I've had this idea for…heck knows how long, I might draw it out when I get some time, but this is here for now.
Static, A drabble written about William Brikin and Albert Wesker. Take it any way you will, I have my own idea about their relationship; But I tried to keep it open for interpretation here. Sorry if it's a bit inaccurate to you.
Happy reading,
Infection.
oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
He didn't care about staff casualties, No. They usually didn't matter.
One or two men down due to a stray gun shot or perhaps accidental contamination leading to mass mutation in some wing of a facility he could care less about, They were just pawns. Pawns could be disposed of.
Pawns could be replaced.
There was footage from the various security cameras around the buildings owned by Umbrella Corporation. Just normal workers, occasionally something stupid like tool or electronic thievery or two employees doing things they shouldn't be with each other, with experiments. Wesker himself let the security watch the tapes since it was their job to pretend they cared, He never really talked to them, and he never needed to know what these idiots did wrong.
But this was something different, yesterday he'd managed to recover three tapes from the previous main Umbrella laboratory before it was trashed, The Security held onto them on his request.
The cold plastic was held in an ungloved hand, pale skin taut with thin veins and clenched ever so slightly around the object it held in such a fashion of a long lost toy recovered by a small child. He sat in the dark and empty security room of the new facility, Twelve screens lined up on the wall in front of him all eagerly waiting for the tape to be deposited into the player.
With a little uncharacteristic hesitation, he began to watch the first tape.
Five screens lit up in succession, Static-y at first before smoothing out into the scene of an empty hallway and research room storing the precious samples of G. The time in the bottom half corner blinked an obnoxious red-it was almost late afternoon when the tape was taken.
Wesker leaned back, eyeing the screens with indifference, if not distaste. These were not what he reque-
A mans figure darted across the screen, a man who was running quickly to get into the room that housed the precious viral samples. His dark blond hair was plastered to his forehead and murky blue eyes just managed to get caught in the cameras light to reflect fear, fear and anger.
William Birkin was a devoted employee who happened to die while working for the Umbrella Corporation.
Wesker leaned back in his seat, fingers drumming against the other two tapes beneath his hand. Blood red eyes continued to observe the screen from over dark shades as the William in the tape leaned over a metal briefcase to secure the locks on it, his thin form arched as if to defend it from some oncoming horrible attackers.
Cue the three soldiers clad in gasmasks to appear in the upright hallway screen as they charged forwards, two of them headed straight for the room where William was, now fiddling with a small shitty pistol in his fingers, and the third solider suddenly aimed at the main hall camera fixture, firing.
All the screens went static. Albert Wesker exhaled the breath he didn't realize he'd held.
Two more tapes.
The second tape was inserted in place of the first, and the screens flickered to life again this time showing the start of a stairwell. The same floor as the previous tape, though this was a different set of cameras, the time blinking in the corner was no more then thirty minutes later.
A dark, shadowy thing suddenly inched its way along to the bottom of the stairwell before revealing itself to be what was once William Birkin, a big ugly mockery of the scientist whose head hung loose on widened shoulders, a large red eye housed in the bone on the opposite side.
What bothered the man seated in front of the screens was not the monstrosity of what had become of the greatest virologist in Umbrella history, but what it- he- was doing.
The thing was staring directly at the overhead camera, the one tucked and hidden neatly into the wall of the stairs where nobody should be able to detect it.
It was something of a joke among William and Albert that the camera was put there for no real reason but to waste cash, though the latter was never really amused by Birkin's strange jokes, he simply marked it off as the male liking his own voice far too much.
One blue eye, wide and rimmed with a murky diseased red, stared into the camera with an emotion Wesker was unable to decipher before suddenly the thing jerked Will's head back at the stairs and he proceeded to walk up them out of the screen, shouting something that looked like 'Sherry' To the blonde on the opposite side of the glass.
The static was back again, Wesker removed his sunglasses and dropped the tape onto of the others.
It was unsettling to see that, not that Wesker was easily moved- Hell no- But something in the stare of his dead associate was underlined, it had a fine print Albert couldn't manage to read.
His pressed his fingers into his temples a little too hard, inhaled a little too deep, clenched his fingers just a smidge tighter then they should've been around the third tape so the plastic snapped to pieces in his bare hand.
The third tape didn't need to be seen, heaven forbid he'd get even angrier then he was now. Was he even angry? Was he upset?
Why?
Because he didn't save the life of some pathetic idiot who could and would easily be replaced? No.
Red and yellow watched the static of the screens as they slowly died to black, one by one.
Employee casualties would be dealt with accordingly, this was simply a review of footage conducted by Wesker himself, he found nothing unusual, and nothing needed to be reported.
He stayed there, leaning forward in his seat and watching the static of the last screen die before his very eyes.
Just another casualty could be dealt with, in time.