No Matter What the Cost

April 21st, 1981

"I didn't know you smoked."

The casually spoken comment had come from his colleague. He'd been sitting on the patio reading a book quietly, the day being nice and sunny, and the wind offering a nice cool breeze to bring down whatever too warm temperatures may have been outside. It was a refreshing change from the laboratories that usually surrounded them, and having a light work load today, for once in almost never it seemed, Albert Wesker wanted to take advantage of it.

The cigarette he held was burning down. It was true, he didn't smoke per say. But one of the new employees had offered him one, and declining to tell the person that he didn't smoke, he took it instead and went to sit on the patio to read while he smoked it.

He'd been out there for a good ten or fifteen minutes before he'd lit it up with a pack of matches he'd taken from the lounge, and as soon as he'd drawn the match across the strip to light it, and took a draw of the cigarette against the flame, he'd heard the comment coming from William Birkin.

Wesker shook the match to get the flame to go out, and pulled the cigarette from between his lips. Somehow, to Birkin he didn't look entirely right doing that, and Wesker told him, "I don't."

"Could've fooled me." Birkin lifted a brow at him. "Mind if I have a seat?"

Wesker, still reading his book, shook his head. So Birkin pulled the chair out across from him and sat down. Birkin didn't say anything at first however, leaving Wesker to read his book. But he did have something on his mind. He was thinking about Spencer's arrival that day, he was scheduled to be there by noon, another half an hour, and Birkin could only wonder what the results of his visit would be.

Wesker wasn't used to the quiet coming from him. It was true, Birkin wasn't a chatterbox, but usually, whenever a situation arose like this, it seemed as if Birkin always had something to say, being the only reason he'd really sought Wesker out like that. Otherwise Birkin would probably be in the laboratory working.

"You're quiet," Wesker decided to interrupt the silence so that he could get it over with and continue on with reading his book.

Birkin shrugged, "Just thinking."

Setting the book down onto its back and flicking the cigarette he'd barely taken a drag of since he'd lit it, Wesker pulled the item to his lips and took another drag finally, looking at his colleague. "About?"

"Spencer's arrival today. Wondering what he's going to say."

Wesker raised a brow and shrugged, blowing the smoke from his nostrils. Birkin couldn't help but ask him, "Why are you smoking that?"

"Because I felt like it."

It made Birkin shrug. That's when Wesker figured it out. "You don't want him to look down on our work, you're trying to impress him."

"Perhaps," Birkin replied, "and we haven't come up with much. It's frustrating."

"Research typically is," Wesker reminded him, sitting back casually as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"And you're not worried that he might turn up something bad?"

"Not specifically. We're operating within acceptable time frames and producing results at a good pace. There shouldn't be anything to turn up wrong."

Birkin rolled his eyes. He was always so damned confident and worry free. "Well, I'm sorry if I can't say I share the sentiment. After all, I want my career to excel, not be standard."

The comment made Wesker crack a slight smirk, and after taking a final drag of the only half smoked cigarette, he threw it out and over the patio walls by placing his middle finger against it and flicking it that far. "Is this all you came to talk to me about?"

"Well," Birkin added, "I also wanted to know where you were for when arrived."

That reminded Wesker of something. Looking back at Birkin, he asked, "And where is Marcus?"

"Cleaning up a project he was working on earlier. He'll be up any minute."

Wesker's nose had crinkled ever so slightly at the comment as if he couldn't care less for what he'd heard. Neither he nor Birkin shared much of a like for James Marcus, their immediate superior, so it stood to reason he'd do that. "Old fool," Birkin muttered, "I think he's–"

Birkin was suddenly cut off when they both heard the rotary blades of a helicopter. Birkin pulled his watch up. "Already? It's only 11:45."

Wesker sighed, reaching out to his book and closing it. "I suppose he wants to get an early start."

Grumbling, Birkin stood up and not long after, Wesker followed him.

The usual proceedings went on every time Spencer arrived at the Mansion. Reports were given, statistics were shared, numbers and values were placed. And Spencer listened to all of them and then gave his opinion.

Wesker could not understand it.

Apparently, the virus wasn't infectious enough, and Spencer wanted a virus that could wipe out an entire population. He didn't care for the means or the cost, and had stressed to all three researchers that he wanted it done no matter what.

It was later on in the evening when Wesker was considering what he'd heard. No longer at the mansion, yet in the residency where he was staying for the time being, he tried to figure out why Spencer would want something like that so badly. But no matter what he thought of, he couldn't quite place it one hundred percent.

Lightening flashed in the room. Wesker ignored it, reached up and removed his shades. Setting them on the bedside table, he sighed a deep breath through his nose and just looked down. Was he the only one to question Spencer like that? Or did Birkin and Marcus have the same questions?

Something was definitely amiss. Wesker thought that perhaps he should get to the bottom of this - as Spencer had said - no matter what the cost.