Manipulator
"You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur."
-Margaret Atwood
For Jamie.
He thinks he's different, but they're all the same: men. You can dress them up and fill them with viruses, but there's nothing unique about a God complex. And immortal or not, they've all got at least one weakness hanging between their thighs.
Excella almost feels sorry for them.
Wesker's nasty, but valuable. She'd avoid him if she could. He's self-sabotaging, unpredictable, and arrogant to the point that she can't tell if he's desperately trying to compensate for his own deficiencies or if he's completely unaware that he's a shaken vial of chemicals, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. His cells are falling apart from the inside out, and yet he claims genetic superiority over the human race he's disavowed.
You don't see her experiencing cellular death at a rate four times faster than mitosis.
Wesker's got vision though, he has style, and flare, and a big pot of money to top it all off. All she has to do is bide her time, and then trip him up at the last minute.
She'll pull herself together with a weepy trail of mascara down her face and claim that carrying on his plan is what "he would have wanted."
Getting cheated out of her inheritance was simply a minor setback. She'll ride Wesker—heh—straight past those who slighted her. And why stop with Tricell? Wesker's destination was world domination. Really, anything less than such would be too complicated.
So she'll dress herself up in heels and jewels and let him think he's got the upper hand. It's a good game, and she's always been a sport.
Wesker says that he's going to be a God.
When she was a little girl, parents and teachers used to tell her stories about the God's of old, with their stern and imposing eyes which knew all, saw all. They would chain you up to a rock and let your liver get gobbled up by vultures if you looked at them sideways.
Then people stopped fearing the God's, so they replaced them with a Holy Ghost and the Father and Son, and every week they drank the Son's blood, so people would always fear him.
Wesker is like the ancients, with his rage and his scathing eyes. He's got the face of the Romans too; his cruel, tight lips, and a jaw that was carved out of the rocks. He glows golden in the sunlight, and his eyes sear red.
No one would ever want to drink his blood.
It might make you sick.
"He sounds like an asshole."
Ricardo's sprawled across the couch in her office, an aluminum can of beer in hand. She's long since stopped reminding him of company policies about drinking on the job. His pricey loafers are slung across the floor in front of her desk.
"Hi, Irving. Nice to see you too," she says, irritated. She just opened the doors to her office. "How'd you get in?"
"I have a copy of the key, did you forget…hey, those were expensive ya know!" he exclaims, as Excella kicks the offending shoes away from her desk.
"Then why'd you leave them on the floor." It's not a question, she's used to it. He's a messy sort of person, with his tacky suits and greasy hair. He's also the only person she trusts around here. "Who's the asshole?"
"Albert Wesker," he sneers, in his bastardized Brooklyn accent.
"What's so wrong with Albert Wesker?" she asks, cool and composed.
"Well, for starts, he's an asshole."
"Fascinating. Tell me more."
Irving rolls his eyes dramatically, nearly spilling his beer in the process.
"He's in Umbrella for a billion years, then suddenly jumps ship right before they go under? Sound a little fishy to you, eh?"
Excella responds with a casual shrug.
"He knew they were about to make a bad business move."
"Yes, blowing an entire city sky high was a bad business move."
"Allegedly."
"Allegedly my dick."
"No thanks," she says.
"Not interested anyway."
Excella puts her leather bag down on the desk.
"We need Albert Wesker. He's smart."
"If he's so smart, why's he have yous running around and making him viral stabilizing agents?"
Excella sighs.
"He's well connected."
"I know plenty a'folks who are well connected and don't have some sort of…mutant virus shit."
"Very articulate of you."
"Hey, look. I ain't a scientist. I'm a people-person. And I look at this guy… and I don't see a person."
The first time she slept with him, he put on a real show. All grabby and bitey and so very masculine, she had to restrain her giggles.
But, at the same time, his intensity frightens her. He's consumed with the act. He fucks like he's jealous of every man who's been there before him,like he's going to posses her, body and soul. He fucks like a man with nothing to lose, nothing held back, a creature made of lust and and anger and thirst.
His eyes are burning a hole in her chest.
He's going to burn her up.
It's humid on the balcony of her little villa, right off the coast of the Mediterranean. They'll be taking a charter plane to West Africa tomorrow, but for the night, they're drinking wine over the sea, under the stars. How romantic.
"I find you fascinating, Miss Gionne," he tells her, over a glass of white wine and false smiles. They dance around each other like animals in heat.
"I'm flattered, Albert."
Oh, how bold of her. His hand wanders to her thigh under the table, but he's not a man of subtly. He digs his fingers into her skin.
"You have such vision," he remarks, as if he's not practically drawing blood under the table.
"As do you."
She remains calm. He's just a man after all.
But not really.
"I'm very interested in your work with Las Plagas. But I'm even more interested in your idea… what did you name it again?"
"The Uroboros."
"You don't seem like the kind of man to eat your own tail."
"I don't intend on it."
She takes another sip of wine. He relaxes his vice grip on her leg.
"Tell me about the Uroboros."
Wesker looks genuinely pleased.
"Are you familiar with the mother virus, Excella?"
"Progenitor."
"Uroboros is the perfection of everything Umbrella was working towards… a new world."
"You speak very boldly."
"As do I think."
Albert Wesker's ego will be the death of him, Excella muses.
They take her plane to Kijuju. He's been quite useful thus far, with this mysterious Umbrella facility they're going to reclaim. Excella feels justified in recruiting him for the first time. This is worth it. Tricell's given her a pittance for a budget, renovating this building rather than constructing a new one will save her millions. She's tempted to text Ricardo an "I-Told-You-So." Albert Wesker is playing his part quite nicely. She can handle him.
Just because other women may have failed does not mean that she won't succeed.
He didn't tell her about the blonde girl. She's a troubling variable in this tumultuous equation.
"He walks his ex-girlfriend around on a leash, does he?" was Ricardo's summation of the situation. Excella grit her teeth and went along with it. Some men kept mistresses. Wesker brainwashed women and turned them into biological weapons.
Maybe she could do it to him too? Wouldn't that be something, having her own personal one man army.
Jill leaves her with a bad taste in her mouth.
"You think he fucks her?" Ricardo asked. Excella shrugged in response.
"None of my business."
"Look, it ain't normal for a guy to keep a little fighting china doll around with him all hours of the day."
"None of this is normal."
She was too busy with her research, with worming her way into Albert's head, to care about one creepy little girl. Let Jill be his vice. He's a dead man walking anyway.
Uroboros is a monster.
She loves it.
"You'll be needing a partner, right? Someone suitable to join you in your new world…" " She's all husky voice and sly suggestion.
She's got him, hook, line, and sinker.
He nods back and smiles like he knows what's going on.
She's got him right where she wants him.
The blonde's boyfriend has showed up, cavalry in tow. They've been disposed of quite neatly.
They'll be ready to deploy Wesker's idiotic rockets in a few days.
Excella thinks his scorched Earth plan is the most ridiculous thing she's ever heard. Thank God he's got her around to keep his head screwed on—and his cells in check.
Once Wesker's been taken care of, she'll use Uroboros to hold the world under ransom.
Sure, Wesker's got vision, but he lacks business sense.
Ricardo is dead.
Wesker will follow shortly, this she is sure of.
He's distraught about the BSSA meddling with his plans. How weak. One hitch in the plan, and he falls right apart.
She leans in to give him a consoling kiss.
"You've been so helpful, Excella. You're such a talented woman."
"You flatter me, Albert."
Her neck is up against his. His flesh is warm and sticky, like he's been sweating.
How cute. Anxiety.
"You know what else you're talented in?"
She raises an eyebrow.
"Manipulation. But it is a shame that you are not talented enough."
The needle breaks the skin of her neck with a stunning pain. She can feel it spreading through her veins, and once it hits her heart, it's all over.
Her stomach churns with some great beast inside of it, and as she stumbles into the pile of corpses, she realizes the ripping, painful truth.
He's the manipulator.