Chapter IV

Once more silence settled in the room and the only thing that moved was the soft summer breeze outside, stroking across the tinroof of the warehourse. Both men had lost the ability to convert their emotions into words and were left to express their unbelief by staring at the little vial with the green liquid (that should be blue) in Birkin's hands.

Wesker was the first to act, though that wasn't a surprise. Birkin had thought about the possibility of infection before, but had never actually considered what course of action to take should the test turn out positive – which it unfortunately had. He found himself in momentary shock, as if he was frozen in place, barely being able to heave and lower his chest enough for air to fill his lungs and supply his brain with enough oxygen to process the just obtained information.

Then Wesker's hand shot up to grab his throat and before Birkin could object he was pushed against a wall, lifted off the ground. The little vial containing the life-changing green substance had slipped out of his hand and spilled on the floor. For a moment he wondered how a color of all things could be so important, then pushed the thought aside and clawed at Wesker's steel hand that kept squeezing around his throat.

"What was that?!" Wesker bellowed. His voice was carried across the entire hall, "What did you do?!"

Birkin wanted to answer, but he couldn't get any air and the prominent thought in his mind was how strong Wesker was, how easily he'd lifted him off the ground, and that ten years as STARS captain had paid off in more than one way.

"Answer me!" the man in front of him demanded, increasing the force on Birkin's throat. He was coercing the researcher into looking directly at him, made sure that their eyes locked. Birkin thought the early light played a strange trick on Wesker's eyes, because for one moment they flared in a dangerous red before reverting back to their natural azure color. It must be the way the light broke on his retina, but as important the thought had been a second ago, Birkin thought it didn't make any sense to analyze such things when you were strangled.

"Please…" he managed to squeal, still trying to do away Wesker's grip, but he was too strong.

In response to his plea the STARS commander eased the force and Birkin's feet touched the ground again. He waited for Wesker to take away his hand completely, but it remained there.

"Talk," he said and it sounded so emotionless as if robot had spoken the words. It was probably the way the police treated criminals, a tone Wesker had aquired over the years. There was no motion in his facial expression, not even a twitch. He was completely still, apart from his eyes, which seemed to pierce into Birkin's own – beyond that, searching for the answer their owner so dearly desired.

"I… you, you're positive…you're infected," it was incredibly hard to mutter these words. He felt so extremely exposed, under pressure, both from Wesker's presence aswell as from his previous maltreatment of Birkin's throat.

"Don't pull this shit on me, William!" Wesker yelled and he was indeed furious. Wesker only cursed when he was very, very angry and Birkin didn't know whether to feel proud or afraid that he had pushed the man to such an extreme.

The hand closed around his throat again and Birkin felt a second's panic rise up his spine, nesting somewhere in the back of his mind so it could nudge him whenever it wanted.

"Don't – don't – the Tyrant! The Tyrant must have gotten you!" Birkin said hurriedly, thinking of the right words that would make Wesker stop to push. His hands were shaking, if only slightly, but they were hanging at his sides uselessly, not even trying to withstand Wesker's assault.

"I told you I didn't get into contact!"

"It must have been wounded – perhaps it was only dirt – God, let me go, damnit!" he didn't think about what he was yelping, he just wanted to get free, away from Wesker's suffocating grip, they could talk it out like civilized people –

"Is everything alright in here?" it was the asian woman. From the corner of his eye Birkin could see her form in the doorway, but she didn't approach further. Her tone had been unsure, cautious.

Wesker's hand was gone in an instant and Birkin nearly believed that he was going to take off after her, but instead he just looked her way, completely still, seeming to have regained control again.

"I told you to wait outside," he said in the calmest way he could muster, but Birkin could hear the rage seething beneath it, "Go outside."

It didn't take more to convince her and they were once again alone, though by her brief appearance the woman had probably saved Birkin's life.

"I was unconscious," Wesker suddenly said, but contrary to Birkin's assumptions that he would start yelling again as soon as the woman was out of the door, his voice was cool.

Birkin decided to approach the problem with equal calmness and asked, "How long?"

"Five minutes, seven at most. It couldn't have happened while I was out."

"Why not?" he was walking on thin ice by asking this, and hoped he hadn't gone too far for the ice to break again.

"During its activation I was not the only person in the room. Another member from STARS was present. The Tyrant must have taken off after him. It wouldn't bother any longer than necessary with a broken body and contrary to the G-infected hosts it feels no need to reproduce either. It had no reason to infect me."

Birkin was about to remind him that 'reason' was no valid argument, but then it suddenly deemed on him and he said, "But it killed the other agent, didn't it? Did you have to pass it when you regained consciousness?"

Until now Wesker had focused his sight on the floor, but now his hand suddenly came up again – Birkin was prepared to sprint, if necessary – but instead he just brushed it through his damp and sticky hair.

"It wasn't there when I woke up."

Birkin stared.

"What?"

"It was gone."

"You mean… you mean it survived?"

Wesker shook his head, "Impossible. It must have been killed during the self destruction."

Unfortunatly, many things they had thought impossible before had proved to be otherwise in the previous ten minutes, but Birkin wasn't going to contradict Wesker's judgement for now. There was something else on his mind.

"Why did it leave, though? It had no reason to move from its position after it took out the other STARS member. The rest of the facility, I presume, was crowded with carriers and it bears no grudges against its own kind."

"Redfield wasn't there anymore either," Wesker admitted, "he must have fled while the Tyrant attacked me and it probably took off after him."

Redfield was probably the name of the other STARS member, but Birkin didn't like to hear of his flight. In the end he must have died too, and that cheased some of his worries. Birkin decided not to dwell on that matter.

"Was the T-002 in its stasis tank?"

"Yes."

"Did you extract it yourself, or…?"

"No, it trashed at the glass and then…," he was still. Birkin could only imagine what happened afterwards.

"It might have been one of the shards," he offered, even if it was only one possibility out of many. But at least it was one more than they had had a few minutes ago.

Wesker didn't say anything else. He didn't look shocked, nor desperate. He was simply standing there, thinking. Probably thinking of how he was going to turn into a mindless creature, whose only want was to eat without really knowing why. Birkin decided to be silent too, mainly because he didn't know what to say. 'Sorry' seemed unfitting somehow and 'it'll pass' was wrong in this case.

"I can't believe this," Wesker said. Birkin couldn't either, but it was easier to get used to the unbelievable if it didn't affect yourself, "I need to look at a sample. The indicator might have been wrong. A fake."

The chance was minimal, literally non-existant. "I have one of the portable microscopes," Birkin said and pointed to the object in question. He wished that his intuition to take it along had been wrong.

Wesker nodded. Birkin allowed himself to step away and rumage the bag for the object slides he had brought. He took one and put a drop of the remains from the syringe on it, fixing it under the microscope, which he had placed on one of the nearby crates. Wesker had watched his every action, but hadn't said another word.

Now he stepped up to the prepared microscope and turned on its integrated lamp that shone through the sample and made it visible on a lightmicroscopic level. He adjusted several buttons, levers and switches until he had the image he wanted.

Birkin stood beside Wesker and unconsciously observed him. He wondered when the first effects of the virus would arise. The itchiness. Dellusion, dehydration, fever. Later, loss of motoric control, of speech. Birkin had seen it happen often. Until now Wesker showed no sign, but that was soon to change.

Then Wesker said, "I think you should have a look at this," and the expression on his face added, "You had better know what it is."

Glad ya all took so well to the bad news of the infection. Unlike Wesker we know what's going to happen (and what not) so this is the explanation for his...hm...how to call it - 'unsure' moment? It definitely wasn't weakness (I mean, he isn't weak!), but I guess that there have been some thoughts going on in his head about turning into a zombie. He does know that something isn't normal about him (the strength, the wounds, etc.) but he definitely doesn't know as much as I do, hehe. Yet.