Chapter Text
It would have been nice to know the time, but you refused to move away from the microscope. Your breathing is slow, and your eyelids have grown so heavy to the point where you can barely even see through your own eyelashes. It must have been hours past midnight. Constant yawning made it even harder to keep focus. On top of that, your body is sore from sitting on the hard metal stool all day. All you had to do was pack it up for a few hours and walk ten minutes down to your dormitory for some much needed rest, but you decided against that. You needed to assure that everything was as it seemed before you said a word about it.
Because this could make it all worth something.
Your eyes shoot back open and a sleepy smirk slips away from you as you keep working at the microscope.
It was a cell. You’ve seen thousands upon thousands of them - but this cell was different. It was sampled from a previous test subject who you felt had been majorly overlooked. Indeed, that man was quickly forgotten in favor of another who ‘held major promise’ but turned out to be, to no surprise, a complete dead end. So many human subjects have been a dead end - and you’ve only ever heard of one woman who didn’t immediately keel over and die.
But something within this one caused the other host subjects to virtually lack the need for constant sustenance in which the accelerated cell regeneration of the T-Virus typically demanded.
All it needed was a willing ear and a field test to prove that it could work for any other B.O.W, and in an ideal world - you’d be part of that inner circle, fully involved and supervising over the entire process.
What a dream.
“How could they have overlooked this so easily?” you whisper under your breath.
You start to hum a song to keep yourself awake, but it doesn’t help much. Your mind circles back. It was baffling that the other select few virologists on the floor hadn’t discovered such a hypothesis before you. Three other scientists, all studying the cells of both past and present subjects, and not one had spotted the difference in this particular case when it was laughing, dancing, basically waving a bright red flag right in their faces. You hoped they hadn’t noticed it at all, though, because if someone else was also waiting for their moment? It’d destroy you.
It’d destroy everything you’ve been working for.
An ache of guilt flits through your body as you look over the man’s file, staring at the little black and white photograph of him that was paperclipped to the top. What happened to him couldn’t have been good, but you had no hand in that part. Virology was your career. Your livelihood. You prized nothing more than being a virologist - an accomplished virologist who graduated at the top of their class at that. This just so happened to be where you ended up. It was the path that had found you. After all the work you’ve done, you felt that you deserved to have the praise and the good reputation that follows. This discovery was that.
Back to the microscope.
The moral dilemma of ambition and scientific advancement versus human rights and the overall legality of it was something you tried not to think about. You have bills, too. Life expenses. Umbrella happens to be the ones who pay for them. Ten minutes pass by, and you struggle to, but eventually you manage to finally peel yourself away from your work and give your eyes a long, hard, sleepy rub. It felt so good you almost didn’t stop. The bright white stars in your eyes formed into the face of the man in the photograph - the man who was once alive - for a brief flash.
Ignoring the gnawing guilt, you open them up and pull back in immediately.
Something had caused this B.O.W to be different. Easier to control. Less resources would be used up if you could just harness whatever it was. Maybe it was a certain gene in his DNA that you’d skipped over? A mutation that was already there? You couldn’t know with your current equipment - or permissions. Someone else needed to hear about this and give you the green light. The Chief Researcher would love to hear about this, you think. Umbrella would love to hear about this.
If you could only propose the idea to someone right now and get started on testing that cell in the proper environment.
You get up and reach over to open the lowest drawer on a steel filing cabinet, hoping to find a very specific folder filled to the brim with pages you’d put together months ago in the hope that you would be able to update it and then present the newest information when the time was right, making sure that -
You stop, your mind going silent when the door opens out of nowhere.
“Doctor,” greets one of the men who for sure worked above you - you see him in the halls, but he’s only ever spoken to you three or four times in the two years you’ve been here. Once was in line in the cafeteria. He spoke to you about his disdain for expired fruit. Your eyes went between him and the other one who stood there, stiff, and him.. you did not recognize.
“Hello,” you greet, trying to blink away any hazy remnants that may be lingering in your eyes.
“Dr. Birkin wants to see you as soon as possible.”
Your throat tightened. That meant ‘Move your ass,’
“Yes, Sir.”
You tried to ignore the other man there who hadn’t spoken, but there was an air about him that made you feel off. It was enough to make your skin crawl, but you were already on the move before giving it any more thought. It was awfully late, and you wondered if they’d gone by your room first. Or if they just knew that you were already awake in the lab.
“There you are!” says Dr. Birkin when you reach his office, gesturing. “Step in here and listen.”
You do as he says. Dr. Birkin wasn’t intimidating, per se, but he had a quality to him that made you want to give him your respect just in case. Besides, he deserved it as Chief Researcher of the entire T-Virus project. It was an honor to work for him. He was aiming for an executive position within Umbrella, too, you heard. That could’ve been a rumor, but it seemed feasible.
“Now,” he nervously belts. “I have something very, very important I must go and take care of. Look,” he says, checking his surroundings. “I’ll get to the chase. Out of everyone working under me, I’ve noticed that it’s been you whose research and results have had an abnormal success rate and have in turn.. impressed me the most. And look at you right now. Awake. Working. Naturally, I’ll be temporarily putting you in the position of Lead Researcher while I’m gone.”
Before you could open your mouth and thank him profusely with tangible joy jumping out from under your skin and foam frothing at the mouth due to the glory of this opportunity, he frantically got up and paced toward the door as he spoke again.
“But you’re not alone,” he says.
You grow a little tense at that comment. “No?” you ask.
“No. You’ll be paired with my partner and second in command, I’m sure you know of Dr. Wesker?”
You do, but you’ve never actually seen him in person. His ruthless and apathetic reputation was sort of whispered about among this division of Umbrella’s lower ranking employees - but so was Birkin’s, but whenever the two of you interacted, he was usually nothing but friendly. Eccentric and maybe a little tightly wound at times, but friendly.
“I do.”
“Fantastic, you’re already on your way then. I’d like you to continue your research on the.. the cells that you were doing,” he says. Birkin then rubs his temples and sighs, his eyes bouncing back and forth about the room like he was a nut. “Uh, Yes. You’ll work with Wesker in the larger laboratory directly above you. He’ll tell you what to do. Listen to him.”
Birkin then pulls a blank keycard from his desk and tosses it to you. It almost falls to the floor, but you catch it at the last moment by holding it against your thigh.
“Use that,” he says. “I had it made. It grants you access to this whole wing and the entirety of the upper floor, which I’m sure is all you’ll need.”
“Thank you-”
“No, thank you. You’ve done an incredible job, and I’d love to talk about the latest and greatest but I really must go. Try to stick to what I told you.”
That way he said that sounded kind of strange, but you brush it off. Dr. Birkin moves quickly, taking a briefcase in hand and slinging a coat over his arm as he leaves his office. You follow suit with your new keycard in hand, pondering. The door closes behind you automatically. He starts picking up the pace and absolutely dusts you - so you didn’t get the chance to tell him about the cell at all.
It’d have to wait.
“You’ll do great!” he shouts, waving a free hand in the air from down the hall without turning around.
You fiddle with the keycard as you stand in place. All that was on it was what you needed to scan with. No name - you decide you’ll write it on there later. You slip it into the pocket of your long white lab coat and walk back to your work station. Your partner, who you guess is now your ex-partner, had long gone to bed. You survey the beloved and familiar setup that had been something akin to your rock for the past two years, feeling bittersweet. Now, you’d have to pack everything integral to your research and move it up a floor, and maybe even pack the rest away for later depending on what needed to be done in Birkin’s absence.
You lean on one of the lab tables and sigh, tracing a finger over the edge of it. Your finger glides over a deep dent in the wood, causing the memory of how you accidentally dropped a horribly heavy tool on that same spot to twinkle in your mind.
Just like that, you’ve been hurdled into something completely new. You were grateful, yes, but you’ll miss these tall gray walls, and you’ll miss the large array of equipment that was unique to your assignment. You’ll miss your lab partner. This was your place. Your contract also meant that you would live and sleep at the facility around the clock, so the lab really felt like your home. You guess you didn’t mind a slight change in scenery, but it was still a little sad. You enjoyed talking and laughing with your partner, too. Coming back and telling her what happened would definitely be on your to-do list.
The night was only getting later. You decided to call it. After a shower and change of clothes, you set out fresh clothes for tomorrow. Then, you set your alarm for exactly five hours from now. You never got much sleep as it is, so you weren’t bothered. Your life was your research, and now, it would be Dr. Birkin’s research. Hopefully he didn’t have anything urgent he needed done that he forgot to tell you about, because you were looking forward to continuing your own research. Soon, you hope, the virology department will be celebrating a breakthrough.
A breakthrough.
The word was like beautiful music playing in your head. You imagine the surprise on all of their faces. The admiration. The recognition. The pride of your hard work would come to fruition.
A breakthrough.
You wanted to get up and run to tell someone right now, but Dr. Birkin had left - and you hadn’t met Dr. Wesker just yet. You doubt the man from the cafeteria would listen, or if he had the clearance to. Hardly anybody roamed the halls this late. Besides, the blanket over you was just warming up, and your pillow was so soft. The lights are already off. Your mind starts running wild, your body growing heavier; vivid pictures that weave together in the forefront your mind eventually overtake your entire train of thought, and you soon drift off soundlessly to sleep.
A breakthrough.
The sound of your heels on the freshly waxed hall floor reverberate as you make your way to your new work area. Luckily, as far as you know, there wasn’t another soul awake to hear the Clack, clack, clack. You blink your eyes a few times because the right one keeps itching. You take the back of your hand to rub it, and the medium sized cardboard box you have clutched in your hands almost slips away.
You had to readjust your grip and keep going. Still waking up, you yawn. The contents of the box jingle and your lab coat swishes around while you try and muscle open the solid door using your upper body, struggling to scan the keycard at the same time.
It opens after a small struggle. That door was heavier than your old lab and the keycard slot was different. Your eyes widened in surprise as you moved into the lab, and you had to adjust the box in your arms once more. Sitting at a large blacktop desk with a dim light already on, all the way in the back right corner; a man whose side profile rang oddly familiar. He was motionless and looking into a microscope, strands of his blonde hair gently catching its light. You both stopped what you were doing to meet each other’s eyes, and suddenly your train of thought vanished and your heart plunged when it clicked.
It was him - the man from yesterday.
He didn’t speak, and neither did you out of a weird nervous fear that had suddenly blanketed you. Apparently he didn’t care to speak either, because he went back to what he was doing without any protest. Like he saw dust hanging from the ceiling. Mostly harmless, and unworthy of any further attention. Something you’d deal with at another time.
That’s what that look was.
You were dust.
…
This was Dr. Wesker? What a first impression. He just kept sitting there, minding his own. He didn’t ask your name and he didn’t greet you. You lick your lips and set down the box on the nearest empty desk. It was almost perfectly diagonal to his, and it had ample distance. You decide on the spot that it’d be yours. Leaning your backside against the edge of it, you turn to him. Your fingers glide over it. No dent. You think for a moment before clasping your hands together.
“Hi, I’m Dr.-”
“I know who you are,” he interrupts.
Your hands fall to your side in confusion. The sting of immediate rejection burns in your throat while tingles swiftly spread across your skin before fading away, leaving you with a heavy heart. In the time you’ve been at Arklay here you’ve never really experienced that feeling. People were usually respectful enough.
“You do? Oh,” You say as you nod. “Well. That’s great. Where should we start then?”
Dr. Wesker held a dismissing hand in the air. “Continue whatever menial task you were previously assigned to before your promotion. I’ll update you if that is to change.”
Menial?
You could understand being shy, or.. uninterested. Or an asshole. But that comment went a little too far over the lines of your grace.
“I’m sorry, it’s anything but menial,” you belt, your tone unexpectedly full of distaste and offense. You had no idea it’d come out that way.
You didn’t really care.
He looks back at you for only a second, eyebrows barely furrowed, but chooses to remain silent. He shakes his head to himself. Immediately, your pride and dignity are together wounded. Dr. Birkin had chosen you to pick up where he’d left off, and yes, while you believe you were technically supposed to answer to Dr. Wesker.. weren’t you partners now? Even if temporary? Was this man not briefed on what your previous assignment was? Was there something bigger? Your forehead creases and a frown reluctantly creeps across your face.
It was hard to leave anything simmering with you. You either had to turn off the heat or get it off the stove all together.
“You know,” you continued, sour. “I’ve really been meaning to tell someone about something interesting I found.”
His mouth twitches before he looks up. It was almost like he hesitated. This time, you could feel the annoyance radiating off of him. Before you get your nerves back, you wonder if you’d caught him on a bad day. If he’d gotten enough sleep - not that you’re a qualified judge on that matter or anything.
“Okay,” he says in complete monotone.
A smile tugs on your lips as you reach into the box behind you. Your fingers sort through a multitude of folders held in place by some glassware and other objects you’d taken from your old lab. Lots of loose papers were tucked in the sides. You find the necessary folder and stride right over to Dr. Wesker. Heels clicking. His eyes are locked onto it, but he doesn’t reach out for it and he doesn’t say anything about it. Not a word. You shift yourself a bit and linger around, because at this point you don't know what else to do.
“Would you please look it over? I think you should see it.”
Thankfully, he acknowledges you. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely, yes.”
He reaches for the folder and you gladly give it to him. Finally, someone higher up would be looking over your hard work. You hope he prepares to be amazed. It felt earned, and it felt right. You wait as he skims, tense, and then you see the exact moment on his face when he comes across the part you’d been so excited to share. The crème de la crème. A flicker of surprise in his eyes, then, pure cold assessment.
“I see,” he says, finger pointing and tapping on the page. “And.. this is.. just a hypothesis?”
“Technically,” you answer. “It only needs to be proven and tested.”
Dr. Wesker’s facial expression tells you that he’s not on board. You can’t even tell if he thinks you’re being serious. You just met this man, but already it seems to be going south, so you spit it out with no regard for the near future. You were already Dr. Birkin’s fill-in, and only someone higher than himself could potentially quarrel with that. If the two of you were going to be working closely, there couldn’t be any animosity. You wouldn’t let there be.
His eyes - they seemed like they were whispering and joking about it. That’s what was going on behind them. You felt it.
“Okay,” you start. “Um. You may think this is some.. big joke, or a.. hoax, or something.. I don’t know what, but I’ve dedicated a vast amount of my time and energy to this research. This specific cell.” You move in closer to him and point to the folder. “It’s amazing, actually. I promise it’ll be worth it. See, once you really begin to comprehend the effects that th-”
“I can comprehend it just fine, Doctor. Thank you.”
Bitterness - those words were laced to the brim with it.
You wait with your hands behind your back and your lips parted. He set the research down on the smooth surface of the blacktop table. It was now cast aside. Perhaps to be viewed later, perhaps never again.
You looked at him, and he looked at you.
“I didn’t mean anything by that,” you softly added soon as you regained the confidence to speak after that little embarrassing social hiccup.
He folds his hands in his lap. “Okay,” he adds after an uncomfortably long pause.
You tense up and waltz back to the other table across the room that you’ve made yours, cursing in your mind about how you just stood there like a begging little puppy. Despite not getting off on the right foot, which was no fault of your own, you had no choice but to trust that it was in the right hands. Good hands - smart hands. Dr. Wesker had the research with him. Finally, this discovery of yours would come out in the light. The culmination of almost two years of work.. just the thought of people's roving eyes reviewing it and growing wide with astonishment as they realize the potential of what laid before them was enough to make you smile. Inside.
A few minutes go by before the awkwardness in the air starts to become cumbersome. The atmosphere was the same as it would be after a big argument that had no reconciliation - minus the argument. It was odd to have that experience with someone you just met. You start unpacking your things and the sound of glass clinking and papers crinkling fill the air, and in the midst of it, you hear the folder being picked up again from across the room. You press your growing smile together to calm yourself while continuing to dig into the box for your writing utensils.
A stolen look back confirmed it.
Dr. Wesker was looking at your work - surely a good sign. Your heart rate skyrockets with hope as you're dusting the top of the filing cabinet next to the desk with your hand. Good things were coming, and you were damn sure of it.
Five days have passed by since giving Dr. Wesker your research. You hadn’t seen him all morning, and honestly with how things have been going? That was okay with you. The only torment was wondering what he was doing with the research, if anything. You were still doing the same thing you were before - your “menial” task of looking into the cell that you’ve yet to name. Maybe Umbrella should do that part, but you felt entitled to have a small say.
Wesker eventually did arrive. He completely ignored your presence, but you promised yourself that you wouldn’t take it personally no matter what. You worked up the gumption to go up to him, and so you did, but not without having to stand in view to get noticed. Words were useless. It wasn’t working, so you inched a bit closer. Each second spent there standing like a loser, feeling like a dolt, waiting, hoping, it scorches a piece of your soul. You were sad that your opinion of this man was forming into something that was more negative than positive.
“Dr. Wesker,” you said.
“Mm?” he hums.
“Have you given any thought to my research?”
You wait.
…
You’re still waiting.
“Dr. Wesker?”
He brings his hand to his forehead and rubs it with closed eyes. He breathes in and throws his hand back down on the desk. Then, he speaks, but he isn’t looking at you. You try to stick to not taking it personally.
“The concept is sound, but the execution remains to be seen.”
“That’s what I’ve been meaning to say,” you tell him. “It only needs to be put through testing. I can give you the sample if needed.”
Wesker nods, but a nod that wasn’t in agreement. It was clear that he wanted nothing to do with you right now. With this. At least he had the research, which is what mattered. You looked forward to a nice gold plaque with your name on it hung up on your wall one of these days. You went back to sit down at your desk, fiddling with a separate notepad that had the other necessary parts of your research written inside. The pen dropped and rolled onto the floor, and for some reason you snuck a glance at Wesker when it hit the ground. He didn’t care. You leaned down and picked it up, and when your head popped back up from below, you saw him looking. You both dart your eyes away quickly, and you feel the heat on your cheeks rising.
Awkward. Accidental. You hoped he wasn’t the type to get upset over a pen dropping, but the way things stand, you’re not so sure. At the very least, it must’ve irked him. You go against your better instincts and steal another look at him. What else could be done? He has the research, and he hasn’t given you further instructions.
“Do you want the sample?” you ask.
“Yes. Go get it.”
Without a word, you get up and hurry to leave the room as the three samples you had stored were left in your old lab’s cryogenic freezer. There wasn’t anyone inside, and before you carefully removed the sample, you took a longing look around the place one more time.
When you return, Dr. Wesker is gone.
Your heart sank when you saw his desk unoccupied. Has it been so insufferable for him to be around you? It wasn’t fair. You understand - not everyone in life will give you a chance, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. You place the sample in the small stand-alone freezer in a far corner of the room. There was nothing else inside, so unless he was blind, it was guaranteed that Dr. Wesker would see it the next time he came in.
Where was Dr. Wesker?
Maybe he went to use the bathroom?
Why you suddenly cared so much about where he’d gone and what he was doing, you couldn’t place. What was his role here? He was rarely in the lab, hardly researching, but instead handling lots of paperwork, giving ‘direction,’ and overall being unfriendly. You tell yourself to relax about it, though, being here only about a week and all. You didn’t see Dr. Wesker for the rest of the day, and despite your anxiety getting the better of things, maybe that was for the best. You began to think you wouldn’t see him again the next day, but right as you were about to take a bathroom break, that changed.
There stood Dr. Wesker with a man in a black suit beside him. The man with Wesker was significantly older, well groomed, and his eyes struck you as rather shifty as he snuck a curt glance at you.
You made no effort to conceal your interest, which they quickly picked up on because they leaned in closer to each other, whispering - it even looked like they were somewhat conspiring. Dr. Wesker hadn’t taken his eyes away from yours since he walked in. Something was going on. Something they didn’t want you to know.
You suddenly feel your heart rate go up tenfold, fireworks of concern and hope booming into your chest cavity.
He told someone, possibly this suit, about your findings. This was it; your big break. You looked away, Dr. Wesker and the man left soon afterwards. The idea that he was just busy soothed your nerves. As much of an asshole he had been toward you, he’d kept his word.
You scoot back and away from under the table to grab something.
…
Did he even give you his word?
Hours turned into days. Those days stretched into another week.
You hated this waiting game.
Dr. Wesker hasn’t said anything. You haven’t seen him. You’d be okay with the fact that he likes to disappear at random if he wasn’t holding out on some very important information. Your stomach starts growling, and you check the clock. The night was growing late, and you don’t have a set break time, so you stand up and push in your chair. As you make your way to the only cafeteria at Arklay, you feel thankful that the food was decent. You hardly had the time to go outside of Arklay for anything - at least, your time used to be scarce. It was hard to leave, anyways. One week. Those two words replay in your head over and over. One week. One week. One week. You think about how unimpressed and bitter your face probably looked while walking down the hall because of it.
That was nothing compared to how it must’ve looked when you walked into the large white room, your eyes immediately drawn to Dr. Wesker sitting at one of the back corner tables - alone.
The cafeteria is nearly empty at this hour, the humming of appliances and the distant clatter of dishes being cleaned by the night crew being the only source of sound. The air here always smelled of food regardless of how late it was. You act fast and start heading over to him, the shuffling of your flats on the floor adding something new to the stagnant atmosphere - when it got past the evening threshold, you would usually switch out your professional and ‘put together’ heels for mundane comfortability.
Standing directly in front of Dr. Wesker, you wait. You keep waiting. It’s been over half a minute now, and it’s almost as if you aren’t even there. He unfortunately excelled at making you feel invisible.
“Dr. Wesker?”
He remained indifferent to your presence.
“Dr. Wesker.” you reiterate.
His features twitch a little before his mouth forms into a pressed line. Your eyes and mind work at scanning his face for any hint of what he’s feeling besides whatever this was, much to no avail. It wasn’t hidden or submerged beneath the surface - no, it was open. Open aversion. Dr. Wesker wasn’t trying in the slightest to hide it, and he certainly wasn’t putting on a front to be nice.
You turned around, your lab coat swishing behind you as you instead went over to the food line. Options were limited due to the time. Once you have your silver tray of orange slices, a toasted piece of bread with chicken breast on the side, and a water bottle, you pick up three little tubs of butter and a pack of plastic utensils, slipping them into your pocket and beelining back over to Wesker and his table. He looks up, eyes darting to your tray as soon as it touches the table. They stay there as you pull the chair back and sit yourself down across from him. The dragging noise of the chair against the floor was loud and couldn’t have helped, but if this is what it took, then you’d at least try.
You take the butter and utensils out, opening the plasticware first. Then the butter. As you start to butter the bread, you see his fist slowly ball up on the table’s surface. His jaw started to clench. Your gut drops. It stings that he seemed to have so much discontent for you, but you’d both have to deal with it for now.
You slice off another little piece.
Soon, the energy between you two became corrosive, burning through every other sensation. Even the simple act of spreading butter onto bread was a provocation. Or maybe it was simply your presence that was interrupting his meal. Fine, then. You’d make it a deliberate attempt to get under his skin and force him to engage with you.
More butter. More. Again. You weren’t even going to eat the bread now. You just wanted him to do something.
Anything.
You were out of butter.
Dr. Wesker continued to ignore you until you started eating. He looked up, and so did you, but it wasn’t what you thought. He just started staring over your shoulder at the wall. It was a strange and disconcerting feeling, being the focus of intense scrutiny and yet not having any acknowledgement from the person themselves. The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes as the two of you remained locked into this bizarre standoff. The subtle noise of the cafeteria seemed to fade away, receding into the background as it went on. You press on and leer at him while you keep eating the orange slices.
“There’s nothing to report on at this time.” he says, startling you because he broke the longstanding silence. “I’m still reviewing the material.”
“But it’s been a week,” you say.
Finally, Dr. Wesker’s gaze fell onto your face, his uninviting blue eyes piercing hard through you.
“I said I’m still reviewing it. Patience is a virtue, Doctor. You seem to be lacking in that.”
You swallow as he stands up, towering over you as he picks up his tray.
“I just-”
He cuts you off.
“I will inform you when I have something further to add. Focus on your assignment, Doctor.”
“What I gave you sort of was my assignment,” you blurt.
It was as if he just.. didn’t hear you. The cold and crass man simply cleaned up after himself and left. Your nervous system felt like it needed a reset, so you take a beat for yourself before saying ‘Fuck it,’ and rushing your tray to the dirty dish rack; damn near running out the door after him.
He wasn’t in the hall directly outside from where you were.
You get to the lab and swing open the doors to find it vacant. Only your desk and microscope waited for you there. You sigh, out loud, and it snowballed into a groan. This man was impossible to be cordial with. You throw yourself down on the stool, irritated, wondering how Dr. Birkin could stand to put up with Wesker for so long. If he did at all.
Nothing had changed the next day, and Dr. Wesker was nowhere to be found. When the thought that maybe he was avoiding you popped into your head, you couldn’t get rid of it. It was a disease. Questions start piling up. The answers remained a mystery. You started constantly asking yourself ‘Why?’ or ‘What did I do?’.
He just hated you.
No reason.
No explanation.
You don’t even get a mulligan.
Hopefully Dr. Birkin will come back soon. His sudden departure was an opportunity that had unexpectedly turned hostile and rather uncomfortable. Dr. Wesker was nothing more than a rotten apple that spoiled the bunch. Your mind circles back to your ex-partner who would’ve made a much better fit to continue this work with. You throw your hair up and start flipping through other subject’s reports. Early morning came, and you did not sleep.
You were working the cell when the door opened.
“Oh. Hello.” said the man - the same man from the other day that was standing beside Wesker.
“Hello,” you reply, stifling your strange disappointment that it wasn’t someone else.
He holds up a folder in his hands and jerks it around a bit.
“I have something for Albert. I couldn’t find him, so I’ll leave it here with you, okay?”
Albert?
“Okay. Thank you,” you say.
The man sets the overstuffed beige colored folder down on the closest surface he could find and turns to the door before stopping and turning his head back toward you.
You knew that folder.
“I have a busy day, so please tell him that we love what he’s found and to check in on that folder as soon as he can. Thanks, Doll.”
The man left directly after that, and the hairs on your arm stood up. Not only from being called ‘Doll,’ by some rando suit, but also from the other thing he said.
“..we love what he’s found..”
…
Could it be?
…
“..and to check in on that folder as soon as he can..”
…
No.
…
Actually?
You swore you almost flung yourself at it the moment that thought settled in your brain. Your hands shake, and sweat starts to coat the palms of them as you open Wesker’s folder and skim the pages. It immediately became clear as your attention landed on the most intimate parts of your work with his name now on it. You flip back to the first page to see his name written once again before frantically skimming the entire thing twice more.
The cell, your notes on it, your written hypothesis; word for word, the picture of the subject, your future plans for field testing and the blueprints you worked up for forming it into its own strain - it was all there.
More.
When you steady your breathing and read the finer print, it seems Dr. Wesker was going in his own direction with some of it, too. Blood that was on the verge of boiling coursed up and down your veins. The rest of it rushed to your reddening face. Your head started to hurt from trying to contain the anger that was festering, burgeoning.
“Thief”, you muttered in shock. Tears spilled over as you tried to stop yourself from almost convulsing. “Fucking thief!”
You close the folder and grab it, clutching it close to your chest as you spin around in every direction, wildly searching the room. You weren’t exactly looking for anything, but your body did the action regardless. A sickening feeling of deep disgust clouded around you. You were a mess, and you knew that. You didn’t care. It was so unlike you to actually hold hate in your heart, but you were slowly making room for it. You could almost reach out into the air and touch the disgust. Palpable. It was.. palpable. Physical.
How could he do this?
The door opens again, and you turn to it as fast as you can. When you saw the eyes of the man who had claimed your years long efforts as his own, the tears seemingly evaporated.
“You asshole,” you choke out.
“What a greeting,” he says.
“Don’t fucking start.” You hold up the folder. “By the way, they love what you’ve found. Congratulations.”
Wesker shuts his eyes for a moment and inhales, acting as if you were a child merely throwing a tantrum and not an adult having a justified moment of anger. He was lucky you hadn’t lashed out more than this. Lucky that you weren’t that type of person. You wonder if you should change that about yourself after this.
“It’s business, Doctor.”
“Business?” you growl. “If it wasn’t for my hard work, and Dr. Birkin leaving, you’d have nothing. It’d be mine, and it is mine.”
He slowly puts his hands in his pockets, his face neutral - hardly expressive.
“God damn it,” you cry out. “That was my ticket to the top, you know. You’re already there. So why?”
Dr. Wesker shakes his head and walks over to his desk, taking a seat and leaning back.
“Is this an accusation?” he asks.
“Yes. Yes. It is. Absolutely.”
“I’d be careful with that. I’ve worked tirelessly to bring Umbrella to the forefront of biotechnology, to push the boundaries of what we consider possible. I will stop at nothing to achieve that.”
“So that’s it?” you ask. “I’m fucked?”
“Watch your mouth,” he bites. “I am the Lead Researcher. I am also the one in this partnership that will be held accountable for the successes and failures of our future endeavors. I am the one who will be rewarded for my work and dedication to the cause, and I am the one who will decide who deserves to be a part of this new era of scientific advancement for Umbrella. You understand, of course.”
You couldn’t believe this ‘for the greater good’ bullshit he was spewing. You had nothing to say. There was nothing but emptiness. Slowly, you close your eyes and breathe. In and out, in an out.. in and out. Out.
“That is an interesting way of saying you’ll be reaping the rewards for doing literally nothing. You called it ‘menial’.”
“Such is the price of greatness,” he says.
“You’re joking.”
“The opposite.”
You head for the door, fuming. There were no more thoughts. Only the weight of grief and torment on your back. Fire burns all the way up through you as you storm down the stairs and toward your room. Hard and fast footsteps were heard pounding up behind you, quickly catching up, but you didn’t dare bring yourself to turn around. You start speeding up and before you hit the corner of where your room was at, you look back and see Wesker trailing you as expected. You weren’t certain, but the stolen look on his face looked like it held …remorse.
You must be losing your mind. Seeing things.
Quickly, you scan into your room and shut the door. You didn’t know why he was following you or what he wanted to say, but you didn’t care. It probably wasn’t going to be nice. You struggle and tug at your lab coat as you move erratically to remove it, tearing the rest of your clothes off after and hurling them to the floor. You jump into bed - doing all of it in the dark.
Your head was pulsating with pain. Fury all around. You had never felt so horrible. How could he have stolen your work when the validity of it wasn’t even proven in a lab setting yet?
You sit up straight, eyes moving around in the shadows.
It hasn't been proven yet.
You thought about it, but dismissed it.
Then you thought about it again.
You’d never be able to sabotage your own work.
So much effort, so much time and tender love.
Hours upon hours racked up. Countless nights.
But,
You understood it. You could make another folder. Another written hypothesis from scratch if needed. All the critical math you already knew. The work was intensely familiar, but you knew you couldn’t. It wasn’t right, but it wasn’t right to sit by and have your career’s work stolen, either. Even if Umbrella technically owned the rights to your research, you can’t let Wesker be known as the one who ‘discovered’ it.
Climbing out of the bed and turning on the lights, you pick up the clothes and lab coat you’d thrown about.
You’ve always tried your hardest in life to not act solely based on emotion.
Tried.
You pushed the lab doors open ever so gently, peaking inside, only moving in once you saw that the coast was clear. The folder was still on Dr. Thief’s desk. You suppose he didn’t think you’d be back tonight. Reaching into your pants pocket, you feel around for a bit before finding it amongst your room keys and access card.
Whiteout.
You move with stealth and lock the doors. Back at Wesker’s desk, you shake the little bottle and crack it open, the sweet paint-like smell of it reaching your nose in an instant. Over the course of about 45 minutes, you absolutely ruined all the important aspects of your research, replacing it with a bunch of nonsense bogus. Only when you looked a little closer would you realize something was now wrong with the math. Some parts, you’d completely left out. Redacted.
It hurt. It really hurt - all of it. The stealing, the words he dared spit at you afterwards, the pain of ruining crucial work, and of course, the hunger for revenge that had overtaken your mind. Looking at it when finished, you instantly regret it, but what's done is done. It didn’t matter if your soul was sinking. You knew all of the most integral secrets of that cell, and you were confident in your skills to replicate it with no issue, but it’d take time, and your actions still filled you with shame.
You twist the cap back onto the whiteout.
‘What have I done?’ you ask yourself. ‘Fuck. It’s gonna be me who has to do this all over again.’
You sit with it until it dries, which takes almost an hour due to how much of it you’ve destroyed. After keeping the pages meticulously separated to ensure it looks right, you’re finally able to close it. Your head falls into your hands. This didn’t feel good. You wonder if letting Dr. Wesker take the credit would have been the right option despite the moral ethics of it. It was yours, yes, but it was also Umbrella’s. Which meant it was Wesker’s, especially now with you being partners.
‘Partners,’ you scoff. Ridiculous. You weren’t treated as such. Partners shouldn’t have to steal each other’s work, or resort to sabotaging their own.
You slip the folder back onto his desk in the original position. Walking by the stored cell sample, a thought passes through your mind but you ultimately let that one go. As you fell asleep that night, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made the biggest mistake of your life - or if you made the right choice. It was a daring choice. Both had consequences, but at least you’d be letting him know that nobody messes with your shit.
You’ve been continuing your research on the cell, mostly rewriting all of the necessary components of the work into another folder that you’d keep on you at all times. There hadn’t been a hide nor hair of Dr. Wesker or the original folder that you’d sabotaged for quite some time until he abruptly burst through the lab’s doors, seemingly forgetting where your desk was as he stormed in and looked around. His lab coat whooshed around as he turned to you, slamming the folder down in front of you. You couldn’t help but flinch at the fast and violent motion.
“Be careful,” you remark, playing it off and looking back into the microscope. “You’ll upset the flow here.”
“What did you do?” he demands.
You didn’t reply. Instead, you kept looking at the cell. You could hear him standing up straighter. Hear the rustle of his clothing.
His voice rose.
“Answer me.”
You slowly pulled yourself back and met his gaze, putting on a completely uninterested look.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “We were about to initiate the first field test of injecting that,” he points to the cell in front of you, “until it did not work.”
“I guess my research was wrong.”
“I don’t believe so. I believe you too brilliant to be so wrong.”
Your heart sank at his sudden praise, but you wouldn’t let that change a thing. You cut your eyes at him. “You should've familiarized yourself with it. Instead you decided to run with it too quickly.”
Dr. Wesker says nothing as he stares a hole right through you. It was intense, dark, and certainly made you uncomfortable, but you wouldn’t dare let it break you.
“You deserved that.” you mutter.
“Perhaps,” he spits. “But perhaps I was going to mention your role in this research, your name right under mine, but now because of your carelessness, your pride, nobody will get the deserved recognition. Not you, not me, and certainly not the company that has invested countless resources into this little project.”
He was ..sort of.. correct. Your impulsive and reckless decision to foil your own research - Umbrella’s research - and it had an almost immediate cost. The thought of your formula failing in that test vial did hurt.
“I can easily correct the work. I only want what is mine."
Wesker’s face twisted with frustration. He paced around in a small circle before stopping and pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight. Then, he threw his head back, releasing a sigh while he ran a hand through his hair.
“No,” he starts. “No. Do you know how much this alarmed our superiors? I bring them an amazing possibility, a promise with no foundation, assuring them it was all correct regardless of its state of infancy. I was heavily questioned on the matter, and I vouched for it. I have the credit to do such a thing. Then, they all find out at the very last minute that it’s all incorrect. All of it.”
You sit and keep your gaze on the microscope, silent. You could feel yourself getting flustered. Tears threatened from behind the eyes once again. You contained it. It seemed that fate had gone the ‘biggest mistake’ route.
“We can fix it. That’s the perk of being.. familiar with it.”
Dr. Wesker licked his lips and pushed his hands angrily into his pockets. He seemingly hesitated, and for what, you did not know.
“Imagine if it was your career’s work that got stolen. That new strain? It was my ticket. Mine. And it was ripped right out from under me. My brainchild.”
“That’s how it goes, Doctor.” he boomed. “Either play along or move out of the way.”
“I’m not here on my own accord,” you belt.
He shakes his head in a disappointed manner.
“Believe me, I am aware.”
You remove the cell sample from the microscope and walk it back over to its place in the lab while Wesker watches your every move.
“I have no idea why he chose you,” he cuts.
You swallow, your face getting hotter with every word spoken. “And I don’t know how Dr. Birkin could stand to be around you like this.” you retort in a cracking voice.
“You don’t know shit.” he throws back.
You spin around. “Apparently. Is that why you had to claim my work as your own?”
Dr. Wesker took his arms and unexpectedly swept the folder and a few other loose items off the side of your desk. Your heartbeat thumps in your ears, and naturally, you get a little scared. Despite your efforts not to react, you knew your body language told another story.
“Dr. Wesker-”
He leans down and scoops up the folder and a few papers, dumping them carelessly back on your desk. Then, he fixes his lab coat and smooths it down. Once again, he’s composed.
“Fix it.” he says while pointing to the mess, breathing a bit heavy. He leaves the lab, and immediately you head over and pick up the rest of what he knocked over. Your heart was beating a mile a minute. Then, as you sat down looking at the folder, you started to cry in silence. This time it was one of those stress cries - the kind you loathed the most. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe you’d never even met Dr. Wesker. Maybe Dr. Birkin never took leave, and maybe he never ‘promoted’ you to be this man’s partner. It was hard to calm yourself down. You raced to the lab doors, locking them before Wesker could come back in and see what his words had done to you. Droplets of the salty tears sparsely dotted a few of the papers.
Everything was terrible between Wesker, your emotions getting the better of you, ruined potential, the harsh words, and the overall selfishness of both of your actions.
You just cried.
Cried for the time you’ll never get back, cried for the way Wesker had spoken to you, and you cried for yourself. Cried for disrespect that had blackened you to the core. The forged numbers on papers in front of you blurred together through the tears. Eventually it stopped, but the aching in your heart remained throughout. You had to think hard about your next move, because it was obvious this man wasn’t playing checkers, but chess. You fell asleep at your desk that night. After all that, you were completely zapped of energy.
The shallow breaths, the pain, the regret, it all finally faded into black.
In your dream, men in suits hunted you in the halls of Arklay. You turn a corner that leads you through your old lab where you see a giant hole in the back wall. You run through, heart in your throat when you stop to see all of Umbrella on the other side. The crowd of people stand before you as the walls tightly close in until nothing else is left but the horde of eyes and faces who ridicule. They laughed and they mocked you, including Dr. Birkin, who stood there and bellowed out a deep laughter at the mistakes that Wesker had forced upon you. Even your old lab partner took a turn with the metaphorical whip of criticism as you started running toward the white walls to escape the horrifying people who suddenly contorted and rapidly grew in size. Constant snickering and whispering followed you even as the people faded into the background of the never expanding wall. The laughing was still there. Trying to escape the facility itself proved useless, because when the exit materialized out of nowhere, it wouldn’t open. The taunting grows louder. Louder. Your ears almost couldn’t take it anymore. You can suddenly see yourself in third person cowering against the door. Nothing else was there. It was in your head. It was you. You were laughing, and you couldn’t stop. Vomit climbs from your stomach to your throat, spewing down the front of your pristine white coat. It burned. It reeked. You could even fucking taste it. Thick and rancid chunks of yellowish-green clogged your nose and dripped down your face and neck. Gagging. Crying. You were choking on it, watching yourself fall to your knees, taking one last foul and congested breath, dying. You jolt upright, awaking in a panic as you dart your eyes across the room to Wesker’s empty desk before wiping a bit of dried drool away from the corner of your mouth with your sleeve. You check where the vomit was, relieved to see yourself alive and clean.
‘Holy fuck,’
It took a moment for you to realize where you were, the sterile white walls that were bathed in old and dim fluorescent lighting slowly coming into focus. You hope to forget what had just happened in your head, but it wouldn’t surprise you if it did decide to stick in your mind.
Rubbing your eyes and then looking around the lab some more, your attention goes down to the floor as you try to make the blurriness go away. Sleep still had its fog over you. Your gaze fell upon the folder’s scattered papers littering your desk.
The work that once filled you with pride and purpose only aggravated you now. The errors were glaring, your forgery leaping out at you like an accusation.
You stop and focus on your breathing, waiting thirty seconds or so while taking in the atmosphere. Your heart was going way too fast to focus, though.
That dream was gonna linger.
It wasn’t a totally hopeless case, but you had no idea where to go from here. You thought about caving and allowing yourself to suck it up and just fix it. Credit be damned. You flip flopped back and forth, debating your options over and over. You knew you were smart and capable. You knew you deserved the credit for your own work. There is a solution or a deal to be made here.
You hop off the stool and push your hair back with your hands, ready to pick up the mess you had a hand in creating before thinking about the route you’ll take to fix it.
Hardly a second passed before the door handle started to jiggle.