Entropy
The second law of thermodynamics states that the amount of disorder in a closed system is always increasing.
The measurement of this disorder is called "entropy."
Chapter One.
For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?
-Mark 8:36
Author's Note: Thanks for taking a look at my second chaptered fanfiction! I've been toying with this fic for a long time now, and it's gone through many different forms before arriving where it is today. Originally, it was meant to be a dystopian what-if scenerio, until I realized that all I wanted to write were flashbacks to Umbrella. This story is going to follow the fall of Umbrella, from Marcus's assassination onward. I hope you enjoy. =)
August 24, 1980
"What time does the team get there?"
"We're meeting the team at 3:00 AM outside the training facility."
"Okay. Just double checking."
Albert Wesker gave his companion, William Birkin, a quick glance. William couldn't see through Wesker's dark sunglasses, but he imagined the other man was giving him a look of exasperation. William had been asking him questions all night.
"You sure you should be wearing those glasses to drive?"
A flat, "yes," was all the answer William got to that particular one. For the infinite time that night, he ground his teeth together and wondered just what the hell he was doing. His hands were shaking like a leaf in the breeze. His nerves were shot to hell—his nerves were always shot to hell, but tonight he wanted to jump out of his own body he was so anxious.
"Hey, Al, what time is it?"
"It's 2:15," Wesker replied, in a tone reminiscent of an exhausted parent.
"Can we stop for coffee?"
"Do you want to leave a sample of your hair at the scene too?"
"I'm not an idiot. I'll leave the coffee in the car."
"Alright."
Wesker pulled the car into a Stagla gas station. The unnatural glow of the halogen lights surrounding the pumps made William wince. His headache was back. Perhaps Albert had the right idea, wearing sunglasses all the time. It added to the severity of his appearance—the perfectly ironed all black clothing, the lab coat that added an aura of authority. He looked every bit the part of an assassin tonight.
"Will," Wesker said, drawing his attention. "Are you coming?"
"Yeah, sorry."
The station was mercifully empty, except for a languid cashier, leaning into the counter and yawning every five seconds. William grabbed a styrofoam cup, hands still shaking, and did his best to pour the coffee in without making a mess everywhere. He turned around and Wesker was just there—he didn't even hear him coming. William almost jumped, thoroughly spooked as it was. Wesker intimidated him at times. He seemed so disaffected by everything. It made him nervous.
"Are you ready?"
"Uh, yeah, I just need to pay."
William sat his cup down on the counter, only to tip it over, soaking the counter in hot coffee.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"It's okay. But are you sure you need more coffee with those shakes?" the cashier asked, a grin affixed to her face.
"Uh, yeah."
"If you say so. That'll be... seventy-five cents."
William reached into his pocket and found it empty. He stifled a groan.
"Hey, Al?"
"What?"
"Do you have seventy-five cents?"
He could feel Wesker's incredulous stare boring a hole through the glasses.
"I didn't bring my wallet! You said to not have any ID on me—"
Wesker threw a dollar bill onto the counter.
"Please, keep the change, miss," he said, his voice almost a growl.
The pair left the station, and made their way out to the car. It was an ugly black station wagon, property of Umbrella. Wesker would have never owned something so unwieldy, and William wasn't in the habit of driving. Everything he needed was usually within a few feet of him, he was fond of saying. However, the benefit to the station wagon was that it had plenty of space in the back, for all the documents they would be recovering.
That was what would make it worth it, he had told himself a million times. He wasn't going to sleep for days, and when he finally could sleep, he would dream about this night, and he might never really trust Albert again—not to mention trust his own self. But, if he could recover one box of documents on T, it would all be worth it. The wasted potential of Dr. Marcus's research made him ill. The man had the answer to the Tyrant under his nose, and all he wanted to do was play with leeches.
"Always be adaptable," William made a mental note. "Don't get too attached."
Wesker unlocked the ugly car, and William ducked inside. Once he was seated, he braced himself for Wesker's reprimand. The ID incident was unforgivable. How had he been so loose lipped? Fucking anxiety was trying to make him crack before they even got there.
"Don't say anything else tonight," Wesker commanded.
William nodded in silent agreement. He took a sip of his coffee. It was burnt. Definitely not worth the trouble. He laid his head against the backseat and tried to relax. It was a lost cause. His leg bumped up against the glove box while Wesker piloted the car down the empty streets. Wesker was so removed from everything. It made William nervous.
Streets turned into roads, which lead up into the Arklay Mountains. The facility was pretty close to their new lab, the "mansion," as they had dubbed it. William stirred from his slumped position in the seat to look out the windows. They were about five minutes away. His stomach knotted.
More coffee.
What the hell was he doing?
"Hey, Al?"
"What," Wesker replied, a statement, not a question.
"If Spencer told you to supervise my assassination, would you?"
Wesker gave him a brief look.
"What sort of question is that?"
"One I'm curious about. I mean, we've both known Dr. Marcus about as long as we've known each other."
"No one is going to assassinate you, William. Umbrella needs you."
"Yeah, well they needed Dr. Marcus too."
"Dr. Marcus outlived his usefulness. We won't."
Wesker made the turn into the parking lot of the training facility. It had been empty for months. A singular black van sat in the lot.
"They're early," William commented, taking another sip of his coffee.
"Preferable to being late."
"Yeah."
Wesker parked the car next to the van and shut off the engine.
"I wouldn't, by the way," he spoke to William.
"Hmm?"
"I wouldn't supervise your assassination. I would warn you."
"Thanks," William replied, letting go of a breath it felt like he had been holding the whole ride.
William wondered at what point in his life a promise to not kill him became the benchmark of a successful friendship.
"Ready?" Wesker asked.
"Yeah."
Wesker got out of the car and Birkin followed behind him. The Umbrella Security Service members poured out of the van. Black hats, all black combat armor, machine guns, and identically stern facial expressions, like they were cut from stone. They looked like something out of an action movie. Wesker shook the hand of the squad leader, who was indistinguishable from the rest of the team, with the exception of a red band on his hat.
"Good evening gentlemen. My partner and I will be leading you through the facility."
The Training Facility seemed almost haunted. William didn't believe in ghosts, but if they were real, he was sure they would inhabit a place like this. There was no light except for the tinny brightness of the U.S.S. Leader's flashlight. The hallways somehow seemed so much larger than they did only three years ago. He was fifteen when had come to the Training Facility, fresh out of University of Chicago, PhD in hand. The youngest in the world. There was a newspaper article about it somewhere. Umbrella Chicago had recruited him, and when they offered him a chance to get out of Illinois and relocate to the new Umbrella Training Facility in Raccoon City, Minnesota, he couldn't have left fast enough.
The Training Facility had only been his home for a short while, but it had impressed it's self upon his mind. The ornate gothic decorations and stoic architecture was a far cry from the sterility of the Chicago office. The heaviness of the décor seemed to permeate the air with a sense of foreboding.
The hallways tapered off into the laboratory, where the pair was certain they would find Dr. Marcus. He worked at all hours of the night, a habit which William himself had picked up. Wesker went to open the door, and stopped suddenly. The heavy metal doors were locked in place.
"Why do you think he locks the doors if no one's here?" William whispered to Wesker.
"We're here, aren't we?"
"You think he knows?"
"Dr. Marcus was always paranoid," Wesker responded with a shrug. The past tense unnerved William. Ever since they got the orders to supervise Dr. Marcus's assassination, William had been practicing imagining him dead. Dr. Marcus was already dead. The powers that be had made it so. William and Wesker were just the messengers.
Wesker turned to address the U.S.S. Team.
"Make it quick, please. And double tap. We don't need any nasty surprises coming back to haunt us."
"Affirmative," the squad leader replied. "Do we anticipate any biological weapons?"
"We do not anticipate it, but anything is possible."
Wesker pulled a master key card from the pockets of his lab coat and stuck it in the door. It opened with a pneumatic woosh, the volume of which suggested that the doors hadn't been opened in some time.
"Here we go," Wesker whispered to William.
"Oh my God, we're going to kill Dr. Marcus," William said, feeling weak in the knees. Wesker had already followed the U.S.S. Members in. William heard a bust of automatic fire, and then broken glass. He rushed in behind Wesker. Just before he stepped in the lab, he felt a rush of cold air on his neck. He turned around, but there was nothing there.
"Keep it together, Will," he thought.
The lab was just as he remembered it, outdated tiled walls and a tank of leeches in the far corner. He and Wesker once privately referred to it as the world's scariest bathroom, because of the combination of the white tile walls and bright lights. One tank had been pierced by a bullet and was leaking out stasis fluid onto the floor.
Dr. Marcus was a gruesome sight. Blood soaked his lab coat, which was already covered in previous stains. Adding insult to injury, a specimen had fallen and landed on his neck. The engorged leech sat there like an ugly necklace, sucking the lifeblood from it's creator, who didn't have much to spare to begin with.
Dr. Marcus whimpered in pain.
"Shhh, it's time to die now," Wesker said, in mock comfort. The situation was so bizarre, William couldn't help but laugh.
"I'll be taking over your research!" he exclaimed, before he burst into more erratic laughter.
It was surreal.
A U.S.S. Member shot Dr. Marcus again, right between the eyes, splitting his head open like a gruesome pumpkin.
"He's dead," Wesker commented, deadpan.
"Just making really sure, boss. Where should we put the body?"
"Take it to the incinerator in the basement," William said, addressing the mercenaries for the first time that night.
"Uh, is that okay?" the mercenary asked Wesker. William grit his teeth, but he was used to authority being defaulted to Wesker.
"Is that what he told you?"
"Yeah..."
"Then do it."
"Yes, sir."
Two mercenaries picked up Dr. Marcus's body and began to walk away.
"Um, don't you need some directions?" William asked.
"It's the big, hot thing in the basement, right?"
"That sounds about right."
The two men took out Dr. Marcus's body, and William turned to Wesker, whom cracked his knuckles and gave a brief smile.
"We better get started carrying out these documents, Dr. Birkin."
"Holy shit."
The entire back wall of the laboratory was shelved, a recent development, and filled with binders which must have been six inches thick. Each binder had month written on the spine, from June 1968 to July 1980.
"I wish Dr. Marcus had believed in using computers," William sighed.
"You could use the exercise," Wesker quipped, grabbing four of the massive binders off the top shelf. William stood on his toes and pulled March 1980 down.
"What the hell was he writing on, granite?" William pulled one hand from under the binder and pointed at the remaining U.S.S. Members. "Why are you all just standing there?"
"So, where are we taking all these?" William asked Wesker, as they drove away from the Training Facility. The car was packed to the brim with binders. William was still shaking. Everything felt surreal. He was certain the events of the night would catch up with him soon.
"Your apartment or my house," Wesker offered. "We can't very well be seen hauling all of Dr. Marcus's research through Arklay."
"I'm not lugging these binders up the stairs to your front door."
"There's six steps, Will."
"Six more than taking the elevator."
"You want to have all the research to yourself for the night."
"Yeah," he admitted.
"Well, don't expect me to leave any time tonight."
"Hey, that's fine by me. When do we have to return the car?"
"Not soon enough," Wesker said, with audible annoyance. "It's like driving a manatee."
"Do we have to go in to Arklay today? I feel like killing our former mentor should be grounds to call off."
"If you want to call the office manager and tell her, go right ahead," Wesker replied, with a hint of sarcasm.
"Who hired her anyway? It wasn't either of us."
"Probably Spencer. He has a penchant for sociopaths after all."
"Yeah," William agreed, wondering if he was one of those sociopaths. He didn't really feel guilty about Dr. Marcus's death... just worried.
Wesker pulled up to the street next to William's apartment building.
"Do you have a hand truck?" Wesker asked.
William stared back blankly.
"What's a hand truck?"
Wesker looked at the pile of binders in the trunk and backseat of the car and then turned to his scrawny partner in the passenger seat. There were almost 150 binders of research to be taken inside. The clock on the dashboard read 5:36 AM.
"Why don't you call Christine and tell her we won't be in this morning?"
"You call her. She's thinks you're cute."
"That's most unfortunate," Wesker scoffed. "You do that; I'm going to go to my house and getting a dolly."
"Oh, that's what that is! No, I don't have one."
Wesker gave him another tired stare before getting back into the car. William shrugged and entered his building.
"Did ya' find the incinerator?" the U.S.S. Squad commander asked his operatives. The team was sitting in their van and cleaning their guns.
"Nah, we didn't see it. I don't think the one in the white shirt knew what he was talking about," one operative answered.
"Where'd you put the body then?"
"Don't worry, boss. We sunk it in the basement sewer. Ol' Dr. Marcus is sleeping with the fishes."
"Eh, that's fine. The place is completely abandoned. Nobody's gonna be trawling around in the basement with a fishing net or anything."
"Yeah, no one's gonna find that poor son of a bitch's body."
August 26, 1980
"But, could you imagine, if we combined a variant of Progenitor Virus with the Ebola Virus, the results would be fascinating."
"I agree, Dr. Birkin! You know, I did some research into the Ebola virus myself—just out of personal interest, for fun, and what I found most interesting was that..."
"Will, come here," Wesker called across the lab. William was going over the results of an electrophoresis with an over eager lab assistant, Annette Weiss. She was small and blonde, and constantly trying to impress William, who couldn't help but appreciate the attention.
"What is it, Al? I'm a little busy."
"We're going to run an experiment with the Type-B," Wesker replied, sounding rather impatient.
"Alright, I'm coming." William turned to Annette and gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I gotta go visit my girlfriend."
Annette's face fell.
"Who's that?"
"Her name is Lisa Trevor," William said with a laugh. "At least, for all the time I spend with her, you'd think she was."
Annette laughed too, obviously relieved.
"Alright, we'll talk about Ebola later?"
"Of course."
William caught up with Wesker, who had decided to start walking down the hall rather than wait for William. He was holding a metal briefcase, the kind that were used to hold samples.
"What are we doing?"
"We're going to inject Lisa with the T-Virus," Wesker replied. "After studying the new reports, I feel as though it's time we made our way into human testing."
William nodded.
"Why start with the Trevor girl? All of her results are decidedly... abnormal."
"Well, if it kills her, then we know we're on to something," Wesker replied, with a half smile.
"Where are we going to get the test subjects from?" William asked. Wesker was the one who arranged the experiments, and William was the one who read the results. It was a winning strategy for the most part.
"After we test the Trevor girl, I have a meeting with Spencer."
"And you didn't invite me?" William said, in mock sadness.
"Shh. Don't say anything now, okay?"
Wesker stepped onto the elevator to the basement, and William followed behind him. When the doors pinged open, William saw that the room Lisa Trevor was kept in was filled with researchers. He felt his throat tighten. What was going on? The anxiety he'd experienced after Dr. Marcus's death had yet to fade.
"Good morning, Dr. Toleman, Dr. Ross, Dr. Sarton, and Dr. Smith," Wesker said, panning through the room and calling them all by name. He was capable of being very charming when it could benefit him. "Today, I'd like to introduce you all to something extraordinary. Our colleague, Dr. William Birkin, has created something unprecedented, and today you will all be the first to witness the application of his Tyrant Virus."
The researchers clapped in a polite tizzy and William found himself to be extremely confused. He hadn't created the Tyrant Virus.
In the midst of the congratulations and pats on the shoulder from his fellow researchers, Wesker shook his hand and whispered, "Trust me."