He felt . . . pain. It had become his world.

It hurt to move.

It hurt to breathe.

It hurt to think.

There was a sick pounding in his head, centering around a spot high on his temple. Something warm trickled down from it, running into his eyes and mouth.

He couldn't taste.

He couldn't see.

The painful new world he found himself in was filled only with blurs. He could see darkness stretching on forever, broken only by a light up, up, up in the distance. The light was part of something larger, something he could see a vague outline of. He knew what it was, but the answer skimmed around the edge of his consciousness, unwilling to penetrate his haze.

Maybe he was dead. Maybe the light was an angel and the outline heaven.

Maybe she'd be coming for him soon, to lead him there.

Unbidden, the image of a woman popped into his mind, a young brunette wearing a pink jacket. She was smiling at him, reaching towards him, saying something.

The image made him happy, made some of the pain fade.

Was she the angel?

No, no. She was Claire.

She was his little sister.

If only she was there with him, he might not have been so confused, so afraid, so cold. He didn't want to be alone.

"Claire," he tried to say, but like everything else, speaking hurt. And his mouth muscles were unwilling to obey him, so all that came out was a strangled, gargling cry.

Claire never responded. Someone else did.

"Still alive, are we, Redfield?" The voice was mocking and cruel and so familiar, but the ringing in his head made it impossible to place.

"And here I was," it continued, "about to celebrate your demise."

A face entered his line of vision. It was a blond man with sharp, handsome features. A pair of twisted and cracked sunglasses hung precariously off his face, but in the next instant he reached up and threw them away.

Underneath, his eyes were red.

Chris Redfield remembered that eyes weren't supposed to be that color. He also remembered that cuts weren't supposed to go from open to closed and then completely healed in a matter of seconds, but the numerous ones on this man's face had, as he watched, done just that.

"But, perhaps, I'm more pleased with things the way they are."

Chris Redfield remembered betrayal. He remembered anger and hate and fear.

The man leaned down, placing his hand against Chris's battered face. "It's time to introduce you to my world, Christopher."

Christopher Redfield remembered Albert Wesker, but when he tried to scream, all that came out was another bloody gurgle.




Author's Note: Okay, I hated the evil!Jill part of Resident Evil 5, which was otherwise a totally awesome game. So, being the rabid yaoi fangirl I am, I of course had to put Chris in her place. This will probably pretty closely follow the events of RE5, except for the obvious changes, of course. However, some other things might be changed a bit. Now all I have to decide is whether to make Chris blond . . .


EDIT: There is now actual art for this story, done by the amazing cupcakebooz on deviantart. Her profile is here: cupcakebooz (dot ) deviantart (dot) com. Of course, replace the (dots) with the actual thing.

*dies from shock and happiness*