A/N: There is no excuse as to the lengths between updates. Now, I can truly sympathize with George R.R Martin. Writer's block and the unpredictability of life in general took hold, if somebody's still needs an excuse to justify the absence of updates.

I'm still getting my act back together again so it could be a while before I start posting regularly again although I do intend to keep chipping away at this fic until its completion (or when Resi 7 finally gets released, whichever is sooner)

For now, please enjoy this fic and I hope I'll be able to deliver the same quality content as I used to in the past seven chapters. Go easy, it's been awhile.


RESIDENT EVIL 7: CASTING CALL

Chapter 8 – Mistaken Identities

"I must say, Alpha Team's performance was nothing short of extraordinary," Ed Takeshi beamed with delight as he scrutinized the footage of said team's gauntlet run. "I expected nothing less from franchise veterans such as yourselves!"

The rest of the cast were seated around a table in a conference room the very next morning for a debriefing of the previous day's combat scenarios. On one side of the table, Alpha sat back in their chairs, fresh-faced and looking rather pleased with themselves.

"As for Bravo however…" the director began, the effervescence in his voice immediately petering out.

As Ed shifted his scrutiny to the other side of the table towards Bravo...well, they had clearly seen better days. Much better ones. Everyone was covered in as many types of bandages as their variety of wounds and it seemed as though a perpetual dark cloud hung over them, if their dour features were any indication.

"…Well, let's just say that your performance was less than stellar." The final few words seethed of utter displeasure.

"Hey, whose smart idea was it in the first place to split us all into such unfair teams? You had the all-star cast on one side, what did you expect?" Jake groaned from where he was seated with both feet propped up on the table as he nursed what seemed to be a terrible headache.

"Jake…" Sherry – probably the most banged-up member of Bravo – squeaked out in warning although her attempt at caution came out more as an unintelligible wheeze of air. This earned her several concerned looks from across the table although Ed seemed oblivious to her suffering.

"Nevertheless, yesterday's debacle was necessary to showcase the areas upon which most of Bravo needed improving," Ed plowed on. "Namely, teamwork and a re-acquaintance to the franchise's earlier-generation game mechanics."

"I'm curious, why the return to the older game mechanics?" Helena leaned forward in her seat.

"Six showed us that consumers didn't take too kindly to our newer action-based approach, hence the return to the franchise's original pillars of gameplay," Ed said as a matter-of-factly. "My plan is to take Resident Evil Seven back to its survival-horror roots by reintroducing the older mechanics…but not without its share of innovations for modern-day gaming sensibilities, of course!" Pride welled in his voice as he concluded his little explanation. With a clasp of his hands as is typical of the director, "Well, that concludes today's events. Some of you deserve today's rest," a congratulatory smirk was thrown towards Alpha, "while some of you look like you need it," and a reprimanding stare at Bravo.

"So, when should we be expected to come in for the next phase of the auditions?" Jill asked.

Ed rubbed his chin as his brow furrowed in thought. "My schedule indicates that your presence won't be needed for the next few days until this coming Friday. I still need to meet with the writing team to sort out the basic premise of the plot."

"Great!" Sherry wheezed a sigh of relief but even that was cut off by a sharp wince of pain. That'll mean three days of peace and quiet at least, the blonde thought.

"Then keep us notified until Friday. If nothing else, I'll be off," Ada replied all business-like as usual as she stood up and exited the room.

Hope she's doing alright. Leon mused as he watched her walk out the door, the spy seemingly unfazed by her injuries. But he could never tell with her. At the very last moment, Ada glanced back into the room, finding his gaze. Both their eyes met and a torrent of unspoken words and emotions were called to the forefront of his mind in that one brief moment.

"Leon!"

The sound of his name startled him out of his reverie as he looked up to see Helena hobbling over towards him as the rest of the cast started filing out of the room. "Y-yeah?"

"I was asking if you wanted to go grab something to eat? I haven't had anything to eat all day," Helena muttered.

Suddenly, any thoughts of Ada felt utterly revolting in his mind as he appraised just how terrible Helena looked by comparison. If anything, Helena probably needed his company more so than Ada. After all, didn't he promise to Helena all those months ago to give him another chance? Another chance to show her that he'd grown, that he'd clean up his act and that whatever they both had was more than just a fling?

"Sure thing, Helena. Let's go."

Clutching tightly to that promise, Leon buried Ada away into the deeper recesses of his mind but he knew that it was only temporary. But for now he accompanied Helena out of the conference room and made a mental note not to look down the hallway where Ada took off in.

Meanwhile, Claire couldn't help but spare a longing look as the two of them hobbled off down the hallway, presumably towards the cafeteria.


Fools. All of them. How can they not realize that Seven would be a failure without me? Wesker thought dejectedly as he glowered at the Capcom production lots from the relative safety of the lot's main entrance.

The former STARS captain was dressed in the most un-Wesker-like outfit yet – a horrendously bright Bermuda shirt and khaki shorts complete with a wig of dirty-blonde hair under a straw trilby hat and flip flops. Sure, the attire might be the antithesis to all that he stood for but at least the woman at the store noted on how snazzy the outfit was. He even earned several awestruck stares on his way over. At least he thought he did.

Donning a pair of neon-colored plastic sunglasses to mask his glowing irises, essentially completing his disguise, Wesker strode towards the lot's main office building. His powers have yet to return in full although he was feeling some semblance of his old self again. Having reevaluated his strategy while shopping for his disguise, the blonde decided it best that he avoided confrontation for the time being and snuck his way in.

Upon pushing the glass doors open, the two security guards turned their heads to address the visitor. Try as he might, he couldn't help but slowly start to see red as contempt boiled within him. It was the same two security guards that unceremoniously tossed him out days earlier. Mark Wilkins and Bob…something. No matter, I'll have my revenge on the both of you soon enough.

"Hey there, I'm here to visit Sherry Birkin?" with a great deal of effort, Wesker flashed his most disarming smile yet.

"And you are?" the bigger of the two guards, Mark eyed him suspiciously. What Wesker took for his most 'disarming' smile came across as just plain disturbing.

"Oh, Richard Birkin, I'm her uncle. I heard that my niece was in town so I decided to come visit," Wesker clarified, his smile still in full force.

"Alright…I'll just need your ID so I can issue you a visitor's pass," Bob spoke up even as Mark kept his scrutinizing gaze on Wesker who was wearing shades. Indoors. Something in Mark's gut was telling him that the man was bad news.

Is this how you speak to your god over all men? What insolence. "Yeah, sure," he took out his forged driver's license and handed it over.

Bob took it and both guards appraised the photograph of a certain Richard Birkin, complete with a surfer's disheveled dirty-blonde hair, a tanned complexion and the creepy full-smile. Both their attention flitted between the photograph and the individual standing before them.

'Richard' smiled back, as stoic as ever, although his left eye was starting to twitch from the sheer willpower it took for him to keep the smile on.

Bob keyed the particulars of Wesker's forged license into the computer system as Mark leaned over him, intensely scrutinizing the information of the individual standing before them that was being pulled up on the computer screen.

Both guards nodded somewhat reluctantly before Bob turned to address 'Richard', "Well, everything seems to check out, Mr. Birkin. Just wait one sec while I issue you your visitor's pass."

"Remember, the visitor's pass only grants you access to permitted areas of the production lot. Please stay out of any restricted, employees-only areas, sir," Mark said gruffly as he handed the license back to Wesker.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Wesker nodded.

"Here you go, sir. Now if you'll just proceed down this hallway to wait at the visitor's lounge, we'll have Ms. Birkin come meet you right away," Bob smiled curtly as he handed Wesker a lanyard with the words 'Visitor' stamped boldly on the placard. "Have a good day, Mr. Birkin!"

"Much appreciated. You have a good day as well." No, I hope you won't. In fact, I'd rather wring your pitiful necks myself.

Donning his visitor's pass around his neck, Wesker made his way past the main entrance and deeper into the office building. It took him all of his self-restraint to not burst out cackling in his triumph over the poor excuses that were those two security guards.


"I didn't know that cafeteria food would taste this good," Sherry quipped as Jake rolled her wheelchair through the hallways towards the front entrance. Having ingested several painkillers to go with her morning breakfast and with the regenerative properties of the G-Virus, Sherry found the pain tolerable enough to at least talk again.

"Eh, I thought it was alright. Those apples they served could have been fresher though," Jake shrugged. "Hey, you sure you wanna do this? You should probably head back home and get some rest."

"No way," she scoffed as if those words were the most ridiculous thing that Jake had said all day, "Claire and I have been dying to watch this movie for ages now and I'm not gonna let a little pain get in the way."

"Alright, suit yourself," he sighed as they continued their way out.

"Calling Sherry Birkin to the visitor's lounge. You have a visitor waiting for you. Once again, calling Sherry Birkin to the visitor's lounge," the unmistakable voice of the front lobby receptionist blared over the intercom.

"You expecting somebody today?" Jake asked casually.

"No, at least, I don't think so," the blonde furrowed her brow as she tried thinking of anybody who had told her that they would be visiting.

"So, what's your call?"

"What else? Onwards to the visitor's lounge, my faithful steed!" Sherry giggled.

"Hey, it's bad enough I decided to volunteer to cart your sorry butt around so at least spare me the embarrassment alright?" Jake sighed teasingly before turning the wheelchair around.


And now, to locate and have a lengthy discussion with the lead writers of the next installment. Wesker glanced around the visitor's lounge which he now found himself in and evaluated his next course of action. As if right on cue, Ed Takeshi burst from another door, flanked by three other individuals whom Wesker recognized as the people that he was looking for. All four of them were deep in conversation.

Oh what perfect timing. Wesker couldn't help but smile devilishly at this fortunate coincidence.

Checking his coast to make sure he was in the clear, Wesker took off his lanyard and stowed them into the pockets of his khaki shorts. Ed's group hurriedly made their way through the visitor's lounge towards another set of doors. One of the writers pulled ahead of the group and swiped her employee access card on the electronic reader before the doors' lock clicked open. The group disappeared through the door.

Furtively ducking his way through the doors just as they were about to close, Wesker trailed Ed's gaggle of writers through the building, making it a point to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

The group finally piled into and settled themselves in a large conference room on the fifth floor of the Capcom office building. The large whiteboard occupying the front of the room was scrawled with various words of all sizes and colors, marking potential story ideas. Fortunately, a glass wall partition which was painted an opaque, black color from the waist down separated the conference room from the outside hallway. And it was behind this form of cover that Wesker hid, sneaking occasional glances into the room.

Damn you, Takeshi! I was not counting on you to be here today! Hmmm…how to proceed?


Having been informed by one of the staff that her uncle had stopped by to visit, Sherry excitedly made her way down to the visitor's lounge to greet the man whom she hadn't seen in ages. So buoyed was she with excitement that she pulled ahead of Jake in her wheelchair, and the latter was struggling to keep up.

"Holy crap, she's a monster," Jake panted as he jogged along to keep up with Sherry who was now rocketing down the hallways in her wheelchair.

"Uncle Richard?!" Sherry called out in the visitor's lounge. The few people seated in the lounge only greeted her with blank stares on their faces. That didn't deter her, however. "Excuse me, I don't suppose if you saw a man in a Bermuda shirt walk by here, did you?" she wheeled herself up to an old lady.

"He just went right through those doors over there," the elderly woman pointed.

"Oh, okay, thanks!"

Wasting little time in swiping her own employee access card – a feat of mobility and dexterity, despite her injuries – Sherry was through the door in no time, followed by Jake.

"Uncle Rich, wait up!" she called out, seeing a glimpse of the bright-red shirt disappearing around the corner.

"Hey, you might wanna slow it down a bit, Sherry!" Jake warned, taking off after her. "Where's he going anyway? Visitors aren't allowed in this part of the building!"


"So, like I was saying, we pick up from where the Simmons plotline left off in Six. There's potential to turn it into a global catastrophe that would rope all of the protagonists in Seven!" one of the female writers was explaining to Ed. "Think of it this way, the evidence that clears Helena's name also implicates Simmons and possibly the United States behind the recent string of bioterrorist outbreaks in China and Europe."

"And I'm pretty sure the other countries around the world won't stand for it!" the other writer shot up from his seat, following the train of thought.

"So what you're saying is – wait, what is all that racket out there?!" Ed turned his attention towards the hallway, having been interrupted by a shrill voice calling out somebody's name. And it was getting closer by the second.


"Uncle Rich, wait up! You're going the wrong way!"

What is causing that infernal noise out there?! Wesker chanced another furtive glance into the room before ducking back behind his cover. Damn it, they'll be on me in no time if that imbecile refuses to let up. Deciding to beat a tactical retreat, Wesker inched away from the glass wall while keeping as low to the ground as possible. As soon as the glass partition ended at the corner, he got to his feet…

"Woah!"

All that Wesker managed to glimpse was a blonde blur, the shiny sheen of a metallic contraption of some kind before the thing barreled into him, knocking him clean off his feet and rolling back a few feet in a tangle of limbs. If only he had his powers back, he would have seen it coming from miles away.

"Urghh….what happened?" he managed to croak out once air had seen it fit to return to his bruised lungs.

"Wait, you're not Uncle Rich!" a female voice, one that he vaguely recognized, exclaimed. "Oh my god, Wesker?!"

There were some grunts of exertion as somebody fought to pry themselves off of him. As his vision righted itself, he was looking at the grave features of one Sherry Birkin. Little did he know that in the collision, he had lost his wig as well as his sunglasses.

"Sherry, you okay?!" come another concerned voice from around the corner. This one was a male's. "Wesker?"

Yes, I'm very familiar with my own name! No need to yell it at every other occasion…Oh. Finally reacquainting himself with the use of his legs again, Wesker got up to his feet. "Listen well, you fools. I'm not here to inflict harm on anyone," he gritted through the pain. "My business here is with Capcom's writing staff, and them alone so I suggest you stay out of this!"

"Security! Can we get security in here?!" Sherry yelled as she backpedaled as far away as possible from her worst nightmare.

"As I've said, I'm not here for you – oof!"

There wasn't even any time to finish his sentence as another large mass struck him from behind and pinned him to the ground.

"Didn't we already warn you what would happen if you showed your face back here?" Mark Wilkins growled from where he was sitting atop of him. "See Bob, I knew that this guy was gonna be up to no good."

Bob slowly shuffled into the hallway and shook his head disapprovingly at Wesker. "Yeah, good call keeping an eye on him."

"Man, you guys got here fast," Jake remarked. "And just in time too."

"You would do well to get off of me this instant or you will know the true meaning of misery," Wesker grunted as he struggled to squirm out of the security guard's vice-like grip.

"Oh, I would love to find out," Mark replied sarcastically. "But I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you to remain silent until we escort you off the premises, sir. Or else."

"You think that such an idle threat would silence me?"

Mark sighed as he reached behind his belt for an object. "You asked for it."


Meanwhile in the conference room, the entire writing team could see and hear exactly what was transpiring beyond the glass partition. Jake Muller and Sherry Birkin were off on one side, watching with bated breaths as security dispatched the trespasser, who was none other than the megalomaniacal Albert Wesker.

Thankfully, security seemed to have things under control as can be attested by Wesker being pinned down on the ground by one of the security personnel. There was some back and forth between Wesker and Mark before the latter whipped out a distinctive device in his hands and shoved it into Wesker.

There was a bright blue light and the crackle of electricity as something convulsed on the ground. Although the opaque material was obscuring their view, the image of Wesker getting tasered was clear enough.

"Is that your best? I'm disappointed in you – "

Crackle. Sizzle. Pop.

"Given up already – "

Crackle. Sizzle. Pop.

"I will – "

Crackle. Sizzle. Pop.

Everybody in the vicinity strained their ears to hear what Wesker would ramble on next but no forthcoming condescending remark came.

"Well, I guess that takes care of him," Mark grunted as he got off Wesker. "Sorry for the commotion folks, but we've got it all under control," he addressed those in the conference room.

"Need a hand carrying him out?" Jake pointed, no doubt at the prone body of Wesker on the ground.

"Nah, kid. We've got it covered," Bob said.

"Come on, it's not every single day I get to kick my deadbeat dad out of the premises," Jake pleaded.

Both guards traded looks with one another before giving in. "Alright then, grab his leg and help us move him to the elevator," Mark ordered.

"Thanks!" With a rare grin on his face, Jake did as he was told.

While his writing staff around him gaped in shock at the commotion, Ed could only rub his hands on his temple and sigh deeply. This was going to be more trouble than it was worth.


A/N: Woohoo! Hope you enjoy as I hope to get back on track with this fic. And Sherry's reaction to Wesker is pretty much well-anchored within the canon as can be seen in the records that you can unlock in RE6 via the emblems.

As always, I'll see you guys at the next update!