Wesker's Finest Creation (Albert Wesker X Reader)

Introduction to your Destruction

|| This book is based on a dream I had involving the latest killer added to the game Dead by Daylight, Albert Wesker. Maybe if they stop making murderers so hot I'll stop having sexy dreams about them. But until then... 🤪

There will be smut in the further chapters, which are marked with a *. ||

I find myself standing beside a house in a dark, ominous neighborhood, the unsettling sensation of déjà vu coursing through my veins. The malevolence that permeates the air is palpable, intensifying my desperate desire to escape this nightmarish place.

My attention is abruptly seized by the distinct sound of footsteps echoing against the concrete. I cautiously peer around the corner of the house, catching a glimpse of blond hair disappearing behind the garage on the opposite side. Though seemingly human, his purposeful movements betray a predatory nature. He isn't hiding, he's hunting.

Crouching low, I navigate my way toward a patch of tall grass, seeking cover near a rusty swing set. Questions swirl in my mind: Where am I? How did I end up in this twisted realm? Nothing makes sense, and I shake my head in frustration.

The wall, standing about twenty feet behind the swing set, catches my attention. Perhaps if I follow it, I can uncover an exit, a way to break free from this nightmarish maze.

Holding my breath, I inch closer to the wall. It is constructed of solid bricks, its height obscuring any view beyond. However, in the distance, I glimpse the silhouette of gloomy trees, their branches casting eerie shadows against the backdrop of an unknown landscape. Determination courses through me as I continue along the wall, my steps cautious and deliberate.

After a few feet, I stumble upon a generator that sits lifeless, its machinery silent. A flicker of intuition tells me that with a few minutes of effort and a touch of resourcefulness, I could revive it. Yet, a nagging feeling dissuades me, urging me to press onward rather than meddling with it.

Slinking past a noisy flock of crows, I arrive at the sight of a colossal steel gate. Adjacent to the gate, a lever beckons, teasing me with the promise of freedom if only it were activated. The connection becomes clear — the generator holds the key to opening this gateway to salvation.

"There's no point in hiding," says a deep, self-assured voice.

The sound of metal hinges creaking followed by a piercing scream tears through the stillness, leaving me paralyzed with fear. I pray fervently that my presence remains undetected, sinking lower into the grass.

"I expected more of a challenge," the voice echoes from a distance, originating somewhere near the house closest to me. A sickening squelch and a long, drawn out scream of pain follow, further unsettling my already frayed nerves.

The urgency to save another surges, understanding that together we may stand a chance against the merciless hunter. Resolute, I inch forward, my survival instincts going haywire.

I can't hear any footsteps, but I still feel terrified as I carefully navigate toward the eerie house, attempting to muffle any sound. Upon reaching the porch, I peer cautiously through the open doorway. The air is thick with tension, punctuated by the strained grunts of a struggle emanating from the depths of the house, seemingly originating from the basement. A flicker of hope stirs within me — I'm not alone. Someone is still fighting for their life.

With a rush of courage, I explore the house, my senses heightened to every creaking floorboard and moving shadow.

Beside the kitchen, a rickety staircase beckons me. Inhaling deeply, I gather my resolve and descend the steps, each one more unsteady than the last. The weight of the unknown hangs heavy in the air, but I steel myself for the trials that lie beneath and push on.

The descent into the basement unfolds like a descent into my personal hell. My heart pounds in my chest, its rhythmic thumping echoing in my ears, as I reach the concrete floor of the basement. The sight that greets me is a grotesque tableau of terror. The walls are marred with splatters of blood, both fresh and aged, creating a macabre mural that speak to the horrors that have unfolded within these walls. The oppressive air reeks of death, its suffocating presence wrapping around me.

In the center of the room looms a nightmarish contraption, a sinister amalgamation of wood and metal. Four ominous hooks dangle from an inverted L-shaped structure. My eyes are drawn to the furthest back hook, where an old man in tattered army fatigues fights desperately, a monstrous black spike aimed directly at his vulnerable heart.

A surge of adrenaline courses through my veins, a deafening pounding in my ears as I rush toward the injured man. With urgency and determination, I grip him tightly and pry him from the hook. He's injured, but the wounds don't appear as severe as I'd thought they'd be, the gaping hole I would expect to see conspicuously absent from his shoulder. In this twisted realm, where the boundaries of reality blur, I can't help but accept the surreal nature of my situation—a dreamlike state where I possess newfound skills as a mechanic and a medic, and where traumatic wounds can inexplicably be absent.

"Thanks. The name's Bill," the man says as I patch him up.

"Y/N," I respond, grateful for the brief moment of respite in the midst of this nightmarish ordeal. But the question gnaws at me, clawing at my curiosity. "Sorry, but do you know where the hell we are?"

"You called it."

"What? Hell?"

A flicker of uncertainty passes through his eyes as he nods. "Best I can guess. Me and a few others have been trying to repair the generators and restore power."

I nod, absorbing the information and the glimmer of hope it offers. "Where are the others?" I ask. But insread of responding, Bill turns pale, and I turn to face the source of his alarm.

"You're soon to join them."

A man with slicked back blond hair stands on the staircase, emanating an aura of darkness that sends a tremor down my spine. His long black trenchcoat billows around him, and his sunglasses conceal eyes that burn a sinister crimson. There's an unsettling charm to his presence, despite the imminent danger he poses. My eyes are drawn to the knife twirling effortlessly in his hand, a chilling display of his lethal intent.

"Haven't seen you around. You must be a real slippery little thing," he taunts. He raises his left hand, and my breath catches in my throat as I witness a grotesque transformation take place.

"Let me introduce you to Uroboros." Black tendrils slither and writhe, coiling around his fingertips like a twisted manifestation of chaos. "You two will become... Intimately acquainted."

In an instant, he lunges at me, his tendrils seizing my throat with an unyielding grip. All at once, I realize this is NOT a dream; the sensation of gooey black worms invading my pores shocking me into a painful reality. As I crash against the torture rack, his hand pressing down on my throat, darkness envelops my consciousness, and I succumb to the agonizing oblivion.