The Adventures of Albert Wesker
Chapter 1: Breakfast with the S.T.A.R.S
The sizzling sound of eggs hitting the griddle echoed throughout the police station, filling it with the scent of freshly-cooked breakfast. Fat from frying bacon sizzled off the grill, flying in every which direction. Albert Wesker frowned, noticing how the frying fat was landing on his lens of his perfect pair of shades.
"This accumulating level of fat is disturbing my sunglasses…" He said aloud, his anger level spiking. "Albert Wesker doesn't like it when his sunglasses are disturbed…" He raised his fist, ready to smash it into the stove with his untold supernatural power, when he suddenly heard a glugging noise from his immediate rear.
"Barry!" He shouted. "Stop drinking the bacon grease!"
Barry Burton reared his head, a half-empty metal cup of bacon grease in his hand.
"B-But Wesker!" He half-shouted "I-I need it for my Jill Sandwich!"
"Barry, you jittering nincompoop! If you even dare use that over-used, convoluted, out-of-proportion phrase again, I swear, I will-"
He wasn't able to finish, as he was suddenly cut off by the dinging sound of the timer next to the stove. He forgot about that incompetent nitwit almost straight away, turning his attention to the stove once again.
"Yes…" He said slowly, his features contorting into a smirk. "Albert Wesker's perfect breakfast is finally complete…" His perfectly prepared plans were finally coming to fruition. It wouldn't be long now before his breakfast would be eaten, and his belly filled.
The pancakes were waiting. There wasn't much time.
Moving quickly, he picked up the spatula, gripping the handle like a true master. Smirking, he stuck the spatula under the pancake, tossing it in the air. Time seemed to slow as the pancake soared through the air, flipping no less then five times, before landing precisely on his plate. Two more pancakes quickly followed, landing perfectly on top of the first one. A plate of eggs quickly slid across the counter, stopping no more then three inches next to the pancakes.
It was almost time.
"And now." He said. "Only one step remains..." He reached over to the other side of the counter, opening the cabinet in one fell swing of his hand. He could barely contain his excitement as he looked over to find…the…final…key.
His eyes widened behind his shades, and the spatula slipped from his grip, clanging to the floor.
The syrup bottle…it was empty!
What sort of tomfoolery was this!? Yesterday, the syrup bottle was half-full! Surely, nobody could have used it all in a single day?
Wesker took a step back, shocked. What was going on here?
"Hey, Wesker." A familiar voice came from behind him. He spun around, surprised. Chris Redfield stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his arms on his hips.
"Chris?!"
"Yep." He said. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you." He scratched the back of his head. "Jill was making brinner yesterday and, well…we spilled it all. Sorry about that?!" He grinned, before making the victory sign with his fingers, disappearing from the kitchen.
Albert Wesker couldn't believe his ears. All that time poured into making those pancakes, ruined! Those twenty minutes were utterly wasted! There was no way he could force himself to eat pancakes without the syrup! Was there really nothing he could do?
His anger overcoming himself, he fell on his knees. He pitched his head backwards, his mouth wide open.
"CHHHHRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSS!"