Chris heard the fight, so did Wesker. They'd been throwing declarations of superiority at one another for almost too long when the threat Krauser threw at Piers, yielded the noise of breaking bone. The captain had cringed, shuttered and hid form it in fear as he listened to the battle, but could see nothing of it through Wesker standing before him like a door. Vermilion, cat-like eyes, narrowed and burrowed deep in the pits of almost blackened mahogany orbs. A stare down. The bellow that had been Krauser's alerted Chris to the retaliation on Piers' part, and it made hope bubble up inside him to hear him fight back, even if he couldn't see the fight. He could hear the extinguish of breath. Wesker couldn't see the fight either, he was facing the captain, watching his features contort, and reading them like a book in hopes to reveal something of how he felt; to see how it was that Chris had taken to hearing his partner's war. That kid was torn to Hell, broken hand, fingers, mangled joints, torn up, raped, ribs cracked, broken, bruised. Lord knew what else they'd done to him, and Piers had the gull to bury a knife in someone. He knew the sound of a knife ripping through flesh. He'd heard it not long again, accompanied by his sniper's screams. Whatever injury that had caused was a knife in flesh as well, but this time it wasn't Piers' ragged and hitched breathing that was extinguished. It was that raspy chortle of that demon cohort. Victory flashed in Chris' features in a way that made Wesker's shark like features, so angled and sharp, turn to stone. "Tell me Christopher..., you think he's coming for you? You think, that he'll make it here? In one piece? He's already lost the battle, and here you sit, ever proud of yourself, of your..., teaaamm. As though resilience will get you anything but death. I have allowed your prolonged existence out of a sense of..., wonder. More over, the hopes that there would still be at least a challenge for me. You have always failed me. You sit here now, looking like a fool. You're both dead Chris. I've allowed this for far too long." With nothing to go on but sound, but the noise of dragged limbs, and stumbling indicators of movement from behind the tall blond, set on tormenting him, Chris could only assume that Piers was still trapped in that room. He was wrong though, not that it would matter, as Wesker came closer to him, creaking leather, coiling into a wrecking ball that came colliding with his cheekbone, rendering his thoughts unconscious.

Amber eyes narrowing on their intended victim, Wesker finally took the moment to turn, looking at the ruin of the room left behind. Strong willed little brat. At least, he had always imagined so. He didn't pick just anyone to join Umbrella. Piers had always shown an amazing willpower to do the 'right thing' and in times like this it was clear just what it was the younger soldier imagined that was. He wasn't concerned with himself. He never had been. Always the optimist, concerned with saving the world, and no himself. The same was true here. He'd been mangled in that room, for days on end. Tortured to the extent that other men would have been rendered simply doomed. Yet, here was Piers, downing Krauser. A commando, one of his best agents, and someone he had never anticipated would fail him, over what... some child with a vendetta against evil? If only he'd been able to manipulate the sniper the way he had the others. If only that sense of honor he carried, and the bravado, and conviction could have been tethered to Albert Wesker, then this never would have happened. A proud young man, that was certain. Piers Nivans would have been an excellent soldier in his army, and instead, threw in his ilk with Bioterrorism's own, Chris Redfield. So be it. Wesker would let him have what he wanted so badly...

Determined, blood drenched, mangled fingertips, ineptly hung to the side of the sniper's body, eighty-sixed for their uselessness. Numbness had worn off, replaced regrettably for deadening throbbing sting that worked through each broken digit. The tiny creeks of blood that ran in rivulets down Piers' forearm, up from his shoulder like twining, twisted snakes, each one burning the tingling flesh that they dripped over. The pain of flayed fingers tips and his palm made the fringes of rational thinking tear apart. Krauser's body lay on the ground, unmoving, staring up at Piers with it's one blue eye, the other burned by the ash of cigarette's cherry red, put on in it's iris. Yeah, he'd killed the man he'd wanted dead for a rather fucking long time, but at the moment, it wasn't much of a gratification. Chris' life was in danger, and there a hole in his thigh from the last stabbing he'd received from Krauser to keep him from fighting. Or more over, for the fun of watching him bleed out. It was serving now, to make lightheadedness mingle with the sting and agony of throbbing wounds over all his body. Everything hurt. Now however, was not the time to let blood loss take its toll, he had a goal to accomplish, and before he could do that, getting out of this torture chamber was the first priority. With only one functional hand left, and only one functional leg, that left this to be done with simply will power. A good thing Piers was made of the stuff. There was a reason though. Easy to maintain will, when the goal wasn't survival..., not your own anyway. Expending all your strength was going to happen one way or another, as long as you expected it, you wouldn't be completely surprised when you found yourself unable to move on. Dragging his left leg behind him, and pulling along with his forearm, Piers' twisted his lean body, stealing a look at the remains of his clothing, all discarded, and then to the commando's dead corpse. There was no time for contemplation, so with ease, stole away what he needed. Boots, fatigues, and rigs. The knife jammed into the rigs. Pools of crimson were already soaking the cloth around his leg, from the puncture, but the rigging he yanked and jerked, cut off circulation, and another around his shoulder, bits of rig in his teeth while he pulled it tight with his good hand, feeling the strands bitting into his flesh and wound, groaning at the agony.

Wesker was watching. He was always watching. But Piers wasn't afraid of being watched. He was banking on it, it was the only way he'd even find Chris, was by Wesker giving away his location. Bracing his good hand on the ground, the sniper pulled himself to his feet, gimping toward the metal door, leaning his weight on the door. Resting smooth cheeks on the cool steel of the door, heaving in several breathes passed battered, bruised lips, and into his tortured lungs. A quick reminder of all the broken ribs, and the puncture in his lung, was killing him to feel, but then, if you didn't expect to live though, it was bearable. Clutching the grip that cranked under pressure, Piers shoved the steel door aside, with what remained of his leverage, stumbling through, fumbling as he lost all footing and fell against the opposing wall, crying out at the impact of his dislocated shoulder slamming into the wall, and smearing a trail of copper all along the wall. "Jesus..." Chewing his upper tier, staggering breaths hitched in Piers' throat, groaning at the effort of getting upright again, and along the wall. Moving along it, seemed like miles. Every step was demanding and frayed his senses. Every door had to be examined, listened to, and every door yielded nothing. That was until the one ahead snapped open, blinding light broken by steel gray slamming open, a hand deafeningly fast around his throat. Yanked from his feet; only able to peer through one good eye, the other swollen shut from the pummeling. But the face and force was already marked.

"I had hoped you wouldn't bleed out until you reached your precious captain... Come agent." Wesker's voice was sharp, a hiss, as he lugged himself off the wall, choking blood into Piers' mouth. forming from the already made injuries that made a gargled hiss for breath. "So pathetic. After all these years, and you still manage to be a thorn in my side." Thrown to the ground within a room of monitors, all the sniper felt was the crack of his knee cap from the weight of his body without bracing it. His yelp of pain pulled Chris awake form his forced unconsciousness, the baritone groan, hitting Piers' senses from this place within the room. He couldn't stabilize his sight for hell, but he knew the voice. "Well then agent, I want to hear you beg." The cock of the infamous magnum sported by the blond tormentor was leveled at Chris' head, jerking serious deadpan in the air. The aristocratic surety, the definition of cocky, while Piers was on his broken busted up leg looking up at his captain. The one he'd fought for for years, and struggled to get to for so long. Wesker wasn't sentimental, and Piers wasn't stupid. He wasn't making it out, but Chris? Chris had to.

Fingers wound up in the fabric of Chris' fatigues, a saddened, broke smile on that once perfect visage. "I don't regret it, captain..." Chris was already babbling not to give up on this, screaming at Wesker, some dull thrum in his head that sounded like a bomb had gone off in his ear. Probably adrenaline that was working his good hand round the knife he'd claimed from Krauser. "I'm not sorry." Not sorry for anything. Even if it meant this moment had to come. He wasn't sorry that being with Wesker led him to Chris, or that his years with the B.S.A.A. were thanks to the taint his soul suffered. That didn't make it easier saying this, or the chortle on Wesker's part when he heard Chris' shouting that they were both going to be fine. They weren't, but Chris would be. Blood ran in a line down his mouth, and with a finite grip on the hilt of the dagger in his hand, Piers let his eyes lull shut for the briefest seconds. "Forgive me." Jerk of muscles, the slice of robe and the gun shot. It wasn't Chris who was silenced with the gun shot. Just his voice screaming hoarse as his legs were freed from cord, and Piers' hand splayed on his leg, limp as his body fell to the ground.

"PIERS!"

People don't hate me for that end! Cliff hanger for Chris Redfield!