September 8th, 1978
The ever still training facility had been enveloped in a month of peace and quiet, nothing but the silence to accompany him during this horribly monotonous state of affairs. In reference to outside interference, nothing had been moved, and nothing had been done. The only thing left had been the endless sense of isolation that emanated throughout the air itself.
Naturally this wasn't to say that he hoped for any sort of trouble to occur, but for one who kept himself as busy as he did, the new atmosphere made for a drastic and rather unwelcome change of pace. He was doing his best to tolerate it, and he could see the positive in that the sense of calm gave him plenty of time to think. Yet this situation quickly taught him that there really was such a thing as too much time spent on contemplation, given the fact that he spent so much of this time with his mind jumping from one thing to another. When the mind was permitted to run unrestrained, it was difficult to convince it to settle on one line of thought…
To make matters worse, with each moment that passed without any sort of happenings, paranoia would pervade his thoughts and he'd fret over the potential for things to go awry. It was a dreadful feeling; one that nearly made him wish something would happen just to get it done and over with. He couldn't rid himself of the idea that things were bound to go wrong soon enough, so if that fear was warranted, it very well might have been for the best that it would at least happen quickly—before he ended up lulling himself into a false sense of security.
Nevertheless, he thankfully did not spend the entire month simply panicking over what was to come. Though he was wary of the future, he knew that nothing good could be done unless he took matters into his own hands. He already promised himself that he would do just that—and he certainly wasn't about to let himself down. If everyone else was meant to disappoint him, then the least he could do was to obtain some sort of triumph for himself.
Therefore, he put his time to fine use with some good old-fashioned…studying.
By his side had been several magazines and even a few hefty, hardbound books with a particularly vintage look about them. The magazines were the ones to give a greater amount of insight into what his study session's subject matter was, due to the covers displaying magnificent works of architecture along with a few previews into some complex-looking design plans.
Contrary to what one might have expected, Marcus wasn't simply interested in appreciating the beauty of the structures held within. He was instead more intrigued by a specific name that had been prominent in each of these publications…
That name was none other than the renowned George Trevor, an architectural genius known not only for creating gorgeous buildings, but even more so for the bizarre yet utterly riveting sorts of contraptions that were placed within them. These works were often referred to as puzzles; a name that came about because they were said to utilize a sort of "question and answer" system. Typically, this was in the form of riddles that needed to be correctly answered in order to reveal the truth that laid hidden inside the room.
Upon first hearing of his peculiar ways, an ordinary person would no doubt display a look of complete bafflement. But, that very sentiment was precisely what propelled both he and his works to such levels of fame. The curiosity he evoked within the masses caused a much greater interest in his works than the typical beauty and form-based architecture that had long since been commonplace.
At any rate, no matter how intriguing it might have been, it was a given that not everyone found his form of art to be up to their standards. Marcus could understand their qualms, since he presumed a trap door wasn't exactly the first thing most people would dream of having in their dining room. But those that were interested fell in deep enough that it really hadn't mattered what the naysayers had to grumble about. Trevor's pockets were getting filled, regardless.
Now, Marcus had never been the type to grow giddy at the sight of a mansion, which was precisely why he never cared to have anything larger than an average house even in spite of his considerable wealth. But to have a mansion filled to bursting with all sorts of puzzle-like contraptions that you could use for any number of purposes? That was a thought he could lose himself in a fantasy of, odd though it might have been. As such, he had been a rather big admirer of Trevor ever since he first learned of him those many years ago.
And yet, unfortunate though it was, the man had become all but a faded memory in the eyes of the public these days. Despite having maintained a rather active appearance for the majority of his career, his last known work had been back in the late sixties—at least, as far as Marcus could recall. He hadn't paid too much mind to his works during this time, as he had been rather busy with his own troubles. It was around the same time that he was dealing with the formation of Umbrella and the whole African venture, so to say his mind was preoccupied was quite the understatement.
Marcus did later attempt to go back and research whether or not Trevor had any grand undertakings during this period, but he was unable to find anything of significance. His last publicized work was the renovation of a mansion for an allegedly well-known aristocrat—which was only alleged because Marcus had no idea who they were, nor did he care to know. Regardless, to assume that minor task was his final job was horribly unlikely. It was much more feasible that he took on some private contracts afterward, which then led one to wonder…
…Did something happen during one of those private undertakings?
These assignments were in effect classified, since even the media was left oblivious to the details surrounding these jobs. This was meant to be beneficial to the client's security and safety, but what about Trevor's safety? If no one was certain of where his job had taken him, if something went awry during said assignment, not a soul would know of it.
That is, except for the person who hired him. But of course, any half-decent individual who was in the know would be sure to reveal the truth in some manner. If not for the sake of the public's knowledge, then certainly for his distressed family back home, right?
Well…perhaps not. They surely would not wish to if there had been an intent behind the disappearance…
Some might have called Marcus crazy for going so far as to imply something so dubious, but the situation was rather outlandish. Famous architects didn't often disappear without a trace, shocking though that might have been. Even if they did, journalists were sure to drive themselves into a frenzy trying to find the truth behind the scandal and expose it before their competition could. Yet they were completely silent, as if no one wanted to touch the story with a fifty-foot pole. It was horribly uncharacteristic of them, so Marcus was convinced that a cover-up was at work here.
It wasn't exactly rocket science to determine how it might have been done. Trevor's clients were nearly always affluent members of aristocracies, politicians, and just about anyone with a good deal of money and power. Those were the only ones capable of affording his rather extravagant prices, anyhow. And the ones with power were always the ones that could make someone "disappear" when their existence grew too inconvenient for them.
To aid his theory, it helped by knowing that those who required his outlandish services were almost certain to have hired him because they had quite a bit they wished to hide. That was, after all, the primary selling point of his puzzle mechanisms—to keep one's deepest and darkest secrets under lock and key. But then, if they were so adamant to keep others from discovering the truth behind their ways, were they capable of accepting Trevor's realization of it?
When one thought of it like that, it wasn't hard to imagine that Trevor might have met with an untimely end by one of those corrupted individuals he had the misfortune of working for.
Marcus began to feel he could relate to the man for more than just a love of peculiar architecture, as he, too, made the mistake of associating too closely with a man of the elite. The image of that horrific button that could bring an end to his entire existence at any given moment still burned deeply within his mind, and he hadn't discarded the belief that it would one day be used to his detriment.
At least in this case, Spencer would not need to bribe the media into keeping their mouths shut. Marcus' name had been tossed aside long ago, so there was no one left to bat an eye at his disappearance. Ah, but perhaps it was wrong to say Spencer had been lucky. It wasn't very much a chance of luck if he had planned for that outcome from the very beginning, was it?
While he was on the subject of that accursed man, at least Marcus could force a laugh out of the fact that Trevor vanished before he was able to enlist his genius for his own use. Spencer was another one that held his works in high esteem, and he often expressed a desire to have one of his own mansions renovated with some of those elaborate puzzles. Even now, Marcus could recall a particularly vivid memory of a time the two had been looking through a book that described the sorts of puzzles and traps Trevor employed in many of his designs.
Marcus was especially interested in the ones that contained a complicated riddle that needed to be resolved through the use of puzzle pieces, which were often vastly different from the pieces you'd see in an ordinary puzzle. The concept itself was just so clever! If the goal of the intruder was to steal the labors of your brain, then it stood to reason that they were too moronic to use their own brain to solve the riddle. It was a brilliant strategy, and it wasn't difficult to see the sense of irony hidden within it.
But Spencer, his eyes seemed to light up with a flare Marcus couldn't quite understand whenever he'd read of the more…primitive, sorts of designs. Collapsing ceilings, armed statues that were rigged to close in on the intruder, switches that would envelop the room in poisonous gas—anything of that sort, really.
Certainly, a dead man could do no harm, but Marcus never wished to go so far as to kill someone just to keep his secrets safe. Although, one might argue that his track record spoke for itself, now, but still…
Nevertheless, Marcus found it peculiar that Spencer never did employ Trevor, seeing as he obviously had the interest as well as the funds. Would he really have passed up such a golden opportunity? Especially given how guarded the old fool had become; he surely had more than a few nefarious secrets that he wished to keep under wraps. Unless…?
To be fair, it was definitely possible that Spencer did employ Trevor at some point and just didn't tell Marcus about it. As mentioned, he was horribly secretive on top of being rather poor at communication, so it wouldn't have been unheard of for him to have kept it to himself. When could he have done it, though? If Trevor disappeared around the time that they formed Umbrella, it must have been before that, but Spencer was rather busy during that timeframe, himself.
Extremely busy, actually. One thing Marcus could remember clearly was that he was constantly on the phone, and many times he hadn't even been at his estate during this time. In fact, there was something notably odd about his behavior all around; his mind always appeared to be somewhere else entirely.
Frankly, Marcus found that attitude to be rather inappropriate, considering Spencer had done virtually nothing to aid him and Bailey with the Progenitor flower research. If he wasn't worried about what they were doing, then what exactly was he so concerned with? Marcus always had an inkling that it wasn't simply him busying himself with the creation of Umbrella…
Could the timing have matched so perfectly that Spencer was actually in the process of recruiting Trevor to work on a mansion? If that scenario bore any semblance of truth, it'd be rather laughable. It would imply that he very well might have been Trevor's last client, and by greater extension…it would imply that he was the one who caused the man to vanish.
Even a mere few years ago, Marcus would have grown sick to his stomach for even suggesting something so appalling. Alas, he no longer was able to feel even a tinge of surprise, nor could he become perturbed in the slightest. There was no way for him to know what he knew now and still feign disbelief for every horrible thing Spencer might have done. He'd wear himself out if he tried.
If anything, the strongest feeling he might have had over it was disappointment. Not for the fact that his former friend would sink so low, but more for the fact that Trevor's brilliant mind went to waste on the likes of Spencer, and that it was stolen from the world as a result. Marcus would have loved to meet the man and learn some of his tips and tricks, but clearly that was out of the question now.
But—that was precisely why he was toiling his days away with these study sessions. If he was unable to learn directly from the man himself, he would simply look to his works with that fervent desire to learn he was always known for.
It was quite fortunate for him that Trevor did publish a few books based on his past experiences and techniques, as well. Along with the numerous interviews he gave—which were published in the magazines Marcus had been examining—he was well-equipped to start gathering ideas for his own purposes.
Although, Marcus was not the type of man who would look at someone else's work and copy it for himself. It should have gone without saying, but he was only conducting this research in order to gain inspiration, in addition to an understanding of what was feasible and what wasn't. With enough time to think on it, he was confident that he could come up with a few brilliant ideas that were capable of rivaling even Trevor's genius without traveling too far into the realm of his own designs.
The only problem with this plan was that, while Marcus could have all the ideas in the world, they were meaningless unless acted upon. Even if he was capable of theorizing how they were meant to work, they couldn't actually work unless he was able to give them a physical and functional form. And regretfully, all of that technical and mechanical jargon was outside of his expertise. He needed to find someone who could bring his visions to a reality, but who could it be? It was a question that would take time, which was eternally of the essence.
Creating the ideas for the puzzles would take time. Finding someone who could create the puzzles would take time. Everything was so time-consuming; it began to feel unfair for a man who had no time left. To think he had the rest of his life to work on it was a joke, considering how numbered those days were. He needed to do something now, but it just wasn't possible…
His mind always began to wander when he thought of this. He knew that he needed to achieve some sort of peace, since no good reflection could come from a frantic state of mind. But how could one rest while knowing so much was at stake? It was an outright impossible task to ask of him.
To make matters worse, he no longer could formulate his plans with much focus. It occurred to him that even though his best course of action was to create these puzzles and secure his work no matter the cost, everything he was working to protect would be in grave danger for as long as it took to bring this issue to its conclusion. That much was always clear to him, but now that he was beginning to grasp just how long the endeavor would actually take, he was growing very troubled by the thought of it.
Marcus' existence was directly tied to the value he could contribute. If he was spending all of his time making plans—ones that would be only detrimental to Spencer, at that—then it was only a matter of time before word got out that his usage had passed its expiration date. He would like to believe that they'd just view him as a worthless reject and leave him to rot in his self-pity, but he just couldn't see it being left at that.
The future with the highest probability was the one that foretold of his demise upon him growing docile. As his life is stolen, so too, would be his work. With that being the case, if he were to become a loose end destined to be cut away, his only option was to act accordingly.
The more he thought of it, the more he began to fear what exactly that had entailed. But to say he wasn't aware of the dreaded circumstances that awaited him would have been no more than a lie to convince himself otherwise…
As his fatigued, bloodshot eyes drifted shut, he leaned back in his chair with a sigh. His sight returned seconds later with a stare that appeared utterly exhausted, while his muscles relaxed only slightly as his arms rested in his lap. Soon after, he twisted in his chair, raising an arm to pull the heavy curtain open just enough to let some much-needed sunlight into his dreary office. As an instinct, his eyes squinted from the brightness that suddenly illuminated his pale and worried features.
Once his clarity of sight began to return, he gave a soft shake of his head. "I do feel trouble is unlikely… Or at least…it may be for the present moment." Placing two fingers on his left temple, he turned from the window and back toward his cluttered desk. "It's only a shame that what I think hardly matters. The reality is that I have no way of knowing when Umbrella will make their next move, so I need to make the most of whatever time I have left…"
Once Umbrella decided to do away with him, it wouldn't be wrong to view it as a tragedy. However monstrous one might have believed him to be, a life that ended without ever fulfilling a single thing it strove to do was one that deserved some sense of pity, regardless of the choices that were made throughout that time. Or, perhaps even more tragic than a life such as that was that he did fulfill something—he did accomplish something that brought him a joy like no other.
His leeches…his children. He could dream of nothing better; they were perfect. If they were the only thing he would be known for—if they were the treasure he would leave behind when all was said and done…he would be happy. That was enough for him…it was more than enough for him.
But…he couldn't have even that, now could he?
Unlike him, his leeches would achieve acknowledgement. They would become known as the unstoppable, utter perfection that they were. Only, his name would not be the one that preceded them. All within the industry would speak in awe of the extraordinary B.O.W. that changed the future of bio-organic weapons research forever, without a single mention of their true father. Their father who vanished from the face of the earth long ago… Who could say he had ever existed at all?
His children were to be stolen…and he would be dead. He would never have a taste of the acknowledgement that belonged to him and him only; his greatest triumph would be relegated to being the trophy of another man. And the only thing he could do to prevent his story from ending in a complete tragedy…was to keep his leeches forever out of another's grasp.
Life was nothing but unfair. It was not fair that Spencer sought to kill Marcus the moment that he exceeded his usage. Nor was it fair that now…Marcus needed to rid himself of his own pride and joy, the only thing that brought him any sense of happiness throughout his wasted life within Umbrella's clutches.
His beloved leeches…were to be killed by the very hands that birthed their new life.
"They love me, just as I love them." He muttered as he held his face in his hands, eyes again squeezed shut to avoid the reality before him. "I… It doesn't feel right. Nothing about this is right, but…" His hand gradually slipped away as his eyes were forced to open and bear witness to the illuminated steel box on the carpet across from him. "…It is the only correct decision. This is the only way to protect them, even if…it's not the way I wished to do so."
"Besides… It's not as if this is the end," he began as the insincere smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "There… There will be more leeches—more of my children, eventually. It's just…for now, these ones must… They must…" Try as he might, the words he meant to say were caught in his throat. Anything further simply would not come out, so he resolved to leave it at that.
As for his meaning, he was confident that even if these leeches were bound to die, their legacy would not end like this. He only needed to seal them away now so that Spencer's men could not come in and steal them before he was properly prepared. Once he was able to fortify the facility's defenses through the use of complex puzzle mechanisms, his leeches could return and live in perpetual bliss. There would be no more fear, no more paranoia.
Everything would be perfect for everyone…except for the poor leeches that currently sat in their home without a single care in the world, living in bliss with the belief that their precious father would never hurt them. Their darling father…who would soon commit yet another act of betrayal to those that placed their lives in his hands.
"I can only hope…" He spoke almost inaudibly, folding his hands atop one another as his stoic eyes remained fastened forward. "…that this will all be worth it in the end."
September 19th, 1978
"This… This is the last one." The low voice uttered monotonously, forced to be devoid of all emotions as its bearer reached into the box and scooped up the last remaining leech with his gloved hands. He carried it to the desk in the corner of the room and placed it on the slime-covered tray. Sending one last despondent glance toward it, he turned his back and went to finish the rest of his preparations.
The creature remained still for a moment as it observed its new surroundings, becoming increasingly curious over the thick, gooey substance that it now sat in. It bore the scent of its brethren, but it could not find them anywhere in the immediate vicinity. Where had they gone? Their father had taken them out of their home, one-by-one, but where he put them was a mystery. Were they roaming the rest of the room?
The leech suddenly perked up at the thought. It began to wonder if it was finally time for them to explore more of the world in which their father lived. This world was so large, the others could have been anywhere! It raised its body in excitement, already determined to get out there and discover where its siblings had gone. But it decided to linger here for a moment, not wishing to leave without its father's permission. He appeared to be at the shelf across the room, rummaging through the strange bottles and tools that covered the surface. What he was doing, the leech certainly couldn't say.
Whatever the case, the enquiring little creature did feel something was…strange. Something about its beloved creator did not seem right, he looked very sad. It remembered seeing that expression before, during the time when he stopped smiling and hardly even said a word to the group. Was something wrong with him? If there was, then the leech was bound to share in that same sadness. Whatever was causing his dismay, the group would do whatever it took to make him feel better. That was what good children would do, wasn't it?
It decided that once it found the other members of its family, they would all need to band together and do that one trick again—the one that made their father smile so joyfully. He'd be so happy; the leech again grew eager as it envisioned that hazy smile it saw the last time. It couldn't wait to see it again…
As this thought was concluded, the focus of its adoration spun around and returned to the table on which the leech sat, apparently finished with whatever he was doing. In his hands—which had those strange, black coverings that he always wore whenever he came into contact with them—was that weird tool with the pointy metal end. It vaguely remembered that he used that on it before, but it felt like a very long time ago. It didn't very much like that tool, however, as the pointy part hurt quite a bit. Why was he using it now? The leech began to wonder if it was being punished, but it didn't think it did anything wrong…
Instinctually slithering back, it didn't want to feel that horrible sensation again. But upon doing so, its father placed his hand on its back, lightly stroking it as a gentle expression made its way onto his face.
"I… I must apologize, but I need you to sit still, all right? This will only hurt…for a moment."
It had no idea what those words meant, but they sounded very kind, and even a little sad. The leech was afraid that its recoiling had caused the sadness in his tone, and making its father upset was the last thing it wanted to do. It crawled forward, closer to where the other hand rested. Looking up, it could see that the man nodded in affirmation, but he still did not look particularly happy. What else could it do to make him feel better? If only its siblings were here, they'd know what to do…
It began to look around, wondering if it could catch a glimpse of one of them yet. They must have been having too much fun exploring the new land, since not a single one was in view. Normally it could try to sniff them out, but the overpowering scent of the slime that surrounded it was the only thing it could take notice of. It really did smell just like them, so their father must have placed them there as well.
But weirdly enough, there was not a trail leading off of the tray, or, well…anywhere. The leech knew enough about its kind to understand that the strange substance followed them everywhere they went, so why was it only concentrated along the surface of that specific area? It was as if they were just dropped there and then taken away again. When were they going to return?
"I know it's not as if you could understand any of this, but… I truly am sorry." He began with a mumble, staring at the creature below sadly. "I was too weak to protect any of you, and now, doing…this, is the only option I have left." He looked away as a strong look of distress enveloped him, biting his lip as he closed his eyes tightly.
"…But you will be reunited with your siblings soon enough. And…there will come a time when the virus—your DNA, will give rise to a new line of leeches. They will be your descendants, and…I will be certain to not fail them as I have failed you. That…is the least I can promise." He returned his gaze to the leech, his defeated blue eyes full of shame and disappointment.
Somehow, the leech grew sad at the words. Something told it that the sadness its father felt was so immense, there was no way it could make him feel any better. The small creature felt useless; there was nothing it could do. It hadn't understood anything about what its creator was going through, so if it didn't even know why he was unhappy, how could it ever hope to help? It was a useless endeavor, but with nothing else to do, the leech crawled closer to his hand. Softly, it began nuzzling against the thumb which had been pressed tightly into a fist, but had loosened itself at the onset of the bizarre feeling.
His eyes widened at the sight and his mouth fell agape. He lost himself in the feeling for only a mere few seconds, as a hardened expression soon took over his face and he nodded once. He no longer could afford to hesitate. Just as he did to those that came before this one, he could only look ahead in his efforts to take control of his fate.
With the syringe held firmly in one hand, he held the leech with the other. He gently squeezed the surface of its back and, upon nodding once more, plunged the needle in.
The leech began to squirm, undergoing that same uncomfortable sensation from before. But the pain didn't last for too long, since the tool was quickly removed from its back and placed to the side. Its body involuntarily began to twitch a little, but it did feel much better, and it felt so nice that its father was still holding it with his big, warm hands. The leech stared up at its father, so happy to be near him, even as its eyes began to drift closed.
It decided that it should rest for a little while, and maybe its siblings would be back by the time it awoke. Then they could all play together again while their beloved father watched. It couldn't wait, they would all have so much fun. And once they got to see that beautiful smile their father once wore so often, they all could be happy again. What a nice day it would be…
These thoughts were the last thing the leech ever felt as it slipped from consciousness, put to an eternal slumber as it slept peacefully within its father's hands.
Marcus held onto the creature for a few seconds longer, only to remove them with a sigh. He grabbed another needle—this one filled with the formaldehyde rather than the euthanasia—and upon making sure that the fluid was free of excess air, he administered it to the motionless body below.
Carefully removing his gloves and changing to a fresh pair, this was followed by him grabbing the glass capsule on the table beside him. Using his forceps, he lifted the leech and dropped it into the empty capsule. Once he was finished filling that unit with ethanol alcohol, he securely fastened the lid.
Staring into the clear glass with a sense of loss, he could only shake his head and set the capsule onto the table before going to grab a jar on the opposite end. In it was a thick, translucent sort of goo, with a consistency and appearance that closely resembled the slime that the leeches were known to emit, although of course that had not played a part in its creation.
This was a concoction he whipped up out of a few chemicals he had lying around. Thanks to the airtight containment vessel, the liquid was currently fluid and could be removed as needed. But upon applying it to a solid surface, the introduction of air would cause it to harden to an impenetrable state. This altered form made the substance perfect for sealing the capsules that his leeches were placed in.
The only way to eliminate the substance in this settled form was through the addition of chemicals with a low enough pH level, but through a bit of trial and error, he was able to confirm that only two of the materials in his possession were capable of creating this stripping agent via their combined state. This mixture was a rather atypical one, so he was quite certain that Spencer's lackeys would not be capable of figuring out how to make it.
Although currently, the tanks that housed each of the chemicals were sitting in the storeroom, easily accessible to anyone desperate enough to try and undo the glue-like sealant. It was ill-advised to remove the fluids from their proper yet conspicuous containment units, so he thought that it would be best if he, at the minimum, placed the tanks into different rooms with an adequate distance from one another. That strategy, coupled with the fact that this combination was not a common form of stripping unit, was bound to add an immense level of fortification to his precious children's final resting place.
That was the most significant aspect of this, for it was compulsory that this mixture could seal his leeches in a manner that would prevent Umbrella from ever getting their hands on them. Knowing the horrors he was forced to commit against those poor, helpless little creatures, ensuring their safety was truly the least he could do.
With his thoughts clear, Marcus now took the time to remove some of the liquid with a pipette, followed by his careful application of it along the edges of the capsule's lid. The fluid began to run down the sides, but it quickly ceased its movement as the formula began to stabilize and became stuck in place.
To err on the side of caution, he also decided to apply more of it over the entirety of the lid. In actuality, this move was unnecessary; the lid wouldn't budge thanks to the first application alone. Still, it made him feel better, so he proceeded to add extra anyway.
Since he felt it best to wait until all of the leeches were preserved before sealing them completely, he needed to follow through with this step for the rest of the group, as well. The others were in a cardboard box and positioned at the end of the table he was currently situated at; a placement that kept them in the corner of his eye at all times, it seemed.
As he went to work with grabbing each of the containers and applying the chemical concoction to them, one at a time, he began to reflect on where he would place them when all of this was said and done.
The capsules were actually to be paired with a large specimen case he had kept in storage for quite a while, so the natural plan was to put them into that case for safekeeping. But he wasn't yet too certain on where he should leave the case itself. It was rather large and conspicuous, so it was bound to stand out no matter where he put it. Perhaps it would have been least visible in the storeroom, where it could be covered in a sheet and collect dust for the rest of eternity. But to leave his children in such a sorry state…he couldn't bring himself to stoop so low, even if it might have been in their best interests.
But if he wasn't going to leave it in the storeroom, where should he put it? As stated, it was so large and distinctive that it would bring attention to itself no matter what, so the prospects of successfully hiding it away seemed rather unfeasible. Which then led him to feel…calling attention to it might have been precisely what he needed to do.
He really did have complete faith in Spencer's foolish minions being unable to create the stripping agent, so if the leeches were already sealed up so securely, why bother hiding them? Why should he hide away his greatest accomplishment? Even if Spencer sought to steal the capsules itself, he could never hope to do anything with them.
Ah, perhaps he could stare longingly at them, knowing that such a magnificent prize waited inside, yet they would always belong to Marcus only. Even if they ended up far from his own grasp, they were his and his only. That lone thought was the only thing that could almost bring a hint of a sincere smile to his face at this regrettable time.
That said, he was thinking he might as well place the machine in the first lab room, which technically served as the entrance to the laboratory section of the building. It was rather crowded in there, what with all the chemical shelves and whatnot, but he might have been able to find a spot.
He was actually thinking of taking the preserved specimens of his former test subjects into there as well, being that he was growing rather tired of them wasting space in his primary lab room. They've been in there for so long that they might as well have been a morbid decoration at this point, but he never had been very fond of seeing them.
The only problem was—the cases they stood in were much too heavy for him, so he could never hope to move them by himself. If he had someone that could assist him, but he didn't have too many friends he could call up to help him move a few corpses, especially not on such short-notice. But he supposed the corpses themselves might have been the closest thing he had to friends these days. They were always by his side…although their anguished expressions seemed to suggest otherwise.
That aside… If nothing else, he would be able to find space in the other room for the leech case. He could get rid of one of the tables and lean it against the wall beside the staircase, or something like that. Though he always did figure that would be a good spot for the human specimens, but unless he suddenly developed a ton of muscle and could finally move them himself, he couldn't be bothered to worry about them. At the minimum, he was capable of handling the leech case on his own, so that would be his priority for the present moment.
Thus, it was decided. He would leave the case filled with the specimens of his beloved leeches in the other lab room. It would be visible to all who dared to enter his lab, but that hadn't mattered when they could do nothing but gawk at it.
Furthermore, he had a feeling that it might not have stood out too much in comparison to the other scientific oddities within the room, anyway. There was an abundance of chemicals, and Savage always had quite a few preserved organs scattered around the shelves that he often used in his own research. If Marcus was able to eventually add the human specimens into the room, there would be a substantial number of things to draw attention away from the leeches.
"…To hide a leaf, put it in a forest." He muttered as he applied the sealant around the capsule's lid. "An obvious location, yet it would blend in perfectly, perhaps being overlooked altogether…"
Really, the humans were bound to hog more of the attention than anything else, which was rather amusing considering those experiments could only pale in comparison to the leech ones. The zombies might have played a part in making the leeches what they were, but they alone were nothing impressive. But, perhaps their true purpose all along was to serve as a distraction from his precious leeches? It was a noble cause, that much was certain.
Finally, having sealed the last capsule containing one of his beloved children, his expression grew firm. "I will not allow my children to fade away as a memory of what could have been. They will remain here forever…as a sign of things to come."
This location wasn't perfect solely for the sake of its hiding potential, however, as it had another significant purpose. It would ensure that his children could never stray too far from his sight. His leeches would become a constant reminder of what he was fighting for…just as they were a reminder of the blood that would forever stain his hands.
January 2nd, 1979
Surrounded by the sea of books that occupied the many shelves of the library, Marcus had been seated at the desk in the corner of the room. Along the desk's surface had been two large, clunky-looking computers, and while he did sit by the first one, his attention had been wholly directed toward the book in his hand, The Island of Doctor Moreau by H.G. Wells. Staring at it intently, he scanned the lines written along the preface.
"Hm… This always was one of his favorites, wasn't it?" Once he spoke the words aloud, a light smile graced his expression. "…I should give it a read again, sometime. Perhaps we could have a sort of book club session with it, even if it must be done from afar." Upon the conclusion of that thought, he reached to the shelf above the table and placed the book in its rightful spot.
After his sight returned to the monitor before him, his look of peace gradually shifted to one of dismay. "…I suppose he hasn't replied yet." He muttered dejectedly. "Well, I'm not in particularly much of a rush, but I do hope he'll see it today. It is his birthday, after all."
The man he was referring to was the only one left that Marcus was still able to regard fondly—his kindhearted young pupil, Brandon Bailey. Although, it might have been a tad inappropriate to continue referring to him as his young pupil, considering today was, in fact, his fortieth birthday.
When he really thought about it, it felt no less than bizarre. It was hard to imagine his hyper and cheerful student already being at the midpoint of his life, but apparently that was indeed the case. He'd like to say it felt like only yesterday that he met the man and accepted him as his protégé, but so much had transpired since then that it honestly felt more like a lifetime ago. It didn't help that he was starting to forget much of what his life before Umbrella had even been like, so in truth, it might as well have happened in a past life.
Back to the matter at hand, Marcus sent a message to Bailey earlier in the morning. Only about an hour had passed since he sent it, so he was likely getting worried prematurely, but he just wanted to make certain that it was seen before the day neared its end. And considering he was only using this cursed block of metal and wires and that ridiculous U-mail nonsense for the sake of supposedly instant messaging—it better have at least been received by now…
On that note, it was no secret that Marcus had a remarkably odd abhorrence for new technologies, and computers were at the very top of the list when it came to things that brought him no small deal of aggravation. He never liked them from the moment Umbrella supplied his facilities with them, which had only been a few years back.
They were placed chiefly in the library as well as the assistant director's office, and an additional one was sent to the laboratory. There had been more than enough to have one installed in Marcus' personal lab as well, but he promptly declined, and thus only one was left to Savage's care in his room.
Even now, personal computers in the market were incredibly rare—and even more expensive—so Marcus' refusal surely would have been laughable, or even foolish, to most. But since Spencer, and therefore, Umbrella, had such an obnoxiously long list of connections and an abundance of money to burn, he was certain it hadn't bothered them in the slightest.
On the subject of getting things long before the public could—that was where U-mail came in. It was a simple messaging service created to accompany Umbrella's business website for the purpose of allowing employees to interact with each other as needed. This type of web service was also far from being widely available to the public, but Spencer hired the best programmers of the time to figure something out. Of course, they probably did steal the idea as well as the data needed to make it from someone else, but that wasn't anything new in the realm of Umbrella.
U-mail was intended to encourage the sharing of ideas and research for the sake of building morale as well as encouraging competition between the employees, officially speaking. Really, Marcus always thought it sounded more like it was meant to encourage data theft. It was rather obvious that in spite of whatever they might have said, those in charge of upholding the site were able to scan all of that information for themselves, passing it off to whatever executive might have desired it.
That was the reason Marcus refused to go into any great detail about his work when contacting people through it—in which the only person he actually contacted was Bailey. Although, as he recalled, he did try to message Spencer a few times early on in the site's creation… He never received any replies.
Nevertheless Bailey, at the least, always did respond, and rather promptly at that. The brief pauses between the departure and receival of messages due to the advanced technology was, admittedly, impressive, so the two decided to forego their typical letters to each other and instead make use of this application.
Marcus couldn't deny the convenience of it, but he still did feel much more comfortable with the letters. He was unable to bring himself to enjoy this new era of technology, and the fact that it had been seeped in the stench of Umbrella hadn't made this task any easier. But for the sake of keeping in contact with his faraway student, he knew he could only do his best to persevere.
His mind again began to trail off as he waited patiently for the message that might not have even been on its way. He realized he might have been just a tad too eager to hear from his student, especially since it had been so long since their last conversation. And while he didn't want to waste time just sitting around all day, he didn't have anything else to do, really.
He wished to work on the design plans for his future puzzles, but there were so many possibilities that he didn't even know where to begin. Which rooms should he start with? What sort of puzzles would fit in those locations? Would his ideas even be practical enough to work? And most importantly, would they be capable of bringing a genuine sense of security to the facility and all that he wished to keep secret within it?
He supposed the only way to find out was to find the person who would build the contraptions for him. He was certain that at that point, all, if not most, would become clear. He was only unsure of how he would find an architect willing to give his unusual plans a chance, but he did have all of those magazines and whatnot, so some answers might have been hidden inside those. If nothing else, they did mention quite a few designers, whether they were newcomers or veterans of the trade. As long as they were willing to work for him and get the job done correctly, he really didn't have a preference...
—Ding!
He immediately ceased his train of thought as his eyes darted to the computer, having been more taken by surprise than excitement in that moment. But once he realized what the noise had signified, his brooding expression gave way to a warm smile.
As he slowly but surely made his way to his inbox, he was quite pleased to see the highlighted message located directly at the top of the page; sent by the very name that also took up the majority of the page—Brandon Bailey.
"Ah, Bailey… It's been so long that I've almost forgotten what it's like to have someone I can actually rely upon. To have someone I know would never shun me; someone…who would never betray me…"
With those melancholic words left in the air, he opened the message and began to read.
"Thank you so much, Dr. Marcus! It makes me really happy that you remembered my birthday. Of course, it's not like I thought you'd forget or anything, but I know how busy you've been. Plus, I know you haven't been in very high spirits lately, either, and I'm sure you must have a ton on your mind. But that's why I'm even happier you actually remembered, so thank you again!
But jeez, for the hundredth time, you don't need to keep apologizing in every message! I mean, yeah, I'd much rather spend my birthday hanging out with you in Raccoon, just like we used to. Just the thought of us spending the day working on another groundbreaking experiment, or even just a day of simple research sounds like heaven. But I guess anything would sound like that now, especially in comparison to my usual routine of being stuck at this facility sending out the Progenitor samples all day, every day.
But again, there's no reason for you to apologize for me being stuck here. I made the decision to stay here myself, so I can't blame anyone else for it. I certainly would never blame you, at least. Mr. Spencer probably deserves a good rant, though.
That said, it sure would be nice if we at least got some vacation time. It'll be, what, ten years that I've been here in August? I wish I could at least take a week off to visit you, or something. I'd say that I'm starting to wonder if these work conditions are all that ethical, but I think we both have always known the answer to that one, huh?
Hm, is that everything? Oh wait, one more thing!
I realize this is hard to ask of you, but please, Dr. Marcus… Try not to stress out too much, all right? I hate knowing that I can't do anything to help you, especially with us both being stuck at these facilities across the world from each other. But I hope you at least know that no matter what, I've always had complete faith in you, and I'll always be so proud of you. No matter what happens, and no matter what happened. You'll always be my idol, and my number one teacher!
So, I hope that'll help you feel better…at least a little. I know words can't do much, but I'm afraid they're all I have to offer. Well, unless one day Mr. Spencer finally lets me quit so I can go back to working with you. Hey, maybe we should send him a heartfelt letter asking for me to be fired? I'd be in on it, if you are! Maybe then you could quit too and we could both go back to the good old days. Ah, if only it were that easy, right?
Anyway, please take care of yourself, Dr. Marcus. I'll be looking forward to your next message! Oh, but you don't need to rush on my account, okay? Take your time!
Sincerely, your number one student, Brandon Bailey"
Marcus stared at the words on the screen with the gentlest of smiles written on his face, along with a brilliant glimmer in his eyes that was long-thought to be lost. It was nothing short of amazing how one message from his pupil always had a way of instantly turning his frown upside down…
It might have been trite to say, but Bailey truly was a ray of sunshine within Marcus' world of darkness. Now if only that light hadn't been sent to the farthest corners of the earth; leaving him to make his way through the smothering night all by his lonesome. If not for that, then…how differently would his life have unfolded? There was no use to be found in thinking about it, but even knowing that hadn't been enough to stop the thought from crossing his mind every now and then.
Even still, the fault for that belonged to him. He would not need to ponder hypotheticals if he had only kept his word from back then. Before Bailey departed for Africa, Marcus promised that he would come back for him and that he wouldn't let that farewell be their final one. He swore that they would see each other again; he would never abandon him. Yet one look at the present situation revealed him to be a liar, for he never kept that promise. He had betrayed the one person who actually placed their complete faith into him, which he personally placed amongst his gravest crimes.
This was the reason that, as per usual, Marcus spent much of his own message apologizing to Bailey for this outcome. It was a transgression that did not warrant forgiveness, given the fact that the man was forced to throw his life away for the sole purpose of helping his teacher. But as always, he refused to forgive him because he hadn't even viewed it as a wrongdoing. He didn't blame Marcus for anything, even when he more than rightfully should have. He was such a bright and intelligent individual that he could have done any number of things, but he willingly relinquished all of it for a teacher that led him astray…
It was a senseless fantasy, but Marcus sometimes wondered what he would do if given the chance to rewrite the past. There were so many things in his life that led to his eventual downward spiral, so there were many things that could have been changed for the better.
In spite of this, he wouldn't have bothered to change most of it. Meeting Spencer, joining Umbrella, pursuing his unethical experiments… He would have left these things untouched. No matter the price he had to pay, he knew he would end up following this fruitless path to its conclusion every time. He just…couldn't imagine a life without Umbrella, not anymore. He couldn't even believe in the existence of a life where he never caused all of this bloodshed. He already accepted all of it as his destiny, so it was not his right to change any of it.
However, there was one thing that he would have fought his destiny to change.
If given this magical chance of altering the past to change the future, he would have made it so that he never met Bailey. He would have never accepted the man as his student, and the two would live on as complete strangers. It would have been the easiest decision he'd ever make, truthfully. Despite how much his heart was pained by the thought of never knowing that bright young soul, it couldn't compare to the way his heart was shattered by the realization of having ruined that man's life.
He dragged Bailey along this path of ruin and confined him in a prison that far too greatly resembled his own, and for what? If Marcus couldn't rewrite their initial meeting, then he would implore fate to at least give him the hindsight to never bring him anywhere near the madness that was Umbrella. If he never brought him to meet with Spencer and Ashford on that fateful day, would that not have solved everything? He could have had the pleasure of knowing the man while having kept him safe from the evil that he would inevitably partake in. Was this not for the best?
'Tis a shame it was only a fantasy, for the reality returned to remind him of this dream being forever beyond his reach.
He could have felt some sense of redemption if he was capable of allowing Bailey to leave and return to his old life, even if he, himself, was far too gone to join him on the endeavor. Marcus would gladly free him, if only it had been in his control. As always, Spencer held all of the power and was obviously intent on keeping Bailey imprisoned, just as he did to Marcus.
It was infuriating; there was no reason for it at all. He did not need to keep Bailey in his forced isolation, any of the other employees could have taken over in his place. It was clearly an attempt to assure Marcus' own seclusion, making it impossible for his former ally to ever rejoin his side. If he would just let him go, then maybe Marcus could accept his own miserable fate, but…
…But he would never do that. This was the same man who intended to end Marcus' life as soon as his usage had run out. Just as well, if there ever came a day when Bailey was unable to continually serve his purposes, then surely Spencer would…
His blood suddenly felt as though it were boiling as he slammed his fist into the desk, knocking the computer's mouse onto the floor with a brash clatter. He bit his lip in frustration as he slowly shook his head.
"No, I cannot allow it—I won't allow it. Even if my body has already ceased functioning, my spirit would never permit such an act of treachery. If he hopes to do that, then…"
Regrettably, he hadn't enough of a belief in the afterlife to trust in his ability to have an effect on the physical realm even after his passing. He knew that his only way of saving Bailey was to do something while he was still in the land of the living, but what could he hope to do?
If there was still a chance to honor his promise, he couldn't foresee how he could pull it off. The tricky part wasn't the act of getting there, it wouldn't have been difficult to call up a private helicopter to take him to the cave that the laboratory had been situated in. He remembered the general location well enough, and upon seeing the cliff at the base of the cave would grant his immediate recognition. That part was simple. The problem rested with all that would come afterward…
Given everything Marcus was being put through in trying to keep his facility safe from intruders, it wouldn't have been a surprise for him to leave and then return to find the entire place had been ransacked. He might have preserved his leeches to keep them safe, but there was no way for him to hide every document in the building, not when the trespassers would have all the time in the world to search every crack and crevice for what they needed.
Additionally, he had no idea what sort of security remained at the African facility, but even considering his alleged status within the company, he was certain that they would not let him in easily, if at all. For all he knew, they could even capture him and begin interrogating him about his research. Then once they were done with him, they'd probably end up having him killed…
Even if Marcus was willing to give up both his life and research to save Bailey, it wouldn't have mattered if he never made it to the whole saving part. It'd be a sacrifice made for nothing but vain, which did a fine job of neutralizing whatever hope he had in fulfilling his promise. It truly was a matter of his student being held prisoner, yet he was powerless to even dream of one day rescuing him. It was horribly depressing…
It was a thought that very easily could keep him up at night, but it hadn't seemed to matter at all to Bailey. He always swore that he didn't mind being there and that he didn't hold anything against him, but how could that be? The only way to explain it was that the man was simply too kind, too pure…
It just didn't make sense to him. Why did Bailey admire him so much? Why did he still view him as such a wonderful teacher? Marcus was the cause of all the torment he had been forced to endure for so long, he was no longer someone worthy of reverence. Yet Bailey was somehow so benevolent that he could overlook the pain he surely felt and hold steadfast in his idolization of him…
…But perhaps the warmth behind his words was made easier for the fact that he knew nothing about the true gravity of Marcus' deepest sins. All of the lives he ended and the blood he spilled in the name of his research… All of it, Bailey had been none the wiser to.
He was never the type to keep secrets, especially not from such a cherished friend. Yet the thought of giving a voice to those words, to speak aloud the story that had haunted his world ever since its conception…to the one person who placed him on a pedestal and hadn't been capable of feeling a single ounce of ill-will toward him… He just couldn't bring himself to do it.
Naturally, a part of his reasoning did lay in the fact that communicating the truth through Umbrella's communication channels would result in their immediate attention and the attainment of evidence to be used against him. He was not going to willingly give Umbrella what they wanted, so they would hear nothing of his research and results, so long as he could help it. Even sending Bailey a letter discussing everything was bound to be put under intense scrutinization by the African facility's security, so his chances of divulging that information for Bailey's ears only was virtually zero percent.
Ultimately the reason he never told him, however, went just a bit further than the logic on the surface. Even if there had been a slim chance for him to reveal everything about the atrocities he committed without Umbrella's prying, he still would have declined to speak of it. Because…he couldn't allow himself to lose the one ally he had left.
It didn't matter if they hadn't seen each other in the flesh for over ten years. The distance and passage of time did nothing to diminish the fondness he felt for the man he came to view as the son he never had. Bailey was his family, and the only member of it that he had left. The feeling was mutual—he was certain of this, but would that remain the case once the truth came to light?
…It wasn't possible. As much as he had always proven himself to possess a sense of loyalty like no other, how could anyone of his virtue remain devoted to someone who became so depraved?
The world was cruel and unforgiving; it did not take kindly to those who've committed a sin, regardless of the intent nor repentant feelings that came with it. Once that line was crossed, hopes for redemption and forgiveness were a futile pursuit. The only thing that would forever follow the tormented soul was punishment. Society, most of all, could never remember the good that once embodied those who they could only view as the scum of the earth; a common criminal.
It was the natural way of life. As always was the case, the lack of condemnation would otherwise be taken as condonation. If one was meant to take a side, they would gravitate toward the one that felt morally superior. Neutrality was never a valid answer, lest they make the mistake of feeling even a shred of pity for one that was labeled as an unforgivable monster.
Even Bailey, as pure as the heart he possessed, was bound to look upon his once-revered teacher with eyes of scorn. How could he not? He always believed Marcus could do no wrong, he looked to him for guidance, just as the parental role he had taken the mantle of would entail. It already could have been said that there were far better role models out there than him, but it would become painfully obvious when one learns the truth behind his work. Bailey would, rightfully, have no choice but to realize he was a horribly poor judge of character, at least in this instance.
Hence, for the sake of never coming face to face with this situation, Marcus never brought himself to tell Bailey any more than the necessities. He merely told him about when he concluded his work with the T-virus, as well as about him being able to make some interesting developments and discoveries upon his use of various animal test subjects.
Everything involving his work with humans was instead kept tightly under wraps; a secret that he regrettably would have no choice but to carry to his grave. All so that once his eyes shut for the final time, it could be with a peace in knowing that there was one person who stuck by his side to the end, no matter how far he might have been. That no matter what, he could leave this earth as an image of good to someone…
…But what if that wasn't true? What if…Bailey had lost his loyalty long ago? What if the words of kindness he spoke of had always been a veil to hide the malice concealed beneath the surface?
"…Impossible." He muttered as his eyes darted toward the message that still lingered on the glowing screen before him. "Of all the people—Bailey? No, no… He would never, he could never…" His frantic attempts at reassuring himself caused him to glare more intensely at the monitor, as if scrutinizing the words would reveal a new meaning hidden between the lines. "Unless he…he betrayed me…" His eyes shot open abruptly. "No, he couldn't have betrayed me, because…I'm the one who betrayed him, aren't I…?"
The notion didn't sound so ridiculous upon viewing the facts, knowing that so much of Bailey's life had already been wasted for his sake. He promised that it would never come to this; he promised to find a way to let Bailey leave that place and move on—whether that meant coming back to work at Marcus' side or not. He didn't wish for it to be, but it did turn into a lie, for he was certain that this lifetime would not permit him the ability to make a change of any significant value.
This was his betrayal; one that nearly anyone would not take lightly. An ordinary man in this place would surely hate Marcus with every fiber of his being, knowing he was forced into such a powerless position and could no longer even hope to save himself. And while Bailey had never been much of an ordinary man and he swore that he felt only the opposite of hatred for his teacher, it was always possible that he, like many others Marcus had known, was a liar.
If he already hated him, it was probably for the best. If Bailey were to learn the truth behind his experiments, he inevitably would have developed this revulsion sooner or later, regardless. If the entire world was meant to turn against him, he wished to have it done and over with, he supposed.
Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms and let out an exhausted groan. "…I really am getting paranoid." Forcing out a dry chuckle, he shook his head. "Spencer, I dare say you've broken me. You've stolen my disciple and caused me to doubt all that I have ever known about him." He sat forward and leaned his palm in his hand, his face growing solemn. "…This just may be your greatest crime yet."
He didn't genuinely believe that Bailey had been faking his true feelings for all of this time—he couldn't believe that. But even as that notion remained clear in his mind, his thoughts traveled back to the fact that he never believed Spencer would do it, either, and look where that point of view got him. It was true that you could never tell exactly what someone was thinking. For some, it had been all too easy to grin as brightly as the sun while holding a sharpened dagger behind their back.
…He was just so tired. Tired of all the games of lies and trickery, he found himself disgusted at the thought of associating with anyone. Always paranoid, always afraid… He never did change from his youth, did he? It always came back to this, the inner isolation from mankind that he felt long before his physical isolation. If he found himself doubting even the man he had known for fifteen years, a man that he came to think of as family, then…perhaps he wasn't cut out for anything but the perpetual solitude he had always been drawn to. All attempts to escape that way of life had only led back to the same path in the end.
On the off chance that Bailey did despise him and that his every word was meant to manipulate his mind even further than it already had been, then…Marcus wished to believe otherwise, regardless. Even if it had been a lie; even if Bailey was actively working against him for all of these years…he could only beg to live in that lie until his deathbed. To hear anything but would be a harsh awakening to the darkest of realities that he never wanted any part of.
…Still, he was happy to bestow all of the lingering faith he had left unto Bailey, for he couldn't bear to believe that a day would come where he learned it to be trust misplaced. And if it did, well…perhaps history could tell tales of what an exceptionally poor judge of character he was, if nothing else.
April 13th, 1982
With his arms sternly crossed, Marcus leaned against the cold wall of the vast room, his eyes fixed firmly on the train tracks that stretched from the room's center to a forest path far beyond the confines of the isolated building. The space was filled with such a dense silence that one could almost hear the echo of his soft breaths; that is, until a deep rumble began to form in the distance to drown out all that was heard before, steadily growing in volume as it approached. This sound of steel fiercely clanging against itself was followed by the sudden illumination of the dim station via the glow of a radiant spotlight.
Shielding his eyes with a hand, he looked away to evade the light's blinding rays. It soon began to die down, and in accordance, the heavy churning of machinery began to slow as the massive locomotive came to a gradual stop. Marcus returned his sight to the train that now rested opposite of him, awaiting the opening of a door from a few cars down roughly a minute later.
"Evening, Dr. Marcus." An older man in a black conductor's uniform stated with a quick wave as he entered the building and approached the doctor. "I've got four boxes for you, as per usual. You want me to take them to the main hall, right?"
"Yes, if it's not too much trouble…" He stated with a look of seriousness, only to then force a smile with a nod. "…Thank you, Arthur."
The conductor, Arthur, waved his hand dismissively as he let out a light laugh. "I'd like to say not a problem, but having to take those heavy boxes up the ladder does make it more difficult. Ever consider investing in a staircase instead? I think we both could agree that it'd be a whole lot easier."
Nodding once more, Marcus frowned. "It'd certainly be nice, although I'm afraid there isn't much room to work with. I'm sure most contractors wouldn't be too fond of doing such extensive work while standing above a pool of sewage, either."
"Ah yeah, you've got a point there." The man agreed with a sheepish grin. Then, just as he turned and was about to grab the boxes he left in the train car, he spun around with a sudden realization. "That's right, before I forget…" He mumbled and began to search through his jacket pocket, pulling out an envelope a few seconds later. "I've got this letter for you, too." He asserted as he handed it to Marcus, who took it promptly. "I was a little surprised, Umbrella doesn't often send you mail anymore, do they? Must be important, I would think."
"I suppose they wouldn't. They've had nothing to do with me ever since the facility was shut down." With a grimace, he let out a sigh. "I'm most surprised that they still permit me to make use of the Ecliptic Express for my personal deliveries, but I assume they just don't wish to kill me via empty refrigerator."
No, they have different ideas for how to go about that, clearly… He thought bitterly.
"Ha, you may be right." Chuckling, he continued, "I don't think it'd sit right in their conscience to know they starved a guy to death. Must be the least they could do, right?"
"…Yes." The impassive way in which he spoke must have come across as strange, since the conductor looked a bit uneasy and gave an awkward nod before turning and beginning his walk back to the train.
Marcus was glad to see him vanish from sight once he entered the car, seeing as he could hardly keep a straight face at the mention of Umbrella having a guilty conscience. If they were capable of having one, it certainly wasn't going to be in regard to whatever they did to him. Even beyond that, being concerned with morality wasn't something that would propel Umbrella to the global monopoly status that Spencer surely desired, so it wasn't hard to see that it was very low on the list of priorities.
…Actually, he was certain it wasn't even on the list.
"If death wasn't an intended part of Umbrella's agenda, then…" He began as he lifted his arm to take note of the envelope in his hand, looking toward the sender address with disgust. "…This letter wouldn't even exist."
Yes, Marcus already knew precisely what the contents of the envelope had been. This was a rare occasion where he actually played a part in something that Umbrella chose to do. And because it had been a few weeks since he first made the request, he figured they must have been sending some sort of notice soon…
Two Weeks Ago…
Years had passed since anything of interest of interest happened at the training facility. Marcus no longer had his leeches nor any of his former B.O.W.s in the works, so there were no experiments nor research left for him to do. Such a state of affairs was rather shameful for a scientist, but there also weren't many scientists stuck in a situation as precarious as his, so he would hear no complaints on the matter.
Much of his time was instead spent preparing the arrangements for his future puzzles. Unfortunately it hadn't been much of an easy task, but things were finally starting to come together as they were meant to. He determined what the most significant rooms in the facility were, with his basis being on the secrets they either contained or could contain. The ones with the most value and potential were the ones that he would give precedence to in the final puzzle-making process.
Given his blueprints, which were drawn and elaborated on by none other than himself—rather impressively, if he might add—he would need to compile some more props to complete the plans. He intended to make use of many of the items already present in the facility, but a few new additions were in order to fully bring his ideas to life in the best way imaginable.
As for hiring a contractor that could do the heavy labor for him, he was able to find one that he considered to be the best man for the job about a year ago. Having done quite a bit of research on his portfolio and work ethic, Marcus was able to discover that he even worked with George Trevor a few times in the past, which was an obvious boon in that he must have known a great deal of how Trevor's puzzles often worked. Given their unique and eccentric nature, he was sure that the man shouldn't have had any qualms with the characteristics of his own future puzzles.
Marcus wasted no time in requesting his services, and to his relief, the job was accepted immediately. Although he was told that the contractor had already been booked for several other jobs, so his job could only be added to the end of the queue. This was unfortunately a setback; he wished to fortify the building's security as soon as possible so that he could return to his research. But he was in no position to complain, he knew from the get-go that these things would take time.
He made the request early last year, and their estimate was that they would be ready for it sometime this year, likely around the summer or fall. He hoped their guess had been a precise one, he really couldn't bear to wait much longer than that. Especially since the construction work itself was bound to take quite a while; it'd probably be another few years before it would be finished…
Still, Marcus was both excited and nervous about what the future held. He couldn't wait to see his ideas come alive, and now it was finally set in stone. He was only nervous about if everything would turn out okay, along with the fact that he would need to work closely with the laborers. He already wasn't looking forward to the forced socialization that would come with the task, but he also needed to worry about if the secrets he sought to protect would end up exposed through the men's efforts of burying them. The latter was surely the bigger problem.
In the meantime, he chose to take a few matters into his own hands, small though they might have been. In order to introduce a meager bit of security to the building, he made the decision to have a few locks and even doors changed. Now, instead of the keys they were paired with from the onset of the facility's construction—the same keys that Umbrella had access to—he changed them to something a bit more…poetic.
Specifically, he replaced the doors that led to the kitchen and the assistant director's office with ones inscribed with a beautiful red, fire-adorned motif. Accordingly, he had a key made that resembled the symbol of the door, a lovely little trinket that he oh-so cleverly dubbed as the fire key.
These rooms were, at a glance, rather insignificant. When Umbrella decided to finally pay him a visit, they likely weren't intending to make the kitchen their first priority. This could have gone to his advantage, however, since he could hide something important in this room which would allow it to go completely overlooked by his adversaries. A simple bit of work lending its aid to an overall brilliant idea, it was great!
But, in addition…he wasn't ruling out the possibility that Umbrella could come for his food supply, so he didn't want them having access to his refrigerator.
Moving on… He wasn't sure what kind of information Davids kept in his office and on the computers in there, but he didn't want anyone going in that room, either. As assistant director, many of the materials would have pertained to the management of the school, so it couldn't have been of much value. Nonetheless, just in case anything did hold a relation to Marcus, it was best that no one else could set their eyes on it.
And thus, his choice for the fire doors was settled. Next on the agenda had been the door inscribed with a brilliant blue water motif. He decided to make use of the water key exclusively for one door, due to that one room's extreme significance.
The door led directly to an unimportant hallway, which obviously was not the reason for his desire to use a special key to secure it. Its true worth instead laid in the rooms that the corridor led into.
One room worth noting had been the surveillance room, equipped with monitors that had access to the cameras that were placed in nearly every location of the facility. Securing this room was an easy choice, seeing that the surveillance footage was meant for his eyes only. This room was necessary to keep watch over his territory, so he would not take kindly to Umbrella's lackeys attempting to take it over.
There were a few other rooms accessible through that initial hall, but they were rather meager in themselves. They were prime choices for future puzzle rooms, though, so securing them now would only serve as an extra layer of protection for whenever he could deliver unto them their true purpose. Nothing was done in vain; all that he did was meant to follow a very specific and logical rationale…
Well, nearly everything. The decision he made afterward was a bit more on the senseless side, particularly for him. The only thing that was certain was that the boredom stemming from his lack of research and the extensive waiting time for the contractors to be ready clearly played a large part in his decision, yet that didn't take much away from its pure absurdity. Now, as for what that bizarre idea had been…
…He decided to help Umbrella.
It all started because of a day when he just so happened to check his messages on the computer. He wasn't fond of doing this, he wasn't even fond of dealing with the computers at all. But again, it was to be stressed that he presently had nothing to do but read his life away as he awaited the passing of time. As such, he reluctantly took what he could get.
His inbox was generally filled to the brim with messages from his favorite pupil, but beyond that, he received a few from Umbrella occasionally. It was almost always tedious and mind-numbing corporate emails that he found some sense of humor in immediately sending to the spam folder, but this time it had been something surprisingly of interest.
For the first time in his life, his status within the company almost appeared to mean something. Depending on one's ranking, they were privier to matters that possessed a greater level of security. And since Marcus was one of the three founders—or perhaps it was a result of him being the director of the training facility, no matter how trivial that status was any other time—he did sometimes get emails based on what the other Umbrella labs were doing. Initially he was surprised that he had been granted this right, but the more he thought of it, the more it made perfect sense.
It wasn't about viewing him as a collaborative member of the company, allowing him access to the flow of research for the sake of creating an overall more cohesive and unified organization. It was just Spencer's sniveling attempt to rub in the fact that all of the other labs were hard at work inventing such wonderful things…while he was stuck in this blasted facility that hardly permitted him to do a thing, certainly not in a manner that could bring him a sincere sense of accomplishment. Otherwise, why would they not take away Marcus' access from that information? Spencer obviously didn't view him as a genuine threat to his work anymore, or else it surely would have been revoked long ago.
Regardless, he wouldn't let himself be bothered by their attempts to ruffle his feathers. He didn't care about what the other labs were doing, anyhow. Most of them were wasting their time on baseless garbage bound to lead to dead-ends, so why would he concern himself over that? Their work was laughable at best…
…And with that said, he had to admit that the Arklay lab was different. Their research echoed Marcus' past work in that they were often working on the creation of B.O.W.s as Spencer's agenda had always entailed, which came as no surprise. Spencer was always so desperate to steal his research, and the Arklay lab was his prime pick… It wasn't hard to imagine which facility that pilfered material had been sent to.
As for the point here, Marcus recently noticed a message that had been discussing a new bio-organic weapon that was in the works over there. It was dubbed as the "Hunter" and had only just begun its testing phases, so much work was still to be done before they could finalize its role as a combat-oriented B.O.W..
However, given that it was a rather sizable creature and the Arklay lab didn't have as much space to work with as they would have liked, along with having their hands full juggling several different projects at the same time, they were looking for volunteers from other labs to help with the testing procedures. And, well…Marcus volunteered.
He hated the idea of aiding Spencer in any way, he really and truly did. If asked, he would confidently assure anyone that his intentions had nothing to do with that accursed man. In truth, he was only doing it for himself. He began to feel so useless with his lack of research that he just wanted to do something, to contribute something to the world, even if it had been a weapon that the world was better off without. But, if he was able to grant himself some sort of extra worth, then…
Furthermore, that was the lab Birkin and Wesker had been sent to. They were young, but given their obvious intellectual superiority, it was possible that they might have played a part in the creation of the Hunter. That thought, admittedly, made him rather curious as to what exactly this creature was like. He already had an idea based off of the general description, and all B.O.W.s tended to share quite a few traits in common anyway. From his own work, they all seemed to possess extreme levels of aggression and hunger. And with a name like Hunter, he didn't doubt that these were any different.
So, he sent a message to the Arklay lab offering his facility to be used for the testing of the Hunters. They replied the next day, stating their thanks and that his request was both appreciated and accepted. They promised a complete letter would be sent to him in the coming weeks with further instructions, and that the details regarding the beginning of the trial period would be worked out upon his receival of it.
Once again, Marcus was left to play the waiting game…
…And that was how this situation came to be.
He prepared to tear open the envelope, but then took notice of Arthur having returned from the train with two large boxes in his arms. With unsteady steps, he walked toward Marcus, peeking out from behind the boxes with a nervous grin.
Marcus gave a light shake of his head, already aware of what was coming. "You need not ask—I'll get the door." Walking toward the heavy door, he opened it and leaned his shoulder against the edge, keeping it firmly in place. "I've left the hatch open, so I trust you should have no issues with taking those up?"
"Thank you kindly, Sir." He added with a grin as he walked through the door. "I've been doing this long enough, so I should be fine. Appreciate the concern, though." He nodded in affirmation and walked along the steel grating in the room, soon after disappearing behind the corner as the sound of boots clanging against the ladder rang out.
Marcus watched him leave, only to then return his gaze to the letter held firmly in his hands. With a solemn look, he tilted his head inquisitively. "I may as well take a look at it now. There's not much point in waiting…"
Carefully, he ran his long fingers beneath the flap until it had been completely torn from the envelope. Removing the letter, his eyes began to scan the information written within.
"Dr. James Marcus
We thank you for your interest in helping to study the newly established "Hunter" B.O.W.. Combat testing is presently in its early phases, so this is to be considered as a prototype. Our principle concern is to gauge the durability, aggression, and strength of this B.O.W.. We will be sending six samples, so gathering a sufficient quantity of data from the specimens should not be an issue. If you have any doubt as to how to ascertain these abilities, we have some suggestions.
Durability is simple. You may test their responses to things such as ammunition, blunt force, impalement, as well as natural elements such as fire and water. We suggest beginning with smaller tests to gain an overall greater pool of data before moving on to the more destructive methods. If the subject does perish at any point during these trials, please make certain to provide great detail as to the specific test that was conducted to cause this outcome.
Aggression, likewise, should pose no issues. Present them with any moving target and take notes on their response. Data based on their responses to motionless objects is also satisfactory, but significantly less of a priority.
Strength may be difficult to determine due to the risks posed from these B.O.W.s. Please, we must stress that you exercise the utmost caution when handling them. While our analysis is incomplete, it is clear that these specimens are extremely dangerous. To avoid causing any more risk to yourself than necessary, it is recommended that you leave all of the handling to the U.S.S. officers we will be sending to aid the delivery.
On that note, the U.S.S. officers will be instructed to aid you with these tests for whatever you may need. Do not feel hesitant to make use of them—they have received extensive training for these very matters. If you wish it, they may engage in combat with the B.O.W.s in order to assist your research. They should prove to be a great asset in collecting data on both the strength and durability of the Hunters.
To conclude, we once again thank you profusely for your assistance. Your help will be a boon to all of us here at Umbrella.
We will dispatch the samples in the coming weeks, if that is not a problem for you. If you have any further questions, please do not hesitate to contact us at any time.
Umbrella HQ."
He stared at the letter with a rather deadpan expression, only to eventually shake his head with a half-shrug. "Well, isn't this specific?" He finally uttered in amusement.
When the Arklay lab said they wanted to test the B.O.W. for combat usage, they certainly weren't kidding. Apparently, he was expected to torture the poor things just to collect the data. He supposed that was a logical way to obtain the information, but…he never did all of that for his own B.O.W.s. His methods were based more on containment and observation, never much for physical involvement.
Although he had to admit, it was much harder to do tests such as those with him working by himself, not to mention he didn't have much of a bioweapon testing room. Not one that was easily accessible within the confines of his lab, at least. There was, of course, the large room with the gate mechanisms in the facility—also known as the room that singlehandedly destroyed any lingering fondness he had for Spencer. But of course, he was unable to make use of that one for bioweapons while dealing with the facility's inhabitants.
…But, if Umbrella wanted a torture chamber, he'd give it to them. There was plenty of space within the training facility, and he could always clear out the dorm rooms, if needed. Now he just needed to figure out where to order some medieval torture devices. They weren't exactly his usual preference, but maybe he had a catalogue or two for that sort of thing somewhere…
"Hmph. These U.S.S. officers, though…" He finally muttered as he again looked to the letter's contents. "Sounds to me like they're less of Umbrella's security service and more of their expendable pawns…"
The implication within the letter, specifically surrounding the strength-based trials, seemed to be clearly pointing toward the soldiers dying for the purpose of gathering data. The other tasks could be accomplished easily enough by restraining the specimen and inflicting whatever harm they wanted upon it, but the only way to obtain the data for its strength was through the help of the officers. He was quite certain the sort of help they were talking about was not simply vocal encouragement. They said it themselves—the officers would engage in combat with the B.O.W. if he wished for it. More like Umbrella needed them to do it…
Perhaps he was simply past the point of caring, but it didn't really matter to him. He would probably rather them not die in the process; enough blood had been spilled in this facility as it was. But if Umbrella already expected them to die, there wasn't much to be done about that. Combat with living organisms very well might have been the best way to collect information about their strength, so it was probably an inevitability.
He only wondered if the officers knew about this, as well. They were the Umbrella Security Service, known also as the U.S.S., for whatever reason an "ethical and harmless" pharmaceutical company would need their own private army of bodyguards. Whatever the case, they were meant to defend Umbrella, but instead were being used as props in their bioweapon research. They couldn't have been aware of this when they signed up, right?
Then again, maybe they did know about it. They were, in essence, soldiers, putting all on the line for whatever their superiors told them. Just as war went, they were trained and instilled with the belief that they were simply one of the many; that it was necessary to give their life for the cause no matter what it might have been. It was a rather pitiful existence, living your life solely for the whims and demands of others, prepared to lose everything for them at any given time…
Still…he might not have been so different.
He gave his life to Umbrella, perhaps in a sense more literal than he would have hoped. Everything he had done, even if he justified it as being for his own purposes, it still had been to their benefit. This Hunter research was no different. He did it for the sake of his boredom and pride, yet it was also bound to please them, regardless of his actual intents. And, just like those soldiers…he would one day lose his life for the sake of the company's godforsaken "greater good."
…Until then, he would endure. They very well wouldn't hope to kill him while he was doing their work for them, so he should have been fine for the meanwhile. And this little endeavor should, at the least, kill enough time to bring him closer to his true goal of securing the facility's safety.
As he placed the letter back into its envelope, Arthur suddenly emerged behind him.
"Hey, you all right there, Dr. Marcus?" He came to a slow stop, looking toward him with concern.
"Hm?" He mumbled in surprise, not having expected the man's presence so soon. "Oh…yes, I'm fine." Still a bit disoriented, he pressed on. "Is…is something the matter?"
"No, you just looked like you were off in your own world for a while there." He chuckled and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I just got done taking all of the boxes up, so I'll be going now… Well, unless you need anything else done while I'm here?"
Marcus had been so lost in his thoughts regarding the letter that he truthfully hadn't even seen the man pass him after the initial time. Apparently, he was a bit more preoccupied than he had anticipated…
"Thank you, but that's all right." He gave a light smile, posing a clear contrast to the weariness written over the rest of his face. "I do believe I'll be seeing you again soon, however." He looked to the envelope in his hands one last time before shoving it into his pocket.
"…It would seem I'm going to be quite busy from now on."