Man's Best Friend

"Morning Annette."

Annette Birkin grunted, ignoring Manuel's greeting. It was morning, yes. Didn't mean it was good. Not that he'd said it was a good morning, or it was a morning to be good on, or any other variation of the phrase "good morning," but still, it irritated her. It was morning. She was tired. The coffee wasn't helping. It was a long trip to NEST, and a long trip back, and staying up late arguing with her daughter wasn't helping.

"Annette?"

She blinked – her mind was moving as fast as a turtle, and with about the same cranial capacity. Still, she realized she was just standing there in the testing room, and Manuel was just sitting there, looking up at her.

"Sorry," she murmured. She took a seat next to him, taking a sip of the coffee.

"That's alright, we-"

"For God's sake could they get some fucking proper coffee here?!" Annette tossed the cup into the waste bin, even though it was still half full.

"Well…" Manuel shrugged. "I mean, we're a mile underground, and any supply of coffee to NEST would be-"

"Manuel?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"Oh. Sure."

A silence lingered between the two researchers. Part of Annette felt sorry for Manuel – it wasn't his fault that the world had decided that it hated her, and that as a result of that hatred, it wanted to make her life as miserable as possible. He wasn't responsible for the Arklay mess. He wasn't responsible for S.T.A.R.S. snooping around, making security for NEST even more rigorous and time consuming. He wasn't responsible for the higher-ups breathing down her husband's neck over the G-virus, and he most certainly wasn't responsible for her daughter. And yet, right now, he was the only person in the test lab with her. So that left her the options of keeping her anger in, or letting it out in small, controlled doses.

Controlled…Annette thought to herself as she took a seat beside Manuel. It's either too much of it, or not enough of it.

Well, for now, she'd have to live with it. She'd have to deal with being assigned grunt work in regards to T-virus specimens. Sooner she was done with this, sooner she could get back to the G-virus, and the sooner she could get home once her shift was over.

"Shall we start?" Manuel asked.

Annette grunted, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn. Bad as the coffee had been, it had at least kept her awake.

"This is Doctor Manuel Epstein, working alongside Doctor Annette Birkin, dated September 2, 1998. Test 12-B of MA-39 Cerberus subjects will commence."

Annette let him do the talking into the voice log. Just as she let him release the hounds of hell. Not that she believed in God or the Devil – if she did, she knew that when she departed this world, she'd end up in the tender hands of the latter. Still, watching the cages open and the pair of MA-39 Cerberuses come out…well, she couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Satan contacting Umbrella. That as nasty as Hell was, it could use some B.O.W.'s to add to human misery.

"Commencing stage one of test."

The smirk disappeared quickly as she was reminded that she was indeed carrying out grunt work. A buyer with some name she couldn't pronounce (it sounded Russian) wanted to purchase some Cerberuses, but wanted assurances that they could withstand nerve agents. Hence, before facilitating the transfer, she and Manuel had been assigned to test the undead dogs' resistance to every common nerve agent there was and forward the results. Why anyone would be worried about nerve agent exposure to zombie dogs, Annette didn't know, let alone why any nerve agent should even affect them.

Still, she worked for Umbrella. Umbrella derived a large portion of its profit from the sale of bio-weapons. If Umbrella needed to do some extra research before sending them out in the world, then who was she to complain? After all, she was only the wife of William Birkin. Former head researcher of the Arklay lab. Current head researcher of NEST. Current genius and creator of the G-virus. Hell, why should any of that matter?

She looked at Manuel. "How long do you think this will take?"

"Test log states we need to wait twenty minutes before moving onto the next nerve agent."

"Twenty?"

"Sarin gas can cause death in ten minutes. I figure since the Cerberuses don't have the same considerations we do, then-"

"You figure?" Annette asked. "Or Mister Stog..Steg…Stagi…"

"Staglishov?"

"Whatever." She leant back in her chair and watched the slobbering dogs. "They seem to be doing fine."

"Doesn't look like they're even noticing it."

"Fancy that, undead dogs not noticing a nerve agent."

"Well, you usually wouldn't notice sarin gas anyway. It's colourless, odourless, and-"

"Thank you Manuel for explaining how sarin gas works."

Silence lingered between the two of them as they sat and watched the MA-137s do nothing. Doing nothing while watching nothing – like poetry it rhymed. She didn't know why that phrase entered her head. Something about Sherry and some movie coming out next year that she wanted to see…something about…something…?

She yawned.

"Tired?" Manuel asked.

Annette grunted.

"Yeah, I can tell."

Then can you tell I don't want to talk?

"Never was much of a dog person," Manuel said. "More into cats."

Oh Jesus Christ.

"Yeah. I mean, guess that's why I'm able to look at zombie dogs and not feel too bad. Now, zombie cats, that would get to me."

Despite her annoyance, Annette couldn't help but smile darkly. "And is that it Manuel?" she asked. She leant back in her chair and crossed her arms, smirking. "You're fine working for Umbrella as long as they don't work on cats?"

"Heh, I wish."

"Then what lets you sleep at night?"

"The money." Manuel raised his hands in mock defence. "I mean, come on, let's face it – what we're doing is morally wrong on more levels than either of us can count. That's not even including the Arklay disaster. But I mean, if I wasn't looking at high triple figures at the end of every year, I might decide that this job wasn't for me."

Annette remained silent. She'd made her peace with Umbrella's shadier dealings – that was how the world worked. But even now, after all these years, some small part of her was still reminded that biological warfare was banned by most countries of the world. That what she was doing was illegal, and that innocent people had died. Even before the Arklay incident – Umbrella had to get subjects for its Tyrant program somewhere after all.

"So, what about you?" Manuel asked. "Cat or dog person?"

Annette looked away, putting a hand on her chin.

"Or, you, like, another pet person? Birds? Turtles? Hamsters? Or-"

"Manuel, can we please not talk about pets?"

"Oh. Sure."

He fell silent. All that remained was the hum of the facility's air circulation system and the grows of the dogs before her.

"Lizzie has a pet! Stephanie has a pet!"

"Annette?"

"Just a parrot! That's all!"

"Annette, you okay?"

"I hate you!"

"Annette?"

"Hmm?" She looked at Manuel. "What is it?"

"Just…looked like you were crying."

"I was?" She brushed her right eye. "Oh. I was." She looked away.

"Annette…"

"How much longer on the test Manuel?"

"Nine minutes, forty-one seconds."

He didn't say anything else. But Annette knew an opening when she saw one. It was the type of opening that William had once left open for her…back before openings were reserved for questions about work, and not questions about their daughter. A twelve-year-old girl who barely saw her mother, and saw her father even less.

"Sherry and I had a fight last night," Annette said. She got to her feet and started walking around. "She wanted a pet, I said no." She smiled bitterly. "A puppy, actually. One of her friends at school got one, and Sherry wanted one too."

She looked at Manuel, expecting him to pipe up with something witty. He didn't though. He just sat there, listening.

"I told her that she couldn't have one, that a puppy would make too much mess. So then she decides she wants a parrot instead. And I said no, she couldn't have a puppy, or a parrot, or a pet of any other kind."

"Then what happened?"

"Then she said she hated me and ran up to her room."

"Oh."

Annette laughed sadly. "It's funny, you know. I barely see Sherry, but…I don't think she's ever said she hated me before."

"Kids say that," Manuel said, even though he didn't sound convinced. "I mean, Sherry's…what? Eleven now?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve huh. When's she going to turn thirteen?"

"Oh, her birthday's in February," Annette said. "Her birthday's on…on the…"

"Annette?"

She put a hand to her forehead. When was Sherry's birthday anyway? She could remember the month, sure, but the day…she was pretty sure it was a double digit, but…maybe with a 2? She…

"Anyway, I said no puppies," Annette said, taking a seat. "Besides, might be a bit hard to have a puppy round the house when I have to work with these things."

Manuel said nothing. The dogs kept prowling around.

"How much longer?" Annette asked.

"Eight minutes, twenty seconds."

"Oh."

She sat there in silence. Listening to the growls of undead dogs. Beings bereft of empathy, respect, or any other emotion a living dog might possess in relation towards a human.

Emotions that she could feel herself losing day by day.