~ Wilted ~

One Man's Poison

November 1997, Arkly Lab, My Room, Arkly Mountains, Outskirts of Raccoon City

"Where's Wesker?"

Beside me the pale thin man I had come to know as Sife, sniffs indifferently.

"Wesker has another engagement. I'm afraid you'll have to continue to make do with me."

I nod, but I find his answer irritatingly lacking. I had been Arkly for almost a week now, and I had yet to see Wesker since the night of my arrival. Since which, I had been forced to endure the company of a man who looked as though it had been many years since he had slept, and even more since he had seen daylight. Not that I was one to judge, I rarely ventured outside, but at least I didn't have a habit of staring at people like I was trying to silently devour them. I'd caught Sife watching me several times now, and I really didn't care for it. The man made my skin crawl.

"What does he do when he's not here?" I press, ignoring the way Sife's hand lingers on my arm as he finishes taking another blood sample. "Is there another lab?"

"He works for Umbrella doing something in the city. That's all I know, and all you need to know." He adds pointedly, checking thoroughly over my charts. "The concoction you were administered yesterday, how did it make you feel? Any issues?"

I frown, remembering the syringe filled with the strange coloured fluid. "I don't know. I guess I felt more tired than usual last night, but I was fine this morning. Why, what was it?"

He writes something down. "Nothing for you to worry about." And he checks something on a different page. "When did you last have a physical exam?"

I look at him, and it's hard not to miss that suddenly eager glint in his eyes. I swallow stiffly. "Not that long ago." I lie. "Maybe September?"

Starchy usually did my physicals, but it wasn't necessary to do them all that often, my body doesn't alter. Each exam would simply confirm the same as the one months before. Same numbers, same lumps and bumps, same girl.

Sife hums lowly, but it's obvious he doesn't care.

"There's nothing about one in your notes, and these go back to July." He says, as if that settles any debate I might have, and turning thoughtfully, he lightly places the clipboard down on the desk beside him.

"They never say anything different." I press, warily getting up from my bed.

"Still," He continues, and the glee is clear now. "We should have something for our own records."

I look at him, and realise my mouths gone dry. On one hand I can barely believe he's daring to do this, of all the monstrosities I had suffered, this was not one of them, and the other's were all seen as necessary evils in the name of science. This was something else. This was one man's disgusting need to touch something he couldn't have, and I can feel my face betraying my revulsion.

I push my chin out. "Perhaps you should check with my Grandfather that it is a necessity first. He's not paying you to waste his time, you know."

The attempt is cheap, even I realise that, but I spot a shiver of hesitation cross his pointed profile, and l silently beg that it is enough.

"Lord Spencer only speaks with the head of the facility and Wesker." He answers, and I do not miss the bitterness. "Besides," he continues, more to himself. "I don't believe he will object to me being thorough, or that he'd appreciate being bothered by such trivial matters." Sife places his Stethoscope into his ears, and fleetingly licks his lips. "Strip down to your undergarments, please, Miss Spencer, and we can get this over with."

I glare. How dare he act as though he's doing me a kindness. How dare he. "No."

He sighs. "Miss Spencer…"

"I said, no."

"Fine." He answers softly, beetle-like eyes darting nervously back and forth. "I'll help you."

To my horror he makes to grab for me, and I instinctively jump for the door, forgetting absently that I need his key card to open it. He lunges for me again and I duck under his arm, grabbing what looks to be another syringe filled with the same concoction I had yesterday. Sife sees it in my hand, and freezes.

"Give me that now, please." He asks gently, tentatively reaching out his hand.

The rage inside me builds.

"Stay away from me, you pathetic little man!" I spit, shoving the needle out threateningly towards him.

He looks at it fearfully, raising his arms to show he means no harm. "Lets just all calm down, shall we? I think you're confused about my intentions, and I understand that. I know your previous handler was a woman, but I promise you –"

"I am not confused!" I cry, my anger bubbling eagerly to the surface, happy to pour over. "I may look like a naive girl, Doctor, but I am thirty years old! And despite my rather sheltered upbringing, I know a pig when I see it. Now get out of my room!"

I thrash the syringe pointedly through the air, and he backs up instinctively toward the door.

"Okay, okay." He nods quickly, all previous lecherous thoughts clearly forgotten. He looks at my hand, and I notice his lip quiver. "But I'm going to need you to give me that first."

"No." I say, taking a confident step forward. "You are going to leave first."

He shakes his head, almost balefully. "Miss Spencer, I can't do that. Now, please, just give me the needle."

"No."

"Miss Spencer…"

"I said no."

He squares his jaw, attempts to look authourative. "Look, if you don't give it to me, Miss Spencer, then I'm going to have to take it from you. And we both know that you aren't going to like that, are you, so just give it to me, and we can – "

Despite everything, I laugh, watching the beads of sweat fall rapidly down his forehead. What was I holding in my grasp to incite such emotion?

"Why are you so scared of this?" I ask, observing him for a reaction. "What the hell is in it? Poison?"

He nods, swallowing hard. "It might as well be, my dear. Now, please…"

I narrow my eyes, but before I can reply, my rather large and ambiguous neighbour excites a loud and venomous cry. Sife uses the distraction to his perceived advantage, and makes a grab for my hand. Unfortunately for him, my reflexes are just that bit quicker, and in a rather unplanned, but spiteful turn of events, I plunge the syringe deep into the soft tissue of his throat and inject.

He screams, and staggering back from me, claws at the needle hanging in his neck. "What have you done!? You stupid bitch! What have you fucking done!?"

The empty syringe clangs loudly to the floor, and he scrambles desperately to get away, tumbling chaotically through my now open doorway.

"Help me!" He pleads beseechingly to his colleagues, a couple of which have stopped in the corridor outside, no doubt drawn over by the commotion. "You have to help me! She's fucking injected me with it! You have to help!"

The scientists immediately start running around in a blind panic, and I watch the hysteria for as long as I can, rooted to the spot, until some unknown face appears, and fearfully slams the door to my room shut.

The last thing I hear is a group of desperate sounding white coats crowding around a now crying Dr. Sife, and my interest peaks even further.

I think back to the day before, and instinctively touch my arm. "What the hell did they put in me?"

AN*

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Stay safe!