Author's Notes:

Thank you for stopping by and for taking a look into my RE5 fanfiction spinoff of Jill and Wesker's story after the Spencer Castle incident!

I know there are many fanfictions already out that have investigated this part of the almost untold plot and I recognize that this beginning may not be very original because of that, but I enjoyed writing it and hope some of you will enjoy reading it.

A quick note: I have not played the games themselves because...frankly... I'm too chicken to do so! But I have done a little research, have watched many cutscenes and hope that I have best portrayed each character as they should be.

See you all at the bottom!

Enjoy!

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I do not own and am not affiliated with the Resident Evil games or the characters within. This fanfiction is purely for my own enjoyment and for the enjoyment of those who decide to read it.

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Adrenaline pumped through her veins.

Fear coiled in her stomach.

And she raced forward and embraced her oldest enemy.

Her arms wrapped around him.

And her feet left the ground.

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She could hear the shattering glass.

Her own voice crying out with his.

And the sudden rush of wind around them.

Then.

Nothing.

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The chill...

It surrounded his body and encased him in its bitter embrace.

The rain pelted against his leather suit and the rare appearance of pale skin. It spilled over and into the blood that had trickled out of his wounds, mixing together and flowing over his sides. His fingers clenched, boot twitched and his one good eye blinked open and into the darkness that was this cold and foreboding place.

Pain had not yet set in. Instead, a tingling numbness had raced over his body. Clever as it was how the body worked, it was also preventing him from raising himself and so he remained quite still, looking up at the window he could barely make out. Rather, it was the light pouring from the shattered remains that had caught his attention. In the drizzle it almost seemed a beacon of some sort, providing a point of interest for his weary self to look upon.

It was also a rather grim reminder of where he'd just fallen.

Albert Wesker's remains lay torn and twisted on the cliff side just outside Spencer Castle. The storm's merciless onslaught had reached its peak, drenching him in rain and howling into his eardrums. Waves threatened him with every break they made against jutting stone, spewing forth froths of saltwater and foam. It was low tide as fortune would have it. Or would it have proved far more fruitful had he been tossed into the icy clutches of the ocean herself?

Wesker wasted little time on the thought and refocused inwardly. His body was crippled. Broken and splayed out before the roaring heavens. The BSAA would only be so lucky to find him at the given moment. And the brooding man was ever so keen to avoid that particular fate... At nearly any cost.

Teeth gritted, he clenched each fist and pumped them over and again. His ability to regenerate had never been so dear to him as it was now. Joints popped, fingers cracked and the three broken bones in his left hand hardened and folded into place. Wesker lifted his arms and growled as torn ligaments and muscle tendons rerouted and transfixed into their original positions.

The many bruises covering his scalp and the deep laceration on the back of his skull faded quickly, leaving little indication that harm had ever come to his cranium. It was his neck that took time. It must have snapped on impact; even now he could not bring himself to turn his head or lift himself up off the ground. Thus, Wesker remained unmoving as blurred vision returned to his dead eye.

The storm would slow them down... Chris and his men. They would have to traverse the entire cliff side before making it to Wesker. And the broken man relished this fact. It meant more time for his own departure and more work for his nemesis. And, through his predicament, Wesker managed a smirk as the rotary cup in his right shoulder popped back into place. Even now he could envision his best and brightest S.T.A.R.S. Agent bickering with a radio. Attempting to get backup while maintaining a signal in this God forsaken weather.

God.

Wesker.

A deeply rooted resentment pushed forth from the depths of his belly and the indignity of his situation rushed across the blond's normally placid features. His brow furrowed and his lip curled. He let loose a low growl and slammed his recuperating hand into the hard stone beneath him. How could he have allowed those he'd once commanded get the better of him?! He dared to turn his head to the left and spit out the blood that had collected in his mouth.

No one was above him.

Wesker was to be a God to these insipid little fools.

He would slaughter the weak and watch over those truly worthy to be in his new world.

A renewed sense of calm and certainty fell upon him and Wesker relaxed. He could barely hear it over the fury of mother nature's wrath, but the once mighty predator could certainly feel the bones in his legs snapping to attention. The tissue in his heels began to reform and the droplets of ruby liquid dribbling from his boots paused indefinitely. It was curious, then, as to why it was taking his chest so long to heal. Minutes ticked by and still Wesker could not take in a decent breath of air without the pain in his ribcage stopping him halfway. If the numbness in his body was already lifting it meant he was healing at a rate he'd gladly anticipated.

And yet, as patient as the man was, he recognized time was not in his favor even with the storm overhead. His hands rose up from his sides and he gripped his throat. Sore, but not nearly as mangled as it had been ten minutes ago. His collar bone was whole and the swelling in his left shoulder was nearly gone. He trailed down his chest and found his splintered ribcage mending back together.

It was then that he found the cause to his healing delay.

A small, broken form was sprawled across Wesker's torso. Soggy strands of brunette hair had been ripped free from the confines of a ponytail and had pressed across bruised and paling cheeks. It was no longer Wesker's blood alone that stained his clothes. Fresh droplets of crimson trickled from a wound just above the elbow that lay unmoving against the man's chest.

This was how Albert Wesker found the cold, dead remains of Jill Valentine.

The monster of a man sat up carefully, allowing her to roll down from his stomach and onto his thighs. His body cracked and ached with each movement, but his eager mind was far to enthralled with the prize that had been lain into his lap to care. He burrowed his right arm underneath her neck and drew her near. Sharp ruby eyes poured over her features.

Her left arm was a mess of broken bones and bloodied skin. It had fallen onto the stone at impact and Jill was left with a shattered wrist and mangled fingers. He toyed with her joint and found it was loose. Weaving his hands down her sculpted frame he could feel the many breaks and lacerations across her sides and torso. Her kneecaps were ruptured and her right foot was twisted to an absurd degree.

Wesker raised his eyes toward the shattered window once more. It brought him back now... That moment not long ago when he felt her arms around him, pressing herself into him as if they'd been old lovers. And then that fateful crack of stained glass and their descent. She'd never let go, not even in death. Such was the power and determination of Jill Valentine.

The blond's brow softened. He looked back down on her and frowned. Bringing his fingers up, he let them push away the lingering strands of brunette hair on her cold, wet face.

It was just as easily that his frown turned into a sneer and he raised himself from the ground. Arranging his free arm under her legs, he scooped Jill into his care and approached the water's edge. The evening had stolen all light that would provide even him the slightest glimpse into the murky depths. Wesker's cat-like orbs scanned the horizon as a brilliant flash of lightning cracked against the heavens and found choppy waters and hazardous waves.

Perfect.

If the BSAA came looking for a corpse they'd find one as a buoy, dashed along the cliff side.

Wesker closed in on the very brink and held his arms out. The gusts of wind rippled his pant legs and jostled against his cargo. Sea foam spilled over his shoes. He gave one final smirk at the window high above, peered down on his soon to be dropped cargo...

And found two piercing blue eyes blinking up at him from under a weather-worn baseball cap.

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Author's Notes:

Thank you for reading the first chapter of my RE5 based fanfic! I hope it left you anticipating more..! Or, at the very least, mildly entertained.

I realize this game has been out for a bit, but when I recently came across a clip of Albert Wesker I just had to write something about this dapper and yet so vile villain! But here I am rambling~

Anyways! There is more to come if people are pleased with how this story started and my writing style! Again, I recognize that there are probably quite a few plots about Jill's untold tale in Wesker's clutches, but I promise to try and make it a little more unique from here on out.

Feedback is highly appreciated!

If criticism, which is almost always necessary, please make sure it's constructive!