The Umbrella Plight
Lt. Albert Wesker was MIA in Iraq for nearly three weeks before he stumbled out of the desert upon a FOB far away from his unit's last known location, disoriented and with no memory of what had happened. He was alone, dehydrated and starving, his uniform riddled with bullet holes though he had no injuries. He didn't know where his unit was. Again he disappeared, hauled away by the army for interrogation and eventually sent home.
He came back wrong. At least that's what his co-workers in the research department of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals said. Dr. William Birkin waved off these wild rumors; Wesker had never been easy to get along with even before he left.
But Anna Muller said it too. She'd seen Wesker off at the airport and then waited all those months for him to come home, only to leave him when he did.
Despite their unpleasant parting, Dr. Marcus, CEO and founder of Umbrella, welcomed Wesker back to his old position and neither spoke again of the war or Wesker's departure. At least to each other. Marcus had been the one to hire the two teen progenies, Wesker and Birkin, and mentor them, guiding them into positions of head researchers. He had not appreciated Wesker wanting to run off and "play hero in the desert", wasting his potential on something the average grunt could do.
Birkin considered Wesker's experiences another perspective to add to Umbrella's eclectic collection. Frankly, no one in the company was normal, as far as he could tell. Even Marcus had a strange fascination with leeches, convinced they would somehow provide him with medicinal miracles. He had tanks of them in his private laboratory that gave Birkin the creeps. Odd as it was, Marcus left his two protégés alone to do their work, practically giving them the run of the viral research facilities, so they both shrugged off their boss' eccentricities.
Then research started disappearing. Umbrella was growing, Marcus' small pharmaceutical project turning inward and focusing on research and application rather than distribution, but they were largely an unknown name outside of Raccoon City. Still, Umbrella housed some of the best minds in the country, if not the world, and their research leapt ahead of their competitors. It was no surprise their efforts were sought after or that some of their own people might have a hand in the disappearances.
There was also the BSAA.
"What are they doing here?" Wesker hissed, spying some agents milling about the Umbrella facility entrance.
Birkin shrugged. "The BSAA. They showed up about a month before you got back and have been crawling all over ever since. They're the Bioterror-"
"Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance, yes I know. They had agents in Iraq. They made my work in biohazard prevention training nearly impossible. Why are they bothering with a civilian organization?"
They never got a straight answer, even when Wesker went to Marcus and demanded one. The BSAA was apparently there to stay, their agents coming and going freely, constantly questioning employees and harassing the scientists who fled to the security of the laboratories for peace. From there the BSAA stretched its fingers into the city and gripped it, claws digging deep wherever they could.
Then researchers started disappearing too, their homes raided and any Umbrella related information stolen. Every file and complaint made to the RPD was ignored or outright dismissed. Raccoon City was in the BSAA's pocket.
All security from outside agencies was removed and Wesker stepped in as Chief of Security, rewriting many protocols and overseeing his colleagues, but without official support outside the company anything beyond prevention was impossible. Wesker's research suffered as he split his attentions and Birkin had to cover for him. He was one of the few willing to do so.
Dr. Marcus continued to allow the BSAA trespasses. "They will find nothing, because we have nothing," was all he would say on the matter.
Wesker barely made it out of the old man's office before he smashed his fist into the wall. It went straight through and left a hole he didn't even bother covering up.
Birkin grew paranoid about his work, fearing its sudden disappearance, if not his own, and found excuses to stay in the labs late nearly every night. Annette became accustomed to driving a separate car to and from work, often relegated to be the one to go home to their daughter, Sherry.
Despite the hovering shadow of the BSAA, work had to be done and a semblance of normalcy returned to Umbrella, albeit a twisted one. Birkin was not the only obsessive in the company and the call of research and discovery was louder than that of those who had disappeared. Wesker's personal projects suffered and then fell through, forgotten as he attempted to track down their missing people or found himself the recipient of complaints from his colleagues about lost research or blatant harassment from the BSAA agents always prowling around.
Confronting an agent who dared lay a hand on one of the Umbrella scientists trying to get to her lab had earned Wesker a reprimand directly from Marcus, including a harsh reminder he wasn't in the military anymore and to damn well act like the scientist he was supposed to be.
"I need to get out of here," Wesker confided in Birkin later.
"Where would you go? The military won't take you now, and I doubt any other company would at the moment either. We seem to be tainted."
It all came to a head on a Tuesday night when the shrill cry of the phone startled Wesker from sleep. He glanced, bleary and red-eyed at the clock. Almost two in the morning. He snatched the wireless phone from its cradle at the second ring, ready to murder.
"What-?"
"They're at my house, Wesker!"
Birkin's panicked voice snapped him to wakefulness and he was already getting out of bed.
"Are you home?"
"No, Annette called me, but you're closer and they're there now and I…"
"I'm on it," Wesker said and then hung up. Adrenaline surged and he moved with a speed he hadn't needed since the army, ready and out the door in a mere moments, pistol holstered and mind spinning.
This was his chance. Get one of the bastards under his boot and at the end of the barrel of his gun and watch him squirm. Finally get some answers. He jumped into his old coupe and barreled down the street, somehow suspecting he wasn't going to meet any police along the way. Wouldn't want a cop nearby to interfere with an unlawful BSAA raid, after all.
The Birkins' floodlights were on when Wesker slammed his car into the curb, not bothering to properly park much less pull into the driveway. Half the lights of the house were lit, the front door standing wide open and movement visible in the windows. The rest of the picturesque suburban neighborhood was dark, no one daring to even poke their head out or respond to the shouting coming from the house.
Wesker got out of the car sprinting, arms pumping and practically flying across the damp lawn straight to that open door, pistol drawn.
The entry hall was in shambles. Coats on the floor, their pockets pulled out, the hallway table on its side, the drawer tossed away with papers and cards strewn across the hardwood floor. The closet under the stairs was open, more coats and boxes lying about. Some picture frames had been knocked off the wall in both the hall and on the stairway in a struggle; Annette trying to keep their assailants back, perhaps. She was a stubborn woman when she needed to be, and protecting her home and daughter went beyond stubborn and into something more formidable.
More shouting and sounds of breaking were coming from the kitchen, followed by the tearing of cloth and a screech. Wesker burst into the kitchen at a run and did not stop until he reached the first person he did not recognize, cracking his pistol across the back of their skull and sending them to the floor.
One down for now, and Wesker took a quick glance around the kitchen: Annette was by the sink, shielding Sherry best she could while attempting to deter the men by throwing her dishware at them. Fiestaware, Wesker knew, very heavy. She was on her last plates and one of them was wrestling with her, tearing her clothes. There were two more, one coming in from Birkin's office, a stack of papers in hand, and one in the dining area, surprised but already training his pistol on Wesker.
Wesker was faster. The shot was loud in the early morning stillness and out of place in the tasteful kitchen, and both the agent and Annette dropped; Annette at the sound alone, instinctively getting down and covering her daughter, and the agent from the bullet in his chest.
Time slowed for Wesker as the one in the doorway lunged for him. An intense focus born of his military years and honed afterwards by martial arts training had him moving even before the gun finished its recoil, snapping the hot barrel across the agent's face. He barely registered the man spinning back into the ransacked cupboard before he was on the one attacking Annette, slamming him back into the sink and pinning him with his pistol arm while his free hand smashed repeatedly into the man's face.
"Get upstairs," Wesker snapped at Annette when the world sped up again and the agent's struggle weakened beneath him. He vaguely noticed her herding Sherry out before he threw a few more punches, reveling in the blood dripping from the man's nose and mouth into the sink.
"Two in the morning and you're going after a mother and child in their home," he sneered, "seems hardly becoming of an agency that champions the safety of the people against bioterrorism."
Wesker removed his forearm from the man's throat, instead placing the tip of his gun against the agent's temple while his other hand grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him upright.
"I'm going to ask you some questions and you're going to answer them, otherwise I pull this trigger. I have two more of you to play with, so don't think I won't. What the hell is the BSAA doing here? You've got companies like Tricell throwing god-knows-what out onto the black market, don't pretend they don't, and yet you're wasting resources on Umbrella?"
Wesker conceded to himself he may have hit the agent too hard, he looked more confused than threatened and barely able to string a few words together, much less answer his questions. He gave the man a shake and was about to grab a dishrag and crank on the faucet for a bit of impromptu water boarding as a refreshing wake-up when a sharp pain lashed through his skull and he hit the floor, dazed.
He'd been struck from behind by one of the other men. Even in his stupor Wesker had enough mental capacity to berate his stupidity. He'd gotten so caught up in his revelry he'd forgotten to ensure the two he'd dropped were going to stay down, like an amateur. He expected to be shot but instead received a few kicks in the gut before a gun was shoved against his head, mirroring and mocking the position he'd held mere seconds before. The pistol he dropped was kicked away. One of the other men cursed as he checked the man Wesker shot and the agent who held a gun to his head was trying to rouse the bloodied mess Wesker tried to question. He moaned and moved, slowly and unsure. The agent crouching over him returned his attention to Wesker and pushed the barrel of the gun harder, forcing Wesker to turn his head.
"My turn for questions. Who do you work for? Umbrella? Did they hire new muscle?"
The bloodied man was up now, staggering towards the shot agent. The other one gave him some quick directions about the downed man, then got up and began to head towards the hallway, after Annette and Sherry.
"Answer me!" the gun clipped Wesker across the cheek. A bead of blood dropped to the wood floor. It was bright red and a wisp of steam escaped it before it dulled. The air grew cold against Wesker's skin.
These men were here for Birkin, he was too important to Umbrella to be ignored, and Annette was also a researcher and William's assistant. It was unlikely they would leave Sherry as a loose end.
Would they take her, too? Use her against her parents? Or would they…
Wesker's fingers curled inward, nails leaving tracks on the floor, and his muscles tensed in readiness. He had one lunge and the gun was going to go off. He had to do this right.
He turned his head towards the agent, ignoring the metal of the gun pressing into his skull, and met the man's eyes, teeth bared in fury.
One lunge. One shot.
The gun retreated from his head as the agent stood and stepped away from him, face paling under the line of blood running down his face, his eyes wide.
"What the hell," he hissed, then aimed his gun at Wesker as he began to back away. "I'm calling it," he snapped into his headset, "Abort, we're getting out of here."
His weapon still trained on Wesker, the agent backed towards his downed man, assisting the other in dragging him out. As soon as the gun was no longer on him Wesker dove forward and grabbed his pistol before charging after them into the hall.
Another shot rang out and Wesker threw himself against the staircase for cover. The fourth agent who'd gone after Annette and Sherry was coming down the stairs, guarding his team's escape. When they were out the door he followed, turning to back out the door and firing a shot to keep Wesker back.
Everything in Wesker howled for him to pursue, his pride and need for answers demanded it, and yet that last string of something that bound him to Birkin and Marcus and Umbrella whispered that he was here to protect Annette and Sherry. Birkin had called him.
Wesker sighed in frustration and lowered his pistol, waiting for the sound of a vehicle, no doubt designed to haul away unsuspecting researchers, to fade away down the street.
With all the gunfire and yelling, Wesker expected police to show up, even with the BSAA agents present, but the night grew quiet and no one came.
Wesker holstered his pistol and went upstairs to check on Annette and Sherry.
When William Birkin burst through the front door he found his home trashed but his family safe. They were in the kitchen, surrounded by shattered porcelain and strewn papers. Sherry was nursing a glass of chocolate milk at the dinner table, Wesker seated beside her while Annette tried to tend to the injury on the back of his head.
"It looks like it's already stopped bleeding," she said, fishing through his hair. Startled out of bed as he was he didn't have time to slick it back as was his habit.
"I heal fast," he said by way of an explanation and waved her away. He scratched absently at the child's bandaid with cartoon lions on his cheek before he noticed William.
"Daddy!" Sherry cried, leaping out of her chair and running into his arms. She clung to him and sobbed, the earlier terror subdued by action finally pouring out now that both her parents were there.
Aside from a few bruises and a torn shirt, Annette and Sherry were fine. It had been to their fortune this time that Annette could be just as restless as her husband in regards to their work and was still awake in her office when she heard the BSAA agents break in. They were quiet enough that had she been asleep she would have never woken up until they had her. She immediately grabbed the wireless phone and ran to Sherry's room where she and her daughter hid in the closet until being discovered and dragged downstairs.
"You called 911?" William asked.
"I did, the dispatcher said someone was on the way but…" she gestured to the front of the house and the empty street.
"Don't they stay on the line with you until someone comes?"
"Well," Annette looked a tad sheepish, "she told me to but I hung up anyway and called you."
"Good thing, it turns out," Birkin muttered. He glanced at Wesker, still sitting at the table, "Thanks, Wesker."
He shrugged. "I meant to get some answers out of one but that scenario was not to be. Still, I've now confirmed that it is BSAA agents going after our people."
"You're sure they were BSAA?"
"Yes. They may have stripped themselves of identification but their uniforms are…generically obvious. They wore the same thing in Iraq."
William stuffed his hands into his pockets and began to pace around his kitchen, absently kicking broken dishware. "So what do we do now?"
He was handling this decently well, Wesker thought, considering his ransacked office. After checking on his family Birkin had indeed run to it, bemoaning its state.
"You're not supposed to keep work projects here," Wesker reminded him.
"I don't, but I have other projects to keep track of. And I have a lecture down at the college next week…"
"That has already been cancelled, I'm sure, what with your 'planned departure'."
It grew quiet; the only sound was Sherry who had finally detached herself from her father to try to be useful in picking up the broken remains of her mother's dishware.
"Sherry, honey, go to bed," Annette said, "Everything's okay now."
"I'm not going to be able to sleep," she said, voice small and pleading, "Can I stay down here with you? Please?"
"You can't send her to school in the morning," Wesker interjected, "The BSAA will try again, if it doesn't decide to get rid of you, now that you are witnesses."
Annette couldn't help but glare at Wesker for his bluntness in front of her daughter but only said, "Alright, Sherry. But sit down and be quiet, we have a lot to talk about."
The girl nodded obediently and hurried back to the table to sit where she deemed the safest place in the house: Wesker's lap. He helped her settle then handed her the glass of milk she left. A long-time friend of her father, Sherry had known Wesker all her life and was fond of him even before he'd come running in to heroically save her and her mother. In a decision remnant of his upbringing, Birkin had chosen Wesker as Sherry's godfather when she was born.
"He's right, Annette. We can't stay here."
"In truth, we shouldn't even be sitting here now," Wesker said, "You have family out of state, don't you?"
"My parents in Missouri," Annette confirmed.
"Perhaps you should go visit them. Take a leave of absence. Considering all the hard work you've done since…always, I think Marcus owes you that." Three, two, one, cue William…
"I can't abandon my work, Wesker!"
"The HIV virus will still be here when you get back, I promise you. Consider a month or two delay versus complete abandonment when you disappear. I can't always protect you!"
"Perhaps," Annette began, cutting off the rising tension between the two men, "I can take Sherry and stay with my parents a while. William can stay in the labs. I know you two have cots set up for when you used to pull all nighters, and he practically lives there already. He'd be safe there, wouldn't he?"
Poor Annette, just as dedicated to her husband's work as the day she fell in love with him and was dazzled by his genius and vision.
"He'd be safer than here, but I can't guarantee anything. The only places the BSAA agents aren't allowed are the labs, and who knows for long before they somehow get clearances. You'd basically be in lockdown, William."
Birkin shrugged, "So it'll be like the old days when we were always accidentally setting off quarantine. I'll manage."
Sherry shifted in Wesker's lap, tired but still too jittery for sleep. "We're going away?"
"Only for a little while, dear heart," Wesker said, "Just until I figure out what's going on."
"And how are you going to do that? Kidnap some of their people?" Birkin asked.
"Tempting as that is, no. The BSAA has entrenched themselves well into the entire city, even into emergency services. I'm going to have to play their game, talk to their people, work in their spaces. The police have disregarded everything involving the BSAA, so that's as good of a place to start as any. Marcus is right, I haven't been playing the part of a scientist lately."
Birkin sighed, glancing out the windows into the dark backyard. "You're going to have to leave Umbrella if you do this. You can't have ties to us."
"Most likely."
"Marcus is going to be so angry if you take off again."
"What's he going to do? Throw a leech at me?"
"I wouldn't put it past him," Birkin chuckled.
Wesker smirked and stood, hefting a dozing Sherry up onto his shoulder. "Get packed. I'll drive you to the station. You and Sherry take the next train out of here, Annette."
"The train station is in the next county," she said, gently taking her daughter from Wesker and setting her down. Sherry rubbed at her eyes but didn't complain.
"Yes it is. William will see you both off then he and I will go to the labs."
She looked to Birkin who nodded. "Could you throw a few of my things into a bag for me?"
"Of course."
"Do be quick, the sooner we are out of here the better," Wesker said.
Annette guided Sherry towards the hall and stairway. William watched them go, for the first time looking unsure at the idea of being separated.
"Just say the word and I'll put you on the train with them," Wesker said softly, "You can tell Annette I overpowered you."
"No…She understands how important our work is."
"And Sherry?"
"I was talking about Sherry," a pause and then Birkin continued, "Are we taking your car?"
"Yes. Best they don't know where you went."
"I hate that deathtrap of a vehicle."
"I'm not the one driving a Volkswagon bus that still smells like weed decades after you bought it. Something to tell me?"
"Nothing at all. Damnit, I'm tired. I'm going to have to crash when we get to work."
"You are tired?" Wesker grumbled, scrubbing at his face, "I'm the one driving, I'm the one who fought off four BSAA agents, I'm the one who's going to have to talk to Marcus…"
"I'd say I'm sorry but my family's safety overrides your full night's sleep."
"Willliam, I haven't had a full night's sleep since I met you."
Birkin pat him on the shoulder in mild sympathy. "Well then, I guess you're practically a cop already."
