Albert Wesker was a mystery to those around him, but truly, he was a simple man. He liked order, discipline and loyalty - to him, forced or otherwise. Miniscule details or emotional baggage did not factor in his decisions. Hypocrisy did not sway him as he found deception to be a powerful tool. He believed himself to be righteous; after all, he had been adorned with the cursed surname for reasons.
Most of all, he enjoyed having complete control over himself and others. He had mastered controlling his own actions long ago, earning the label of a cold hearted, to-the-point authority. Although spectacular at manipulating others, becoming the Captain of the STARS Alpha team had come with obstacles to work around.
Namely, Chris Redfield and his clique of infantile slackers.
Wesker raised an eyebrow over his shades at Redfield and Barry. They were fiddling with paper. Bound to the pile of reports he had to file, he ignored them. Any ill words he could throw at them would only be a temporary solution to a permanent problem.
Excited whispering erupted from their end of the office, adding to the Captain's migraine. Shallow graves, he thought, repeating it in his head like a mantra.
"Are you sure?" Barry said, glancing from Wesker to Chris.
"Yeah, let 'er go!" Chris reassured him.
"He's gonna be so pissed!" Big grin.
"Isn't that the point?" Bigger grin.
With a strong throw by weapons specialist Barry Burton, the paper airplane danced though the office, circled the head of the table, and finally, collided with the Captain's nose.
It was the loudest silence any of the Alpha team members would ever hear. After a moment, Wesker began to smile, falsely lightening the mood. Most let out sighs of relief, but Jill, so boldly, let out a giggle.
Immediately Wesker snapped at her. "What's so funny, Valentine?"
She froze.
"Forgive me. I seem to have missed the joke. Let's ask the department comedians to elaborate on this schtick of theirs, shall we?" He turned to Redfield.
Chris frowned. "Won't happen again, sir,"
"Really? I don't believe that. I don't think you do, either." Wesker said, throwing the now crumpled paper airplane into the trash bin.
"Well, excuse me for introducing a little fun into the office!" He immediately regretted his choice of words.
Wesker almost laughed in the young man's face. "You want work to be a game, do you, Redfield? We'll see who wins, then. Oh, and I want that essay on my desk by Friday."
"What essay?" He asked, puzzled.
"The one where you convince me to let you keep your job. Better make it a persuasive piece." With that, the Captain left the board room.
After a few moments, Chris scoffed. "I haven't written an essay since high school. Actually, I don't think I even did one then."
His coworkers could only tease him about the predicament; he had, after all, brought on Wesker's wrath himself. He couldn't say he didn't know it was coming. He just never expected anything more than a slap on the wrist. He would soon find Wesker had expertise in administering far more than a simple slap on the wrist.
Chris shuddered as the winter wind caressed the back of his neck. Opening the heavy doors to the RPD, he sighed.
It was Friday.
After hanging up his coat, he lumbered towards Captain Wesker's office. Before he entered he flipped through the essay he had written the night before, rolling his eyes at the stupidity he had etched onto the paper. It was the epitome of kissing ass and he was almost certain the sadistic megalomaniac would fire him anyway.
"Here's the essay you wanted, sir," he tossed the stapled pages on the desk.
Wesker nodded. "Good. Thanks, dear heart."
Chris, eager to escape the man's presence, started towards the door. Then, realizing the absurdity of what he'd just heard, did a double-take.
Brows furrowed, Chris looked back at his Captain. "What... did you call me?
His superior appeared equally confused. "Call you what, Redfield?"
Too tired from a night of patrolling to argue, he shook his head. "Uh, nothing. See you on Monday."
Wesker smiled to himself as he watched him leave. By the end of the month, Chris would be a paranoid wreck. His brain was nothing more than putty to mold to his liking. It would make for a fun side project to keep him entertained until Umbrella was ready for the testing at Arklay Mansion.
He skimmed through the essay and found that it only reinforced his belief that Chris was a waste of flesh, set only upon the Earth to annoy him.
In conclusion, I should keep my job here at the Raccoon Police Department because I am a cooperative and focused individual. The paper airplane incident was meant to be a team building exercise. The STARS are already a close team, though, so it won't happen again.
He crushed the pages and threw them into the waste bin.
Monday brought forth a fire drill at the RPD, sending everyone outside to shiver in the early morning Raccoon City weather. Chief Irons commanded the megaphone, barking at the STARS to make an example. Chris lagged behind his fellow Alpha team members, leaning on Jill's shoulder dramatically by the end to catch his breath.
"Jesus Christ, Chris, how did they even let you on the team?" Jill chided, pushing him off of her.
"They hired me for my gun skill, not my run and gun skill." He smiled, lighting up the first cigarette of the day.
Barry laughed. "Y'know, Chris, if you can't even keep up with me... I think it may be time to kick the habit."
Chris seemed to be considering the thought, before taking a long drag. "Nope!"
After everyone was informed by Irons that they were a full minute slower than the next town over's Police Department, they were allowed to reenter the building. Chris let them go ahead, finishing off his cigarette before starting another hectic work day. A work day that would probably end in unpaid overtime, full of angry people and angrier coworkers - especially Captain Wanker, as Chris had taken to calling him after the essay bullshit.
Stamping his cigarette out on the sidewalk, he leisurely started back towards the RPD.
"DEAR HEART, pick up the pace!" Satan's voice blared from the megaphone behind him.
Chris spun around to face his Captain. With a confused expression he waited for him to say more.
"I didn't say stand there like an idiot, Redfield, I said get a move on," Wesker spat. "Like an idiot."
Chris scoffed. "I knew you said it last time you asshole! Why the hell are you calling me some sick pet name?"
Wesker had a winning poker face. "Did you learn nothing from your last episode with me? Do you want to be fired, Chris?"
Chris felt like a child again, wanting nothing more than to throw a tantrum and tell his Captain how much he hated him. "No - I like my job, I'm not so crazy about," he hesitated. "I'm just not so crazy about being harassed by you!"
The older man instantly changed his demeanor. "Alright, Redfield, obviously you're having emotional difficulties. I'm willing to forgive your misbehavior as you are the best marksman available to us. Do try to improve as if this escalates, I have no qualms about managing a smaller team. Do you understand?"
Chris was ready to tear the man's throat out so he'd never have to hear that holier-than-thou voice again, but he refrained. "Fine," he ground his teeth. "Sir."
He left for the RPD in a hurry.