Summary: Oswell E. Spencer opens the Paris laboratory. William Birkin and Albert Wesker develop Umbrella Pharmaceuticals' first functional B.O.W.
I
Oswell cleared his throat. A moment before he began his speech, he paused to survey the crowd gathered on the Champs Elysées. The best of French and European society had gathered for the inauguration of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals' first French laboratory. The enthusiasm was reflected in the faces of those present, as well as in Oswell's proud half-smile.
Thatcher had won the election. Marcus had resumed research into the T-virus after his plan with the test subjects had worked. He had received word from Arklay's lab: the first functional infected. Umbrella had soared on the stock market. Government contracts for B. were pouring in. He had come to an agreement with Alexander to define a pragmatic perspective on the company's direction.
Everything was flowing and he was exultant. The only thing he regretted was that he had taken the initiative to start a pharmaceutical company in his forties.
But he had no regrets. Absolutely nothing.
II
The infected banged his cadaverous head against the glass. Albert laughed because he found the movement funny. From the force of the impact, a chunk of his temple was dislodged and left hanging by a thin strip of hair-encrusted skin. William bit his lip nervously, worried about their continued streak of success. They had succeeded in producing their first functional biological weapon using the Alpha strain of the T-virus. An unprecedented success that earned him a handwritten letter of congratulations signed by Oswell E. Spencer. In the letter, Spencer attested that William could boast of being, for now, the best researcher ever hired by Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, and no offence to his mentor, James Marcus.
Spencer's heartfelt words affected the young man in the sense that they multiplied his dedication to research. He had doubled his overtime and Albert no longer even bothered to tell him about breaks and the end of the day. For William there was hardly any distinction between the beginning and the end because every day was the same. He didn't even bother to send postcards to his parents as a minimal gesture of co-responsibility until he came of age.
He didn't care.
Albert threw a ball of paper in his face.
"William."
"What?"
"Press the button."
William pressed the button. A torrent of fire scorched the infected.
"Next," said Albert lightly.