First and beginning draft of a fanfic someone requested I write

I'll apologize in advance for it being shit (⁠ー⁠_⁠ー⁠゛⁠)

Not proof read so I apologize for any mistakes. 

He awoke with a groan as his surroundings began to fade into a fuzzy view around him. His body ached and his skull felt like a pissed off construct worker had treated his noggin like a pinata. He gave a quiet whine which surprised even himself with how pathetic it sounded, like a weak child or frightened animal. The grays and black of the shattered plane debris came into focus and he attempted to sit up, though after planting his right hand to push himself up, he yelled in pain and quickly took his weight off the arm as white hot flashes of agony stretched across his vision, leaving his eyes dancing with black spots. He let his cheek touch the cool metal of the debris that he'd landed on, a nice contrast to the boiling air around him. He glanced at his right arm and began trying to reason out the cause for the pain. Though he found the deductive reasoning skills to be completely unnecessary in this situation, as the culprit was immediately visible. A gash from his shoulder to his wrist sat ugly and bleeding, the skin peeled and shredded around the area in clear signs of road rash of some kind. He glanced around and found a chunk of metal which he believed to be the culprit for the wound, a long, metallic, cylinder sat with a hole popped in it seemingly from the force of impact and its fall. Small fumes that he internally compared to spores sat spewing out at a furious pace against portions of his arm as he lay. He quickly used his left arm to drag himself away from the canister in a manner that he considered akin to a pathetic puppy. 

It stung like hell and he racked his brain and memory to work through what had happened last. He remembered Wesker grabbing Sheva’s leg as she dangled over the open back hatch of the plane. preparing to sacrifice herself as a martyr and take her place in his mental catalogue of friends he'd gotten killed. He remembered him dropping down to knock Wesker away after giving a yell of anger as his fingers left the grip he had found on a small pole in the hatch. But after that, it was an adrenaline fueled haze of punches and kicks thrown as the plane had plummeted like a graceless iron bird in a shaky nose dive to what should have been their doom. After that- he was cut off by his own cry of pain as he felt his muscles spasm, his mind yelled that something was wrong, though he kept trying to dismiss the thought as he fumbled for the first aid spray and after dropping the canister a few times he was met with the sight of his arm, healed say for a thin streak of a scar. Though that was also quickly disappearing from view, his left hand trembled as he broke into a cold sweat. Was he hallucinating? He didn't think it was too far of a guess to think that he'd given himself some kind of brain damage from the fall and the tussle with Wesker. Wesker. Holy shit, where the hell was Wesker? 

He groaned in pain as he dragged himself shakily to his feet as he tested his weight on his newly healed arm but found not even the slightest twinge of pain shot through his body. Adrenaline spike and minor hallucinations. That's got to be it. Though he wasn't sure if he was aware exactly how much he was lying to himself considering that he was very much aware that the Tri-cell logo had been plastered all over the canister. The screeching hiss of expulsion of its contents had slowed to a halt and it now sat empty, which gave Chris pause as he began debating and fighting with himself over how long his seemingly healed but prior damaged arm had been in direct exposure to it. 

He glanced around the wreckage and spotted Sheva, unconscious on the ashen floor of the volcano. Chris didn't consider himself to be a scientific man by any standards but he reasoned that the plane crash had most likely set the volcano in a very uneasy position and prime to blow so he planned on getting out as soon as possible. On shaky feet he stumbled to Sheva and gingerly shook her shoulder with his left hand, giving a wheezing cough as the hissing lava spat small flicks of liquid rock at his feet. 

He heard a yell of effort and turned to see Wesker standing on top of the wreckage of the plane, his jacket and shirt torn beyond salvage-ability which Wesker seemingly realized as well seeing as how he gripped the remaining threads and tossed them aside with a scoff before plunging his arm into the remaining canister that sat emblazoned with the Tri-Cell logo. Fuck, this wasn't going to be fun.