Only One Survived (Edited) Chapter 1

Darkness had cascaded itself around the room, leaving nothing but a lingering silence in it’s wake. The lullaby of passing footsteps worked to keep the boy asleep, the paper thin sheets wrapped loosely around his small body in order to knock away the chills trapped within the room. Locks of blonde fell around his eyes, occasionally brushing against his nose, desperate to wake him in order to warn him against the approaching intruder. Alas, not in time. The hum of the fluorescents was first, before the soft click called upon a harsh ray to fill the room, stirring the young boy from his sleep with a jolt.

His body sat up from the bed with a start, his brows furrowing together, his small hand raising in order to shield his eyes from the intrusive beams. The struggles to see clearly went on until he could hear a swift scrap of a keycard, followed by the buzz of his lock being released. His head turned in order to peak between parting fingers, his vision now being full of a sudden blur of blues, and blacks, thick footfalls clad in boots approaching him firmly. Colonel Sergei Vladimir. Sir Ozwell E. Spencer’s right hand man, charged with personally seeing to the boy. Though it seemed both had a mutual disagreement of their current situations.

His inquisitive stare was met with ice before a large hand reached out to take him by the arm. “Come along. It’s time to get up.”
Though his words said one thing, his body had already began to turn, and his power versus the blonde’s was as of now, no contest. The tiny frame was hurled to his feet, and his legs were forced to compensate for his lack of balance with multiple, leaping steps to prevent himself from falling. Not that he would hit the floor, not with that iron grip. If anything, he would have been held into the air until he could regain his footing. Sergei was never very patient with the clumsy gait of small children. He wasn’t very patient with anything if he were honest with himself.

Thankfully the walk from point A, to point B had been a relatively short one, and seeing as how most of the lights were still off along the hallways, signaled to him it was still late. Though how late he couldn’t say. The researchers kept the time either on their wrist watches, or phones, if at all. It seemed they could work through days at a time fueled by nothing but ambition.

The cold tile was cruel against his bare feet, and he was always paranoid of being stepped on by the towering Russian, who would most likely not even notice with those soles. However, their destination wasn’t exactly one of warmth, and welcome. The inside of the room he was being lead to was dark, with the foreboding glow of the green coils and dials of the machinery. He glanced around, spying three researchers speaking among themselves, their steps hurrying back and forth, their clipboards glued to their palms.

Curiosity and anxiety racked his chest, but he hadn’t the time to ask questions, for yet again, his body became airborne, and he was seated firmly upon the sheet covered gurney. He looked to the researchers, but for now, nobody seemed to be paying him any mind, and even if he wanted to ask questions, what exactly could he ask that would be met with an actual response? Though foolish, his childish nature compelled him to do so anyway, and before he could think of anything worthwhile to ask, his tiny lips quivered to husk out an bare audible, “Sergei, what’s going on?”

It was a wonder the lumbering giant heard him at all, but the Colonel turned to glance at him from over his shoulder, a smirk tugging the corner of his lip. The blonde’s tiny spine rattled, but to his surprise, it seemed as though his question had caught something akin to interest.

Turning his body, the Russian moved to be beside of him, his hand planting itself on his chest, to guide the boy to lay on his back. “History will be made today comrade. You’re going to receive Sir Spencer’s gift to you, and if you accept it, you will become great. First, we need to see if you’re even worthy to be called carrier. Just lay here, and don’t move.”

Not that he had entirely let the hand push him on his own, more so the sheer power in those fingers were enough to knock even a grown man back, he was certain. Or perhaps it was because he was simply so small in comparison. However, he didn’t have time to consider as he watched the restraints being pulled from their coils, and crossed over his chest.

The feeling of being unable to move raised red flags within his mind, and he turned to regard his keeper once more, wondering why it was necessary. Though he was hushed when it was noticed he was about to speak again.
“Quiet now. Try not to move.”

It was none too reassuring, but what choice did he have? He could only do as he was told, his head resting against the cold steel table while a researcher had made his way to the boy’s side. The needle had gone unnoticed to him, even with all of his internal panicking, until he felt the coolness of the damp cotton ball swabbing his skin, the vein being teased until it finally revealed itself. His head turned to regard the researcher cleaning him, but before he could even wonder what it was they were going to give him, his body felt as though it had been dumped inside of a furnace, and a loud cry exited his lips, his eyes snapping closed, for they too were on fire. He wanted nothing more than to tend to his pain, his hands struggling to reach his face, but they had no hope of moving. Tears streamed down the corners of his eyes, his teeth biting together to hold back the screams, but it was all futile. They came in a vicious cycle of being restrained, and released over and over again as he was consumed by pain, and heat.

He had no idea how long it would last, or if it would go away at all. He wanted it to stop, and he wondered what he had done to deserve such inhumane torture. Had he angered his keeper, did these researchers deem him useless and were having him exposed? His mind could barely function, and soon, he felt the searing infernos residing away, as though he were being extracted from the fires after being roasted alive. Yet, there were no burns on his skin, and all that remained was the potent remnant of what had just been there before.

His heart raced, and the tears continued to fall, his eyes slowly working to peak open when the voice of his keeper rang out.
“He’s alive...he’s really alive….comrade, open your eyes...look at me.”
He felt a soft tap to the side of his face, or perhaps it had been a hard slap. Whatever it was, he could barely register it had been there at all, so little, he wondered if he had imagined being touched. Yet, as he peeled his eyes open, the researchers, and the Colonel were all looking at his face, huddled tightly together as though they were seeing something odd. Their stern expressions did not change for the longest time, and even then, it didn’t matter. The blonde was exhausted from the events, and wanted nothing more than to let the second wave of sleep consume him, which after a moment of debate, that battle was easily won. What chance did a weary child have against the influence of sleep?

He didn’t even mind when he felt his wrist being squeezed, the outside voices barely understood through his haze.
“He’s fine...he’s just asleep...he’s really alive...progenitor….call Spencer….Wesker.”