Author: Here's a very short chapter on two of the Wesker Children.
[April 9, 1968 (30 years ago)]
Cold.. everything was bloody cold, surprisingly so at this time of year. It was the merry season of spring and yet the rain brought with it a very low chill that made the people of the city burrow into their homes like bears, hibernating until it passed.
Could one ever truly get used to the cold? Sure. It just took an adaptable body. His was quite adaptable. His hands were cupped to his mouth, which was blowing air into them to warm them. He snuggled deeper into his jacket, sharp green eyes scanning the store before him. He was walking to it to keep up with his fitness. He was a track student at the local community college and was damn well good at it. He was humble about it though, claiming he was in the sport for the fun and to become fast.
Kenneth Ray was a very lively adult, his twenty year old frame well fit for one of his age. He had been a football player in high school, but also did track on the side. When he graduated and began to attend college he felt himself drawn to track more, as if subconsciously intrigued by it fully. So he joined the track team.
Young Kenneth was British and so he was.. scrutinized at the time because of his accent and the way he talked. He was a gentleman by nature and a lover of all life, a pure and simple pacifist at heart. Through this Mary was drawn to him. His girlfriend. She was also a fellow British student at the college and they had common interests. Her dad owned a range in the country land and he was often invited over to ride horses. He became very talent at horseback riding.
Life was fine and dandy for this young athletic student.. until his mother forced him to go to her work with her to meet her boss. She was a scientist beneath a man by the name of Ozwell Spencer, a lord apparently among other things. It was something he would never forget, especially with the coldness of that spring in 1968. Who could forget such weather in Raccoon City?
On the day he was to meet Spencer was the day his life changed. Instead of just a casual meeting he was locked into a room after being knocked out, where he was forced to take shots that were 'helping him', as the 'nurse' claimed. Kenneth wasn't stupid. He knew what was happening. He was now a test subject for some project Spencer had going. He was right. He confonted the nurse, cornering her and she spilled the beans before men in uniform came in to pull him away.
He was angry at how quickly his life had turned.. but the most foremost emotion was disgust. Toward his mother. She had [i]sold[/i] him out to her boss.. and for what? Money? Recognition? Some misguided concept of power? He couldn't even fathom such an atrosity. It was.. inhumane.
As the days passed in his captivity not once was he able to find the means to escape. His will to leave never left, though. Oh, no, he couldn't lose his will power. Nothing could take that..
How wrong he was.
The nurse informed him that he was being transfered to a bigger room.. and in this room he was made aware of the virus inside of him, dormant and very much there. He even made them test him.. and the results proved this to be true. That was when his will finally broke. He was infected with some kind of viral [i]thing[/i]. He was dubbed Ken Wesker, Subject Six.
He lost the means to fight back.. to resist. He let them do as they pleased and in the summer of 1969 his health began to drop suddenly. By June he was sickly.. by July he was ill. In early August be requested paper to where he could write a letter to one person only (they stated so) and thus he wrote.. to Mary.
As he passed away in late August the letter was left on the bed, his final words written on a tear stained paper that was slightly crumpled.
This is what it said:
Dear Mary,
I have no idea what to say. My mind is like a jar that I cannot open. It seems so distant, yet there. I can feel it, touch it, prod at it, yet it will not budge. It's like a scratch that you can't itch.
I cannot apologize enough for my departure. So much has happened. Even know I cannot comprehend all that my life has change into. I was sold off by mother to a medical scientist who kept me locked away since the day I arrived here. I was like a caged rat, experimented on in the cruelest of ways.
I don't have much longer to live. Late August, the nurse woman spouts every time I ask. I'm so weak, I feel drained. I can't really move much and my chest hurts. I feel like I'm burning alive. Is this how one feels when death is creeping on the door? It is bloody awful and I feel so confined, so restricted.
My life will cease when my heart stops beating.. but know that it only beats for you. Mary, I love you, more than I ever realized, more then you know. Please, don't cry when you read this. I doubt you'll get it anyway. These bloomy scientist aren't the best at keeping their word. If it does reach you.. I miss you.. Take care of yourself and your father.
Forever yours, Kenneth.
[January 19, 1968 (30 years ago)]
Garth Wright, a French male living in New Jersey, disliked winter. It was far too snowy for his taste. He was more of a summer guy and so he was not at ease during this freezing season, but he got through it. Most of his time was spent at the local gym anyway since he was a gymnast and a very good one too. Though he wasn't a professional he was still quite excellent at it.
He got the talent from his mother, who had once been in the Olympics for a very skilled display of acrobatics. She raised him to love the bars and hoops as if they were precious gemstones.
So at an early age he took to practicing whenever he had the time. This blossomed into a hobby that he did up until he was a late teenager. He was a natural at it. He impressed the gym instructors with new tricks all the time. They tried to get him into training for an actual gymastic career, but he refused. He wasn't competitive and he wouldn't let anything ruin this hobby. It was without pressure, without expectations. He was free to do it as he pleased.
Through this capability he landed on Spencer's radar. He had perfect genes.. and so he was taken from his home in the middle of January to be shipped to a small research facility. There he was placed into a small white room and subjected to tests.
On March 4th he managed to catch a worker before he was sedated and pretty much knocked him out. His escape attempt led him to knock out several others before finally getting outside. He fled into the nearest city and ran into a bar.. where he was shot by a local gunman who was actually an Umbrella associate that had been contacted to retrieve Subject 9, Hiro Wesker. He died in the bar and the dormant virus inside of him did nothing as he bled to death.
What a tragic end of the star acrobat.
