Chrisker One-Shots

Mongoose-and-Snake Game

Chris didn't even know what to feel.

He remembered, definitely - lights at the end of the street not the right color to be any native animal; Chris having been in this rodeo far too long not to respond, getting on guard and drawing the pistol he'd set out carrying on just in case, attempting to parse out the shape of the thing that moved towards him in a shifting black mass; making it out just a moment too late as a manlike shape as a tendril lashed forward and wrenched his arm back; the lights rushing in revealing two slit-thin pupils right in front of his face as the gun clattered to the floor, misfiring, and --

...Speaking of the gun.

Wesker paced before the door, flipping the firearm side to side in his hand. He "hm"-ed.

"Not fooling anyone, Chris," he said. "You say you're leaving the B.S.A.A. for a time - seeking to get away from it all - and yet you can't help but expect you'll need to go out armed."

Go to hell, Chris thought.

Still didn't know what to feel enough to say it.

Wesker looked up from the pistol - Chris thought he could make out a smile in the low light, wan, and to this day, even knowing what to expect, he didn't look like Wesker, without the sunglasses, without the wear of age, just with those burning eyes. He drew in a breath that swelled his broad shoulders and chest, and sizzled like hellfire, as he slipped the gun into a holster on his belt. "Then again -- I don't suppose I can blame you. Time and time again, whether or not you've sought out trouble in the past, I've always seemed to have my way of finding my way straight to you."

He paused by the barred window; his eyes flashed as he flicked them into contact.

His shirt was off; a series of scars gleamed in the moonlight almost metallically.

"You're supposed to be dead," Chris said, thickly.

Wesker shook out his head like a lion shakes out its mane, and wandered again closer; Chris's eyes dropped straight to about where the holster would be, seeking it out. "It wouldn't be the first time you or your friends would've said those words. Surely, even you didn't believe that a god would be quite that easy to dispatch of." His voice hardened and scratched around the words; a lapse in cool to take the edge off of his wounded pride, which Chris could give himself a pat on the back over later. His muscles seized. "To be frank , I'd be disappointed if you did."

Chris's hands thrust toward Wesker's hip; the subtle chuck of metals sounded in his grip as he spun into motion - air rushed. The lights of Wesker's eyes traced through the dark as he banked into motion in response, his shape changing into just what Chris had seen before.

By reflex - maybe misguided - he took a chance on his own speed; aimed the pistol dead between those two light points and fired.

The shape of Wesker stopped in the air - jerking back softly.

Just what he'd hoped for. He fired again; again.

Wesker bent forward readily, slowly, into the third shot. His teeth flashed white in the dark. Chris grumbled, realizing he was being mocked, and raised a forearm as he strafed backward; Wesker, meanwhile, chuckled a low, cynical chuckle.

He could have removed the bullets, Chris realized. He wanted to goad me into a fight; this sick bastard can't just take what he wants - he gets off on power -

"You haven't let your reflexes slip since saving the human race , I see." Wesker held in place. Chris didn't loosen his aim, edges of his vision sensitive to every moving shadow fringing his silhouette. "I'd almost expect that you were waiting for this very situation."