Nearly ten years had passed since the incidents in Raccoon City forced the goverment to take the most extreme action by sterilizing it, but Wesker wasn't about to shed any tears. In fact, he was glad it had happened; although he was made to look incompetent because of that disgusting fiend, Chris Redfield, he was able to retrieve the T-virus samples from the corpses just before the explosion, and if everything had blown to bits, that meant no one else was going to get their greedy hands all over his samples. He recalled the events as he stared out the window, noting absentmindedly how similar the facility was to the snow falling on its St. Petersburg streets, beautifully innocent from a distance, but dark and grey up close and personal. Whether it was stepped, spit, or pissed on, it was disgusting when it came right down to it.
In his hand, Wesker held a vial which contained a substance of a dull purple color. She had served her purpose, retrieving the sample for him, who had received specific orders from Spencer himself to obtain the virus. It was the same virus, G, that his long time friend and rival had injected himself with in order to keep Umbrella from stealing it from him. What Spencer didn't know, however, was that Wesker, while completing the given task, had his own objectives to follow through with this time.
And what Spencer doesn't know... Wesker thought to himself as he chuckled. This time, it'll hurt him.
Without so much as a sigh, Wesker turned away from the door, putting the vial in his pocket. The laboratory door slid upwards and a young man appeared in the shadows. His boyish features were reflected despite the lab coat which covered his built body. Wekser knew something had happened even before the scientist told him that he was needed in the lobby. They took off, taking long strides through the metallic hallways that seemed to lead everywhere and nowhere at once. Human shapes began to form, clumped together, as Wesker's hands shot out and made contact with the double doors, swinging them open, and that's when he saw the crowd. Security guards and scientists were standing around stupidly, and what in the hell were they so interested in there? As the crowd noticed Wesker approaching, they slowly stepped away to create a path for him to walk to the center of the lobby, which also opened up his view. Suddenly, it was all so clear.
Spencer lay on the ground in his traditional white coat buttoned down to the edge, covering part of his white pants. The wrinkles on his face seemed relaxed, and that's when Wesker realized that Spencer's outfit wasn't just white, that there was a bleeding gash across his neck, drowning beneath a deep red plasma.
Spencer was dead.
Only now did Wesker notice the scientist holding his clipboard with blood spatter all over his coat. His entire lower jaw was quivering, wide eyed, and gasping for either words or air, Wesker wasn't sure.
"I j--I just... " the blood scientist gasped. Words it was. "I--I--I just... he just... the knife, he... I--he... cut his thr--his thr--his thr.. cut himself... " The young scientist looked positively pale.
Spencer cut his own throat? The idea seemed unlikely. Wesker lingered on the possible situations while keeping his face neutral, his eyes covered by the same sunglasses he'd been wearing for twenty years now. He knew what it meant since Spencer, James Marcus, and Birkin were all dead.
Wesker was in charge.
