[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 550 - Didn't See That Coming, Did You

That bastard — did he have water for brains or something?

He shoved hard against Chris's hand. Chris was built like a bear. The hand didn't move.

"Let go of me... this is an order! Get out of here!" Wesker forced the words out through clenched teeth.

"To hell with your order! I'm not leaving!" Chris spun toward the corner and bellowed.

"Jill! Barry! Get over here! Grab his legs! We're carrying the captain out — there is no way we're letting him die this easy!"

Jill was hiding behind a pillar, biting down so hard on her laughter her stomach was cramping, but she played along without missing a beat.

"Coming! Captain, you have to hold on! We are not abandoning a single teammate!"

Barry's gruff voice boomed right behind her. "That's right! Worst case, we all get blown sky-high together!"

The countdown beeping in Wesker's earpiece grew more frantic by the second. In his head, he was already cursing Chris's ancestors back eighteen generations.

Damn it. Why won't this kid follow the script?

Every other time he sent them into a death trap, they were sharp as monkeys. Now he's telling them to run for their lives and suddenly they've found brotherly loyalty?

Keep this up and there won't even be bodies left to collect.

If he didn't get the T-Virus injected in time, it was over. Actually over.

No joke.

Chris's big hand had already found his belt and was getting ready to heave. Wesker panicked.

To stop these idiots from literally hauling him all the way back to Fort Benning, he made a decision. His eyes rolled back. His head dropped hard to one side.

He "died."

The air went still for two seconds.

Chris stared at Wesker playing dead and refused to accept it.

He grabbed Wesker by both shoulders and started shaking.

"Captain! Captain, wake up! You can't die on us!"

The shaking was violent enough to slosh several more ounces of blood straight out of the wound in Wesker's chest.

Wesker lay there with his eyes shut, grinding his back molars to powder, and did not react.

Leon's voice came through the tactical earpiece, warm with amusement.

"Alright. Stop tormenting that dead dog."

"Shake him any harder and you'll actually rattle him apart. Get the hell out. Now."

Hearing Leon's voice, Chris smacked his lips with a faint note of reluctance.

He let go.

Wesker's head dropped and cracked against the floor, producing a sharp, tooth-aching sound that echoed down the corridor.

"Move, move, move. Captain's dead. We've got to live." Chris wiped the blood off his hands and jerked his chin at Jill and the others.

Not one of them looked back. They slipped into the emergency passage and disappeared faster than rabbits.

Wesker listened. He waited until the footsteps faded completely at the far end of the corridor.

Then, slowly, he opened his eyes.

He let out a long, ragged breath. The searing pain in his chest had cold sweat running down his spine.

Those half-witted teammates of his had finally scrammed.

Two more minutes and he wouldn't have had time to inject the virus at all.

He wasn't wasting another second.

Wesker forced down the pain. Hands trembling, he reached into the innermost compartment of his tactical vest and pulled out a metal tube. He unscrewed the cap with effort. Inside sat a syringe filled with pale blue liquid.

A high-purity modified T-Virus, intercepted through his own authority and personally synthesized by William. The second-generation strain. It would grant its host regenerative ability and strength far beyond anything human.

He pulled off the needle cap. Pressed the tip against his own neck. No hesitation.

His thumb drove down and pushed every last drop of blue fluid into his body.

The moment the virus hit his bloodstream, it was like swallowing burning magma. A scalding heat tore through him, cell by cell, ripping apart and rebuilding, spreading from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes.

The fatal wound on his chest didn't seal instantly. But it would. It was only a matter of time now.

Wesker gasped, feeling the vast and terrible power beginning to stir inside him.

From this day forward, he was no longer anyone's pawn.

He would stand at the very top of the world's food chain, and he would do it as something new entirely.

He pressed both hands against the floor and began to push himself up, ready to greet his own rebirth.

A pair of black tactical boots stopped, without any warning, half a meter in front of his face.

Wesker's heart missed a beat.

How was there still a living person in here?

His gaze climbed slowly from those boots. Crisp tactical pants. A dark gray jacket. And a face wearing a faint, mocking smile.

Leon stood with both hands in his pockets, looking down at Wesker still half-kneeling on the ground. The red emergency light caught the side of his face and made him look very, very cold.

"All done with the injection?" Leon tilted his head slightly, studying him.

"Not bad stuff."

"You have to hand it to William. That madman knew how to deliver quality."

Wesker's pupils snapped tight.

He knew this man.

Ada had killed him. He was certain of it. So what was he doing here, deep in a mansion seconds from detonation, watching him with the eyes of a predator studying its next meal?

But the thing that sent ice crawling across every inch of Wesker's skin was this: Leon knew the name William Birkin.

"Who are you?" Wesker kept his voice steady and quietly gathered himself. The muscles in his legs coiled. Ready.

Leon smiled. Look at the state you're in. How exactly do you think that ends for you?

He didn't answer. He raised his wrist and glanced at his watch.

"Plenty of time."

He lowered his hand and stepped forward.

"Albert Wesker. Triple agent. Schemer. Today was supposed to be your perfect exit, the gold cicada shedding its shell, a clean and flawless escape."

"What a shame."

Leon crouched down until they were eye to eye, looking straight through the dark lenses of Wesker's sunglasses.

"You calculated everything. The one thing you never calculated was me."