~ Wilted ~

Behind the Glass

June 1997, Umbrella Lab, 25 miles outside Raccoon City – Subterranean:

My room is flooded with light. Every corner lit up tellingly like the famous fourth of July. Their florescent glow annoys me. I can hear the buzzing they emit even over the repetitive beeping of screens, and the insistent note taking of the lab coats that watch me.

I had hoped my Grandfather's order to move me from the older labs in Europe would mean something of an upgrade, but apparently even in the New World a clinical setting hardly differed – it simply held a shiny newer veneer.

"Rose."

I look towards the glass that replaces a wall. 'Starchy', as I call her; one of Umbrella's many so called scientists, is looking at me. I look away, and her voice comes back once again through the intercom.

"Rose, there is someone here to see you. Some Doctors that would like to run some tests. May I admit them?"

I can't stop the harsh scoff that tears from my throat, the ridiculousness of the sentence amuses me. This time I hold her gaze. "Would it matter if I said no?"

She smiles, not unkindly, but in away that acknowledges the unspoken truth between us. No, you don't have a choice, but isn't it nicer this way? Isn't it better?

It made me want to rip her straight-backed spine in two.

"I'll buzz them through." She says smugly, swiping her I.D card beside a door on the far side. She glances over her shoulder. "Try to be nice."

I smile as darkly as I can, obstinance having always been my one defence in these places. I had others, of course, but the 'Coats' were always careful to keep them well in check. Umbrella had never been one to fight fair.

After all, my Grandfather's company was the precise embodiment of his one defining quality: utterly ruthless.

"Rose."

Starchy is talking again, but I do not look up, instead I reach for my bookshelf, pulling a heavy leather bound volume from the highest corner. I register half of what she is saying…

"This is Dr. Birkin and Dr. Wesker. They would like to speak with you."

I stroke my hand slowly across the cover. A golden celestial image is inscribed on the front, and I continue to ignore.

An impatient tut echoes from Starchy. "Of course, if you would prefer, this conversation can always be done under theatre conditions?"

An annoyed sigh escapes me. The threat finally surfaces. Subserve, or have your knee bent. As proud as I was, I wasn't idiotic enough to spite myself for it. I didn't fancy being subdued by any unknown drug concoction, while strangers poked around inside my head and stole from my body.

No more than I already had to, anyway.

I slam the book loudly against a nearby table. Pride was a sin after all, and some protest was due.

Turning to the new faces on the other side of the glass, I smile as politely as I can, my early good breeding taking over automatically. "Hello Doctors." I hear myself say softly, my gaze narrowing thoughtfully on the new faces.

Two men, perhaps mid-thirties, stand before me. One bedraggled, and looking as though he hadn't slept a good night's sleep in many months, the dark circles underneath his eyes attesting loudly to the fact. The other – Wesker – opposed him in almost every way. He was so well put together, from his slicked back hair to the stoic way he held himself, that for a moment I found myself wondering if he was perhaps real at all.

But then he spoke, and I had to let go of the childish fantasy.

"Hello, Rose." He says, a small smile suddenly lifting the corners of his lips. "How are you today?"

"My name is Rosalie Spencer." I correct him, eager to balance the scales of power. "Rose is reserved for friends; should I ever be allowed any, and Starchy as she refuses to acknowledge any proper etiquette." The female lab coat bristles at the corner of my eye, and I grin, allowing an edge to seep into my tone. "But as you are neither a friend, nor a fading female Virologist, I would prefer you address me as Miss Spencer."

Wesker hesitates, and I think I detect a hint of amusement, before slowly he inclines his head. "As you wish."

"Wonderful." I reply darkly, having really no wish to exchange pleasantries. "Now that's over, perhaps we should move along. I do have a busy day of activities planned."

My sarcasm is unbridled and he holds my eye, or at least I think he does, it's hard to tell with the dark shades that obscure his vision, but before he can reply to my witty retort, his partner interrupts.

"She has no mutations." Birkin remarks abruptly, his gaze roaming hawkishly over me. He turns to Starchy. "How can that be?"

"Rose was exposed to the Progenitor Virus when she was still In-Vitro. Her cells and DNA adapted to it as she grew." She tells him proudly, as if I was in fact a concoction of her own womb.

I fight to hide my disgust.

"The reaction is quite rare." She continues, as if discussing the weather, and not my insidious creation. "Dr. Spencer has tried to repeat the experiment many times over the years, but has unfortunately been unsuccessful. This is why the work we do here is so important. Rose is learning to understand this. Isn't that right, Rose?"

She looks at me expectantly, speaking to me like I am a child, and I believe she genuinely hopes for a productive reply.

How naive.

"Perhaps Dr. Birkin speaks out of disappointment." I say sardonically, swiping away the stray dark strands that have fallen passed my shoulders. "Perhaps he came here hoping to find monsters." And I look, observing the two men properly for the first time, and I see it, the thirst for knowledge, to understand power, and I lightly tilt my head. "Or are you already Fathers to your own, and come here looking for puzzle pieces?"

Wesker folds his arms across his chest. "I see your file was not wrong when it stated your intelligence, Miss Spencer."

I nod. "It should also state that I do not respond to flattery, Doctor. So what exactly is it that you're here for?"

Wesker glances at his partner, before casually sliding both hands into the pockets of his lab coat. He looks at me. "Dr. Birkin and I have been working with the Progenitor Virus for many years now. We are at the final stages of a new creation, we need only to stabilise it. When we informed your Grandfather of this, he informed us of your existence, and ordered us here to retrieve any information or samples that could be helpful to our own research."

I nod. "And what has been the subject of your research?"

"A cure for Ebola."

I scoff. "Noble." And then I shrug. "Too noble for Umbrella. Try again."

Wesker laughs. "You misunderstand me. A cure was the foundation of our research, Miss Spencer, I have no need to lie to you."

It was my turn to laugh. "Was, clearly being the operative word here. So what is it now?"

"Would you like to guess?"

I didn't even need to think. If my Grandfather had sent them to me, it could only mean one thing. Something involving the military.

I shake my head despondently. "I see. So you have created Monsters. I don't suppose either of you are fan's of Mary Shelley? Frankenstein might be something of an enlightening read to the pair of you. Spoiler; it doesn't end well for the scientist."

Birkin actually has the audacity to look outraged. "Our work is more than that, Miss Spencer! Your very existence is proof of what can be achieved! Imagine a world of genetically superior humans, like yourself. No more sickness or ageing physical decline, no more death!"

"Imagine." I reply softly, and there is no mistaking the quiet anger in my voice. I move forward until there is barely a hair's breadth between me and the glass, and I stop just short of it, catching the warning hum of the electrical current that runs through. It wouldn't kill me, but I remember from experience how much it would hurt. I sneer at the now silent doctor. "I can see why my Grandfather shows you some favour. Your ambition clearly rivals his own, but don't be fooled. You're no more a god than he is, little man."

I glare darkly at both Birkin and Wesker, the latter of which chooses to remain silent, and turn slowly to sit back at the end of my cot. "You came here to do a job, I suggest you get on with it."

"As you wish, Miss Spencer." Wesker replies, when it becomes apparent that his partner has no further wish for words. He turns to Starchy. "I want all files pertaining to blood work, and access to any samples you have kept. We will be taking our own, but I would like to make time comparisons."

Starchy gives stiff nod. "As you wish. But as I've told you before, and as is in her file, Rose has not changed on a molecular level since she was twenty years old. Anything new you collect will simply mirror the results from ten years ago. She – "

"Regardless," Wesker interrupts. "We will be taking our own samples back to Arklay. As we cannot move Miss Spencer to our own lab, it will be a case of back and fourth-ing between myself and Dr. Birkin. Ongoing samples will need to be taken as our specimens evolve. I trust that will not be an issue?"

From the corner of my eye it looks as though Starchy wishes to argue, but her resolve is somehow resolute.

"Dr. Spencer has ordered us to allow you full access." She says instead, neither confirming or denying her objections.

Wesker, seemingly satisfied, nods and turns back to me. "Then we shall begin."

R&R!

Had this idea for a while. Feedback is greatly appreciated if you can. Take care, dear hearts x