Project W: Second Cycle
PG08A/W: Tyrant Unleashed
July 29th, 1978; Arklay Mountains, just outside the Spencer Mansion grounds:
Wesker sighed as he looked out the window at the rapidly passing rich green forest scenery sprawled out beneath them. Currently he was riding with his partner in the back seat of one of the company's helicopters, transporting Birkin and himself to a new facility situated even higher up in the Arklay mountains.
About a month and a half ago the order had been issued that Umbrella was shutting down the Arklay Research and Training Facility and transferring most of the Research Division to the labs built beneath the Spencer Mansion. This mansion, as it was accurately referred to, was a veritable maze of twisting halls, secret rooms, hidden passages, and nearly unsolvable puzzles whose completion was a necessity to navigating the Victorian designed estate should the security system be activated.
Umbrella never gave a reason for the sudden closure—at least not one Wesker was important enough to hear about. They were just told to relocate themselves and the entirety of their research to the labyrinth of labs buried deep beneath the building that looked as though it had been transported from eighteenth century Europe to the heart of the Arklay Forest.
Wesker had never actually seen the mansion that had been designed by the famous eccentric of an architect George Trevor. Rumor had it that he'd gone crazy shortly after finishing the project and died wondering the halls, lost in his own ever shifting puzzle. The was, of course, a lie. While it was true that Trevor had disappeared along with his entire family once the project was completed, Wesker just assumed he'd taken the ridiculous amount of money paid to him for the job and ran off to some foreign country to live out the rest of his days in luxury. Then again...Spencer and Umbrella as a whole were exceedingly suspicious. If George Trevor knew the secret of what lurked beneath the foundations of his masterpiece, there was no doubt he was dead.
Wesker still wasn't sure how he felt about the transfer. The process itself was extremely annoying and had caused them to lose entire weeks of productivity; a trend Wesker was sure would continue for at least two more as they re-setup in the new lab. But on the plus side of things, he and Birkin had been promoted to the position of Chief Researchers. That was something at least.
Wesker stiffened as the chopper began to descend and he saw the first glimpses of white washed walls, intricate window panes, and marble pillars reminiscent of ancient Greece though the thinning lines of trees. Most would have gasped at the beauty of the majestic building, but Wesker only shivered. Yes, it was true that he was rather impressed by the sheer majesty of the structure, but the knowledge of the secrets contained within the twisted halls turned beauty into a skillfully crafted veneer of wickedness. Wesker's dark perspective turned the grand building into a haunted structure, much like those seen at the start of many of the most famous horror movies.
Wesker elbowed Birkin harder than the reading recipient of the blow would have preferred, causing him to jerk in his seat and almost drop the research report on the Ebola virus he'd been handed moments before their departure. Apparently it was something they could add to the lists of deadly viruses they were already handling.
"W-Wha...?" William stuttered confusedly as he tried to get his bearings, a hand rubbing at his now smarting side. Birkin had the tendency to lose himself while reading. Wesker wouldn't be surprised if he'd momentarily forgotten they'd been traveling by chopper for the last twenty minutes.
"We're here," Wesker informed him in a monotone as the helicopter landed in the drive just past the gigantic silver gates keeping the rest of the world safe from the horrors lurking beneath the brick and mortar sentinel.
Birkin's eyes widened as he stared over Wesker out the window, practically pushing the older blond out of the way to get a better look, his hands digging painfully into Wesker's thighs. "It's...it's huge!"
Wesker growled and pushed him back. "Honestly Will, it's just a mansion," grumbled Wesker in annoyance.
"A mansion we're going to live in, Al!" gushed Birkin. "Why aren't you more excited?"
Wesker paused for a moment. "I don't know...it just doesn't seem that impressive. Perhaps I've lived in larger ones," he mused in a joking fashion as the blades above them began to slow.
Birkin giggled. "I can see that. Maybe you were a prince."
Wesker only resisted the strong urge he had to smack William upside the head because he saw the president of the facility waiting for them. He clad in a crisp black suite, standing patiently at the top of the stone steps leading up to the very impressive oak doors, ready to show them inside. That was something Wesker was grateful for. While he and Birkin had been briefed on the mansion's basic layout, all the secret passages and strangely operated doors would be hell to figure out on their own. This could have been avoided had they landed on the Facility's heliport which had direct elevator access to the labs.
Though Wesker would have preferred the above method, it seemed they were getting the tour.
As Wesker stepped out of the chopper, he took in the rich forest smell kicked up by wind from the rotating blades. It was a dark woody smell not unlike the atmosphere surrounding the Research and Training Facility. But the air was thinner and colder up here and contained an undertone of mystery, as though the very wind was whispering almost audible deadly secrets. Wesker took in all of this, his feet crunching over the gravel drive as he made his way over to the rather foreboding entrance. He felt dwarfed by the giant structure, a fact that was not helped by the dark shadow cast from the stone behemoth he now stood in.
Wesker heard the sliding door on the side of the chopper close followed by Birkin's hurried footsteps as he joined his colleague in approaching their awaiting escort. The man who stood before them was tall and gaunt, getting into his older years by the look of his salt and pepper hair, with a face and a name Wesker wouldn't even bother to remember. He and Birkin had been named Chief Researchers of this location meaning that the facility was theirs to control. The only man they would still have to answer to was Doctor Marcus who was still head of the Progenitor Project and had made the transfer with them. Their mentor was to meet them down in the labs, meaning the sooner they got this tour over the better. Dr. Marcus could not be considered a patient man.
"Allow me to welcome you to Lord Spencer's Mansion. This way please," the elder man greeted, ushering them into the mansion. "The assistants will get your luggage."
It wasn't out of any sort of spite, but both Wesker and Birkin mostly ignored the man, Birkin because he was trying to do a mix of gawk at their grand surroundings and read his report, and Wesker because the man wasn't of any import.
The facility's president didn't comment, though their complete lack of manners, courtesy of Umbrella's upbringing, usually offend most individuals within the first five seconds of meeting them. Their guide knew better, he'd been informed by both Dr. Marcus and Lord Spencer himself that these two were important to the larger scheme of things and, therefore to let them do as they pleased. As such he merely followed the young men through the double doors and into the breathtaking marble and wooden entrance hall.
The room was enormous, making all who entered feel small and insignificant in comparison to yet another of Umbrella's marvels. Wesker could see doors leading off to the east and west wings as well as a multitude of doorways off the upper landing reached by the grand staircase. The white swirled with black stone steps stretching out before them were covered by an intricately embroidered carpet that extended over the foyer to the doors they had just stepped through. Shining white marble made up the structure of the foyer and was accented by the deep red of a mahogany wood that practically glowed in the light of the rustic chandelier and Gothic candelabras. The room looked fit to be the entrance to a king's castle, the only things missing being stained glass and an imposing throne. Whoever had designed the building had a serious obsession with the grandiose and intimidating. One could practically feel the essence of the head of the corporation seeping through the walls.
Wesker actually had to grab Birkin's sleeve to keep him from being left behind as his wide eyes took in the vast amount of richness surrounding him when he should have been following Wesker and their now silent guide around the grand staircase and through a gate-like door at the back leading down into what Wesker presumed to be the basement. Both sides of the golden gate displayed a large Umbrella insignia made up of stone and metal, each fitted perfectly into the gate's frame.
Once they had traversed down the narrow stone steps, the décor shifted rather violently from the luxurious entrance hall to that of a dimly lit, slightly damp, stone passage that could probably more adequately be described as a cave. Wesker had to seriously wonder about the sanity of the man who had designed this place when their path took them down a metal ladder and over a large square platform that seemed to rise up from the veritable abyss surrounding them.
Wesker had never viewed himself to be scared of heights, but even he didn't want to get close to the edge of their little walkway which was shrouded in darkness, dropping off to unknown, possibly unimaginable depths. Wesker shivered slightly at the icy draft wafting up from the black precipice surrounding them. It figured that Umbrella had a pit reaching down into the darkest reaches of the earth underneath their misleading mansion.
If he had been religious—which he certainly wasn't—he probably would have compared the disconcerting drop off to something much more sinister. The oddly shaped huge stones set at each corner of the room attached by heavy metal chains to what could only be a giant sarcophagus at its center certainly didn't help his outlook on the chamber. It was a sentiment Birkin seemed to share as he eagerly followed the other two into an elevator located at the end of another small tunnel.
A few moments later, the three riders were deposited in what looked like a large outdoor courtyard whose near entirety was taken up by a large fountain bordering on being called a shallow pond. The mirror-like surface of the absolutely still water perfectly reflected the semi-cloudy July sky above. The edges of the pond were guarded by two rather grand looking statues. One of a wolf and the other of an eagle stationed at opposite ends of the fountain.
Their guide requested a few moments so that he could "open the door" before he walked around to a matching emblem underneath the permanently howling canine and gave it a sound kick.
Wesker was certainly perplexed by his actions. The fountain and its decorations looked exceedingly expensive; not something one should go around kicking. This curiosity turned into shock as the surface of the water was quite no longer. With a loud rushing sound the fountain was violently and quickly drained and the base of the structure began shifting and opening to reveal another underground passage, this one leading to the real reason they were here: The labs resting beneath Spencer's gaudy mansion.
Even Wesker had to stare at this latest addition to their journey for a few minutes. Who would hide the entrance to the labs underneath a bloody fountain? Someone clinically insane, highly eccentric or perhaps both. Wesker was now equally very intrigued and extremely put off by the man under complete control of Umbrella and therefore, his own existence: Ozwell E. Spencer.
Wesker was pulled away from just how impossibly ridiculous what he'd just seen was by his mentor's appearance, the man stepping out of the opening a few minutes after it appeared. He looked much more put together than the last time he and Birkin had seen him. He was wearing a very old but still decent suite under his lab coat and, thankfully, his gray hair was still cropped closely to his head. Perhaps this transfer would do them all good.
"The entrance to our labs," he huffed, forgoing introduction. "I'd prefer they stay open all the time—makes things much less damp—but you know how Umbrella and Lord Spencer are with their secrets."
The man who'd been guiding them took this opportunity to give his only real piece of information thus far. "The layout is a little tricky at times."
Dr. Marcus glared at the interruption but allowed him to continue.
"To get into the labs from the surface, simply press in the wolf medallion which is programed to be dislodged once the elevator goes down." He gestured at the emblem he'd kicked a few minutes ago. "Getting back out isn't near as complicated. The draining and opening of this fountain are triggered as soon as the elevator is manually commanded to go from any of the lab's lower basement levels back to level B1—the floor you are about to enter."
Dr. Marcus sighed again, this necessary explanation obviously boring him.
The president of the facility hurried to finish his instructions. "You can also get to the fountain courtyard via the inner gardens which can be accessed by transversing the entirety of the mansion's east wing."
Wesker had a feeling he'd much prefer that method over the quicker but chilling rout that took him across the cold cavern. Unfortunately, the entrance located by the helipad could only be accessed from the air.
"Well come on," huffed the annoyed looking Dr. Marcus. "We've wasted enough time already."
The two younger doctors nodded and soon they were leaving their guide behind, their path taking them down the damp stone steps and through the somewhat ill kept stone passageway to another small elevator that would finally lead them to their new labs.
If Wesker had thought the equipment in the Research and Training Facility had been out of this world, than the vast array of impossibly wonderful devices lining the walls of the rooms within this four level laboratory could be described as beyond the scope of this galaxy. What other "miracles" did Umbrella have up their sleeves?
"You two will be working in the main laboratory alongside me in level B4, but don't hesitate to utilize any of the other rooms on B3 as I'm sure they will all become invaluable to you at one point or another," drawled Dr. Marcus boredly as he took the pair though the huge area dubbed as the Main Laboratory which took up almost the entirety of the fourth basement level.
Wesker and Birkin both stopped in their tracks.
"You want us to work...alongside you?" Birkin asked in pure shock. Marcus was one of the most secretive paranoid people Birkin knew, even more so than Wesker. He shared his private research—whatever that was—with no one, absolutely no one. To have him nonchalantly offer up access to all his secrets like that...it was...unheard of.
Marcus stopped, raising a gray brow incredulously at them. "What is it, Doctor Birkin? Not feeling up the the challenge?"
"N-no, Sir! Th-that's not...I didn't mean-"
Wesker cut off his stuttering friend. "Of course not, Sir. We're just...surprised, pleasantly so I might add. May we inquire as to the reason behind this sudden honor?"
Wesker had always been better with words than Birkin.
Birkin sent him a thankful glance which caused the older blond so smirk ever so slightly.
"Well after working so flawlessly under my orders for just over a year, I believe it's time I took a little more advantage of your combined talents." He waved a wrinkled hand dismissively as he continued through the lab. "Besides, my research is reaching a critical stage. I'm going to need some extra hands."
Ah, so it was out of necessity, not any sort of real trust...that makes much more sense, mused Wesker.
"So your research," ventured Birkin cautiously. "It has to do with the leeches right?"
Marcus stiffened and Wesker almost cuffed Birkin on the head. This wasn't a topic they should just rush into. The man wasn't any less paranoid. He needed to bring the information to them rather then feel like they were prying for it like the eager little thieves they truly were.
"All in good time." Dr. Marcus responded in even but firm tones. "Right now there is someone I'd like you to Lisa does get so lonely down here after all..."
Wesker shot Birkin a suspicious glance. He had picked up on the strange sadistic glee in the doctor's voice that most would have found imperceptible and it made him shiver. He very much doubted the Lisa would be a fellow lab worker.
Birkin gave a slight nod of understanding signaling that he hadn't missed the inflection either. Not surprising. You couldn't get much past William Birkin.
The couple followed Marcus to a room located at the back of the lab, separated from the rest of the facility by a thick metal door bearing a safe-like lock operated by the twisting of what looked like a giant steel wheel. Once a key card had been scanned by their mentor, he nodded towards the locking mechanism. "If you wouldn't mind assisting me, Doctor Wesker."
Wesker nodded. Since he was the only one in the room with any sort of significant muscle mass, Wesker was certainly the best choice to operate the imposing looking door. Even though he was in pique physical condition, Wesker found himself grunting with exertion as he forced the large cog to turn.
He briefly wondered what the foreboding door was holding back and if he should really be forcing his way into the other room where this "Lisa" was waiting. He reasoned though that at this point, it would be a foolish move on Dr. Marcus's part to get him killed opening a stupid door. It was impossible that he'd accidentally initiate some sort of biohazard as opening the room would expose not only Birkin and himself, but also Dr. Marcus to any sort of airborne pathogen contained within. This Lisa was probably some sort of...test subject restrained or contained with in the room. Human? He doubted it. They'd never gotten anything larger then a rat to survive more than forty eight hours.
Still, when he felt the door give as the final locks released, he glanced at Birkin meaningfully and cautiously stepped back towards his companions, allowing the door to open on its own.
If Marcus noticed any of Wesker's trepidation mirrored by the other scientist at his side, he said nothing, a feral grin tugging lightly at the corner of his lips while Wesker moved away.
As the twelve inch think metal barrier swung forwards a chilling unearthly sound filled the room. It was an inhuman mix of hissing, moans, and what might have been quiet sobs. Wesker stiffened. It was obvious that whatever was contained in that room had been severely altered just by the shutter inducing noises it was making, but as far as he knew, there was only one creature that even came close to being able to make those sounds and that...that was a human girl.
Such knowledge in hand, Wesker steeled himself, his face becoming an impassive mask further assisted by the dark impenetrable lenses of his sunglasses. He was determined not to show any sign of weakness before Dr. Marcus, doing so could have drastic consequences, consequences he prayed Birkin understood as well. Perhaps they were looking for new test subjects? Already being a Wesker, Albert didn't want to give them any more reason to look his way.
Once the entryway to the room had been completely opened, Wesker a Birkin peered cautiously but curiously into dimly lit area from which the ghastly sounds were coming. This low light in combination with Wesker's always present choice of eye ware made it difficult to discern the what exactly had just caused Birkin to gasp and move a few steps closer to him, but he didn't take the glasses off; he never did. Instead, he waited the few extra seconds for his eyes to adjust and he too was able to make out the horror contained within this section of the lab.
Wesker felt his stomach clench painfully. Contained behind the thick bars of a steel cage barely big enough to hold a large dog was a...oh God he didn't even know what it was anymore. Its shape was basically human but the legs and arms—suspended above its grisly head by a barbaric wooden block chained to the ceiling in a manner that barely allowed the creature to sit—were too long. The skin that was visible was a sickly gray color that resembled dead flesh and gave off a stench to match. The rest of its body was scarcely covered in a tattered, blood caked, and otherwise soiled nightgown that had probably once been white. Wesker could see a few of the giant eye-like boils typical of the virus protruding from her severely hunched back. The thing's toe and fingernails had been horribly elongated into something resembling dilapidated talons.
Worst of all were the faces. The most horrible part of the mutation's features was not just limited to one but at least three of the disgusting parts of anatomy. The first of the grotesque masses of flesh was where it should have been, centered in the front of her ugly scull only partially hidden by her messy, scarce patches of stringy brownish blond hair. The jaw had been twisted to the side with sharp unnatural teeth sticking up at odd intervals with nothing even resembling lips to cover the skeleton-like grin. The forehead was swollen and out of proportion with the rest of the misshapen body, and the eyes were like two bulbous cesspools colored a dead yellow. Much like the absence of lips, there were no lids to cover the monster's always open, staring orbs.
Another of the thing's faces looked as though it had been smacked carelessly over the left hand side of its head. The flesh had a green tinge to it and looked to be well on its way to decaying, the features heinously marred by the rot and visible mold thriving on its surface. The other faces were in no better condition, perhaps worse. They too had been positioned over the twisted body in places that they didn't belong.
He heard Birkin gag next to him, one hand over his month, the other trembling one grabbing onto Wesker's shoulder for support. "W-What..." he coughed. "What in God's name is that thing?!"
Wesker gripped William's arm painfully, trying to get across the message that he needed to calm down now.
Dr. Marcus's sick grin only widened as he stepped into the room, the disgusting whimpering beast recoiling slightly at his approach. "That...that is Lisa Trevor."
So much for Wesker's theory that the Trevors were living it up on some foreign beach...
"How long as she been infected?" Wesker inquired, his voice devoid of all emotion, his eyes locked on Dr. Marcus.
"Since sixty seven so..." he paused in momentary thought, "eleven years to date."
Wesker was stunned. "She's survived Progenitor for so long... How?"
"Unfortunately," sighed Marcus. "We haven't the slightest clue." He fetched her rather imposing looking chart from the table and passed it to Wesker who began to flip through it, holding it open so that Birkin might too benefit from the information. "There have been some speculations that it was her young age at the time of exposure—fourteen I think."
...So this is the daughter...
Marcus continued as if that fact didn't bother him in the least. "It it was more likely some oddity in her genetic makeup that allowed her and the virus to bond. Of course, her genes are so mutated now that we couldn't even begin to back trace the origins."
"Does she have any s-siblings?" questioned Birkin, finally having put himself together. "If the trait was...familial we might be able to..." He trailed off, but it was enough.
Wesker was floored. He comprehended the importance of keeping up with appearances and understood with a shudder that this meant he would most likely have to experiment on this abomination, but for William to suggest kidnapping and exposing others to the same treatment... Perhaps Birkin was a better actor than Wesker gave him credit for. Or maybe...maybe Birkin was just as curious and fascinated by the whole disturbing situation as Wesker was loathed to admit he was.
Dr. Marcus smiled. "An interesting suggestion, Doctor Birkin. Alas, aside from our Lucky Lisa, all the other Trevors are dead."
Lucky? Hardly.
"Although...when her mother was exposed, to a different strain mind you, she showed no signs of mutation before they had her killed."
Suddenly Lisa was no longer a passive bystander.
The creature screamed and wrenched against the chains binding her.
Wesker tensed, his weight subconsciously shifting to the balls of his feet in preparation for a confrontation. Birkin jumped back, basically pressing his back into Wesker's chest, re-grabbing his arm. Marcus was too busy preparing a sedative to take notice.
"Muth...Muther! Whar me Muther?!"
Wesker was appalled. He had no idea the thing still possessed human reason and memory, a fact the deep guttural voice coming from the mutilated throat confirmed without a doubt.
"Nee...to...need..to giv it bak...!" Another roar. "Giv bak FACE!"
The sedative, enough to kill an adult bull elephant, was injected through an IV port, the device held firmly in place by the ancient forms of restraints.
After a few more seconds of barely interpretable shouts, the creature was subdued back into mindless mutterings thorough which Wesker could occasionally make out the word, "mother."
"Well," panted Dr. Marcus, "as you can see, best not to mention the 'M' word around her. Poor Lisa gets a tad bit upset."
No, really? seethed Wesker mentally. I wonder why... Wesker was thankful his sunglasses hid his glare.
"It's quite a touchy subject with her. They tried sending in 'replacements' for 'M' and 'F,' other scientists but she..." He sighed. "Well, she ripped their faces off and stuck them to herself." He waved a hand over to the gangrenous pieces of flesh hanging from her form. "You can see the results for yourselves."
Wesker was surprised Birkin didn't faint.
"If I had of been in charge of the project, things would have never gotten so out of hand," the doctor muttered heatedly.
A few moments of silence before Dr. Marcus broke it with a clap of his hands causing everyone else in the room—including Lisa—to jump. "Shall we continue on with the tour?"
If Lisa was only the beginning, Wesker wasn't sure he wanted to see the rest. Thankfully, it seemed that the abomination formerly known as Lisa Trevor was the worst of the secrets kept beneath the Arklay Mansion. However, this fact did not make Dr. Marcus's six inch or larger black slugs any less disgusting.
Wesker was surprised when, without any prompting, Dr. Marcus took them over to the giant tank that had been built into the back wall on the west side of the laboratory that was infested with the sickening creatures their mentor had been avidly studying for the entire past year at least.
Wesker regarded the strange black shapes with expertly disguised disdain as they wriggled over one another and climbed up the glass leaving nasty black trails of slime in their wake. He listened to Dr. Marcus drawl on incessantly about the little monsters and his project as Wesker contemplated the satisfying pop they would make if they were stepped on with his boot. His observations didn't miss the multiple rows or razor sharp, needle-like teeth lining the creatures tiny, circular, endlessly sucking maws.
"These leeches are remarkable," gushed Dr Marcus. "They are the only organisms thus far that have survived when injected with the Type-B variation of Progenitor—aside from Lisa that is."
"Do you know why they survive the exposure?" asked Birkin excitedly, his face inches from the thin layer of glass separating him from what was undeniably a swarm of hungry, flesh eating, mutant slugs—sounded like something out a bad sci-fi flick...
As Dr. Marcus became absorbed in his explanation of his extraordinary work, Wesker reached over and gently but firmly pulled back on Birkin's shoulder. His friend being so close to something that dangerous which could easily kill him was making Wesker exceedingly nervous.
Birkin glared at Wesker and pulled his shoulder free which only caused Wesker to growl and pull him back more painfully.
"Not exactly," responded Dr. Marcus, not noticing the quiet little exchange but preventing Birkin from continuing it. "It may be a phenomenon similar to flowers the virus was originally discovered within. Progenitor has obvious preferences for its hosts that were are still far from understanding. That's something I would like you and Doctor Wesker to find out if at all possible."
He gestured back towards the room serving as Lisa's prison. "Management of the Lisa Project will be primarily under your control." He nodded to both the doctors present. "While I will focus my attention on my current line of research since I'm most familiar with it. Between the three of us, I presume we should be able to uncover the secrets behind Progenitor."
Birkin nodded in understanding, even though the last thing he wanted was to go back into the sealed room and interact with the cadged monstrosity within.
"Why leeches?" wondered Wesker aloud as he looked into the dark tank with an unreadable expression. "What lead you to choose them as hosts for the virus?"
Marcus regarded him thoughtfully. "Their simple make up I suppose; less factors to address."
Wesker tipped his head in understanding. Regardless of the man's reasoning, he really hated leeches, especially the grotesque ones belonging to Doctor Marcus.
July 29th, 1978; Spencer Mansion:
Wesker sighed in temporary contentment as he turned off the warm water, letting his body remain under the dwindling stream until the last drops joined their predecessors in traveling down his defined form. If there was one thing Wesker loved in life—aside from himself, power, and possibly Birkin—it was showers, hot ones. Calling Wesker a "clean freak" wasn't far off the mark. The always put together blond wasn't happy unless he'd partaken in at least two showers each day; one in the morning and one at night right before he went to bed.
Once Wesker had completely finished enjoying his second cleaning, he stepped outside the expensive looking, glass enclosed structure. Another plus to the move was that each of the sixteen or so scientists, Birkin and himself included—most of whom worked in the rooms on the third level of the basement—got their own very nice rooms. These bedrooms were located on the both the first and second floors of Lord Spencer's mansion. On the second floor they were situated on either side of the short hallway that ran straight back from the top of the mansion's main set of stairs. And on the first, along hall directly behind the grand staircase.
The blond had to admit, he was thankful that he and Birkin were located on the first floor rather than the second. For those unlucky scientists, the path to their living quarters would take them through a door depicting part of the huge, rather creepy graveyard mural that took up the entire back wall of the estate's entrance hall. To be specific, through the gigantic headstone of the huge picture. What made it worse, the door at the end of that particular hall opened up onto an actual graveyard located behind the mansion. Wesker was by no means superstitious but that situation was far too morbid for his tastes.
Wesker removed a black fluffy towel from the rack it had been hanging on and, after running it over his wet form a few times to get off the majority of the water, he wrapped it around his slender waist. Grabbing another as he exited the steamy bathroom Wesker rubbed it though his dripping blond hair that he would have addressed with his hairdryer had it been morning.
It would be an understatement to claim that he was very pleased as he stood in the bathroom door taking in his plush surrounding by the dancing light of the freshly lain fire in the room's hearth. Each of the living quarters allotted to the mansion's new, scientifically oriented occupants were decked out to the nines, perfectly suitable to appeal to the tastes of even the most pompous of aristocrats. He imagined with a grin that the others, including his dear Birkin, were very far out of their element.
Wesker's own chambers were carpeted in a rich, deep red carpet which his bare feet slightly sunk into with each step as he padded silently across it. The mahogany wood used to trim the foyer and the halls of the mansion made a return in this gorgeous room in the form of a grand writing desk, huge dresser, gigantic walk in closet that he couldn't ever hope to fill, and a towering book shelf filled only partially with a wide variety of appealing reading materials he would be sure to add to.
The king sized bed he had just finished lazily walking towards, actually had a canopy of a dark red velvety material a similar shade to the carpet with a matching, intricately embroidered bedspread. Underneath the heavy comforter, hid a set of the most luxurious black, silk sheets Wesker had ever laid eyes on.
The blond could definitely get used to this and he briefly wondered how Birkin was handling the sudden switch from their cramped shared living quarters and rather poor cafeteria to the royal looking rooms and elegant dining hall.
Deciding these sinful looking sheets were more important then imagining Birkin bumbling though his own room, Wesker switched off the lights, dropped both his towels on an impressive looking arm chair, and slipped between their nearly liquid contours. With a sigh of pleasure, Wesker decided to never regret his decision to always sleep naked again.
It wasn't long after that Wesker found out exactly how Birkin had been fairing in his room right across the hall. Just as the blond had felt himself drifting into a blissful sleep between the unearthly sheets, he heard the door lock click and then swing slowly inwards. Wesker stiffened, previously lazy eyes shooting open, his hand tightening around the small but deadly knife hidden underneath his pillow. He relaxed completely when he recognized the slight form and mousey features of his friend in the dancing fire light.
"What, scared to sleep alone?" he mocked condescendingly.
Birkin didn't even deign to answer, instead wasting no time in jumping under Wesker's covers and moving as close as possible to the familiar body.
Wesker raised a eyebrow. "I'll take that as a yes..." he almost laughed, his arms opening automatically to accommodate Birkin's form before closing in around him.
"I don't know if I can do this, Al," Birkin muttered, burying his face in in Wesker's sensitive neck. "This is much worse," he took in a sharp breath, "so much worse than Stephen."
Wesker repositioned himself so he could better regard his friend, running a hand down his back before reaching it under the hem of William's pajamas so that he could better stroke the boy's sensitive spine. "What's the alternative?" he asked soothingly.
Birkin shivered, partially from the touch, partially in response to the question Wesker had posed to him. "There..." He swallowed. "There isn't one. We either do it or..."
"Or we die," finished Wesker unemotionally. "Probably in a very similar way to our new subject." He furthered lowered his voice so that he was practically whispering in Birkin's ear. "At this point we don't have the freedom, power, nor the resources to present any sort of evidence to anyone. Do you honestly think they'd believe us? We'd be dead before anyone saw it as anything more than a foolish prank."
Birkin nodded gravely, his grip tightening around Wesker. "We're...never going to be able to get out are we?" It was a hopeless plea placed to Wesker's soft skin by trembling lips.
Wesker hesitated. "No...right now, I don't see that as a possibility."
Birkin pulled back only enough to stare at him, the rest of his form clinging to Wesker like he was his last refuge in the raging storm crashing around them. "Then how are you going to...have you given up?" The despair in Birkin's voice was similar to a child being let down by their hero.
Wesker smiled cruelly before pressing his now much more talented lips to Birkin's sealing the kiss with the sharp bite that always followed. "Have you ever known me to 'give up'?" He inquired almost scathingly as he ran a hand through Birkin's messy straw colored locks.
Birkin pressed closer. "No..."
"Wesker placed his forehead against Birkin's forcing the younger boy to look him in his uncharacteristically, uncovered eyes as best as the flickering light would allow. "Than why doubt me now? The time to strike may not be for years, Dearheart. But be patient, good things come to those who wait."
Birkin was heavily under Wesker's spell by now, but he still had to be difficult. "A-and in the meantime?"
"We play the part of good little researchers. That thing down there, it's already gone, it has no hope. I'm not going to throw away my future for a monster such as that. Tell me, Will," he questioned wickedly, repositioning their bodies until he was on top of his partner, domineeringly straddling him—William certainly had no objections, "whose lives are more valuable, ours or that thing's?"
"Ours!" Birkin gasped as Wesker snaked a hand under the front of his shirt to painfully accost on of his tender, pink nipples.
"Hnnn..." crooned Wesker as he watched Birkin writhe underneath his touch; it was something he never grew tired of. "That's what I thought... Just detach from the whole thing," he purred in Birkin's ear before running his tongue over it. "Focus on what's really important. And...do try to enjoy yourself."
"I-I don't know if you're talking about right now...or down stairs in the labs," panted a now flushed Birkin.
Wesker chucked deep in has chest, a sound that drove Birkin almost as crazy as his touches. "Perhaps a bit of both..." He paused as he moved Birkin's cooperative arms up over the seventeen year old's head. "Hmm...but I don't recommend we do this downstairs if that's where you were headed with that comment. Doctor Marcus would disapprove most adamantly."
Birkin scoffed. "God you are a perverted bastard sometimes, Al."
That dark seductive chuckle again. "Oh, and I wonder why that is," he laughed as he pulled Birkin's striped nightshirt over his head and tossed it somewhere in the dark room. Wesker then covered Birkin's mouth and raked his nails down William's pale flesh, leaving five, angry red tracks in his wake.
Birkin moaned loudly against Wesker's flesh. Unlike his partner, Birkin never could contain the noises Wesker so easily drew out of him. As such, he was grateful Wesker was taking precautions not to let the rest of the hall in on their little secret romance.
Birkin usually never objected to any of the wild, crazy, painful things Wesker did to him when they fucked, made love, whatever, but he suddenly felt the need to voice his concerns to his domineering lover. Wesker had him braced up against the headboard face down and had begun to spread his naked thighs apart, sliding his knees up the impossibly slippery sheets.
"A-Al," he moaned, spitting out the makeshift gag Wesker had conjured up out of one of the silk pillowcases. "P-please use some c-com...common sense here...I...ahh...I don't want to have to...ha...ahh...explain to Doctor Marcus why...hnn...I'm limping...mmm!"
Wesker ceased the movements of the hand he had been using to temporally pleasure Birkin. "Well," he licked his somewhat sticky fingers, "I was going to go easy on you, but then you had to get cheeky..."
"Oh, God..." muttered Birkin hanging his head before Wesker shoved the pillow case back in him mouth. This was really going to hurt...
July 30th, 1978; Spencer Mansion, Underground Labs, Level B4:
"Doctor Birkin...?" Dr. Marcus regarded the younger of his two proteges curiously as he walked by the elder man's station towards Lisa's door following on the coat tails of his partner. There was an undeniable...limp to his step and the boy had hissed in pain when he'd attempted to sit down for report a few minutes ago, opting to stand in the end.
"Y-yes, Sir?" responded a startled Birkin as he whipped around to face his superior.
"Something wrong?" inquired Wesker. The gesture was almost protective in nature and it gave Dr. Marcus a moment of pause before he proceeded.
"Are you quite alright?" he questioned of the youngest researcher Umbrella currently had.
Birkin blinked in confusion. "Beg pardon."
Marcus gestured vaguely towards the boy's lower half. "You have a rather pronounced limp."
Birkin flushed a color similar to the apple Wesker had eaten for breakfast as all the blood rushed to his face. The sight was quite remarkable as Albert had no idea people could be such a color. It made it that much harder to contain the snicker trying to burst from his throat and momentarily impossible to hid the wicked grin tugging at his lips.
As Birkin was obviously in no position to respond, Wesker took over when he should have left well enough alone. "He just sprained a few muscles when he was...settling in last night. Doctor Birkin's hips are, unfortunately, very inflexible."
If Birkin could have died right then and there from mortification, he would have. He also would have strangled his complete arse of a boyfriend in front of Dr. Marcus if he didn't think it would make things worse. As it was, he allowed Wesker to lead him off with a gentle tug on his jacket sleeve while Dr. Marcus contemplated what William could have possibly done while moving in that would have involved pulling a hip muscle. He was even more perplexed when he caught a glimpse of Birkin punching Wesker probably as hard as he could in the shoulder as the door to Lisa's room closed.
Those two certainly had an interesting relationship...
September 10th, 1978; Spencer Mansion, Underground Labs, Level B4:
"Dammit, Will! Hold her back!" Wesker yelled over Lisa's inhuman shrieking.
"Mu..thur! Dad...dy! H-help...m...e!"
"I'm trying, Al!" called back Birkin frantically as he strained to hold the chains in place "Goddammit, Al! Don't get so close!"
"No! Wi...will rip off... tar off...fa..ce! Noooo!"
"You think I want to be this fucking close to her?!"
This utter chaos in the back room had all started when Lisa's IV had clotted off this morning preventing the administration of drugs or subsequent viral doses and blood draws. Wesker and Birkin had tried a multitude of ways to save the venous access, but to no avail. Eventually, out of necessity, they tried knocking her out with a heavy intramuscular injection of pentobarbital long enough to restart an IV.
They had thought their scheme was a success, right up until Wesker had opened her cage door and removed her wooden wrist shackles. Suddenly Lisa had sprung to life and attempted to rip the blond to pieces. Somehow Wesker had managed to spring back away from her broken talons but she had followed, now halfway out of her cage door, crooked fingers reaching and clawing their way towards him.
The only reason she wasn't completely out of her prison was because of the thick leg shackles bound to the floor. She was now straining so hard against them that blood was running down her pale, dead looking flesh.
Birkin had grabbed the chains through the back of the cage and managed to pull them back, keeping her from instantly killing Wesker, but he wasn't strong enough to do much and his grip was slipping, allowing the grotesque monster to inch closer to his friend who was pinned between the uncaged Lisa and the wall mounted computer bank. Thinking about what those razor claws would do to Wesker, and the thought of this creature adding Wesker's face to her severed collection made Birkin grip the chains until his hands bled.
Wesker had tried moving away, but he was truly trapped, the only thing that was saving him being the tiny space cut into the computer alcove for the operators' knees and feet. Wesker's concealed frantic eyes searched desperately for a way out of this situation. He knew William couldn't hold on for much longer. Who the hell makes shackle chains that long anyways?!
Wesker's racing gaze had just fallen on the abandoned metal pole with a nasty hook on the end they sometimes used to "pacify" Lisa, when he heard Birkin cry out.
"Al! This isn't working! Get out of their! I can't-"
"MINE!"
It wasn't much of a warning but it was all Wesker got before the heinous witch was released and came flying towards him with a hellish scream.
With speed he didn't know was possible Wesker reached for, grabbed, and then flipped around the cruel device so that the thin cylindrical steel handle went straight into abomination's yellowed true eye and was carried by her momentum straight out the back of her disguising scull before she collapsed uselessly on top of him.
Wesker nearly gagged when the spongy flesh came down on him, covering him with all kinds of infected fluids, some leaking out of the hole in her hideous face, some seeming to just naturally ooze from her unnatural form. It was all he could do to turn his face away from the virus ridden corpse atop him and push uselessly at her slippery, poorly held together chest. In his desperate attempts to get the failed experiment off of him, he felt his hand pull free a large swatch of rotted flesh, the mat of dying cells sloughing off effortlessly.
"Al!" Birkin screamed in anguish as he rushed to what he presumed to be his dead or dying friend's side. He almost cried in relief when he saw Wesker struggling underneath the limp body.
"G-get...GET IT OFF! Get it off NOW!" Wesker was practically panicking. It would be a miracle if he wasn't already infected.
With Birkin's help they got the dead thing off of him. Wesker was barely able to keep a sobbing William from throwing his arms around his contaminated form as the elder blond made a b-line to the decontamination chamber. He was cut off by Dr. Marcus as soon as he exited Lisa's chambers and moved into the main lab towards it.
"What the hell did you just do, Doctor Wesker!" He screamed at Albert's slime splattered face, pointing in rage at Lisa's body. "You just destroyed years of precious research, you stupid brat!" He was advancing while yelling, looking very much like he wanted to take that pole out of Lisa's face and impale Wesker with it. While that may have been true, Wesker sure as hell didn't expect a tear stained Birkin to pull the instrument out of Lisa and practically offer it to Marcus.
"Y-you two m-might want to stand b-back," Birkin urged as he stepped as far away from the harmless body as possible.
It was just a hunch, but he was right, Birkin always was. The tissue samples from Lisa Trevor's body had shown highly regenerative qualities, this combined with the ever shrinking pool of sickening black blood that had poured from her eye socket had lead Birkin to believe that Lisa's suffering was far from over.
"What the hell are you blathering about, Birkin?!" seethed Marcus. "You are just as much to blame as Wes-"
"Mo...ther..."
Lisa's barely audible whisper as the mutilated tissue reformed caused the entire room to fall silent. They all watched in a mixture of awe and repulsion as the broken monstrosity pulled her way across the floor back into her cage where she lay in a corner, curled up in fetal position all the while sobbing for her dead mother, stroking the face she believed belonged to her.
"Incredible..." whispered Marcus as if he'd just seen the most beautiful of miracles.
Birkin closed and latched the cage. "Will you please let doctor Wesker go to decontamination now?" His voice was small but firm.
Marcus nodded and Wesker practically ran out of the nauseating room.
Once the exposed teen reached the metal showers he wasted no time in stripping off ever stitch of his clothing, careful not to break the skin with his frantic efforts. Wesker then took the longest hottest shower of his life, determined to scald the virus from his body, praying none of Lisa's fluids had gotten into his nose, eyes, or mouth.
September 14th, 1978; Spencer Mansion, Underground Labs, Level B3:
Wesker sighed, letting his tired head fall against white wall behind him with a thump. He'd been in the isolation chamber for around four days now and he was sick of it all, especially the white. It was everywhere, the floors, walls, ceiling, bed, sheets, and even the scrubs he'd been issued upon entering. It was so much, it made him physically sick, a fact that sent a bolt of fear through his chest.
Every time his body gave the slightest twinge, real or imagined; he felt a little dizzy, his forehead seemed slightly warmer than usual, or he even itched, Wesker silently panicked.
What if I'm infected?
The mantra had played through his mind every second of every day for the last four not even giving him any peace during sleep. His dreams were haunted by nightmares of Lisa and then by his own horrific transformation into something equally as disturbing.
It didn't even help that he wasn't showing any symptoms this long after exposure. So what if it was abnormal? He was a Wesker, so the virus might effect him differently. Maybe it would make him the next Lisa. Wesker couldn't even imagine being trapped in a mutilated rotting body, mind barely held together by a few obsessive thoughts, being cruelly experimented on for the rest of eternity by curious Umbrella scientists eager to see what made him tick. Such revelations almost made him feel sorry for Lisa. He would have if she hadn't tried to kill him earlier and if she wasn't the soul reason he was locked in this horrible white room.
He was going crazy in here.
Wesker heard the door open, pulling him from his fearful stewing and jumped to his feet as Birkin walked in. Wesker looked at him questioningly, relaxing only slightly. Birkin visited him everyday in here, but he'd never come inside, only listened to Wesker's endless lists of fears and calmly disproved each of them from the other side of the thick observation glass. He wasn't even wearing a Hazmat suit like the one he worn to escort Wesker to this room and that Wesker had had to don for the trip to this retched prison.
Wesker's questions were answered and fears quenched in the same moment as Birkin charged across the floor and wrapped his arms around Wesker's neck.
"You're fine," Birkin whispered in his ear as Wesker collapsed in relief against him and hugged Birkin with shaking arms. "No virus. Your blood is rather fascinating, but no virus."
"Took you long enough," muttered Wesker. He wasn't going to even bother with the second bit right now. He'd tackle that once he figured out how to stop shaking.
September 19th, 1978; Spencer Mansion, Underground Labs, Level B4:
Wesker didn't have the slightest clue how Birkin had managed to convince Dr. Marcus that the entire fiasco with Lisa had been an intentional experiment. Now the old coot thought they were geniuses—which they were...just not for the reasons Dr. Marcus believed.
Due to Birkin's ridiculous lie, the two of them had been allowed deeper access into their mentor's research. Unfortunately, thus far, all it meant was that they got to "properly dispose" of the squishy black bodies of the man's treasured pets that inevitably died from exposure to Dr. Marcus's endless barrage of tests and injections. It was a little degrading honestly; being "trusted enough" to look over a few sparse documents and dispose of dead leeches in the lab's furnaces.
They had nothing better to do with Lisa at the moment, who had been transferred to a gigantic test tube (Wesker hoped permanently); a situation that lent itself well to easy completion of each of the two's desired tests. As such, since around eleven o'clock they were, once again, haplessly incinerating the gigantic leeches, forced to listen to the disturbing wet popping sound as the black flesh boiled, and breath in the overpowering smell of burning rotted flesh.
Birkin was about to pick one of the slimy things up in his heavily gloved hand when he could have sworn he saw it twitch. He stopped and examined the now still creature intently. He'd probably imagined it, but such misconception was rare to non-existent on his part so he just continued to stare at it.
Wesker stopped throwing his pile of decaying black ooze into the fire when he noticed Birkin's sudden lack of productivity. He sighed. "Come on, Will. I know this is menial labor, but seriously."
"I don't think that one's dead," commented Birkin slowly, pointing at the small body he swore he'd seen moving.
Wesker cocked his head to the side. "Looks dead to me, Will." He nudged Birkin playfully but still rather sharply with his elbow. "Come on, I can think of much more pleasurable things we could be doing..."
Birkin ignored to poorly hidden suggestion. Apparently Wesker still hadn't gotten over the physical deprivation being locked in a decontamination chamber for four days had caused. Wesker's raging sex drive was nothing new to William and he infuriatingly found the obviously dead experiment more interesting then his boyfriend's current state of arousal.
Wesker huffed in annoyance as he watch Birkin ignore him in favor of moving his face down about a foot away from the rancid pile of goo.
"If you don't think it's dead, why are you getting so close?" he grumbled, folding his arms. "Black slime turn you on more than I do?"
Birkin turned to glare at him. "For the love of God, Al! Will you please focus on something else besides sex? You've been unbelievably horny for almost a week now and I haven't been able to walk straight since you got out of isolation. Enough is enough!" he raged.
Wesker was grinning the entire time, debating which of three biting comments he already had prepared to retort with. Then he saw the thing on the table move, but it didn't just twitch, it reared up on his back half, exposing its horrific rows of teeth and opened them wide as it prepared to launch itself at the side of Birkin's face.
All the color drained out of Wesker's already pale features as he threw himself forwards, hoping desperately that it would be his shoulder slamming into William's face instead of the thing's razor sharp teeth ripping open his friend's cheek.
Birkin cried out as he hit the floor hard, holding his probably broken nose. Eyes stinging with tears, he held his bleeding face and looked up at Wesker angrily. "What the hell, Al?! Just because I wouldn't fucking stop what I'm doing to sleep with you?" He stopped his rant when he saw how Wesker was standing there stiffly, eyes locked on the table, breathing hard.
Picking himself up, his heart skipped a beat when he saw Wesker's gloved fist slammed into the strangely red tinged flesh of the now really dead leech. Wesker pulled his hand back, examining the thankfully unmarred surface of the thick glove that he'd squashed the into the needle like maw of the tiny B.O.W..
"I..." he swallowed. "I think it's dead now."
Wesker sighed in annoyance as Birkin continued to obsessively examine his hand. "It's fine Will," he grumbled. "Worry about your nose." He gestured to the somewhat staunched trail of blood running from the abused feature into Birkin's mouth.
Birkin scowled. "What is it with you and close calls with exposure?"
Wesker chuckled hollowly, unintentionally glancing over at thew tiny crushed body of the B.O.W. That had tried to make a meal out of Birkin's cheek "I don't know, Will. You were the one who almost let the thing make out with the side of your face. Trust me, it would bite more than I do."
Birkin glared. "I..." He let out a shaky breath, his hand's tightening over Wesker's. "Th-thank you..."
Wesker actually smiled. "In the future, just keep that hansom mug of yours away from blood sucking possibly undead monsters, eh?"
Birkin blushed rather deeply at the comment, a fact that only further amused Wesker. Birkin was seriously considering sitting on top of Wesker and giving him what he wanted—Albert had just saved his life after all. He was thankful he hadn't decided to give just yet when he heard the door to the lab open. The youngest researcher desperately attempted to control his blush as Dr. Marcus crossed the white tile floor, walking purposely towards them.
Their mentor frowned when he saw the small pile of bodies that had yet to be turned into ash. He had expected his pupils to be done by now.
"Something the matter?" he questioned in a way that clearly showed he was peeved at their apparent lack for productivity.
"No," responded Wesker in a rather confrontational manner as he stood to glare at Dr. Marcus. "Unless you count one of your experiments trying to kill us again."
Birkin winced. He really hated Wesker's short temper. It was undoubtedly going to get them in real trouble someday; perhaps right this very moment.
Dr. Marcus narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"
"One of them wasn't dead," shot back Wesker.
"Impossible," he argued, icy eyes darting over to the motionless metal tub filled with his failed experiments. "Every creature I gave to you had no vitals.
Wesker didn't even what to know how Dr. Marcus had determined this fact.
"Hmm, my mistake then," he hissed folding his arms. "I suppose a dead leech attempted to rip Doctor Birkin's face off."
Marcus glared back, but it was more thoughtful them aggressive. "Impossible...could it really be..." the old man muttered to himself. "Are you saying a dead experiment reanimated?" he questioned hurriedly of Wesker, desperate to learn the answer.
Wesker blinked, the conversation was very rapidly moving in a completely different direction than what he had been expecting. "I...was suggesting something more on the lines of you giving us a subject that had yet to fully die."
Marcus waved a hand dismissively. "Not a possibility. Which one was it?" He actually seemed...excited. Then his wrinkled face suddenly fell. "Please tell me you didn't incinerate it..." He looked as though he would feed them to his still alive and very hungry leeches if they had.
Birkin shook his head holding a tissue to his nose and pointed to the squished mess of goo and teeth pooled on the metal tabletop.
Dr. Marcus practically raced to the rancid pile. "Doctor Wesker, I want a sample of this tissue STAT!"
Wesker was still trying to process the reason behind this strange series of events as he passed his mentor the materials he'd require. The fact that Marcus was so intrigued by what had just occurred meant that this was much more then a deadly mistake. Wesker may have hated Dr. Marcus and viewed him as a wicked, self centered, pompous, and insufferably paranoid individual, but the man was an undeniable genius. James Marcus didn't make stupid mistakes and he certainly didn't act the way he was now without good reason.
"Are you saying a dead experiment reanimated?"
Was such an event even possible? Wesker remembered with a shudder what had happened nine days ago with Lisa. Yes...yes it was.
The second the sample was prepared, Dr. Marcus was peering deeply into its molecular make up through one of the lab's most expensive and highly powered microscopes. What he saw caused his breath to hitch in his throat. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. He'd done it, he'd conquered death.
"My God..." Wesker heard the elderly man whisper in awed elation. "It worked..." Instantly the suddenly spry old man was on his feet, packaging the sample in a way that barely adhered to laboratory precautions. "Send the rest of the body to my office immediately and then burn the rest of those things!" With that he was gone, leaving Wesker and Birkin with more questions than answers.
"That was...odd..." Birkin muttered as he started preparing to follow Dr Marcus's orders.
Wesker, freed from whatever mental debate he'd been locked in, stopped Birkin's actions by going over to him and roughly jerking his crooked nose back in place. The future attractiveness of Birkin's nose was hardly the priority right now, but it killed two birds with one stone.
"Ow!" howled Birkin in response the the unexpected "treatment," holding his throbbing now freshly gushing nose. As such, Birkin failed to see Wesker re-gloving his hands and removing a significant sized lump of tissue from the creature he'd killed and placing it in a petri dish.
"Al!" Birkin objected loudly once he'd gotten the pain under control and pieced together what Wesker had just done.
"What?" retorted Wesker heatedly. "I'm sick and tired of being left in the dark and treated like his damn lab assistant."
Birkin winced. This was not going to be pretty... unlike his face, which Wesker had apparently taken great cares to fix. "Day one when I met you, what was the first advice I ever gave to you?"
Wesker smiled almost fondly as he took the necessary steps to allow him to see what Dr. Marcus had looked upon with such reverence. "Not to mention or even look at his leeches."
Birkin nodded gravely.
"Wesker just grinned like the devil he truly was. "Dearheart, when have I ever listened to you?"
Birkin scowled.
September 19th, 1978; Spencer Mansion, Underground Labs, Level B4:
The rat died.
Then it came back to life.
Contained in a metal cage sealed behind the contamination glass, the rat had died in a horrible way, afflicted with a raging, delirium inducing fever, a horrific skin pealing rash, massive swelling and inflammation, and a nasty outbreak of disgusting, foul smelling, puss filled, weeping boils that burst at the slightest provocation. The illness had progressed rapidly causing massive internal bleeding and lesions within the tiny mammal's lungs that caused it to first cough up and them vomit copious amounts of blood and dead sloughed cells. Finally the rat seized, jerking powerfully and erratically as if trying to shake all the life out of its little body.
This new virus, extracted from the reanimated leech, killed the rat within three hours. The method of death was very similar to how Progenitor killed, but lacked the obvious disfiguring mutations of its mother virus.
Then this strain did something progenitor never had.
Fifteen minutes after the rodent had passed, all vitals ceasing, it came back to life.
First it twitched once then it jerked a few times before its empty, clouded over, blood shot eyes opened, it leapt to its bloodied feet, and began a slow, stiff legged repeating circle around its enclosure. It seemed for all purposes to be searching for something incessantly, but it still looked dead. The eyes were lifeless and the wounds it had developed prior to death looked worse and were covered in a mixture of puss and black coagulated blood with obvious signs of early decay setting in.
It also had no heartbeat.
The biggest difference was in the creature's temperament. Whereas before infection it had been a rather docile, albeit terrified lab rat, now it was extremely aggressive, trying to attack anything that moved with vicious enthusiasm.
Things really got interesting when Birkin suggested they put another rat in there with it.
As soon as the other rat was introduced to the afflicted specimen's enclosure, the infected one had been drawn to it, constantly and insistently seeking it out and following it with slow uncoordinated movements. The unaffected rodent was trying its best to avoid the unnatural creature but it eventually grew tired and opted to attack its hunter instead.
The infected rat ate it.
The experiment didn't even wait until the other animal was dead. As soon as the infected rodent had got its teeth into its pray it latched on and started ripping, biting, and devouring. The infected animal quickly overpowered its victim and began tearing out its intestines, feasting upon the exposed innards, the other rat screaming the entire time.
"Dear God..." muttered Birkin as he watched the horrific act, eyes unable to move from the gore within the cage. Even through the protective glass he could hear the other creature's agony laced cries as it desperately tried to escape the torture of being eaten alive.
About fifteen minutes after the second rat stopped struggling uselessly against the monster atop it and fell still, it too reanimated. Despite the obviously mortal wounds, it pulled itself to its feet and dragged its open hollowed out belly and what was left of its ragged intestinal tract across the metal floor, joining its murderer in its never ending pacing around the empty blood stained cage. The wound wasn't even bleeding anymore, instead oozing a sickening black layer of coagulated blood.
Once both of the creatures had died and reanimated they ignored each other, occasionally bumping up against the other but otherwise seemingly unaware of the other creature's existence.
Each of the infected animals were inescapably drawn to living flesh, desperate to sate an insatiable hunger by sinking their little razor sharp fangs into anything with a pulse. One of the rats they were experimenting on ate so much that its stomach actually burst wide open. Split apart by the sheer volume being stuffed ravenously into it, releasing a nauseating stream of blood, guts, and chunks of flesh, tendons, and bone onto the cage floor.
It still kept eating.
Finally, the infected rats seemed impervious to pain and unable to die from even the most grievous of injuries. One of the most unfortunate of the creatures had been ripped apart by a small hoard of the infected animals. Once the transformation had taken place, the upper half just pulled itself around the cage on its front paws, dragging the messy trail of internal organs and ragged spinal column behind it.
As of yet, Birkin and Wesker had only been able to kill the experiments by crushing their bloodied, matted heads. It was both the most disturbing and captivating thing the two had ever witnessed.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" whispered Dr. Marcus venomously behind the two transfixed teens.
Each of them jumped as an electric jolt of fear shot though them, turning to face the deadly looking man behind them. Wesker wasn't sure whether he wanted his back to the doctor whose research he'd just severely trespassed into or the contained cage filled with the group of infected ravenous rodents trying to chew through the enclosure bars behind him. As the experiments were obviously distracted, desperate to get at the other cage filled with cowering uninfected rodents Wesker and Birkin were using to test if the virus was airborne or only transmitted by direct contact with infected body fluids—as with Progenitor—Wesker decided Dr. Marcus was the bigger threat.
"Sir!" yelped Birkin panicking. "I...we...um...this isn't...oh God..."
Wesker stomped on Birkin's foot to get him to shut up. "Seems you were correct about the reanimation of that leech," he responded coolly.
Marcus smirked in amusement. "Initiative...I like that. Just be sure that...motivation of yours doesn't lead you to a very deadly destination. There is nothing I despise more than research thieves."
Wesker smiled calmly at him. "Sir, if Doctor Birkin and I had truly wanted to steal your research, I would strongly question our intelligence since we chose to preform the experiment in the same lab." He shoved their notes on the exposed rats towards Dr. Marcus. "We just found it necessary to obtain the knowledge needed to assist you further in this fascinating experiment."
Birkin would have kissed Wesker right here and now to get at that amazing silver tongue of his if Dr. Marcus wasn't here. Wesker's ability to spin words was truly remarkable.
Their mentor returned Wesker's cold smile. "I like you Doctor Wesker...but that is a very fine line you are walking."
Wesker's smirk only widened. "Well than, I shall have to take special care not to slip."
A few tense moments of silence passed before Dr. Marcus relented, actually laughing. "See that you do."
The lead researcher gestured to the cage behind his two proteges. "I call it the Tyrant Virus, for obvious reasons."
Neither Wesker or Birkin could argue. It was apt nomenclature.
"T-Virus or T for short. The rabbits I exposed behaved in a similar manner."
Wesker and Birkin didn't even want to imagine the fluffy white rabbits that the mansion labs kept stocked ripping each other to shreds and being reborn as nightmarish little monsters; white fur all stained red, long tender ears ripped to shreds. Although, the concept of a herbivore suddenly exhibiting such violent predatory characteristics was fascinating.
"I have a feeling Tyrant will be much less selective about its victims, and as you can see, the results have a high duplicability between subjects. With the added scientific marvel of reanimation, Umbrella and Lord Spencer should finally have the virus they've been searching for."
Both his students stayed silent as they contemplated the implications behind his words.
Marcus chuckled gleefully, watching though the glass as the the undead rats reached their greedy little hands through the bars in a useless effort to cannibalize their uninfected compatriots. "All that's left now is to finally get the go ahead to move on to human test subjects.
The younger doctors' expressions stayed completely schooled as they imagined the horrors that would soon follow.
"The order should be put through by the end of next month. Just you wait, soon everything; all those long years...they'll be worth every last drop of sweat and blood. I'm going to change the world."
He was insane, and quite obviously talking to himself rather then Wesker or Birkin.
October 23rd, 1978; Spencer Mansion Grounds:
Dr Marcus was right. Once the horrifically amazing data from the Tyrant Virus had been submitted to the higher ups in Umbrella, Lord Spencer in particular, Project T was approved instantly. Not long after that, Lord Spencer himself had given Marcus the go ahead to move on from rats, rabbits, and monkeys to human trials.
That same bleak October day, the first cargo boxes arrived. They were brought in hanging from huge black helicopters. Each of the giant boxes supported a giant Umbrella logo on their sides with the company motto, "Our Business is Life Itself," scrawled in fancy cursive under the octagonal white and red logo.
Wesker didn't think the people trapped within would agree with that statement.
Hidden in what could only amount to the last five feet of the cargo box, behind a false wall, were about fifteen shackled, heavily drugged humans.
Umbrella had sent four semis to a small ranger station about halfway up the mountain. From there, their cargo was flown into the facility. To hide the delivery's true cargo, the rest of the boxes were stuffed with innocuous lab equipment.
All in all it amounted to about sixty fresh human test subjects.
Wesker's insides were doing flip-flops and his hands were actually shaking as he watched the events from one of the mansion's windows with an obviously trembling Birkin.
The prisoners were being ushered down from the crates by U.S.S. (Umbrella Security Service) soldiers clad in full out riot gear, caring billy clubs, activated stun rods, and holstered handguns. It all seemed like overkill, but the condition of their future "lab rats" was even more disturbing.
Each individual in the strict lines was shackled and wearing in crisp white scrubs. Their eyes were clouded over and almost unseeing due to the amount of drugs circulating through their systems, and their skin was pasty white, as if they never even seen the sun before.
Wesker felt Birkin cling to him tighter and he knew why. He too was remembering Dr. Marcus's chilling response to the question he asked their mentor earlier this week.
"Where are they going to get human test subjects without anyone knowing that they've gone missing?"
He wished he'd never asked.
Apparently, to combat the rather annoying criminal justice system and its consequences to kidnapping and human experimentation, Umbrella had used its unending power and twisted ingenuity to develop a human breeding farm. Instead of capturing many, they only took a few from remote locations with unimportant status. Then they breed them, raised the children on a company prescribed diet in almost complete isolation and repeated the process until they had a significant population of heavily drugged, uneducated, socially unexceptionable, and essentially mindless test subjects from which to choose from. The factory was apparently located underground in some remote location in Canada to further avoid detection.
Oh how Dr. Marcus had gushed over the pure ingeniousness of it all while Wesker and Birkin had tried hard to keep their faces from turning as deathly white as they imagined the mass produced people they would soon be testing the T-Virus on, and their gruesome transformations into the flesh eating monsters created by the virus.
It was sick; wicked; the most horrible thing Wesker had ever heard in his life. How had Umbrella, Lord Spencer, Dr. Marcus, and his retched name sake gotten away with their never ending, forever growing list of inhuman atrocities? Why had no one ever stopped them? Could they ever be stopped? Or would Umbrella's blood soaked legacy continue on indefinitely?
These were the thoughts rushing though Wesker's mind as he watched the advancing line of doomed individuals being marched by seemingly uncaring U.S.S. soldiers towards the opening in the fountain. This cruel death march would be their last and only opportunity to experience the sun and breath in fresh air before they felt death's cold unrelenting grasp and then were brought back into a hellish existence by the unholy virus he and Birkin had helped to create.
Suddenly, one of the subjects below broke ranks and sprinted wildly and clumsily towards the imagined safety of the forest. He didn't get far. The loud gunshot meant that they now only had fifty nine cowering cave people to work with.
Wesker put an arm protectively around Birkin. Unlike the now dead body on the Estate's lawn staining the grass red, Wesker and Birkin had no grand illusions about escape.
There was no turning back now.
September 19th, 1978...the day Tyrant was first unleashed upon the world starting an apocalyptic chain of events that could never truly be halted. It was a slow and painful end to all life and humanity that had already begun.
AN: I have officially completed and won NaNoWriMo! The good part? This story isn't even a third over with! Updates will probably not come as near as quickly but I hope that won't be a problem for anyone /smiles/.
Thank you for reading, I would be overjoyed to read reactions, comments, concrit, ect... especially on the topic of whether you like longer chapters with slower updates (this one was 35 pages) or shorter chapters with quicker updates.
Later!
-Asiera