Chapter Two
A week passed. It was now August 8, 1978, the second Monday that Wesker and Birkin spent working in the Arklay Facility. Outside the Spencer Mansion, the Arklay Mountains were warm, even this high in altitude. The animals of the dense forest roamed freely, and the birds chirped eagerly in the sunlight. Inside the Mansion, the air was cool and sterile. People clad in white coats scurried to and fro, none taking time to communicate or enjoy the summer. Birkin and Wesker had entered Phase 1 of their research. Deep within the walls of the Spencer Mansion, hidden away by the vibrant forest outside, evil was brewing. The T-Virus Project was underway.
During this early point in the project, the only activity in the lab was preliminary study of the viruses themselves. Of course, they could not start testing these diseases right away with no plan or reason to. This meant that most of those days were spent with William staring into his microscope late into the night, while Wesker read files and worked out formulas on a large glass marker board.
William loved this part of the job. Nothing fascinated him more than watching the behavior of those minute organisms. He found it amazing that particles which were invisible to the naked eye could cause such awesome effects on organisms over millions of times their size. They were like tiny puzzles to be solved, fitting them together until the desired effects were accomplished.
Conversely,Wesker was growing impatient with this form of research. The behavior of the viruses themselves did not matter to him; he only cared about the results they had on a living organism, specifically a human. He knew that his impatience was a weakness but he did not see that it mattered much. William had always been a superior intellect, the boy genius was without equal. Wesker figured the kid was a tool to be used to make up what he lacked, while Wesker in turn determined the research's purpose.
Today was a painfully familiar day. Birkin was peering into his microscope as usual. Wesker had been pretending to read his notes, but gave up and was now lounging on a chair. Instead of wasting time studying what they already had, he was thinking up new ways to improve the virus or create human bio-weapons. He lay sloppily on the chair, leaning his head all the way back and staring at the ceiling.
"You seem bored, Wesker."
Wesker looked at Birkin. He wondered how William could tell what he was doing without even looking up from his microscope. It was a bit unnerving.
"I'm not bored," Wesker lied. He lifted the papers in his hand. "I'm simply contemplating our research."
"You're impatient, aren't you?"
Wesker took off his sunglasses and stared at Birkin. How did William know that? He hadn't moved his eyes from that microscope once! Neither did the two men really communicate, and Wesker would not reveal a weakness if they had.
"Don't worry, Wesker," Birkin went on. "Once we get these first tedious steps done, we'll move on to the more important things. Next is the inject, infect, and study cycle, I believe. They'll be bringing in the test subjects."
"I can't wait," muttered Wesker. He sat back in the chair and put his shades back on. "Then we'll see some results."
"It is true that one can't possibly tell the results of a disease until they actually witness it," Birkin said. "Well, the results can be simulated, but … actual testing is often the best way. I can tell that's your favorite part of the job."
"Yes."
"But you must realize that the structure of the virus' DNA and RNA are also important," Birkin explained. "Those are the controls of it all. It may take longer to analyze every part of the virus' structure instead of simply testing them out, but it will give you complete control over the virus. I want to get to the point where I can see the results on a test subject and instantly know every single contributing factor to those results."
"Well, you can handle that end of things. I'll take care of the rest," Wesker said, only half-joking.
The door opened. Wesker looked over. The old scientist Wesley had entered the lab carrying several trays of vials. Wesker narrowed his eyes.
Over the past week, Wesker and Wesley had formed a mutual hatred for each other. Wesley thought Wesker was a disrespectful brat that had more confidence than intelligence. In turn, Wesker had come to think of Wesley as a senile old fool who was good for nothing but complaining.
"Hello, Mr. Smithe," Birkin greeted Wesley, not looking up still. "Did you get the samples I requested?"
"Yes, here they are," Wesley said, setting them down on the table. "May I ask why you requested samples from that particular subject?"
"That subject has many viruses mixed within her blood," Birkin replied. For once, he turned his eyes from his microscope, though he had to rub them with his fists before looking at Wesley. The gesture made him look all of ten years old. "I've never seen such an environment full of disease before, all coexisting almost impossibly successfully."
Wesker turned his face to Birkin and Wesley.
"Which test subject are you talking about?" he asked Birkin. "That woman?"
Birkin looked over at him. "Yes."
Wesker nodded, thinking about this. He went back to staring at the ceiling.
"He doesn't do much, does he?" Wesley said quietly to Birkin.
Wesker heard him, but pretended he hadn't.
"Of course he does," Birkin defended Wesker as he opened the samples and slid them under the microscope lens. "Wesker is very important to my research. He's the one responsible for the basic principal of the T-Virus."
"But you are the one doing all the real work," Wesley told him. "Wesker can barely call himself a man of science, he has no patience for it. Look at him sitting so lazily. Why should he be in charge? The only one who deserves to be head researcher is you."
"I appreciate your expression of opinion," Birkin said tensely, "but I can't say I agree with you at all. Wesker is every bit the leader. In fact, he is more qualified to be head of the team than I am. I can't bother with politics and real world applications and business and all that. I don't have the time."
"But he isn't—"
"Mr. Smithe, please," William said firmly. "I won't tolerate nitpicking and jealousy. We are scientists, all a part of the same team, the same research. Whether you like Wesker or not has nothing to do with our work. He's doing his job and doing it well. That should be all that concerns you."
Wesker smiled to himself. So, Birkin did have a backbone after all. It would have been unnatural if such a brilliant kid was not at least a little bit arrogant.
"Will that be all, Mr. Smithe?" William asked in the most frigid tone Wesker had ever heard him take. The sight of the sandy-haired boy looking haughtily up at the older man should have been comical, but there was an intensity in William's blue eyes that gave him authority.
Wesley seemed to know that he was defeated—yet again. He muttered an agreement and then swept out of the lab in a huff. There was a moment of silence. Birkin began sliding samples into the microscope tray and preparing them. Wesker finally sat up.
"That was … decent of you."
Birkin turned to Wesker. His eyes were still unfocused from staring into the microscope for so long, and he squinted a little. Wesker stood up from the chair, stretched, and grinned. Wesker rarely showed his teeth but when he did, the sharp white rows gave him a shark-like appearance. Birkin felt a little nervous. For some reason, whenever Wesker spoke to him, he felt that way. Perhaps Wesker did intimidate him after all. William was not very good at deciphering emotions, in others or in himself. He preferred the tangible, elements he could see and analyze and name.
"What was?" William asked.
"You stood up for me," Wesker said, "I respect that. May I ask what your reasons were?"
"M-my reasons?" William asked, taken off guard. He would not have thought Wesker would care much about the gesture, let alone his motivation for it. "W-well, ah … " He turned his back on Wesker, looking down at the microscope. "We're a team now, aren't we? And, besides, it was all true." William turned back to Wesker, smiling boyishly. His hair fell over his young face. "It's you and me, remember?"
It was Wesker's turn to be taken off guard. No one had ever really shown him acceptance and kindness like that before. He really didn't know what to do or say with this genius kid smiling at him that way. He just stared at him, feeling a little stupid and incongruously angry at William for causing him to be so dismayed.
William turned back to his microscope.
"When you told me that," he went on, "I was so relieved. We got on well enough at the training center, but you were very aloof. At times, we were almost contentious in our competition. When we were assigned here, I couldn't tell whether the thought of working with me bothered you or not. I thought a person like you might dismiss someone like me. But it's good to know you're willing to work with me. After all, we wouldn't accomplish anything if we hated each other, would we?"
No reply.
"Wesker?"
William heard the sound of the door closing. He looked up. Wesker had left.
William exhaled. He wondered why Wesker was so cold. It was certainly part of the reason William was so intrigued by him, he only wished Wesker weren't so cold with him.
Wesker, meanwhile, had left the mansion. He was wandering around the courtyard, thinking about Birkin. He was disturbed, not by the fact that William had been kind to him, but by what he'd felt when he'd seen that smile. Birkin … he was only a child. Not a child to be underestimated, but still full of all the flaws of childhood: shyness, selfishness, single-mindedness, and a bit of innocence still left in him. Wesker should have dismissed him as a mere tool to be used to further his own goals for the research. He should not feel …
What did he feel about William Birkin?
Wesker stared past the courtyard to the old pile. It was a beautiful mansion, he supposed, in its stately way. Strange, that it had been built solely as a research facility. The decor was impeccable, the architecture creative and intricate. At first glance, you'd think it was nothing more than a luxurious estate. It was the perfect cover for the ugliness that lay underneath it. Knowing the nature of that ugliness, Wesker could not help but see the facade as sinister.
"So, Wesker, what do you think of my facility?" a cold voice suddenly spoke up from behind.
Wesker whipped around. He found himself staring at the President of Umbrella himself, Oswell E. Spencer. Wesker's eyes narrowed. There were only two people in the world that Wesker had trouble reading. The first was William Birkin, who had a habit of going blank at times even though his mind was always working. The second was Spencer, the enigmatic head of Umbrella who guarded his thoughts and speech, even his mannerisms and expressions, extremely well. The trait was frustrating in William, but it was downright infuriating in Spencer.
"Spencer," he greeted him softly. He raised his head and his voice. "What brings you here?"
"I decided to check on my facility and my new workers," Spencer replied. He was equally as cold as Wesker, but his was a genteel chill that was barely perceptible, whereas Wesker could sometimes come off as sullen or taciturn. "I hear things are coming along well."
"They are," Wesker said. "William is an excellent scientist."
"And how are you, Wesker?"
Wesker bristled. He turned his face to avoid Spencer's. Behind his shades, an unusual pain shimmered in his eyes. His jaw tensed with hatred.
"I'm fine, of course," Wesker replied tightly. His fist tightened. "I love working here."
"No need to be so aloof, Albert." Spencer smirked. "We go a long way back."
Wesker turned to face him. Spencer was giving him a piercing gaze. It seemed as if he could see the hatred in Wesker's eyes, even through the black lenses of his sunglasses.
"How old were you when we met?" Spencer went on. "Seventeen?"
"I was sixteen," Wesker said.
"Ah, yes. How could I forget?" Spencer reached out and held Wesker's face by the chin. "You were so beautiful, and so young."
Wesker stepped away from him instantly. Spencer smirked at him. If it had been anyone else, Wesker wouldn't have stayed quiet. However, this was the man who held his job in his hands. Wesker would not do anything to risk losing the job, and Spencer knew that.
"What's wrong?" Spencer asked coldly. "Don't you remember … back then?" He took a few steps towards his young employee. "You haven't changed, you know."
Wesker turned his back on Spencer. His fists were so tight that his knuckles were white. He had lived his entire life through control, sometimes very hard-won control. Yet Spencer had always been outside of his influence, and he could not specifically say why. Wesker was not impressed by wealth or prestige, and though Spencer held all these professional opportunities as leverage over him, still there was something more that caused Wesker to back down to him every time they met. It was appalling, but Wesker had no way of fighting the inexplicable feeling.
"I'm not beautiful," he told Spencer. Trying to lighten the mood to hide his discomfort, he added, "Everyone called me a reptile in school."
"Some people find perfection inhuman." Spencer put a hand on Wesker's shoulder. "It is, perhaps. But what is humanity but ugliness? You are perfect and perfectly beautiful, Albert. If that makes you something others perceive to be inhuman, then so be it. Or do you suddenly care about what other people think of you? Hm?"
Spencer's hand rubbed his shoulder, almost caressing him. Wesker hit his hand away, unable to stand it anymore. He began to storm off.
"Stay away from me, Spencer," he managed to growl. "Stay the hell away."
Wesker was fuming. He ignored Spencer following him until the elder man grabbed his wrist. He jerked, but Spencer pulled him around to face him. The aristocratic calm was dashed away, and Spencer's eyes were hard.
"Don't you walk away from me, boy," Spencer said icily. "Take a look around. Open your eyes." Spencer snatched off the sunglasses. "Look at where you are! You wouldn't be anywhere if it weren't for me. I made you."
Wesker snatched his wrist out of Spencer's grasp.
"No one made me!" he said bitterly. "Yes, you brought me here, that may be true. But I wouldn't be here if it weren't for my own intelligence. So don't you pretend I owe you everything. The only person I owe is myself."
"Is that so?" Spencer asked, his anger softening to condescending amusement. "You can stand here, in my facility, and tell me that you don't owe me anything?"
Wesker's face fell for a moment. Spencer shoved Wesker's sunglasses into his hands roughly.
"You remember it, boy," he said. "I own you."
Wesker turned his face, his jaw tense. Spencer smirked.
Unknown to them, William Birkin had come into the courtyard looking for Wesker. When he chanced upon the confrontation, he had hidden himself behind the massive fountain. He watched the two men curiously. He had never seen Wesker so emotional that his skin flushed with pale red.
"Of course," Spencer went on, "you aren't obligated to do anything other than what is stated in your contract. No, you aren't the only snake in the desert." He smirked. "That William Birkin is an attractive enough boy, don't you think?"
Wesker's eyes widened. Behind the fountain, William's eyes narrowed.
"He's about the same age you were back then," Spencer went on. "Yes, sixteen is a very confusing age, don't you think, Wesker? The lines between obligation and requirement aren't always so clear. Nor pleasure and purpose."
Wesker's fists tightened again. Spencer's eyes met his, and the two stared at each other. It was a test, and they both knew it.
"No," Wesker finally said. He put on his sunglasses. "No. Not William."
"Why not?" asked Spencer. "I don't see why you would care. Unless you are jealous." He walked up to the youth. "Are you jealous?"
Wesker knew he was trapped. He drew a breath.
"You don't need Birkin," he said, fist trembling with rage. "Not when you have … me."
Spencer lifted his head a little. He looked satisfied.
"Well, that is nice to know," he said. He reached out a hand and ran it through Wesker's pale blond hair. "I'll see you at dinner."
"Yes."
Spencer nodded and strode off. As he did, he smiled. Everything was going according to plan, inside and outside the lab.