"Birkin."

No, he was busy. He didn't have time. Conferences could wait. Break time could wait. This was what mattered.

"Birkin."

The G-virus would be complete, would be everything Umbrella could ever dream of. He'd show them all, especially a certain family that lineage wasn't important, it was intellect, intellect and talent and hard work and…

Hands on his shoulders was his only warning to get his eye away from the microscope before he was spun bodily around and got a face-full of Wesker. Despite any whisperings he may have heard in their sad excuse for a kitchen turned break room, it was really wasn't that nice of a face, especially with those shades on. Birkin saw only his own sunken eyes staring back in their reflection.

"You need to eat," Wesker said in that annoying, flat voice of his.

"Humans only require a certain number of calories per day, which I'm sure I've met…"

"Twelve hours ago."

"…And losing a few won't make me drop dead. I'm fine, I'll eat when I'm done here."

"In twelve more hours?"

"However long it takes," Birkin snapped. He meant to turn his seat back around to return to his work, but Weser grabbed his shoulder and ducked down.

"Don't you dare!" Birkin shrieked but too late, he was hoisted up over Wesker's shoulder and carried from his lab like a child. "Put me down, you test-tube abnormality!"

"We're back to the test-tube theory? I thought we'd settled on me being an alien," Wesker said casually, immune to Birkin's wriggling and attempts to get free.

"Locker-room slime mold!"

"Look, I haven't been around long enough to have multiple origin stories yet, you need to pick one and stick with it."

Birkin finally surrendered and stopped struggling. He was rewarded by Wesker setting him down to allow him the dignity of entering the break room on his own two feet. That didn't stop Birkin from dropping into a chair at the table petulantly and glowering at a few of his colleagues hovering by the coffeemaker.

Wesker slid him a plate on which was a sandwich before settling himself in the chair opposite Birkin. He was going to damn well watch him eat, wasn't he? Didn't Wesker have his own work to do?

"Eat it, Birkin."

Apparently not.

The sandwich tasted like nothing, or at least Birkin presumed it did as he had no memory of eating it, his mind so consumed with thoughts of the G-virus he had to get back to. Regardless, the sandwich was gone and, taking the plate, Wesker magnanimously waved him away.

Having something in his gut did make Birkin feel a bit better, so he mumbled out a thanks before he left to lock himself away before Wesker arrived to ensure his human needs were met yet again.

Really, were they not giving Wesker enough work? Damn.