His Own Creation
A/N: Hello again everyone, this Jammer69er once again, here with yet another different fic from my main stories, which are fast coming along: Hopefully I may get The Fall of Raccoon finished by early next year (I hope).
Anyways, some of you may already have read my last Resi Evil one-shot, which focused on everyone's favourite former S.T.A.R.S captain Albert Wesker, and his resurrection at the Arklay labs, so this new story is going to focus on Wesker's old friend at Umbrella, William Birkin: creator of the G-Virus, who became his own creation in an attempt to stop Umbrella stealing the virus from him. I did intend to release this story earlier on, but due to other things it sort of fell behind, and I've only gotten around to finishing it now. It mostly sticks to how the events are shown in the cut scenes of Resident Evil 2, but I have amended and added a few things, mainly for my own preference and to spice things up a little.
But enough from me, on with the story.
September 22nd, 2256 hours, Raccoon City Laboratory
It was fast approaching midnight, and the lab was practically dead of life. Only a few of the lab's staff remained, mostly the cleaning staff, and a few of the security guards and researchers working the graveyard shift were still at their prescribed posts, willing the hours away in any way they could think of. The hum of the various machinery, such as the air conditioning vents and the electrified automatic doors, could be heard every now and then, but aside from that the air was silent.
Until now. The thud of boots upon the steel floor could be heard in one of the corridors on the lab's lowest level, as a pair of mysterious figures proceeded along, taking their time. They were dressed from head to toe in black combat gear, including the heavy combat boots, thick Kevlar vests and dark cargo pants, the equipment pouches bustling with everything needed to complete their mission. Their look was finished with heavy-looking gas masks, the eye lenses tinted red, giving them a menacing appearance. Their heavy breathing, amplified by the masks, reverberated off of the walls on either side of them.
They were both armed as well, with H&K MP5 sub-machine guns in their gloved hands currently; and with USP handguns also holstered at their hips. Various non-lethal grenades, such as flash bangs and smoke bombs, hung at their waists as well, clinking against one another.
They were members of the Umbrella Special Force, a secret military group that worked for the pharmaceutical organisation Umbrella Incorporate; all of them hardened veterans of several years of military service, and now serving a new employer for the promise of untold wealth. Many people would agree that a pharmaceutical company having its own military unit at its service was somewhat unusual, but Umbrella wasn't your usual pharmaceutical company.
The pair of USF agents reached the junction ahead of them and stopped in place, one of them checking both possible directions, while the second one, watching the rear, peered back down the corridor, watching for any threats. But so far they had managed to evade any detection, having entered the lab via the secret passage that lead into the sewers of Raccoon City, the same way they had originally entered by, and all members of the USF specialised in infiltration either way.
The first man, the one searching the junction for any sign of approaching danger, was something of a legend within the USF, and within secret military circles in general: he was known only as HUNK, or as 'Mr Death', notorious for being the sole survivor of practically every mission he was dispatched on. Whether it was by some phenomenal lucky streak, or simple fate, he survived when all those around him died in horrible manners, either shredded by gunfire and shrapnel, or killed by more unnatural means. 'The Death cannot die' he would always tell the others, and it was a statement that sent shivers up their spines. They said only the most suicidal would accompany HUNK on a mission.
"This way," he said suddenly, his voice muffled by the gas mask he wore. His companion nodded in acknowledgement, and the two of them moved into the open, approaching the huge double doors that would lead to their destination.
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The lab was practically empty, save for the lone occupant working at the desk at the far side of the room, wearing a white lab coat over a dark blue shirt, blue jeans and brown dress shoes. He worked quickly, filling a steel case used for ferrying around samples of various substances with vials filled with a green and purple liquid. He constantly glanced over his shoulder towards the door, expecting to see someone come barrelling through and shoot him dead. But no-one came: no-one had come since he had started work, hours beforehand. The suspense was close to killing him.
But in case that were to change, the Glock handgun resting just mere inches away from his right hand was there, loaded and ready to fire. He wasn't a great marksman, but the situation demanded the methods at the moment.
He had short blonde hair, which was currently matted with grease and filth, since it had been so long since he had last had a warm shower. His blue eyes were bleary with lack of sleep as well, having worked himself close to death in the last couple of weeks. He raised a hand and rubbed his face with the sleeve of his lab coat. He was William Birkin, head researcher of the facility and one of the most talented researchers in Umbrella's history.
He had joined them back in 1978, just a teenager, barely out of university after graduating at the top of his class. He considered himself lucky to be offered a place with Umbrella: a job with Umbrella was considered a job for life, many people said. Although if he thought he would be contributing to medical advances, he was sorely mistaken after his first day at the Arklay facility, located in the forest outside Raccoon City.
Umbrella wasn't a pharmaceutical corporation after all. That was just a mask, to shield their real intention from the world, the development of Bio Organic Weapons, inhuman monsters created for the purposes of warfare. When he first saw dead humans bought back to life by something known as the 'T-Virus', he had felt physically sick: he never knew things such as this could exist in the world. Those shambling 'zombies', as the other researchers had referred to them, with their empty moaning and pale white eyes, freaked the hell out of him. And his dealings with Ozwell Spencer and James Marcus, the company's original founders and both geniuses in their own right, only served to make him more uncomfortable to what he had witnessed.
He was willing to just cut and run initially, but he was convinced otherwise by one of the other researchers he had befriended during his time there: Albert Wesker, the mysterious young man with the slicked-back blonde hair and the dark mirror shades he always wore. He was about the same age as Birkin, and was a genius himself, having joined the facility at the same time. And it was him that had convinced Birkin to stay on.
"William, what we're doing here is a natural progression of mankind's development as a species…we're a part of something amazing, and you're just going to walk away?"
"How can you be so casual about this, Albert?!" Birkin had asked his friend, infuriated.
"Because I already know my soul is tainted by what I've done, by what I've taken part in. What about your soul, William? Do you think you've been spared, unlike the rest of us?"
Birkin had stayed on after that incident, and he was glad he did now. If he hadn't, he would never had met Annette, who was now his wife, and he would never had fathered his daughter, Sherry, the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed in his life time. Now, he felt bad that he hardly spent any time with her, as his work had taken over his life, especially lately.
But then he supposed it had always been that way. Since starting at the Arklay facility, he and Albert had worked pretty much non-stop in further developing the T-Virus, looking for ways to increase its effectiveness, to create new ways of ending human life. They had developed the 'Tyrant', the pinnacle of T-Virus based bio-weapons, and also created the Hunters, one of the more successful B.O.W's in Umbrella's history, used as the basis for many future B.O.W designs afterwards.
But over the course of his career, he had effectively lost his soul, infecting countless humans with some of the most volatile mutagenic substances known to man just to record their effects. He'd lost count of all the random men and women who had passed through the facility during his career, taken from all around the world by Umbrella. They were people who wouldn't be missed, drifters, junkies and the sort, but they were still human, begging for their lives as the virus entered their systems, destroying their bodies and transforming them. He still remembered the pleading look of horror in most of their eyes as the virus consumed their bodies. It was the same look he saw whenever he had closed his eyes.
And he remembered that poor wretch of a woman as well, who had been there for his whole career: no-one knew who she was or where she had come from, only that she had proven to be the most resilient test subject they had: she had survived prolonged exposure to the Ebola virus, the T-Virus, and even the original Progenitor virus that all of Umbrella's subsequent research was based upon. But as a result she had been reduced to a 'frightful mess-up', as Wesker had stated on numerous occasions…but they kept her on, at Spencer's request. And he was glad they did, as it would yield an even more considerable discovery.
In 1988, Spencer had managed to acquire a new project from Umbrella's European branch, the so-called 'Nemesis parasite', a means intended to create B.O.W's with increased intelligence, and therefore something that could be more easily controlled, unlike a majority of the B.O.W's created by Umbrella's U.S division so far. Although the success rate of experiments with the parasite had yielded no results thus far, Spencer was still willing to go ahead with their own test with it, and they decided to give it to that poor woman who had been there for so very long, the only test subject who had lived through so much agony.
They injected the parasite into her, where it entered her brain and then seemed to vanish into thin air. Everyone on the research team had a major panic attack while they tried to deduce what had happened to the parasite, that mutl-million project that Spencer had only got his hands on after some serious negotiations, and yet the CEO didn't seem that concerned by the sudden development. But then when it all seemed a massive waste of time, Birkin made another discovery: the presence of a brand-new virus within the woman's body.
This new virus' properties seemed to overshadow everything Umbrella had created and researched before: while the T-Virus only caused a single mutation within its hosts generally, this new virus caused constant mutations to the host, and also had the ability to revitalize cellular functions. The mutations were extreme, much more so than anything that been recorded during their T-Virus research. And this was how the woman had managed to survive for so long: this virus had simply mutated her body to adapt to each new virus and mutagen she was exposed to. Realising the potential of this new virus, Birkin appealed to Spencer to give him the go-ahead for the new project and he eventually relented: even if a lot of the other researchers were surprised at the fact that Spencer even considered giving it the go ahead in the first place, given how much they had spent so far on pushing T-Virus research to the limit.
Birkin called this new virus the 'G-Virus', and his work on it took him up to the current day: 10 years of researching the virus' effects, the best way to replicate it, and the best use for it overall. It seemed like only last week that he had originally started the project. Himself and Wesker had gone their own separate ways by then: Birkin's research had moved to the lab underneath Raccoon City itself, while Wesker had gone on to join Umbrella's Information Services, and then onto founding a special police team in the R.P.D, as a means of helping to cover up Umbrella's illicit bio-weapons activities. Though the two of them maintained a form of contact with one another over the years.
Things had continued at a fair pace, but within the last few months things had suddenly took a drastic change.
It all started back in May. An outbreak was reported at the Arklay facility, and Birkin couldn't believe himself when he heard the news. The Arklay facility was supposed to be totally secure, there was no chance of their being an outbreak there…so who the hell had spread it? By June, news filtered that several brutal murders had been taking place in the forest, and it was clear that T-Virus infected hosts were the direct cause. Not only that, but the old Management Training Facility was due to be re-opened, but contact had been lost with the teams sent in to oversee the reopening. It was then that Birkin and Wesker met up, to try and salvage something from this mess.
And then the most shocking news. Birkin saw the images of those leech-like monsters writhing through the halls of the facility on the security cameras, and also that mysterious young man, the one who bore an uncanny resemblance to a figure from Umbrella's past. He took blame for the outbreak at the mansion, and at the MTF itself, intending to make Umbrella pay for its past crimes…the death of James Marcus.
Birkin thought he would never re-live that day…James Marcus, esteemed founder of Umbrella and creator of the T-Virus itself, had tried to oust Spencer with his findings, and in response, Spencer had ordered him to be assassinated, simple as that. Birkin and Wesker had been there when Marcus was shot dead by the USF, and when his body was unceremoniously dumped into the water treatment facility beneath the MTF, forgotten about, another one of Umbrella's many dark secrets: brushed under the carpet like all the other secrets. But now the carpet was being lifted away.
The two of them took quick action. Birkin remotely activated the MTF's old self-destruction sequence, wiping it off of the map, preventing the spread of the T-Virus for the time being, but it wouldn't stop the virus from eventually reaching Raccoon City itself. At the same time, public outcry over the numerous murders in the forest meant that the police could no longer stand by and do nothing, and half of the S.T.A.R.S team who had been dispatched to investigate the forest had failed to return. So Wesker had enacted his own plans from order of head office: he would lure the remainder of his S.T.A.R.S team into the Spencer Estate, and collect the combat data for the various B. that had been unleashed as a result of the outbreak. And that's when he dropped a bombshell on Birkin.
"When this is all over, I'm leaving. I'm leaving Umbrella behind."
Birkin was stunned, to say the least, by his friend's statement. Wesker stated that the outbreak couldn't be prevented from reaching the city, and that it would eventually mean the end of Umbrella, so he was getting out when he was still able to, before the ship sank. But still Birkin feared for his old friend, feared what would happen to him. Before Wesker had left, Birkin had given him that virus, the same unknown virus given to him by Spencer some time before, the one that was meant to be a secret between the two of them.
"Why are you giving me this?" asked Wesker at the time.
"According to Spencer, that virus can put a human into a temporary state of death, and then rejuvenate them with increased abilities," Birkin had explained, as Wesker just examined the sickly yellow liquid, with black blotches, thick like ink, swimming around inside. His eyebrows rose slightly, but otherwise his face remained perfectly straight, behind those dark mirror shades.
"And you're sure of this?" asked Wesker.
"No, you're holding the only known sample in the whole world," replied Birkin matter-of-fact. "Just take it in case of an emergency."
"But you don't even know if it'll work," stated Wesker.
"I'd rather you took the chance," retorted Birkin, before quickly adding, "Whatever happens Albert, you take care of yourself."
"You say that as though I'm not coming back," laughed Wesker, tucking the needle into one of his pockets. "Don't worry about me William; just concern yourself with your own life, your own actions. You've got a family to think about, after all."
It was a surprisingly deep thing for Albert Wesker to say, since he was always so serious and cold during their time at the labs. Birkin always remembered Wesker's facial expression when they had watched James Marcus been killed, when they administered the virus to another group of unlucky subjects: solid as a rock.
And then he had turned and walked out of that room, heading back to the R.P.D precinct, to lead the rest of the S.T.A.R.S team into the mansion, to collect the combat data. That was the last time he ever saw his old friend.
The next day, news of the disaster at the Spencer Estate reached the staff at the lab: the entire estate had been wiped off of the face of the earth by a massive explosion, which could only mean that someone had set off the self-destruct sequence. Only 5 members of the S.T.A.R.S had returned, and Wesker was listed among the casualties. When Birkin heard no word from his old friend after a week, he assumed the worst.
And it also made him realise that Umbrella was doomed: the virus would reach the city eventually, despite the destruction of the facility, and then it would all be for naught. Wesker had been right all along. He had sped up his research over the next two months, to the point where he was on the verge of working himself to death, but it would be worth it, as he came to the edge of perfecting the G-Virus formula. He practically lived at the labs during that period. And then came some surprising news from Brian Irons, chief of Raccoon City's police force, an informer on Umbrella's payroll for the last 5 years now.
Suspicious characters had been seen lurking in the sewer systems on the outskirts of town, and the descriptions of the figures was a perfect match to the USF members he had seen all those years ago. They were looking for the secret lab entrance, they just had to be, the one that happened to be concealed within the city's sewer system.
They were coming to collect. Ten years ago, Spencer had managed to get a sample of the Nemesis parasite, and then they had used it to make an even bigger discovery from it. Umbrella U.S had taken all of the credit. Birkin had kept the G-Virus to himself, had not even sent any samples out to the other major Umbrella facilities in the world. He needed time to perfect it, but Umbrella wanted to mass produce it in the wake of a monumental disaster, and they wanted a sample of it, now.
But there was another angle to the whole thing as well: Birkin had toiled away, working for the company for the last 20 years of his life, and in all that time he had had remained among the research staff, even if he headed his own project now. He intended to use his findings to negotiate a place onto the Board of Directors, the main power within Umbrella, under recommendation from Spencer himself. But recently, Spencer had been oddly quiet on all administrative fronts: Birkin had not heard from him in weeks, and now it looked as though Umbrella had lost patience with Birkin's little game.
They wanted to just walk in and take it, but he wouldn't allow them. Hence his being here tonight. He was collecting up as many virus samples as he could, and then he would take his family and leave, leave Raccoon City, leave the country if it came to that. He hadn't told them yet of course, but he would tell them tonight: Annette was actually working tonight as well, and Sherry was probably fast asleep back home, but he would tell her when he got home. His family were the most precious thing to him right now, aside from the G-Virus research of course…he wouldn't lose both of them tonight, he wouldn't allow it. He would die if he had to, to keep them all safe from harm. But he was just one man, one man against the might of Umbrella. What could he hope to achieve?
He would do his best, he decided. He had given 20 years of his life to the corporation, and now he would give his life to protect all that he stood for, if necessary. Wesker's words on that fateful night continued to ring true within his skull now.
"You've got a family to think about, after all…"
Birkin looked down at the storage case containing all of the virus samples again, and opened it up, observing the rows of purple and green vials. He carefully removed one of the purple vials of G-Virus, staring at it intently. 10 years of his life to create this, to perfect it…and he wouldn't let them just walk away with it.
"Its sheer perfection," he muttered to himself, closing the case again, staring at his distorted reflection in the swirling purple liquid. "My precious G-Virus…no-one will ever take you away from me," he continued, smiling to himself.
The door somewhere behind suddenly opened with a hydraulic whoosh. He turned with a gasp of surprise, even as he saw the two men dressed in black combat gear bustling into his lab, their heavy boots reverberating off of the steel grille flooring, submachine guns clutched in their hands- the same weapons that were used to kill James Marcus all those years ago.
Birkin quickly grabbed for the handgun, sliding the G-Virus sample into his pocket with his other hand. Almost as quickly, he grabbed for the case's handle with his other hand, knocking a nearby stool to the ground and turning to face the intruders, gun raised.
"There he is!" barked one of them through his gas mask, as both of them levelled their own weapons at him. The two parties continued to stand there facing one another, the USF agents near to the door, and Birkin in front of his desk, handgun switching between the two of them.
"So you've finally come," he said, his face stony. The USF agents moved towards him slowly.
"You know why we're here doctor," said the first one. "We're here for the G-Virus samples. Hand them over and there's no need for anyone to get hurt." Birkin just smiled as he moved back a couple of steps, unaware that the sample case was being dragged across the lab top, about to catch on a class beaker that had been left there.
"Give up the G-Virus, after spending 10 years of my life on it?" asked Birkin, rhetorically. "Do you really think it's as simple as that? Well sorry, but I'm not about to just hand over my life's work to Umbrella's hired guns," retorted Birkin taking another couple of steps back. The sample case caught onto the glass beaker, moving it to the edge of the table, hanging over the edge of a 3 foot drop.
The beaker inched out into oblivion, and then tumbled to the ground, almost in slow motion. It hit the ground and shattered, piercing the relative silence.
Birkin gasped in surprise at the sudden noise, turning in the direction of the sound momentarily, even as one of the USF agents squeezed the trigger of his weapon instinctively.
RATATATATAT!
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HUNK knew things were going pear-shaped the second he heard the sound of the glass beaker shattering. His inexperienced companion let off a burst of rounds, the 9mm bullets punching through Birkin's right shoulder, his white lab coat becoming marked with crimson dots. The scientist cried out, flailing backwards from the impacts, dropping the steel sample case to the ground along with his own gun, as he slumped to the ground loudly.
"Stop it!" bellowed HUNK, smacking his companion's weapon downwards at the floor, away from their objective. "You might hit the sample!" he then cried, glaring hard at the other agent from behind his red-tinted lenses, and he could sense the other man's expression of shock and regret, even through the glass.
Birkin was slumped up against the work table he had been stood at just previously, his entire right arm, and a large portion of his torso, now stained pure red with his blood. It even trickled from the corner of his mouth, which was opened slackly. He looked towards the discarded sample case, which lay just out of his reach. He reached out with his other arm, but he could only move it a few inches, before incredible agony forced him to lower it again.
HUNK just stared at Birkin for a few seconds, knowing that the man wouldn't live long, before he walked up to the sample case in three quick strides and stooped to take the handle, opening it up and checking the green and purple coloured samples inside. He recognised the green samples as the T-Virus, but it was only the purple samples that Umbrella was interested in. Quickly, he removed one of the purple vials and examined it carefully for a few seconds. They only needed one sample, but he figured bringing several along could account for anything else that could happen unrepentantly.
"No…" whispered Birkin, weakly, as HUNK dropped the virus sample into one of his vest pouches and snapped the case shut again.
"That's it allright," announced Hunk, standing up. "OK, let's move out!" he then cried, and both he and his partner left the same way they had come, passing through the automatic door, leaving one of Umbrella's finest researchers bleeding to death on the floor of his lab.
William Birkin gasped for air, but as his chest contracted, agony blossomed across his torso and down his arms. He gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to scream out, lest that only make him bleed out quicker.
Those bastards…
They had taken his creation from him, and left him there, at death's door, discarded. One of Umbrella's finest researchers, the best in years, treated like this? It was an insult, unheard of. All he asked was to carry out his research in peace, and now those bastards had ruined everything. The pain made it almost impossible to string a coherent thought together, and he wondered if this was how it felt when you were dying.
He heard the door open again, and for a second he assumed the soldiers had come back to finish him off, but then he heard that familiar voice.
"Oh William!" cried a female voice, and then rapid footsteps were approaching him. He turned his head, ever so slightly, to see the form of his wife Annette, her blue eyes rimmed with tears already, crouching down near him. He realised then that she had been on the night shift as well, still in her white lab coat.
"What have they done to you?" she whispered, anger in her voice. He tried to open his mouth to say something, but only one letter came out.
"G…G…" he whispered, the effort causing him great strain.
"Hold on darling, I'll take care of those wounds first," she said, starting to rise to her feet, holding a hand out, urging him to stay put. "Just don't move." And with that, she turned and ran out of the lab, the whoosh of the door cutting off her footsteps.
"Annette…" he whispered after her, but it was way too late. He'd be dead within another minute or so, unless he had immediate medical treatment, and with so few people there on site, that was extremely unlikely, and a trip to the hospital meant making it to the surface, 2 miles above them. And that was impossible in his current state. And there was no way Annette would be able to find something to even staunch the blood flow in time to help him. The pool of blood he was seated in was spreading even further away from him now, running through the pattern of the grille flooring. He watched, mesmerised, as the crimson flow traced patterns in the flooring. He was going to die, that much was certain. He couldn't be saved. Unless…
He weakly raised his left arm, still holding onto the glass vial containing the G-Virus sample he had pocketed just beforehand. The virus could revitalize cellular functions, but in doing so it also mutated the cells beyond their original form, and the recorded mutations were impossible to predict. The virus had never been tested upon a live human either, so he had no idea what would happen if he used the virus on himself.
But right now, he had no other choice.
Groaning in pain, he reached around, retrieving an injector needle from the pool of sticky blood next to his wounded form.
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It wasn't until they reached the tram platform at the far side of the cavern that HUNK finally chose the right moment to reprimand his subordinate. As the two men crossed the empty platform, their boots clanging off of the steel grilled flooring, he suddenly turned on his heel and got into the other man's face, close as he could possible get.
"Something wrong with you, rookie?" he barked, angrily. "Next time, you only fire when it's necessary, got it?!"
"Sir, it was a tense situation-" began the other agent, but he was cut off quickly.
"If you don't learn to control your trigger finger next time, I swear to god, I will rip your head off and hang it above the gates back at the barracks, got it?" HUNK continued; his voice tinged with controlled anger.
"Y-yes sir," replied the rookie, his voice faltering slightly. He was terrified of HUNK, that much was certain. Most of the USF agents were, and for good reason: lest they end up going on a mission with him and wind up dead.
"Good," growled HUNK, just as his radio crackled into life.
"Alpha team, have you retrieved the sample yet?" crackled another mask-muffled voice. It was the forward unit for Alpha team, waiting ahead in the sewers for HUNK and his companions to get there with the retrieved sample. HUNK quickly grabbed for it and raised it to near his mouth.
"Affirmative," he barked, curtly. "We'll be at the rendezvous point in about 1 hour."
"Roger," came the reply, and then the link cut off, just as more footsteps were heard, and another pair of black-suited USF agents entered, striding up to their superior and stopping short.
"Everything allright, sir?" asked one of them.
"There were complications," replied HUNK, shoving the sample case into the hands of the nearest one, who staggered back in surprise, and quickly recomposed himself. "The good Doctor Birkin won't be coming after us, luckily, thanks to our friend here," he then added, glancing at the other agent stood behind them.
"So are we going sir?" asked the other one impatiently.
"Yes," replied HUNK without missing a beat. All four of them started to approach the door leading out of the station, but HUNK suddenly turned on the last one, the one that had shot Birkin to begin with.
"You, you can start to make up for your failure by staying here and taking a rearguard action," he explained, quickly. "Follow us after 15 minutes."
"Yes sir," replied the other agent, obediently. HUNK glared at him for another second or so for effect, before he turned away and followed his companions out of the station, slamming the steel door behind them.
The lone agent finally relaxed, dropping his shoulders down, before turning back towards the parked tram car, the lights still turned on. What a way to start his first mission…he'd screwed up, made a rookie mistake, and earned the ire of their commander, the best man in the unit overall. He sighed in frustration as he glanced around, trying to discern any encroaching threats, lurking in the darkness of the natural cavern.
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Birkin held the injector needle before him, the precious virus already loaded and ready to be administered. This was it, there was no going back now…he had devoted his life to researching this virus, and now it would repay the favour to him by saving his life.
He held the needle a few inches away from his chest, preparing himself mentally for what was to come. It was the unthinkable for anyone to inflict their own creation upon themselves, but considering how much Birkin had committed to research of the virus, it seemed inevitable that this next step would be taken. In his darkest dreams and thoughts, he sometimes wondered what it would be like to become a host to the virus himself. They still needed test data for what happened to live human hosts for the G-Virus, after all…and he would contribute the first set of that needed data.
He raised the needle away from him.
Annette, Sherry…please forgive me…
He plunged the needle into his chest, grunting in pain. He pressed the plunger, and felt the cold liquid course into his body. At first, the intense agony that came with every minute movement of his body faded away, and an almost serene calmness descended upon him. He made a barely audible sigh in relief.
And then the flaring pain came back to him, 10 times worse than before, blazing through his veins and arteries, spreading like a wildfire. His head jerked up, the veins under his skin feeling as though they were about to burst out of his flesh. But he didn't cry out in agony or shock, as the pain washed over him, consuming him utterly. And then he regretted what he had just done.
What have I done?!
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Doctor Heston Rudolph, one of the other researchers who happened to be working the graveyard shift that night, rushed through into Dr Birkin's lab, a load of bandages clutched in his arms, sweat forming on his brow. He was a middle-aged, slightly rotund man with short dark hair, and thin-framed spectacles balanced on the bridge of his nose, his lab coat stained with a few cases of spilt coffee from the near past.
He was on his way home when he heard what sounded like gunfire from Dr Birkin's lab, and when he came down to investigate, he was almost bowled off of his feet by a pair of men in full black tactical gear and red-lensed gas masks, members of the USF. He'd heard tales of them, but had never seen them in the flesh, so seeing them now sent a chill up his spine. He had stared in shock as they passed, both armed and one holding what looked like a standard-issue sample carrying case, but had said or done nothing. The men had ignored him anyway.
And then he found Annette, in a state of panic, who told him that Birkin had been shot and was in the process of bleeding to death, so Rudolph had taken a load of bandages and had ran down to help his superior, while Annette went to find more appropriate medical help. But where the hell she'd find that at this time at night, he didn't know. As the door closed behind him, he glanced around; looking for his superior, but he couldn't see him. All he saw were the various abandoned workstations, the equipment and beakers of chemicals untouched from the day previously.
"Dr Birkin?" he asked, cautiously, and that was when he saw the figure suddenly rise up from behind the desk at the far end, half-obscured in darkness. It was Birkin, his right arm and most of his torso stained dark crimson. He looked a right mess, his matted hair obscuring his face.
"Dr Birkin!" Rudolph cried, running forward to aid the seriously wounded researcher. Birkin seemed to be shaking where he stood, his blood-stained hands held out before him, his fingers shaking like mad.
"Dr Birkin?" asked Rudolph, reached a hand out towards the man's shoulder. "Are you-"
"GET AWAY FROM ME!" roared Birkin, his voice distorted to an almost bestial degree. He shoved Rudolph away from him, sending him stumbling into one of the workstations behind him, knocking a load of beakers and other equipment to the ground with a loud clattering noise. Birkin's face came into the light now, and what Rudolph saw made his blood run cold.
Birkin's eyes had turned blood red, matching the shade of his ruined arm, and every vein on his facial and neck region were about to burst out from him, his teeth clenched into an expression of agony. His arms twitched constantly, the exposed flesh looking as though it were bubbling. An injector needle was still jammed into the flesh of his torso, before there was a crunching of bones and it was forced back out, flying across the room and landing somewhere out of view, but Rudolph ignored this.
"Dr Birkin?" he asked, still staring in shock as he braced himself against the nearby desktop, too paralyzed to run.
"The virus…it's…changing…me…!" growled Birkin, having to force every word out through his teeth as he staggered back a few steps, clutching at his torso. "Can't…control…the change!" he then growled, his voice turning to an animalistic bass, an inhuman tone.
Then he threw his head back, his voice rising up into a monstrous scream, as something suddenly burst from under his skin, spraying blood into the air. Some of it sprayed onto Rudolph's face, who just blinked in surprise, too fixated on the horrific sight before him to take notice of what had just happened.
He continued to stare up at the form that took place before him, over the sound of tearing muscle and the breaking and crunching of bones, as even more blood continued to stain anything in range. Rudloph had seen this enough times in the last few years to become used to it, but seeing it happen right in front of him, with nothing to protect him from the inevitable…
He felt his bladder vice, and then the warm sensation in his pants, as the thing towered over him, raising an arm above it.
He screamed. Up until the point he was torn in half.
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Annette rushed back into the lab, a medical kit clutched under her arm, her face still stained with tears of grief. The sight of her beloved husband, the father of her child, lying there in a pool of his own blood, was heartbreaking. The very people he worked for, the ones they had devoted so much of their life to over the years, had done this to him, just because he wouldn't bow to their wishes. The callous bastards…
She was in a right state, but she was determined to do anything she could to help her husband. She had bumped into Rudolph, who happened to be on his way out for the night, and she had convinced him to head down to the lab to try and bandage William up while she went to find more appropriate medical items. She just hoped that he had been able to do something for him…
"William!" she cried, as she rounded the corner into the main aisle, but she skidded to a halt when she saw the state the place was in.
Two of the desks had been completely overturned, beakers of unknown chemicals scattered everywhere, on the floor, up the walls, even on the ceiling. The blood coated everything too, still dripping from where it had landed, the smell of copper still hanging in the air. One of the walls had been distorted, where something incredibly powerful had slammed into it, leaving a great crater where it had impacted. Annette slowly let the medical kit fall from her hands, resounding with a dull clang where it hit the ground.
"W-what?" she asked, to no-one in particular, her eyes drawn to where her husband had been lying just minutes beforehand. He was gone; all that was left was the lake of blood he had been sat in beforehand.
Rudolph was still there, though. His face, forever locked into a scream of terror, gazed lifelessly back at her, from where he lay, sideways, on the steel-grilled floor, his shattered glasses lying a couple of inches away. She moved her gaze to the side, where his legs lay, several feet away from the rest of his body. His loose intestines spooled between the two halves of his body, like discarded ribbons. She quickly backed away, clamping her hands over her mouth, trying not to throw up. Her foot slinked against something on the ground, lying in the blood pool, and she stopped, turning and glancing down.
There was a discarded injector needle on the ground, its contents already spread. At the sight of it, her blood started to run cold as her brain processed what must have happened. She quickly stooped down and picked it up, wiping away some of the blood that coated its surface. The chamber still contained a few traces of a purple liquid…something she was all too familiar with, even though her mind didn't want to accept it.
"Oh William," she whispered, her voice low. "What have you done?"
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At the underground station, the USF agent on guard duty glanced around again. Only ten minutes had passed since he had been ordered to act rearguard for the mission, after the unfortunate mishap with Birkin. This wasn't exactly meant to be a combat-based mission, just retrieval. And his actions had gone and turned it into something more complicated. He perked his ears up, listening intently to the silence that pervaded in the cavern. Initially, it seemed like there was nothing there to fear.
And then he heard it. What sounded like a guttural roar, from somewhere close by. Instantly, he perked up, readying his SMG for combat. He aimed into the dark mass, trying to discern anything that could be lurking, but he could only make out the rough sides of the hewn rock that formed the cavern, and the spotlights in the distance that marked the far platform of the cavern, the one that lead to the factory yard, that would then lead to the Raccoon lab, by a rather roundabout path. The sound came again, much closer and noticeable this time. It was something roaring, it just had to be. But it wasn't a normal roar. It sounded almost human, distorted to a monstrous degree, screaming for blood.
A rattling sound could be heard, and the agent realised that it was the sound of his own weapon shaking in his hands, from terror. The USF were supposed to be the best of the best, fearless, ready to face any threat head on. But right now, all he wanted to do was to head back and join up with the rest of his squad. There was safety in numbers, after all.
He glanced behind him, at the walkway that would lead into the main sewer system, contemplating his options for a few moments, when the sound came again, this time sounding more akin to someone gargling with blood. He took a few steps back, his laboured breathing amplified by his gas mask. He glanced back and forth between the parked tram car and the steel walkway.
Fuck it, he thought, turning to run for the doorway leading to the sewers, just as something heavy slammed down onto the platform, knocking him from his feet. Terrified, he swung around to face in the direction of the tram car, his heart leaping into his throat. He saw the massive thing crouched by the car, unfurling itself as it towered up to its full height, almost eight feet tall, its right arm a great mass of dark red flesh that seemed to dwarf the rest of its form, razor-sharp claws protruding from where its fingers should have been. And its face-
The agent felt his bladder vice at the sight. His mistakes had come back to haunt him. Literally.
The beast moved towards him in unsteady steps, growling in a low tone as it walked, scraping its claws against the steel floor. Then it let off another roar, a sound that threatened to tear the flesh from his bones, and that was when the agent finally thought to ready his weapon, firing off a stream of hot lead into the beast's torso. It grunted in pain, staggering back slightly from the impact, before he scrambled to his feet, making a mad dash for the door back into the sewers. Behind him, the beast howled after him, a howl of sheer fury.
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The other agents turned back when they heard the sudden gunfire from behind them.
"What was that?" asked one of them. "There was no-one at the lab that could come after us, was there?" HUNK said nothing, he just stood there, among his terrified companions, trying to think of all the possibilities. He doubted that any of the security personnel at the lab would have had the balls to come after the USF, especially since they were outnumbered and outgunned, and so there was only one other thing he could think of-
A monstrous roar was heard, a sound that sent two of the agents stumbling back in surprise and shock, but HUNK remained where he was. He'd seen enough of Umbrella's screw ups in the past to become used to them, and chances were that he'd seen everything there was to see in this world now. Though that sound just now likely belonged to something he'd never seen yet.
"What the hell was that?" stammered one of the other agents, his terror evident.
"That means its time to move," said HUNK simply, raising his SMG at the steel door that would lead into the next section of the sewer tunnel they had just come from. "Go! Now!" he barked, and the other two made a move, just as the gate slammed open, the inexperienced agent they had left behind to act as rearguard, came bustling through, his gas mask torn free and his young face slashed with terror.
"RUN!" he screamed. "IT'S RIGHT-"
The monstrous scream sounded again, this time right behind the running man, threatening to tear the walls down. And then it was right there, behind him, its bulk filling the entire corridor from side to side, smashing through the gates like they were nothing. It swung its massive arm, lifting the terrified agent into the air, screaming, before slamming him into the brick wall at full force, pulverising him beyond all recognition, his scream cutting off abruptly. His blood splattered everywhere, even onto HUNK himself, who shielded himself as the beast screamed at him, right in his face.
It had been human once, but now it towered over him, nearly 8 feet tall, its body warped out of normal proportions, most of its torso and right arm a mass of dark red flesh and tissue. The ripped and torn remains of a lab coat was draped across its left shoulder and its torso, while it still wore blue jeans and brown shoes, that were both threatening to come apart at the seams, filled out by the wearer's new-found bulk. The end of its right arm bore razor-sharp claws, coated in fresh blood and ready to take even more lives. The monster's face remained largely human, and it was a immediately familiar face. HUNK hesitated for a brief moment before regaining his composure.
"Aren't you an ugly fucker?" asked HUNK calmly, as he squeezed the trigger of his MP5, sending a stream of 9mm rounds into the beast's torso. It growled in pain and raised its massive arm up, swinging down at him. He quickly ducked and rolled out of the way, as the clawed limb smashed straight through the brick wall he was next to, as though it were paper. He came back up, unloading the rest of his clip into the monster's massive arm as it tried to free itself. Blood sprayed with each impact, stitching a bloody line from the beast's elbow upwards to its shoulder, but the wounds closed up themselves, new flesh creeping across the tears to cover up the damage done. HUNK continued to fire on full-auto, tearing into the beast's thick hide. It threw its arms back and howled again, a blood-maddened sound that reverberated through the sewer system, before swinging at him again.
The wrecking-ball like limb struck him hard in the torso, throwing him back into the corner of a brick wall, and he bounced off, his Kevlar vest absorbing most of the impact, sprawling back down the corridor behind him where his terrified comrades had retreated to. When they saw the inhuman creature rounding the corner ahead of them, its body rippling with immense slabs of sheer muscle, they both froze.
"What is that?!" cried one of them, already opening fire.
"Don't talk, shoot the damned thing!" growled HUNK as he pushed himself to his feet and backed away to a position behind the other two agents, his weapon aimed at the monster bearing down at them. It approached in slow, unsteady steps, its immense bulk swaying from side to side, smashing into the brick walls either side of it and dislodging heaps of brick. The three agents opened fire, drawing blood from countless spots, but it didn't slow down. Its human head growled and twisted from side to side, as though it was trying to come to terms with its new form. The monster swung its enlarged right arm around, smashing it through another wall. Bricks and other debris toppled down onto the sewer floor.
"Sir! What now!" yelled the agent holding onto the sample case as though his life depended on it. He heard no reply from his superior. "Sir?"
He turned to look behind him. HUNK was gone: all he saw was the bare corridor leading up to where the tunnel was barred off, a dead end.
"Shit!" he cursed, realising that their fearless leader had just abandoned them, leaving them to deal with this…whatever the hell it was.
The beast roared yet again.
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From somewhere nearby, the forward unit nervously awaited the return of their comrades. It had only been a few minutes since they had last made contact with them, but an uneasy feeling had descended in the air, and all that could be heard was the amplified breathing of the USF operatives, the light trickling of water from a nearby sewer pipe, and the squeaking of rats as they ran by the soldier's booted feet.
Sergeant Jackson, the group's commanding officer, looked around at the other two operatives with him, one armed with the standard-issue MP5 submachine gun and the other armed with a Benelli shotgun, a flashlight attached to the underside, but all of them also wore several flash bang grenades strapped to the front of their tactical vests. They weren't meant to be on an assassination mission, hence why they carried the non-lethal grenade-type weapons, but all USF agents were authorised to utilise lethal force when the situation demanded it.
One of the agents shifted in his spot, as though he were about to say something, but he was cut off when a monstrous sound from somewhere nearby was heard. It sounded almost human, albeit amplified to a monstrous degree. It was quickly followed by the droning burst of gunfire from a pair of submachine guns.
"W-what was that?!" stammered one of the agents, looking down the tunnel leading towards the lab entrance. His companion started to shift in his spot again, and so did Sergeant Jackson to an extent. This was supposed to be a simple mission: get in, get the prize, and get out. But had Birkin released something into the sewers after the agents to stop them fleeing with the virus?
"Just stay frosty!" he barked instead, getting the other two's attention. "We need to go and check that out: the mission must be completed without fail!"
"But sir-"
"No buts!" he snapped, loading his MP5. "Let's get moving, now!"
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"Shoot!" yelled one of the black-clad men, struggling with the heavy steel case he held with one hand.
"Eat this you freak!" yelled the other one, unloading his weapon with a single prolonged squeeze of the trigger.
He felt the small, sharp spikes of pain that prickled the front of his torso, but it didn't even slow him down, as his once-human blood rained down into the murky water of the sewers. But it didn't hurt for long: his creation was doing its work, stitching his flesh back together and replacing his weak human body with something far superior.
"It's not stopping!" screamed one of the panicked soldiers, reaching to reload, as the one cowering behind him set the heavy viral sample case down so he could better use his weapon with both hands.
"What the hell is this thing?!" he asked aloud.
It's quite simple, the still-human part of him though, I'm beyond what any of you could hope to become! It hadn't been too long since his transformation, so he still retained most of his human thought processes, but he could already feel the battle going on within his head. A primordial, animalistic nature was threatening to consume him, drive him to kill anything and everyone he came across. Despite the massive power he now wielded, it could prove to be uncontrollable in the long run. He had to be strong for when that time came.
He flexed his massive right arm, the finger-like talons bursting through his skin further.
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The other members of Alpha Team shuddered to a halt when they heard the scream somewhere ahead of them. It started off as a high-pitched bellow of sheer terror, before moving into a cry of agony, and finally ending as a drawn-out, bloody gurgle, an unpleasant sound that bounced off of the walls. And then the sound finally ended. Jackson looked back at the other agents with him. Their masks obscured their facial features, but he could sense the fear behind those cold, red lenses. The same fear he was starting to fell now, but which he couldn't show, not now.
"Hurry!" he yelled, and continued his sprint down the tunnel, followed by his comrades.
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The heavy body thumped to the ground, the pitch black tactical armour now shredded and marked with several deep red gouges, blood still pumping out of the wounds. Behind the fresh corpse lay the body of his companion, torn asunder by the very same razor-sharp claws.
William Birkin swung his new body around, away from the dead bodies of those who had tried to kill him. His frail human body could barely contain the violent mutations that occurred almost instantaneously after he had taken the virus into his body, and he was finding it difficult to even walk without his considerable bulk smashing holes through the walls around him. The G-Virus always bonded instantly with the host's DNA, mutating it in ways never before seen throughout Umbrella's viral research. And the mutations would only continue as time passed, to the point where no traces of his humanity would be left. But before that happened, he had to stop them from taking his research away from him. If he couldn't have it, then no-one else would!
He looked down at the discarded viral sample case lying near his massive feet. It had been overturned during the struggle, and now at least a dozen T and G-Virus samples littered the cold ground, discarded. Lifting one of his massive feet, Birkin stamped down and crushed the vials with ease, twisting his shoe and crushing the remains into dust. His face twisted into a monstrous gurn as he carried out this act, mainly due to the constant pain that wracked his body. The virus was still working, even now, altering his body, pushing him further past the threshold of humanity.
Stooping down, Birkin snatched a handful of G-Virus samples from the ground, holding them awkwardly in his single, still-human hand. Turning the vials around, he stabbed the needles through his thick, dark red flesh, injecting himself even further with the deadly virus. He was still hurting from his most recent wounds, and along with the sheer agony inflicted from his transformation, he felt as though he were about to pass out. The only thing that could maintain his healing factor now was even more G-Virus.
The fresh injections took affect almost instantly. Liquid fire coursed through his body, and he howled in agony, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling, gritting his teeth, feeling his flesh stitch itself back together, feeling the already-infected flesh creeping further across his body. He only had so much time before the man formerly known as William Birkin was gone for good. He swung his arm down low, lifting the case against the wall and crumpling it like a soda can, shattering countless more vials in the process.
Then his newly-enhanced hearing picked up sounds from behind him: boots on the ground, quickly skidding to a halt, and then followed by the amplified voice of another human.
"What the fuck is that?!"
Birkin remembered the Umbella soldiers that had tried to kill him, and the rage returned to his new body, his animalistic side taking over. Roaring in fury, he swung around to face them, before charging down the narrow passage, his clawed arm raised. The agents started to open fire.
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The monster howled in rage and turned towards them, and Jackson felt his heart leap into his throat. It was clearly human once, though now it was much taller than the average man now, its right arm and torso just a gruesome mass of dark red flesh and muscle, the remains of a white lab coat draped over its other arm, and still wearing a pair of jeans and brown dress shoes. But it was the thing's face, contorted into an expression of sheer agony and rage, that disturbed him the most.
It was the face of their target, William Birkin.
What the hell had happened to him? Why had someone turned him into a monster? Or had he accepted the change willingly…that last possibility disturbed him, but either way, this beast had likely just murdered his comrades, and now it was after them as well.
"Fire! Fire!" he cried, opening up, as the Birkin monster thundered down the passage towards them, its footsteps shaking the ground. Two SMG's and a shotgun opened up, tearing into Birkin's skin and spilling his blood across the walls, but the former human barely slowed down. One of them suddenly ripped a flash bang from his vest and tossed it down at Birkin's feet, a bright flash of light illuminating the corridor and blinding the monster for a brief moment. As it backed away, roaring and swinging its massive arm before it, the USF agents unloaded the rest of their current magazines into the beast, spilling even more blood. But as they stopped to reload, Birkin recovered and suddenly launched himself at the three men, swinging his clawed arm about. There was a sound of cutting flesh and a spray of blood as one of them was too slow in getting out of range.
"Yarrgghh!!" screamed the unfortunate agent, staggering back and slumping to the ground, his vest torn apart with ease, marked with a trio of deep crimson slash wounds.
"Shit!" bellowed the other agent with a shotgun, aiming around at Birkin's head, but the mutated researcher turned with ease, his claws finding their way into his stomach and lifting him up into the air. The man screamed in agony, blood streaming from his ruptured stomach, before Birkin slammed him into the floor, breaking every bone in his body and finishing him off. The man didn't even have time for his dying scream. Sergeant Jackson looked down at the broken body of his comrade, eyes wide in terror.
"Son of a-" he yelled, before aiming right at Birkin's face and squeezing the trigger. Blood exploded from the researcher's face, who bellowed in pain and staggered back, raising his right arm up to protect his vulnerable face from further attack, but Jackson continued to fire, unloading into Birkin's arm at point-blank range, tearing right through the flesh with constant gunfire. And then that dreaded sound was heard.
Click.
Jackson's weapon clicked on empty, but he continued to pull at the trigger, hoping, praying that something would happen. But all he heard was the dreaded 'dead man's click', over and over again.
Click. Click. Click. Click-
Birkin lowered his massive arm, exposing his bloodied face, twisted into a furious scowl. He took a single step towards Jackson, who stepped backwards in response, straight into the brick wall behind him. His breathing became laboured, more stressful through his mask as the beast towered over him, its shadow covering his entire body. He shook his head rapidly as it stared down at him, regarding him with a malign intelligence.
No, no, oh God please no…
Birkin's still-human face twisted up into a confident smirk. His blood-splattered face was shifting and twisting before him now, parts of the right side of his face becoming covered in a dark red tissue, healing his wounds.
Not like this!
There was a sickening tearing of flesh, and Jackson found himself drawn to Birkin's right shoulder, just as the flesh suddenly ripped apart, exposing a massive eyeball with a slited pupil that stared at him, straight into the depths of his soul. Birkin started to raise his clawed arm back once more.
Jackson screamed as loud as he could manage.
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Birkin stared at the corpse speared on his claws, as the man's blood continued to seep from his ruptured body, dripping into the shallow water of the sewers, running away from him in an intricate pattern. With one last bloody gurgle, the life finally left the USF agent's body, and he became still. But Birkin wasn't done yet. Growling in anger, that eventually rose up into a monstrous crescendo, the mutant researcher raised the body up high, and then bought his arm down hard, literally splitting the body in two, the severed parts bouncing away from him, its life blood spilling into the shallow water of the sewers.
He threw his head back and roared yet again, letting all of that pain out in a single act. Despite the immense power the virus had given him, the constant mutations being inflicted upon his body were tearing apart his frail human form: his skin, muscle and bone was being replaced by G-Virus manufactured tissue, and even his internal organs were being restructured to suit his new form as well. The massive eyeball that just formed within his right shoulder was testament to that fact: the new organ was active now, constantly twitching and shifting its gaze around, not focusing on anything in particular, though it was causing him a considerable amount of pain.
He staggered around into one of the nearby walls, slamming through the brick, still screaming in agony. Then he finally stifled his scream, clutching at his mutated arm with his still-human limb. A single human tear rolled down his distorted face, partly due to the unbearable pain he felt, and partly due to what he had become. His original intention was only to survive, to live on so he could prevent his creation from falling into the wrong hands, an objective he had achieved. But now, in the wake of it all…
He looked down at his distorted reflection in the shallow, bloody puddle at his feet, saw the immense mass of dark-red flesh that now formed most of his torso and right shoulder, and the disgusting eyeball that now occupied his right shoulder, blinking constantly or glancing to and fro, not focusing on anything in particular. The remnants of his white lab coat, and in a metaphorical sense, his lost humanity, was draped over his shoulders. But he wasn't William Birkin, one of Umbrella's top researchers anymore.
He was a monster now. His own creation. How could he ever go back to what he had left behind?
Roaring once again, this time in sorrow, the beast that used to William Birkin turned and shambled away down the corridor, with no idea of where he was going. His baleful cries echoed down the darkened tunnels.
Several feet away, a lone figure watched. Agent HUNK, clinging onto the bars of a sewer grate as tightly as he could, his legs half-submerged in filthy water, had watched the entire scene unfold. Watched as the beast that used to be William Birkin tear through his entire squad like they were nothing, watched as the sample case was destroyed: luckily, the lone vial of G-Virus within one of his tactical vest pockets remained intact. And that's why he had to abandon his men, slipping through an open grate and clinging onto the iron bars for dear life.
He held the thing their entire mission hinged upon: if he had died alongside his men, it would all have been lost. So once more, the Death had lived on while his comrades had fallen. The heavy footsteps and baying roars of the Birkin monster had faded away by now, so he finally allowed himself to breathe out. It was time for him to radio HQ and advise them of what had just happened. And he was pretty sure the T-Virus vials smashed by Birkin were another cause for serious concern-
He heard a sudden grinding sound, and he turned to his left, in time to see a floodgate open, and seeing several thousand gallons of water streaming down towards him-
He barely had time to steel himself as the bubbling surge smacked into him and tore him off of the bars and down the tunnel. He cried out in surprise, as he was swept into a large drainage chamber, and then down yet another tunnel, to god knows where, away from the planned extraction point.
Meanwhile, in the abandoned tunnel above, rats started to gather. Dozens of them, huge brown-furred rodents with broken teeth and stiff whiskers. A few of them rose up on their hind legs and sniffed at the air, tasting the coppery tinge of blood, and of something more unnatural. Several more swarmed around the broken steel case lying nearby, surrounded by shards of broken glass, and small pools of green and purple liquid. The rats sniffed at the liquid, treading in it and even licking at it, tasting the foul-tasting substance: and in doing so, they were taking the most lethal biological agent in the known world into their bodies. Countless tests and experiments had shown it had no visible effect on rats, but they could still act as hosts for the virus, spreading it to everything else they came into contact with.
One of the black-clad bodies on the ground suddenly stirred. A muffled cough was heard as the man stirred back into consciousness; the agony of the three awful wounds on his torso came back to him. He glanced around, but could see nothing but the view of the tunnel ceiling. He tried to call out, to say something, but something thick and warm clogged his throat. Then he felt something scampering up his body, onto his chest. Through the shattered goggles of his gas mask, he saw the vague outline of a rat perched on his body, its whiskers twitching as it regarded him with beady eyes.
Suddenly, there were more of them, swarming over his arms, legs, his head: biting at him with their blunt teeth, tearing through his Kevlar vest and into his supple flesh, chewing through his skin and into the muscle and sinew beneath. He started to squirm, to try and shake them off, but there were too many of them. He screamed out with what little strength he had left, but it only lasted for a few fleeting seconds before it was cut off with a bloody gurgle, as rats chewed through the neck of his mask and tore into his jugular vein.
It wasn't apparent yet, but those rats had taken into them something that, within the week, would destroy the entirety of Raccoon City.
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Back up in the lab, Anette and a handful of other scientists who had been there that night were gathered in the surveillance room, watching one of the larger monitors, and the video which was currently playing. Annette's face was streaked with dried tears, and she was clearly trying to keep it all together, as she rested her chin on one of her clenched hands. Her colleagues just stood there with disbelieving looks on their faces, as they watched over the video for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night.
The feed showed one of the plain steel corridors on the lower level of the facility, near to the tram line that would lead over to the sewers which concealed the secret entrance to the labs. The group watched in silence as a pair of dark-clad figures moved down the corridor towards them, one of them carrying a heavy-looking steel case normally used for transporting viral samples. All of the group recognised the men's gear as being that of the USF, considered as bogeymen to most regular Umbrella staff, but of course most of the people there knew better. The two men came towards the camera and finally passed beneath it, disappearing from view. Several seconds passed.
Then something else rounded the far corner of the corridor and came towards the camera viewpoint. Whatever it was, it clearly wasn't human anymore: large enough to fill the passage from side to side, its right arm and half of its torso just a warped mass of dark red tissue. But it was human once, as the torn remnants of a white lab coat hung from its massive shoulders, and the jeans and brown shoes it wore were in threat or being ripped asunder by the thing's bulk. The beast continued down the corridor, slamming into the walls and denting them, screaming silently on the feed. After a few seconds, it finally reached the camera, its immense bulk filling the screen before the screen became filled with a blizzard of static. The group continued to stare at the screen for what seemed like an age, before one of them finally spoke up.
"This can't be happening," muttered a blonde-haired man called Michael.
"Well it is!" cried Annette sharply, snatching for the screen's controls and rewinding the video, to the point just before the feed ended. It showed a close-up of the monster's face, and though it was blurred from motion, it was still easy enough to pick out the main facial details: blonde hair and blue eyes.
"But…what the hell happened to him?!" asked a red-headed male scientist called Theo, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes.
"It's obvious isn't it?" replied a female researcher in a tan-coloured researcher's jacket, her brown hair tied back in a ponytail. "He's been infected with the G-Virus."
"But how?!" asked Theo, making wild hand movements. "Did those USF agents infect him or-"
"It was self-inflicted," explained Annette, sounding as though she couldn't believe it herself either, the spent injection needle still clenched in one of her hands. "They shot him when he refused to hand over the virus, and he was going to die. And of course, everyone here knows of the G-virus' regenerative capabilities…"
"So he injected himself?!" asked Michael, taking his eyes off of the screen finally. "Why though? He knew fine well what happens to every G-Virus host-"
"And he still took that risk!" retorted Annette. "Umbrella wanted to take the G-Virus away from him, didn't you know that?! And he was willing to do anything to stop them from taking it from him!"
"So that explains why he went after those agents even after mutating," muttered Michael to himself. "Remarkable…"
"Even if it meant turning himself into a monster?" asked the other female there. "No offence Annette, but if he took that path then he really did have a screw loose-"
Annette suddenly slammed her fist onto the tabletop, hard enough for everyone else gathered there to flinch in surprise, as she whirled around to face her fellow researcher, angry tears flowing freely. "Don't you DARE talk about my husband like that!" she yelled, and the other female researcher backed away, raising her hands.
"For God's sake Annette, look at the damn screen!" protested Theo, pointing at the blurred image. "He's not your husband anymore! He's a monster now, like the ones we create for a living, remember?" Annette lowered her head, breathing slowly to herself, leaning against the table and then raising a hand to cover her face, as Theo went on.
"And you know fine well there's no going back for him," the red-head continued. "It's only a matter of time before what's left of his humanity is replaced by animal instinct…and you also know there isn't a direct cure for the G-Virus infection either."
Annette continued to stand there, breathing quietly, not looking at any of them directly, and the silence was becoming unbearable, until someone else spoke up.
"So…what do we do next?" asked Michael softly.
"What?" asked Annette, sounding as though she'd rather be anywhere else.
"With all due respect, you're the senior researcher of this facility now, since William is no longer with us," explained Michael, "and we need to start taking measures to whatever's going to happen next, whether it be the worst case scenario. Do you know what else was inside that case they took?"
"Several G samples," replied Annette, finally looking up and away from them, her face still marked with tears. "And several T-Virus samples as well."
The faces of her three companions turned ashen white.
"Holy fuck…" whispered Theo.
"If those agents are killed and the T-Virus gets spread-" piped up the other female researcher.
"Don't you dare finish that sentence Monica!" barked Theo, turning on her and giving her a firm look. Monica closed her mouth and backed away in alarm.
"I'm sorry Theo, but we have to consider that scenario!" she noted. "I doubt he went after them to give them a stern talking to, do you?" The sarcasm dripped off of her voice with that last statement.
"I doubt they could have survived against him," noted Michael. "The G-Virus would have just kept healing and mutating him."
"Look, we should worry about the lab for the moment," said Annette, getting their undivided attention. "Michael, get a team together and clean up William's lab. The blood, the broken apparatus, everything."
"Including Rudolph's body?" he asked. There was a brief silence as Annette remembered her late colleague, lying on the floor of the lab, split in two as though he were nothing.
"Including his body," she said finally. "Tell his family…on second thought, don't tell his family yet. Wait until the morning."
"As you wish," said Michael quietly.
"The rest of you, take a Hazmat team into the sewers, see if you can find anything worth salvaging."
"And if we do?" asked Monica curiously.
"Then bring it back to the lab," replied Annette. "We need to prepare for the worst possible case scenario."
They nodded, before all three of them turned and left the room quietly, whispering among themselves. When they had gone, Annette slowly sat herself down again, rubbing her face tiredly. Her sore eyes burned from the amount of tears she had issued recently, and she turned towards the screen once more, staring at the frozen image being displayed at the moment, the blurred image of her husband…or rather what used to be her husband. She raised one of her hands to the screen, and stroked it, moving her fingers softly over his cheek.
"Oh William…" she whispered, as the tears came back to her.
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In another part of the city sewers, William Birkin moved along, his body swinging awkwardly from side to side, the mutations leaving his weight somewhat unevenly distributed across his frail body. Normally his legs would have been crushed by the sheer weight of infected muscle and flesh that had been formed after injection of the G-Virus, but the virus had also increased his strength considerably, giving him the power to move on. The talons on his right arm dragged against the brick, leaving deep scars, while his newly-acquired third eye constantly quivered and blinked, making disgusting sounds that echoed around him. He growled and grunted as he moved, each motion causing him unbelievable agony. His mouth was twisted into a hideous snarl, as he tried to form random words with what humanity he had left.
"G…G…G…!" he stuttered, forcing out the name of his beloved creation. The images of glass vials filled with deep purple liquid flashed in his mind, along with images of more recent events: black-suited men, the flash of gunfire, the spikes of agony he felt as the bullets made contact with his soft flesh: the same spikes he still felt even now, above the reconfiguration of his flesh and bone.
The images of familiar faces and figures from his past and present flashed past his mind as well: the stony face of Albert Wesker, his dark mirror shades betraying nothing of his true intentions, the aged visage of his former mentor James Marcus, bleeding out on the floor of his lab after being shot, the sneering, wrinkled visage of Ozwell Spencer, the face of his beloved Annette-
And Sherry. His beloved Sherry, so young, so innocent, with no idea of her father's illicit activities. The girl who was always so excited to see her father walk through the door of the house at night, even if such events had been fairly rare for the last few years. Even after all of the long nights he had worked in his career, after all the horrible things he had seen, and the horrible things he had partaken in: seeing the smile of joy on her face always made it seem worthwhile.
But now he wouldn't be able to relieve those moments ever again. She wouldn't recognise him anymore, not in the new monstrous form he had assumed. He'd never be able to go back to his old life now: the G-Virus mutations were constant, and he was too far gone for any form of cure or vaccine to halt the progress of the virus' development. Anger at himself started to well up inside up, along with the longing to see his daughter again.
"Sh…Sh…Sherry…" he growled, forcing the word out from his gritted teeth. He stood in place, his third eye twitching furiously now, until he threw his head back and roared in fury, shaking the very walls surrounding him. And then he fell forward, lowering his head to the ground, finally slumping onto his hands and knees, breathing harshly to himself. His memories raced around inside his head, becoming a random mish-mash of blurred images, colours and random sounds-
"Sh…Sh-Sherry!" he cried again, in a slightly more clear tone.
And then it was all gone again. Slowly, William Birkin rose to his feet, drawing himself up to his full height, flexing the muscles in his deformed right arm. He looked straight ahead of him, into the darkness, still breathing slowly. His eyes started to pick out solitary rats moving to and fro, scrabbling at the trash, searching for any tasty morsels of food. It seemed as though the virus had enhanced his senses as well, raising them beyond the normal human threshold. He started to move forward, his steps more confident, less erratic now: he was starting to come to terms with his mutant body now, moving it forward in search of a new goal.
All G-Virus hosts seemed to share one common trend: an inherent survival instinct, the desire to reproduce. Each host seemed to have the ability to implant embryos into other life-forms, which would then grow into fully-fledged G-Virus monsters themselves. Although most cases of this 'reproduction' would end in a rather messy fashion: any non-genetic host would reject the embryo, resulting in the immediate death of the host. As such, only life-forms whose genetic code matched that of the infected host would allow the embryos to pupate within their body. And in Birkin's case, that only meant one thing.
Sherry. His beloved daughter. She was destined to be the one who would continue his legacy, his perfect project with the G-Virus. The still-human part of him wished no harm to come to her, for her not to see what he had been reduced to. But that part of him was being gradually overshadowed now, just a niggling presence at the back of his mind. The insane, animalistic side of him was starting to take hold of him now, forcing him on to complete an unspeakable, barbaric act against his own family. Though the virus had saved his life, it was now turning him into an uncontrollable monster.
He roared again, sending rats and other vermin scuttling for cover, away from the immense beast advancing down the tunnel, the beast that advanced with a single purpose now: to ensure its species lived on.
A/N: And we're done. So now maybe I can get back to actually working on my other projects now instead of messing about with these little distractions. :p
Anyway, any feedback would be much appreciated, so leave a review.