Chapter Text
Chris was running through the empty lab, gun at the ready. He was a big man but fast on his feet, faster when he had to aim and fire. However, most of the monstrosities in the facility were dead. It was upsetting.
Because many of them had looked so...human.
They were obviously particular strains - a group of near-identical bearded men with red-tinted eyes, a collection of elderly women who were clearly clones of each other, also deceased. But the worst had been the room full of Weskers.
Dozens and dozens of Weskers, ranging in age from sweet-faced five-year-olds to middle-aged, all in the same hospital pajamas. Not exact copies of his ex-Captain - the hair was a touch too silver on one, the staring eyes of another corpse were green instead of blue or red - but all Wesker nonetheless.
Chris sighed and rubbed his face hard. What the hell was this corporation trying to do anyway?
That was when he heard a clear voice from the back of the room.
"Hello?"
"He's not Wesker." Rebecca Chambers had a gift for stating the obvious. Now back at the BSAA, they had the not-Wesker in an observation room. The doctor and the soldier observed the blonde through the two-way glass.
It was...uncanny. While he couldn't be much older than twenty, the specimen (which was how Chris forced himself to think of the other man) looked more like Wesker than the rest of the dead copies put together. He had Wesker's clear gray-blue eyes, his perfect features, softened by youth. But the smile he directed at the glass was nothing like the former S.T.A.R.S. Captain's cold smirk.
It was bright and wide and full of hope.
"They - whoever the corporation was - they were trying to clone Wesker but they made some edits. Probably to make him easier to control. You said the others were dead? What killed them?"
"I don't know, Rebecca. There wasn't a mark on any of the...experiments there. And he was the only one alive. Edits? Is that why he's short?"
Rebecca gave a half-laugh. "You mean short compared to the original Wesker. The boy's only a few inches away from your height."
"Still, it'll be odd not looking up at Wesker... I mean, the specimen." Chris rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. His head hurt. "He doesn't seem upset, does he? About being here? The real artifact would be threatening to tear someone's head off, and that was in the S.T.A.R.S. days."
"Tell me about it. I remember what he was like..." Rebecca trailed off, wondering if she had been tactless. She didn't know the full history of Chris and their Captain-turned-bioterrorist, but once upon a time, the two of them had been close. Close enough to raise a few eyebrows among their colleagues, close enough to generate some smutty theories.
"I suppose I'd better go talk to him. He's my problem, after all."
As if on cue, the not-Wesker looked straight at the two-way mirror and mouthed, "I know you're there."
AW97 was having a strange day. Since he was awakened (or rather, was decanted fully-grown from a vat), he'd never been allowed to leave the Facility. He had a handful of confused memories (a place called Raccoon City, a man with friendly brown eyes, a stately house, some kind of worms crawling under his skin) but the staff had been firm about reminding him that those weren't his memories. They belonged to his sire.
He was AW97, not Wesker.
Of course, it's not like he had much chance to make new memories. He had the basic imprint of human knowledge required to function as an adult but no new stimulation. Just the same round of daily tests and questions.
"How are you feeling?"
"Can you catch this ball before it hits the ground?"
"I'm sure you can run faster than that."
Albert knew that he was a disappointment to his caretakers. Unlike his clone-brothers, he couldn't move in bursts of dazzling speed or release a burst of tentacles from his body. Despite the prodding and questions from the lab staff, he remained stubbornly human.
And then his brothers had started to sicken. Although he'd been told repeatedly of their abilities by his caretakers, AW97 hadn't been allowed to actually meet any of them. Later he'd overheard the staff discussing their rapid decline. AW97 had been terrified, assuming a similar fate was in store for him. His fears were confirmed when he was taken to the room full of corpses and left there. Hours passed or maybe days. Despite his lack of inhuman abilities, AW97 didn't get thirsty or need to eat.
He did get lonely though. So when the big, familiar man with brown eyes had appeared, AW97 was quick to trust him. Just the sight of him ("You're my best man") had stirred a sudden warmth in the clone's chest. Even now, sitting in an examination room, memories of the big man (Christopher, that was his name) burned through AW97, along with an avalanche of confusing feelings.
The blonde shook his head, trying to dislodge the emotions. It happened sometimes. Ghost phrases and feelings slipping into his mind, remnants of his sire's life or maybe implants from his time in the vat. AW97 clutched his head, trying to focus on the present, on the memories that were his.
He remembered the big man taking him from the Facility. Remembered traveling in a vehicle, watching the landscape through the window with wide eyes. Then this room.
He was stirred from his thoughts by the opening of a door.
The big man walked in, his mouth set in a grim line.
Chris stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He hesitated for a second, glancing around the sterile white walls of the examination room before fixing his gaze on the young man seated on the edge of the cot.
AW97 was watching him intently, his posture very straight, his hands folded neatly in his lap. There was something eerily composed about him but nothing like the cruel, calculating arrogance of the original Wesker. That wide-eyed, kittenish interest was at odds with his body language and was all his own. Try as he might, Chris couldn't imagine Wesker with that expression, whatever his age.
"You okay?" Chris said after a moment, crossing his arms over his chest. Defensive.
AW97 tilted his head to the side, considering the question like it was something new. "Yes. Thank-you."
Chris exhaled through his nose. " No nausea? No headaches? You feel... normal?"
"I feel like myself," AW97 answered, smiling faintly. "I guess that’s normal."
Chris wasn’t sure what to do with that response. He had spent years dreading the return of Wesker. In any form. Even after his death, the man had lingered in Chris' bad dreams, in the paranoia (and secret hope) that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t really gone. But this? This wasn’t what Chris had expected. Not at all.
"Do you know why you were the only one left?" Chris asked carefully, watching for that hint of deception, the moment of calculation - anything that might suggest that a mastermind was hiding under that boyish facade.
AW97's brow drew together but his eyes stayed clear. His one hand came up to stroke his cheek as his thought. Chris recognised it as a self-soothing motion, a way of coping. The cheek itself was smooth as a girl's. Finally, AW97 shook his head. "I was never allowed to meet the others. But I heard the staff talking about me." He paused, eyes flickering with some old hurt. "I think... I was a failure."
Chris frowned. "Why would you think that?"
"I don’t have the abilities of the others." AW97 's hands were in his lap now and he twisted his fingers. "They could do things - scary things. I can’t. The staff called me... defective. They talked about...deactivating me. And then the other clones started dying." He glanced up at Chris with Wesker's gray-blue eyes but there was something almost childlike in his voice when he asked, "Are you going to deactivate me?"
The question hit Chris hard. He stiffened. "Jesus. No!"
AW97 studied his face, looking for something. Apparently satisfied, he nodded to himself, gaze dropping to his lap again. "So what happens to me now?" There was a slight tremor in his voice.
Chris ran a hand over his face. That was the million-dollar question. Protocol said the safest bet was containment. The guy...the kid...might not be dangerous now but he was still technically an unstable experiment. And yet... looking at him, Chris couldn’t see any kind of bioweapon. He saw a kid - one who had been left to rot in a room full of the dead.
Chris sighed. "I don’t know."
AW97’s lower lip quivered but he nodded, as if he'd expected that answer.
Chris was a lot of things but under the weary exterior, he was a good person. He wanted to give this boy some comfort. "Look, we’ll figure it out. You’re not going back to that place."
AW97’s head snapped up, the beginning of a smile on his plump lips. That was another difference between him and Wesker. Whereas Wesker's mouth had been thin but shapely, the boy's lips were startlingly full and pink, framing perfect teeth. "I’m not?"
"No." Chris met the large, bright eyes. Whatever happened, Chris couldn't pass up a chance to protect an innocent and you didn't get more innocent than the fresh-faced boy in front of him. "Whatever you are, whatever they were trying to make you into - it’s not their call anymore. You get to decide who you are."
AW97’s throat moved as he swallowed hard, his fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. He looked down again, silent for a long moment, before finally whispering, "Thank you."
Chris exhaled slowly, the tightness around his heart loosening just a fraction. "Don’t thank me yet. I still have to deal with the paperwork."
And the fall-out for letting you out of here, he thought to himself.
AW97 blinked then suddenly he laughed. It was soft but genuine and it was so achingly real , so human that Chris felt something in his chest twist.
"Paperwork. Christopher, you always hated paperwork," the blonde chuckled. Then he looked confused, his smooth cheeks going pink. "Sorry. I don't know why I said that."
Chris just shook his head with a half-smile. "Come on, kid. Let’s get out of here."