Albert Wesker and the Growing Realisation That This is Not a Dream
"Give it up Wesker, it's over!" Redfield brandished his handgun, face a picture of small minded, sanctimonious, moralistic determination as his partner stepped up alongside him in a similar pose.
"Over?" Wesker injected as more venom as he could into this one word, he wasn't over, Uroboros wasn't over, all he had to do was ensure that this pitiful insect stayed DEAD. "I'm just getting started!" With that he smashed his fist into the metal casing of the missile containing Uroboros and breathed heavily as it began to overwhelm his system, he could see the look of fear on the faces of the BSAA agents and knew that he had truly ascended to the status of a God, if there were any doubt before. Suddenly, however, both Chris and Sheva began to laugh, a full, hearty, impossible-to-stop chuckle.
Wesker was incredulous, "What are you laughing about? I am your God; I will end your pathetic existence."
Redfield managed to stem his laughter for a second before gesturing weakly in the tyrant's direction, "You're a horse, Wesker!" This then sent him into a fresh paroxysm of hilarity, as he tried to use Sheva's shoulder to keep himself upright.
"WHAT?" Wesker looked down at himself, he was a horse! With a picture of some sunglasses on his flank, "It doesn't matter, Redfield, I'll destroy you, the human race requires judgement." Without warning, the scene lurched rapidly and Wesker, still in horse form, was on a beautiful, grassy meadow, the wind running through his mane. This... was better, nothing to worry about; suddenly he became acutely aware of a presence on his back.
Wesker slowly turned his head to see Redfield giving him a reassuring grin, "Easy Weskie, let's reign it in, don't want to turn an ankle and end up in the glue factory, do we?" Wesker snorted, he didn't take instruction from a simpleton like Chris, maybe he could buck him off and finish him, once and for all. The pace increased as Wesker hurtled through the meadow, occasionally flicking his back legs upwards in an attempt to end the meddlesome BSAA agent. Rather than fear his untimely death, Redfield actually seemed to be enjoying himself, letting out a series of whoops and hollers. Wesker was so distracted with trying to kill Chris, that he didn't notice the ground ahead becoming rocky and uneven until he felt his ankle go at an unnatural angle and he collapsed in a heap.
Redfield, who somehow seemed entirely unharmed, was walking over to Wesker's prone form with a loaded shotgun. He had tears in his eyes and his grip on the firearm was shaky and unsteady, "I'm sorry, Weskie, you were always my favourite pony." A sudden loud blast issued forth and everything went white.
Wesker jerked awake, sweat dripping down his brow, it was early morning from the looks of things. What a ridiculous pair of dreams, both the arrival at the farmhouse of a talking pony and being mercy killed by Chris. His train of thought instantly derailed when he noticed where he was... still in that little pony's bedroom, how...? What?
Look at your hoooooooooves, Al. Look at your hooooooves.
Wesker sighed; this was real, wasn't it? It was improbable, impossible to explain and utterly illogical but somehow he was a talking horse in a land of ponies, who could also talk. He needed to find a library or some other educational facility and find out as much as he could about the history, social order and structure and everything in between of this strange land to truly ascertain his circumstances. He'd always been a fan of a good book or two, so it wouldn't be a truly horrific way to spend a day. He laid back lazily on the bed, stretching out his limbs and planning the day ahead, there was a chance he may have to help Applejack briefly in return for the food and bed but Wesker was sure he could delay it or possibly avoid it all together.
Why, Al? Not like you've got anywhere important to be or anything important to do, why not help out?
Eurgh, so now Joy was turning into his moral conscience? Fantastic, it'd been a long time since he had one of them...
Ha, you still love me, Al. Now... wait. Do you smell pancakes?
He did and they smelt incredible, he was suddenly ravenous and if he wanted to eat these pancakes it'd be a lot harder to avoid doing work. He sighed again; it'd probably be worth it from the smell of them. It was odd to have a pancake centred dilemma so soon after his world-changing plans had failed; it was certainly a drastic change of size and scope. In the end, his stomach won out over his general inclination to not help people and he trotted downstairs towards the kitchen. A large, red stallion awaited him as he reached the source of the smell, the other occupant of the room besides Wesker was raptly monitoring the gently sizzling pancakes and Wesker was able note his apple cutie mark without alerting him to his presence. A big brother or possibly a cousin, he assumed, Applejack seemed like an honest to goodness farm girl... pony and if that was the case, she was probably from a large family. He enjoyed logical deductions, they helped briefly draw his mind away from the fact he was a horse. Rather than appear to be an intruder in the home, he cleared his throat loudly in order to ensure that there'd be no unexpected outbursts of defensive violence.
The well built red pony turned towards the source of the noise and nodded slightly when he saw Wesker standing there, a gesture that the blond-maned pony returned with an almost imperceptible inclination of his head.
"Nice to meet y'all, Mr Wesker sir, name's Big Macintosh, Applejack's big brother, she told me y'all had no place to stay." The big farm pony rumbled, Wesker got the impression that this many words at once was a rare occurrence, he seemed like the strong, silent type.
"That is correct; I've found myself in... hard times as of late."
Pfft, tell me about it, Al.
Wesker briefly considered trying to explain to Big Macintosh that he was actually a human but he felt it would just mark him out as an insane vagrant and reduce his chances of eating the pancakes that were being cooked, an eventuality that terrified Wesker more than any other. Not to mention that his dream was clinging determinedly to the foggy recesses of his brain, if, by some miracle, Big Macintosh believed he was actually a species that possibly didn't exist in this land, how could he then also expect the crimson pony to understand the circumstances of his arrival?
Hey big red pony, I was a slimy monster that had a lava bath, look at me now!
Wesker internally hmph'd and conceded that point to Joy, there was no way that they could understand anything of what he'd set out to do, not that humanity could either. Ignorance and a fear of anything which upsets the decadent, murdering status quo would always rise up against the true visionaries, he'd never expected anything less, even when he was bellowing at Chris in the volcano as to whether he really thought humanity was worth saving.
"Not a problem, Mr Wesker, y'all are more than welcome to stay here but you'd need to earn your keep, y'hear?" Big Macintosh stated in a firm tone, not necessarily unkind but nonetheless adamant that Wesker had no chance of getting free food and lodgings, a sentiment which Wesker considered entirely fair, if slightly deflating.
Wesker arched an eyebrow, "Whereabouts would I sleep? I gather that the bed I slept in was free only as of tonight."
Macintosh nodded before replying, "Our sofa folds out, y'all would be sleeping on that." Wesker's nose wrinkled for the briefest of moments but Macintosh caught the expression, "Hey, were y'all expectin' silk sheets? Tain't worse than sleeping outside." Wesker nodded slowly, that was certainly true, he'd experienced waking up on the cold grass outside and found that it certainly did not compare favourably to awaking with a roof over his head.
"If I agree to this proposal," Wesker started, causing Macintosh to roll his eyes at the emphasis he put on the word 'If', "then I will get to eat pancakes before I start working."
Clearly Macintosh had been expecting slightly more extravagant terms as he proceeded to break out into a relieved smile. "Course, Mr Wesker, can't have y'all workin' on an empty stomach now. They're just about done now, as it is."
So it was that Albert Wesker, potential God, found himself in a farmhouse kitchen devouring pancakes like his life depended on it. All things considered, death could have gone far worse than it ultimately had. Once he'd finished, he turned to Macintosh and gave him an appreciative nod before enquiring, "Is there a library around here?"
Macintosh nodded and seemed to have formulated a mini-plan, "Sure is, Mr Wesker, smart unicorn called Twilight Sparkle lives there, I need to deliver a couple of bushels there, I can show y'all the way after work."
Wesker brushed aside the word 'unicorn' and stored it in a handy mental folder titled 'Save for later', "That would be satisfactory." Wesker paused and decided that he hadn't said quite enough, "What work needs to be done?"
As it turned out for a usually expertly groomed and in-control Wesker, far more than he would have liked.