Hell Is Empty...

She died.

Her mind was almost certain of it. Then why was her body being ravaged by waves of agony?

Where was Moira?

Barry? Natalia?

A helicopter had come. All sleek black and stealth steel. It rained bullets on them. Flaming and piercing.

She could still hear the explosions. So loud in her ears and so vivid in her eyes.

Red. Orange. Yellow.

White-hot pain.

She searched the room for any familiar feature. The interior was classic in design, looking new and aged at the same time. Dull and golden lighting reigned in the rectangular space.

'Where am I?'

She moved her arms... And regretted it a second later. Bandages stained with blood, old and fresh wrapped around her limbs.

Fear was slowly creeping under her skin.

Fear.

Alex Wesker.

She had fed a missile to that embodiment of fear. She had protected her loved ones. She had survived with them... right?

A sound startled her... like an iron key turning?

Her eyes fixated on the brazen door knob as it shifted down. And in a mesmerizing motion, the intricately carved door swung open.

Sweat broke out of her skin. Chill sunk in her bones. A tremble settled in her flesh and fear gripped her heart.

"How lovely it is to be reacquainted with you, dear heart."

Albert Wesker was alive.

When she came to again, an IV drip was the first interesting thing she noticed. Her arms were found still in dressing... clean dressing this time. Her legs were littered with fading bruises. It pained her to move them... But she could endure... She would... She had to.

Sitting up on the crisp sheets, the sound of birds chirping reached her ears. Staying upright proved to be a taxing task, her stomach turned at the sudden change in position. And in the next second, her whole body sagged against the wooden headboard, weak and leaden. Her lungs struggled to even her breathing.

'Where am I?'

A memory flashed in her mind. Fleeting and frightening. A shadow looming over her bedside. Morbid and menacing.

'I killed his sister... But my brother had already killed him two years ago...'

Deep breaths filled her seemingly starved lungs.

"It was just a bad dream." Her voice was scratchy because of disuse. It screeched in her own ears, almost making her wince.

"What is?"

She steeled herself at the sound of his voice. It was no way familiar to her... She had only encountered it once in her life. But the cold timbre had embedded itself in her bloodstream all the same.

He was sitting on a sofa chair, a leather-bound book in hand... no gloves. She could almost make out the blue-green veins under his skin. His eyes remained lock on the pages... no glasses and somehow blue and red all at once.

Her senses zeroed in to the ticking of the antique clock. She willed them to focus on the threat in the room.

Was it really happening? Was this really happening to her?

"You've been asked a question." The book was shut close as his gaze squared on her openly.

"W-What..."

"I believe you are starting a question not an answer." His legs uncrossed. Then he was standing from the comfort of his seat to intimidate her no doubt... And it was working quite well.

"You c-can't... Y-You can't be here..." She swallowed - the action made the dryness of her throat and mouth more apparent at the moment.

Each step he took gave off a sound resembling to that of warning bells. Her body seemed to shrunk with each shuddering breath. Like a black panther, he prowled on the bed... scenting her fear... caging her strength.

"No, Claire... You're the one who cannot be here..."

The dining hall was two-story with floors like a chessboard, checkered in black and white marble. Oil paintings adorned the walls along with electric brass sconces. Chandeliers lit up the hall as candelabras blazed on the mahogany long table. A stained glass window on the second floor could be seen from where she sat.

Gloved fingers tinkered with the grandfather clock, carefully moving the hour hand to two and dragging the minute hand slowly to the right... then down... then left... stopping at fifty-three. The glass cover was set back in place. In seven minutes, the timepiece would ring for the Devil's hour.

She had no idea how long she had been there. Drugs had been mostly keeping her under, intending to make her recovery faster. It was the first time she was in his presence again.

Her gaze fell on the warm meal set up before her—lamb chops. A quick bite had been taken. The aroma was simply impossible to resist. Rosemary and thyme had given the meat great flavor.

Like she could actually eat with him in the room.

"What do you want from me?" Vitality had seeped back into her being. She was no longer wounded and mangled. It was high time to face this mishap.

Endurance could conquer all bad fortune.

"What can you offer?" His hands were clasped behind his back as he proceeded to walk the length of the room. His footsteps echoed with that tolling sound again on the marble floor.

"What did you do to Barry? To Moira... and little Natalia?!" It was useless to contain her emotions. Passiveness and aggressiveness seemed to not work on him anyway, so she might as well come off as destructive and bold... even when her heart seemed to shiver in her ribs.

"And why should I answer to you?" His steps halted beside the tall chair across from her. His sunglasses reflected the flames on the candle holders. Staring long enough into them earned her a glimpse of the burning eyes behind the dark lenses. His face turned towards the fireplace at the head of the table. He appeared more interested with the burning wood than with her.

"You will not get away with this." Her hand inched closer to the sharp-looking steak knife. "The B.S.A.A. was on their way to Sushestvovanie when you attacked us." Her fingers wrapped around the hilt, getting a good grip. Her blue eyes seemed to be in flames with vehemence.

His arm moved—a little too fast for her to follow—before a stainless steel revolver skidded across the table, settling right beside her plate.

A Smith & Wesson magnum... six shot... large caliber... Was he taunting her? Offering her a stronger weapon all of a sudden...?

She discarded the knife and grabbed for the powerful handgun. It was fully-loaded. She didn't have to check and see. The weight was telling enough.

There had been no time wasted as the gun was aimed and bullets were fired.

Every shot missed.

More rounds were provided to her.

She reloaded the gun and tried again.

Every shot missed.

He was nothing but a black blur... A shadow blending with the dark corners of the grand hall.

And the next thing she knew, her little knife was in his hand... And he was before her, her right wrist captured in his bruising hold.

The blade glinted.

Like it was winking at her...

Then her hand was skewered on the smooth surface of the table.

The shock from the penetrating pain cowed her cry.

The horror from the sight of her spurting blood when the blade was wrenched out of her hand shredded her scream.

"What can you offer me, Claire Redfield?" His hand closed around her shoulder and he forced her to sit back on the chair.

She cradled her shaking and bleeding hand.

Haunting rings reverberated through the opulent house.

The devil was far from done.

"Now, let's start again, shall we? I'll question... and you will answer." The bloodstained knife was pointed at her as he leaned on the dining table.

A napkin was used to clean her blood off of the knife. Her eyes watched every turn and every tilt. She was almost captivated. How could such capable hands be so cruel?

Her palm was slowly... but surely getting numb. Could she bleed out from this? It wasn't her wrist... It didn't matter... Her blood continued to spill on the ghastly white dress she was wearing. And that didn't bode well for her at all.

No questions... even as she sat so still. Time was trickling away... Not that she would answer... nor would she give him anything...

"The same question remains... What can you offer me?" His tone was... bored. His fingers drummed on the the side of the table—impatient.

But what could she say to at least buy herself more time?

"Your blood is of no use to me. t-Phobos... It was such a transient virus. Overcoming fear? Fear is never overcome... Fear lingers as you live." He snatched her good hand in his and inspected it. "Like at this very moment... when you simply tremble... because of fear." Her shaking wouldn't cease. The dread was overwhelming.

"I suppose I better cut to the chase." He seated himself next to her. "I've grown weary... of your bothersome brother and your free-spirited friends. Do you have any idea on where you are, Miss Redfield?" Her eyes darted to the ornamental crest hanging on the far-side of the wall... on the set of heavy double doors leading out to the foyer... to the decorative full armors—guarding and watching.

She didn't know where she was.

It was some mansion that was for sure.

How was it significant to all of this?

A manor had always housed certain horrors.

It was nothing new.

"How disappointing..." He actually sounded disappointed like she would care about pleasing him in any way. "You bear no information that could prove of importance to me. Ah. Have you seen young Sherry as of late? I believe she sees you as a mother figure. How adorable. It's fortunate that she has taken from her biological mother's physical appearance and her father's intellect." Anger seemed to boil deep within her. How dare he bring up Sherry?

"Stay away from her." Weightless threat spat out of gritted teeth. But she shouldn't let him get to her. The U.S. government had sworn to protect Sherry. Leon even—

"It's strange that she seems to be following in that rookie officer's footsteps... A government lapdog? Her parents are most likely rolling in their graves right now." The wound in her hand was throbbing in pain. When would his monologue be done?

"And how is Mr. Kennedy? If you can then you shall give him a friendly advice to quell his fascination with a distinguished spy at my employ. She's quite fickle. A betrayer. And I doubt he will be durable enough once he tasted her outright deception." Was he planning to spend the rest of the hours before dawn ticking off a hit list and threatening the people who mattered to her the most?

"And Chris... Of course Chris and the surviving S.T.A.R.S. members... What do you say, Claire? Don't you think it will be fun if we're all gathered here together?" The door at the left corner of the room opened and a shady lab coat stepped in.

"This is where it all started. And on this very ground, it shall end." He straightened back on his slender legs. Then bent down to pick up his revolver from the shiny floor.

"Welcome back to Raccoon City."

Author's Notes: Felt like trying out some good old Wesker x Claire. Not exactly my forte...

As always, thank you for reading. Your reviews and comments will be greatly appreciated~