#Can't believe I wrote this decades ago...feels like only yesterday that fanfiction.net was my only abode =')

[dollfishu]

In the Shadow of a Father ~

I came across this old fic I wrote eons ago, and honestly, I totally forgot it existed. It’s one of those pieces that got lost in the shuffle of time, tucked away somewhere in the depths of my files. But for some reason, it just popped into my head today, and I thought, why not upload it here? It feels a little nostalgic, like finding a forgotten treasure, and I’m curious to see if anyone else might enjoy it too. Setting is after the volcanic incidents in RE5 lol.

Chapter 1

The city of Cabbagetown was burning. Flames licked the sky, rising higher with every passing minute. The distant wail of sirens and screams echoed through the streets as chaos unfolded—what had once been a quiet urban sprawl was now a battleground between life and death. A viral outbreak had begun, fast and unforgiving, turning people into violent, grotesque monsters.

In the midst of this nightmare, Albert Wesker moved with the precision of a machine. His footsteps were quiet, calculated, as he made his way through the burning city, a small bundle clutched in his arms.

Maya, his 7-month-old stepdaughter, cooed softly, the sound of her voice cutting through the panic around them. She was oblivious to the horror surrounding them, her tiny face turning toward him, wide-eyed and innocent. Her chubby little fingers grasped the collar of his black tactical vest, her cooing sounds of "Dadda" ringing in his ears as they moved through the smoke-filled streets.

Wesker’s expression remained cold, focused. He barely registered her, though his hand tightened slightly around her small frame.

“Dadda... Dada...”

Maya babbled again, her voice more excited this time, her little hands reaching up to tug at his shirt.

Wesker’s lips curled into a thin line, a flicker of annoyance crossing his mind. The child’s persistent cries, while innocent, only reminded him of the role he was playing. His marriage to her mother had been nothing more than a calculated move—a means to an end. It had been the perfect cover, the family man persona allowing him to blend in and stay hidden from those who sought to hunt him down, a temporary disguise to keep him one step ahead of his enemies, like Chris Redfield and his annoying colleagues.

He had no interest in raising this child, no genuine affection for her. To him, Maya was little more than baggage. A piece of collateral that had come with his marriage to her mother—a woman who, in the end, had been just another tool in his ongoing game of survival.

And yet, there were moments, small and fleeting, when her little hands would grip his fingers, or when she looked up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, that Wesker almost felt something stir within him.

Almost.

“Dadda!”

Maya giggled, her baby-like voice breaking him from his thoughts. He glanced down at her, his cold, red-gold eyes momentarily glowing as his temper began to flare. He tightened his grip on her, careful not to hurt her, but his patience was thinning.

"Keep quiet, Maya," he muttered in a low, dangerous tone. His voice was strained, but it was clear there was no warmth in it, not for her or anyone else. The only warmth Wesker had was for his own ambitions, his own desires for power. The world could burn for all he cared, as long as he came out on top.

But Maya’s soft, innocent face did something to him, something he hadn’t expected. The child was supposed to be an inconvenience, a minor distraction, but her innocent affection made the mask of indifference slip, just slightly. He hated it.

“Dadda!” Maya squealed once more, her hands outstretched, clearly wanting to be held closer. Wesker grimaced but complied, pulling her into his arms more securely. Her giggles, though, grated on his nerves.

With a quick, fluid motion, he vaulted over a set of wrecked vehicles, his enhanced agility carrying him high into the air with ease. His eyes glowed faintly, a momentary flicker of the unsettling red light as the virus inside him stirred with each exertion of power. He landed silently, like a predator stalking its prey, and continued through the chaos of the city streets.

The more he moved, the further from danger they got. Yet, Wesker couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched—of being hunted.

Later, as he ducked into an abandoned building, the silence of the interior offered a brief moment of reprieve. The walls were chipped, decaying, and the air thick with the smell of mildew. Wesker glanced around, assessing the situation. It was temporary, but it would do.

He set Maya down in a dusty corner, propping her up with a pile of old newspapers. The baby immediately babbled and reached for him, her tiny hands waving.

"Stay here," he ordered in his usual flat tone. He glanced over at her, eyes hardening. She didn’t understand him, not really. But she would. One day, if she survived this, she would understand just how cruel the world could be.

Maya giggled again and repeated her earlier word: “Dadda!” Her voice was so pure, so innocent.

Wesker’s gaze softened briefly, but he quickly regained his composure, forcing his eyes to harden. He couldn’t afford to slip, not now. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, even if it was in front of a helpless child.

He turned his back to her for a moment, his mind racing. He was still trying to figure out the next step. His plans had already been disrupted by the outbreak, but he wouldn’t allow this to ruin his trajectory. Maya’s presence was... inconvenient. But he would keep her alive if only because she was a tool. A tool that could help him further his goals.

When he turned back, he found Maya staring up at him, her eyes following his every move.

“Dadda... Dada?” Her voice was more tentative now, as though she was unsure if her words were what he wanted to hear.

Wesker took a steadying breath, fighting the brief flicker of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. He crouched down in front of her, his cold, unreadable gaze fixed firmly on her.

“Yes, Maya. I’m your Dadda. But don’t forget—don’t trust anyone, not even me. Do you understand?” His voice was low and commanding, his gaze sharp and intense. For a moment, he wondered why he was even humoring a baby with this conversation.

The baby blinked at him, seemingly confused, before her hands reached up toward him again.

"Dadda?"

It wasn’t a question, more a hopeful affirmation.

Wesker sighed, standing up. He couldn’t afford to waste time. He would move again soon, but he paused for a brief moment.

He looked down at Maya one last time, her little eyes bright with trust. He clenched his jaw, irritation rising.

“Fine,” he muttered under his breath, though it was unclear whether the words were for her or himself. "I’m your Dadda.”

Maya smiled, her innocent face lighting up with joy.

And in that fleeting moment, Wesker wondered—just for a second—if perhaps, in a life that had been nothing but manipulation, there could still be something more. Something he hadn’t been expecting. Something the virus inside him hadn’t infected yet.

But it was just a thought, a passing one. The world outside was still burning. And so, he closed himself off again, cold as ever.

"Stay quiet, Maya. And for the love of whatever god you believe in... stay out of my way."

But as Maya babbled happily, completely unaware of the dangers lurking around them, Wesker couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to this family than he was willing to admit.