Chapter 2: The Modest Proposal
July 29, 1998
Rebecca used to love going into the station with her dad and inspecting the one-way mirror. The whole time they were there, she would dart from the interrogation room to the observation room, amazed at the mirror's effect. Now, sitting in the R.P.D.'s interrogation room, Rebecca could hardly bear to look into it.
The room was small, especially when comparing it to the rest of the police department. A single fluorescent light hung in the center of the ceiling. Only a few pieces of furniture were in the room: a metal table several chairs and a bookcase opposite the door.
It reminded Rebecca too much of that cell back at the Spencer estate.
That might have been the thing to bring on a panic attack if the others hadn't been there. Chris paced the length of the room, his face set in a firm expression. Barry sat at the end of the table, his eyes looking dark and heavy, probably from the painkillers for his broken ribs. Brad Vickers sat on the opposite end of the table. His brown hair was fashioned into a tight crew cut and he wore a red t-shirt in place of his uniform yellow tactical vest and fatigues.
Jill stood beside the door, wearing a blue tank top and black shorts. The edge of white bandages peeked out of the hem of her shorts—a wound that she would tell Rebecca was caused by "one big ass snake." Under another context, Jill's brash description would have made Rebecca smile, as childish as it was. But she knew that 'big ass snake.' It had been about as round as a tree trunk and nearly as long. It would have gotten her too had it not been for Richard…
"Are you alright, Rebecca?"
Rebecca glanced over to find Jill standing beside her. A look of worry etched across her face, not unlike the "big sibling" look the guys on Bravo team used to give her. She used to hate it, but now she felt every bit that little sister.
"Yeah," Rebecca answered. "Just thinking…what do you think Irons wants to talk to us about?" The creases in Jill's brow only deepened.
The phone call had come out of nowhere. After days of being put off and ignored—after being labeled druggies and mentally unstable—Irons called all of them personally.
"Be at the station by 0900," he told Rebecca before hanging up abruptly. A spark of hope ignited within Rebecca. True, Irons wasn't particularly altruistic. During her initial interview, she felt the chief's gaze sweep her up and down, as tangible as a slug crawling along her skin. But, this was still his police force, right? Maybe Irons was actually going to help them validate their story and bring Umbrella to justice.
The notion changed as soon as she entered the R.P.D. Instead of being escorted up the entrance stairwell toward Iron's office, the officer (Gibbins, Rebecca through it was, though only knew him from the occasional run-ins in the hall) led her down the east corridor, through the conference room, and into the interrogation room. And it was there they waited like criminals.
"Do you think this will ever end?" Rebecca asked, glancing over to Jill. Jill looked back at Rebecca, her eyes glassy with dark circles underneath. She hadn't been sleeping either, Rebecca realized. Jill was probably still having the same nightmares Rebecca had been having—those endless corridors, the stink of rot pervading the air, those moans drafting throughout the halls…
They had all escaped the Spencer mansion, but Rebecca wondered if any of them truly left.
"I don't know," Jill finally replied. "I just don't know."
The room's door opened. Everyone froze and turned their attention to their new arrival. The knot in Rebecca's chest tightened.
It wasn't Chief Brian Irons who entered.
Instead, a man in his early forties walked across the threshold. He wore a finely tailored black suit and a pair of rectangular glasses that framed his angular face. His brown hair was neatly cut and parted. The only thing the man carried was a few thick manila folders. Rebecca thought the man was a lawyer at first, but then he turned and she spotted the white and silver Umbrella pin on his lapel.
"Please," the man said, gesturing toward the metal table. No one moved for a few moments, watching the man with narrowed eyes. Finally, one by one, they grabbed a chair and pulled it to the side of the mirror. The man took the seat opposite them, placing his briefcase on the table in front of him.
"Good Morning," the man said, his voice eerily calm. "I see that you are all tired and still mending, so I will keep this as quick as possible. My name is Stephen Atkins. I'm—"
"The CEO of Umbrella," Jill finished.
Atkins smirked. The light caught his glasses so that his blue eyes were hidden behind a visor of white.
"Yes," he replied softly. Rebecca realized what it was about Atkin's voice that was so off-putting—it was like the low hiss of a snake before it strikes. "The Umbrella Cooperation wants to show their deep condolences for your fallen comrades and for the ordeal you faced."
"I bet you do," Chris replied, his voice coming out in a growl.
"To show our sympathies," Atkins continued. He opened his briefcase and withdrew an envelope. They all watched Atkins cautiously as he slid out five pieces of paper and placed one in front of each of them. "We wish to help you with any trauma you might have acquired."
Rebecca looked down at her own. It was a check made out to a 'Rebecca A. Chambers' for the amount of $500,000. Rebecca kept staring at the check. She had never seen that much money in her life.
"Why?" Rebecca asked.
"It's hush money," Chris spat. "So, we won't let it slip what they've been doing. Well, you can take this," Chris snatched up the check and ripped it in two. "And shove it right up your ass."
Chris tossed the two halves across the table, where they came to a rest in front of Atkins. Atkins didn't stir or so much as change his expression. A moment's pause passed between the S.T.A.R.S. and Atkins. Atkins' smirk only widened and he pressed his glasses up with his pointer finger.
"You are well within your right to deny the money," Atkins replied, his voice soothing and serpentine. "Though, it would be in your best interest to not discuss your mission in Arklay Forest."
"I bet," Chris replied, flaring at Atkins. Atkins only shifted in his seat to face Chris, his face blank. "Something to keep our mouths shut until you come for us and make us one of your experiments. I read what you sick fucks did to Lisa Trevor and her family…and countless others."
What they were going to do to Billy, Rebecca thought, remembering Billy looking down at the twisted remains of a failed experiment with a dog tag around her throat. She hadn't thought of the situation like that before, but now that Chris has said it, she had no doubt that's what they would do. Just wait until the press dies down around them when no one was watching. Rebecca felt her breakfast threaten to come up.
Atkins just shifted in his seat so that he looked at Chris directly. Rebecca gripped her knee tightly.
"Mr. Redfield, is it?" Atkins asked. Chris didn't reply but his eyes narrowed at the mention of his name.
"You were in the air force, yes?" Atkins continued. His eyes lit up with some demented glee that made Rebecca's stomach churn. "Discharged."
A moment of tense silence permeated the room. The other four S.T.A.R.S. watched the scene unfold, their tongues seemingly plastered to the roof of their mouths.
"Yeah?" Chris replied.
"And why was that?" Atkins replied. The smile in his eyes spread to his mouth as one corner arched upward gently. Chris didn't respond, but Rebecca could see a vein in his forehead throb. It was like waiting for a bomb to explode.
"Tell me, Mr. Redfield," Atkins pressed on. "Was it worth it?"
"Shut up," Chris replied, his voice eerily calm.
"It must have been. I've read the reports. About them finding you and your partner in the early house. About how the moaning gave you away," Atkins continued. Chris's face was a deep crimson and his face was hard and contorted. "To be frank, I'm surprised. Looking at you, I wouldn't picture you as the receiver."
The sound of the chair skidding back sounded like an explosion. Barry grabbed Chris just as he was about to climb over the table, hands outstretched and reaching for Atkin's throat. Chris struggled in Barry's grip, his eyes wild, but he couldn't escape Barry's iron hands. Jill leaped from her seat, trying to soothe Chris. Brad and Rebecca stayed seated, shocked by the scene playing out before them.
"Chris!" Barry grunted, shaking him. Chris snapped his eyes onto Barry, his expression daring anyone to try and stop him. When Barry spoke again, it was in a lower, calmer voice. "Get it together, Chris. This is what he wants."
"Barry Burton," Atkins said. The sound of his name coming out of Atkin's mouth was enough to make Barry turn his attention.
"You have a lovely family, do you not? Two daughters, a wife. Something to protect."
Barry's face tightened and his lips became a thin grimace partially hidden within his beard.
"Jill Valentine," Atkins said, turning toward her in an almost robotic fashion. Jill stiffened but her face remained passive. "In and out of juvenile correctional facilities throughout your childhood. Petty theft, breaking and entering."
Atkins turned to Brad.
"Brad Vickers, the S.T.A.R.S. pilot who ran at the first sign of danger, leaving nearly half your team to die." Brad's face drained of all color, reminding Rebecca uncomfortably of the walking corpses that had shuffled around the Umbrella facilities. "Rebecca Chambers."
Rebecca gasped and she felt a cool chill run through her.
"It was through your negligence that the mass murderer, Billy Coen, escaped."
"I…" Rebecca replied. She could have sworn she felt her teammates' gazes upon her, but when she checked, they were all glaring at Atkins. It was then she realized why Atkins was saying all of this—to sow seeds of doubt. Breaking us apart. Rebecca cleared her throat. When she spoke again, her voice was stronger.
"He died," she replied, fighting the quiver trying to creep into her voice. "He was killed by the things Umbrella created."
"Is that so?" Atkins replied. Rebecca remained silent. The air felt thick with tension and the silence felt oppressive. Rebecca waited for someone to speak or for the interrogation room door to open. Yet nothing happened and all Rebecca do was shift uncomfortably in her seat.
"You all have something to hide. Something to protect," Atkins finally said. "Umbrella is offering you a clean slate—funds to birth a new future. Don't be burdened with the past. Leave what happened in the Arklay Forest behind."
Again, an unbearable silence befell the room. Just as Rebecca was about to steel herself for the long silence ahead, Brad spoke:
"I…I'll take it."
Everyone turned toward the ex-S.T.A.R.S. pilot. Chris glared at him with a deep grimace, Jill looked on with an air of sadness and disappointment, and Barry watched him with a stoic expression. Rebecca wasn't sure what her own reaction was. Yes, she felt her teammates' resentment toward Brad—first for abandoning them, now for crumpling before this bastard from Umbrella. That resentment pulsed lightly like a flickering flame within her chest, and yet she couldn't entirely blame Brad. After spending two consecutive nights in that nightmare, Rebecca's first instinct when she returned to Raccoon was to run. Run from Umbrella, their monsters, the engineered virus that made it all possible. It took everything in her to keep from packing her car and never looking back. Yet, she stayed. They had to stay and tell their story. Let the world know what Umbrella was up to. But was all of that worth it if the world didn't want to listen?
Brad took the check from the table, folded it, and tucked the piece of paper into his pocket. Barry simply pushed his back toward Atkins, Jill looked at hers as though it were something poisonous, and Rebecca merely said, "I don't want it."
Chris glared at Atkins with such intensity that Rebecca was surprised the man's face didn't melt off. Atkins shrugged and took the checks off the table and placed them back into his folder.
"Umbrella understands how traumatic the events you have experienced may have been," he replied. "That you may not be thinking clearly at the moment. Feel free to call me if any of you change your mind."
With that, Atkins reached into his blazer, withdrew a business card, and placed it in the middle of the table. Then, the man grabbed his briefcase and left the interrogation room.
Chris was the first to stomp out of the room. Images of Chris tracking down the Umbrella drone and beating him to a pulp in the R.P.D. atrium filled Rebecca's mind, causing her to jump up and follow. It took a minute of chasing him through the first-floor corridor and up a set of stairs. The stairs continued up to the third floor and storage rooms to her right. A single door stood to the left—the door to Chief Iron's office while the corridor continued on.
Chris stood at the water cooler in the corner, slowly sipping from the coned paper cup in his hand. His face was still red and stoic, and he didn't bother looking up as Rebecca approached.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey," he replied, his voice tight.
"Don't let that asshole get under your skin."
Chris drained the rest of his cup, crushed it in his hand, and tossed the crumpled cone into the trash basket beside the cooler.
"It's bullshit," he said. Some of the tension had faded from his voice, but there was still a hard edge to it. "After everything we went through…then this…"
Rebecca nodded. When she had seen that article in the Raccoon City Times saying the surviving S.T.A.R.S. 'had been on narcotics' she had been mad enough to cry. Now, without a job or credibility, that urge to pack up and leave came back in full force.
Chris glared over Rebecca's shoulder, his eyes red. Now that she stood so close, she realized a faint scent of alcohol clung to his breath. Rebecca followed his gaze to see two officers across from them.
One was Janet Nava, a short Hispanic woman from forensics. The other was Elran, an officer not much younger than Chris. He leaned against the wall, talking to Nava in a low voice and glancing toward them every few seconds. Now that she was listening, Rebecca thought she heard Elran say something that sounded like "all crackheads" in a hushed voice, pushing a lock of his golden hair back. Before Rebecca could react, Chris darted forward.
Elran watched Chris approach with wide eyes—an expression of guilt across his face. Chris pushed Elran, causing the officer to slam into the wall. Rebecca felt as though her joints had locked.
"What the fuck, Redfield," Elran retorted and gave a healthy shove back. Chris deflected Elran's arm and swung. His fist connected with Elran's jaw.
"Chris, no!" Jill's voice cried from the stairwell. Jill and Barry raced forward prying Chris from the scuffle that erupted within seconds. Rebecca held her breath unable to move. Chris fought against Jill and Barry, clawing back toward the officer—
"Redfield!"
Chris turned toward the source of the voice. Standing in the doorway to his office was Chief Irons. His pudgy face was nearly as red as Chris's. He wore a waistcoat that looked far too small for him, with a red tie around his chubby neck.
"My office! Now!"
Irons disappeared back into his office, the door remaining open. Chris's shoulders lowered and that crazed look evaporated from his eyes. Chris kept his head up as he broke from his teammates' grasps and entered Iron's office, shutting the door behind him.