the blond. Gun aimed at his head, I stared down into his blue eyes with the intent to shoot if he so much as smirked at me.
Wait. Blue eyes?
Once more the elderly Russian man downstairs began banging his ceiling with the butt of his broom. "Shut the fuck up, you whore!"
Really Mr. Sidorov?
The hue of Wesker's eyes still had my attention though, but only until the sight of his bleeding nose actually caused me to drop my weapon. Never had I seen Albert Wesker bleed.
Swallowing down the lump in my throat that was part confusion and part rage, I managed to finally catch my breath and throw him a good scowl. "What the fuck are you doing in my house?" I once again took aim, remembering that every moment of my life that had been tainted with PTSD was all his fault. I could have blown his fucking brains out where he stood.
As he sat up on his own, once more surprising me by groaning in pain, I took a step back in case this was some kind of a trick. I heard him exhale sharply, grabbing his nose in both hands. In one quick, simultaneous movement he jerked his hands to the side, getting the desired effect and sound of his nose being put back into place.
"Well dear heart, I see that you have not changed." Before he bent over to pick up the shades he'd lost, he threw me a smirk that almost made it seem as if he were approving of my decent defense.
Angrily I thought to myself, He probably doesn't even realize that I woke myself up in defense of nightmares that had been real at some point. My grip tightened on the gun, any tighter, and the contents of his skull would be splattered against my wall.
With as much dignity as ever, the blond placed the glasses back on his face, having been done so many times that he even made that seem as though it was an art that required much training to acquire the same grace and poise.
"I'll repeat myself," I warned before reiterating with much more emphasis, "What the fuck are you doing in my house?"
His smirk remained, however it felt awkward that Wesker had yet to slap me across the room as he'd done so for much less: for asking what he was going to do to my brother being just a small example to throw out there.
"Miss Redfield. I have come to make a deal with you, and you may choose to accept, or decline."
For the first time since I knew it was him, I felt like all the blood had rushed from my face, something that usually happened as soon as I heard his voice, and this dread he had caused in me also made me remember what I was wearing (or not wearing). I jutted the gun towards him to show that my hostility was still burning strong towards him as I stepped back to the closet to pick up the jeans that I had discarded next to the door. As I juggled the tasks of aiming and sticking my legs into my pant legs I finally realized that I was a lot more sober thanks to the adrenaline rush brought on by this very unwelcome visitor. I decided not to waste any more time in struggling to zip up my jeans while he stood there smirking at the fact that he had caught me in my unmentionables. Of course, it wasn't like that was on Albert Wesker's checklist.
1: Break into Claire's home.
2: Fight with her.
3: Check her out for as long as possible until she realizes she's half naked.
Then again, he could have been just that sick. At the thought of that, I became even more enraged and once more jutted the gun in his direction, reclaiming my steps.
In mock surrender, he raised his hands until his long, slender fingers were level with the top of his head. "As I was saying," he began with his devilish smirk still held in place, "I would like to make a deal with you."
The first thing that came to my mind was exactly what came out of my mouth. "What have you done with Chris you son of a bitch?"
With a throaty chuckle, he ridiculed my indubitably predictable response; his blatant indifference to the fact that I was the one with a weapon actually pissed me off, but despite my emotions being worn on my sleeve he was not dissuaded from acting as though he was the one with the upper hand. I assumed it was a part of his personality since the day the doctor slapped him on his pale, pompous ass.
His boots matched his usual attire of black, something I noticed as he stepped forward two steps, dropping his hands to his side, most likely an attempt at asserting dominance in the situation, something he did not possess at this time. "You assume this is about your brother, but it is not. Well," he said, ready to correct himself, "he is included if you are willing to comply."
My silence served as a signal for him to continue.
"There is a man who is after me; his name is of no importance as of now. He wishes me dead Miss Redfield. And he has at least half a year to accomplish this." A pause in between his sentences told me he wasn't certain of how long he had and that this was a mere estimation. "His window is slowly closing, and he has become desperate. I have come to you because he would not expect it."
I'd forgotten to blink once I caught on to what he was implying, and all this hinting was probably necessary; could you seriously see Albert Wesker asking me or anyone for that matter for help? "You want me to…"
He frowned once he realized that if I hadn't trailed off my reciting of the truth would have brought him great mortification. "I purchased some property a long time ago-"
Remembering that Wesker was in his early forties I interrupted with, "How long ago exactly? Was it before or after you decided to become a career killer?"
His brow furrowed even more in vexation at my outburst. Whatever, I was the one with the gun and I would turn the conversation whenever I saw fit. "As I was saying, I purchased some property in the woods some time ago in a small town called Red Lodge. He does not know this property exists, and I need you to accompany me. It has a very small population and would make a very poor location to mask my presence in the US." That meant that he needed a cover so that attention wouldn't be drawn to him. Small towns had very nosey neighbors, and from the look of disgust, he gave when he said, "It has a very small population," I knew it was a bit hodunk for the tastes of Albert Wesker.
"So if I agree to accompany you, what do I get?" I was saving the most important question for last, the question of why he needed somebody to escort him.
Slowly, the smirk returned, giving me a hint that this was would be a good trade. "I will help Chris in his pursuit to disestablish Umbrella."
His words made me gasp, my pink lips parted ever so slightly as I considered this arrangement, but his past loyalty to Umbrella still made me question why on earth he would want to bring down the pharmaceutical company. "Why would you want to do that?" I think that he actually needed Chris' help with that, not the other way around, but if he had the help of someone who knew the ins and outs then Umbrella could be taken down in a matter of days.
The blond pretended to look around my living room, the way he felt about his former place of employment probably couldn't be hidden by the shades which he had become accustomed to using as a mask. "I have my own reasons." Then with a sense of urgency, his head snapped back in my direction. "Your answer, Miss Redfield?"
There was so much to consider, but apparently, I had no time to think about it. If Chris knew that I was doing this he'd be pissed and feeling betrayed, and then to top it all off I would have employed the help of his worst enemy. I doubt he'd feel too happy to learn that what he thought he was doing of his own volition was actually a part of a much bigger gambit. I didn't have to do this, I'd received no threat from Wesker, and so this was entirely up to me. And if I agreed, then I wouldn't have to worry that much about my older brother as much so it would be like I was doing this for him…
"What about my classes?" If I didn't go to school Chris would find out.
"I would think that the utter decimation of the most destructive force in your life would take precedence over undergraduate classes, Miss Redfield." He was right. As I demonstrated my hesitance he said, "I will take care of any and all expenses. Even after, I will reward you for your troubles. Destroying Umbrella is Chris' pursuit. I'm sure that eventually, you would like to finish school? "
I would call a spade a spade: Wesker had hurt my education. I knew that I wasn't going to become a brain surgeon someday, but I needed to do something that I could proudly claim in my life. I just still didn't know what that was. Was I really thinking about this? I'd always failed at saving Chris because I always found myself in trouble in an attempt to get him out. Could this have been my redeeming act that proved to him that I was just as good as him? Yet, how would I be able to explain my absence to Chris?
"My brother-"
"You're taking a vacation. Forward all calls to the cabin and should he wish to come out here we would simply have to send you back for the duration of his stay."
Oh yeah, he had thought this out. Now I had to know why. "Wesker?" I asked, finally setting the gun down on the coffee table to the left of him, and apparently, my fearless action of walking so close to him surprised him. "Why do you need my help so badly?"
A blond eyebrow rose in thought, he cocked his head to the side and then sat down on the red loveseat. "I suppose you should know this since we shall soon live together. This window I spoke of is why this particular man is after me because he is the one who opened it." I drew my eyebrows inward, realizing that was a lot of brow movement tonight. Verbal communication with one of the most wanted men in the world was quite rare.
The countdown started in a few of the apartments, and the patrons in the bar down the street joined in. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6…
"Miss Redfield," he began, his sneer not as strong as usual, "I am human."
"Happy New Year!"
As the cheers of other tenants roared on through the night I stood there on the day of January 1, 2001, with Albert Wesker smiling up at me. Mortal.
"Felix sit Annus Novus, Claire."
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