Unrequited Circumstances-Resident Evil Vendetta

Chapter 8

The harsh recoil of the gun was something you were never used to, the tingle followed by a sharp ache in your small palms mattered little to you at that moment. What mattered more was the scene in front of you.

The bullet entered through the back of her head, disappearing through her dark strands of greasy hair. The impact of the shot caused her head to dip harshly into the pillow, accompanied by the almost miraculous splatter of blood and bone fragments along the material.
Her body seemed to loosen moments after the shot, her life leaving her body faster than you expected it to, fading away as quick as the blood that spewed out and stained her pillow.

It was more gruesome than you expected it to be, the shock flooding throughout your body in a thick, dense wave. You should've felt guilty, you should've dropped the gun and screamed at the sight, you should've been terrified at the action that you've committed.

However, not an ounce of regret or remorse entered your mind.

Is this what Wesker was talking about? You should be feeling anything other than a lack of remorse or regret. In anyone else's eyes, if they were in your position, would've been petrified at the fact that they shot their own mother in their sleep, and killed them.

Only, this isn't what Wesker intended you to believe at all. He put the gun in your hand, and you pulled the trigger to someone who deserved it. The woman in your bed wasn't your mother anymore, that's what he wanted you to believe.

And that's what you chose to believe. That's why no remorse entered your mind seconds after the kill, because in your eyes you only saw someone who deserved to get shot, and nothing more. Years of pain went into that bullet, and it was only a matter of time before your father was to be served the same fate.

Wesker said nothing when he saw you proceed to aim the gun towards your father's head, noticing your hands were a bit less shaky than before.

You brought your finger back to the trigger, eyeing the back of your father's head as you aimed more up.

Before you fired, you couldn't help but notice something a bit off about your father. Despite how strange it was for him to not wake up after you shot the lady next to him, you didn't recall your father's hair being a dirty blonde color. Your father's hair was a dark brown, and buzz cut, not short and blonde.

That's not right. You couldn't help but think. This wasn't your dad's hair, yet somehow you knew this type of hair. The color, the length, it wasn't your father, but it was someone incredibly familiar.

You walked over slowly, not quite sure why you were doing so. You wanted a closer look though, wondering why their was an unfamiliar, yet at the same time, familiar looking stranger sleeping in this bed.

The closer you approached, the more familiar this stranger's hair looked.

"(Y/N)." You jumped, turning your head to stare over at Wesker, almost forgetting he was in the room with you.

He stared at you with a deep frown, looking quite different from his usual scowls.

"We came here to tie up your loose ends, not to gawk at corpses. Make the kill now."

"I-I will," you stated, looking back at the supposed stranger in the bed right in front of you, "I don't think this is my dad-"

"Would it matter? We have bullets to spare. Just finish him already."

"But it doesn't look like-"

"Now, (Y/N)."

You bit your bottom lip a bit, bringing your gun back to point towards the man's head. As convinced as you were that this stranger wasn't your father, your arm wouldn't bring itself to lower the gun, your mind immediately following his orders.