Chapter 2
Wesker turned off the hot water and stood in the shower for a few moments, letting the water drip off his body. He only slept for five hours and woke up long before his alarm went off. He expected to sleep much longer, but he didn’t feel very tired.
The water in the bottom of the shower stall was pink with all the dried blood that Wesker had to wash off. Not to mention the dirt and grime from the thick smoke at the lab, and the chemicals that spilled all over him when the Tyrant launched him into the metal shelf. He changed into clean clothes before leaving the destroyed lab, but even those clothes had to be discarded when he finally arrived at his backup laboratory. He was only now taking the time to shower and clean himself off.
He stepped out of the shower and walked to the sink and the small mirror hanging above it. He wiped the mirror with the back of his hand and looked at himself.
Nothing different, nothing that looked wrong. He looked no different than before he infected himself with Lisa’s miraculous blood. Just the same old Wesker, as far as he could tell. And he certainly felt no different, other than feeling surprisingly awake and refreshed after so little sleep. He felt pretty good, actually, which wasn’t bad considering he was brutally impaled about seven hours earlier.
Seven hours. Maybe it was too early to tell if there would be any lasting effects, any consequences to his actions. Lisa was not only immune to most physical forms of damage, but she was also inhumanly strong and agile, and also possessed several other superhuman abilities. Wesker wondered if he might inherit such skills.
Of course, Lisa was also violently insane and savagely homicidal. It was entirely possible that Wesker would inherit those less-desirable qualities as well. Right now, he simply had no way to know which of those qualities were the result of Lisa’s own personal genetic makeup, and which were the result of her infection with so many different strains of the Progenitor and the T-virus.
Wesker didn’t want to dwell on it. He would worry about it later, when the time came. If the time came.
He left the bathroom and quickly dressed in a loose-fitting pair of gray sweatpants and a large white shirt. He didn’t bother to put shoes on, but he slid on his sunglasses before taking a stack of folders and notes on his way out the door.
His backup lab was located in a large warehouse on the outskirts of Raccoon City, in the middle of a maze of manufacturing facilities and warehouses in the industrial sector. Umbrella owned several warehouses there for storing old equipment, and Wesker simply moved into one of them, using the machinery already there to start setting up his work. He managed to transfer some new equipment there along with all of his records and personal notes, but most of the scientific apparatus there were older models that Umbrella saw fit to replace at the main lab, but didn’t want to discard.
Generators, growth tanks, incubators, genetic sequencers, computers, microscopes and centrifuges and other lab equipment by the crateful; pretty much everything Wesker needed to do his work was there at the lab, waiting to be set up. Crates and boxes were stacked everywhere, labeled and numbered and just waiting to be made useful once more.
The warehouse also featured a large office that connected to a bathroom complete with shower stall, which made it almost as livable as his own house. The only appliance it lacked was an oven. But Wesker didn’t cook anyway.
He did some preparation already, but almost everything was still packed up. Today would be spent setting up some rudimentary growth tanks and a very simple lab area. All Wesker set up so far were a couple of computers to begin working with.
The only catch was that his new lab was sure to use much more electricity than a warehouse would ever need, and that might draw someone’s attention. But Wesker guessed that by the time the next electricity bill was calculated and sent to Umbrella, they would have more important things to worry about.
Wesker guessed that by the end of the day, Umbrella was sure to send a team to the Arklay lab to find out what was going on. He managed to keep them from getting suspicious for as long as he could, but they had received no communication from the Arklay lab for almost three days now. Umbrella would not wait much longer before investigating. There were probably people there already, a primary team to find out what happened. It wouldn’t take them long to figure it out, and then a veritable army of scientists and investigators would descend on the remains of the lab to determine the damage.
Wesker reckoned that they would have full knowledge of the biological breach within 20 hours at the most, barring some details, such as the whereabouts of himself and Spencer. And then they would be in full damage-control mode, trying to contain the flow of information, if not the actual flow of infection. The fact that the mansion contained the bodies of numerous RCPD officers would throw them into panic mode, which could only work in Wesker’s favor. The more time they spent dealing with other problems, the less time they spent looking for him.
They would know, just as Spencer and Wesker had known, that the virus was loose and there would be no stopping it. Once that realization hit, they would put every ounce of effort into decontamination measures. Tying up loose ends like Wesker and Spencer would have to wait until later. So Wesker felt confident that he had several days, perhaps even weeks depending on the current state of the outbreak, to finish up some final projects here in Racoon before the infection reached the city and it was time for him to leave.
He spent the morning unpacking three growth tanks and hooking them up to the power and water lines. They were older models, taking up space at the warehouse for probably ten years, but they were good enough for Wesker’s purposes. He plugged them in and attached cables to the computer displays, preparing for the tank calibration.
There was a loud clang at the other end of the warehouse by the rear truck doors, and then the loud hum of the garage door opener. Wesker looked up from his work and walked casually over to one of the nearby tables, which was covered in folders and various packages of equipment. He slid his hand into a leather bag and pulled out a shining black sub-machine gun.
He glanced down an aisle between two long rows of crates and saw a pair of shadows, created by the long windows along the side wall. Two men emerged from around the side of the crates, both of them dressed in military outfits. Wesker silently clicked off the safety and backed up against the side of the some tall crates, peeking out from behind them.
“Mister Wesker!” a deep voice called out. “There is no need to hide! You told me to come here, remember?” The man laughed, a guttural noise that sounded anything but friendly.
Wesker edged his body around the side of the crates, keeping the machine gun aimed forward, held tight against his thigh. The two men approached his makeshift lab area and saw Wesker standing to the side. One of the men flinched at the sight of the gun and froze in place, but the other man paused for a moment and then laughed again.
He was taller than Wesker at a solid six-foot-two, and seemed to be made of muscle. Even under his wrinkled military fatigues, the man’s physical strength was plain to see. He wore cargo pants and military jacket decorated in black-and-gray urban camouflage, which the other man wore as well. His black army boots shined like marble, and his belt was weighed down with pouches and pockets, although he did not seem to be carrying a gun.
His head looked bald from a distance, but his hair was just cut extremely short in a proper military buzz cut. He had a strong jaw and heavy eyebrows framing his small, sharp eyes and harsh mouth. The tiny name tag on his breast pocket said Sgt. Ginovaef.
“Mister Wesker!” he chuckled. “You do not have to point a gun at me. You should know better.”
“Just being cautious, Nicholai,” Wesker said evenly.
“You asked me to come here, yes?”
“I did.”
Nicholai Ginovaef nodded, a very cruel smile creeping across his lips. “Well, I am here. And I brought someone to help us, as you asked me to do.”
r /> The other man looked nervously from Wesker to Nicholai and cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said uncertainly. “Nick told me there was some work you needed done. You know, work that you wanted kept a secret. He said there was some good money in it for me.”
“He’ll do,” Wesker said, and looked back at Nicholai. “Go ahead.”
“Go ahead and what?” the man said, glancing at Nicholai as well.
A stun gun appeared in Nicholai’s hand as if by magic, and he jammed the metal pins into his companions chest. The man shrieked in pain and jerked away, and staggered backward, fumbling at his hip for the pistol that was sure to be there. Nicholai blasted him again with the stun gun and the man collapsed onto the floor.
He switched the stun gun off and slid it into his pocket, shaking his head with the dark smile still on his face. “Sorry, comrade, but you should have known better as well.”
Wesker clicked the safety back on and set the gun on top of the nearest crate. He stepped over to the unconscious man, and knelt down to take out the pistol that the man had nearly gotten free of his holster. Wesker stood back up and handed the gun to Nicholai, who took it and tucked it into his jacket.
“He won’t be missed?”
“No one will miss him,” Nicholai assured him. “No one knows he is even here.”
“He wasn’t a friend of yours, I hope.”
“I have no friends,” Nicholai said. “But this one was an agent of your government. He thought I did not know. I will not be sad to see him gone.”
Wesker grabbed one arm and Nicholai grabbed the other, and together they dragged the body over to one of the growth tanks. Wesker fumbled inside one of his cases for a long-lasting sedative and injected the man, making sure he would remain unconscious for several hours. Enough time to get him stripped and inside one of the tanks.
“What are you going to do to him?” Nicholai asked casually, standing over by the computers with his arms crossed. He glanced across the papers and notes scattered across the table but did not seem too interested.
Wesker set the injection gun back into its case. “I’m going to turn him into a Tyrant,” he said simply. “I had to sacrifice my last one, so now I need a new one.”
“What for? Your important work at that laboratory is finished, yes?”
Wesker looked down at the doomed man’s body and felt a twinge of pity for him. But it passed quickly and the man became just another test subject. “My work there is over, but I still have work to do here. And besides, you can never have too many Tyrants.”
Nicholai chuckled at that. “I still have work to do as well, yes? You promised more work for me. And payment for my finished work.”
“Over there,” Wesker said. “In that leather briefcase.”
Nicholai spotted the case and walked over to it eagerly. Wesker, without any shoes on, walked silently over to his machine gun and picked it up. He looked back to see Nicholai facing him with the pistol right back in his hand. Nicholai tilted his head in an unspoken question, the dark smile never leaving his face.
Wesker smiled back and motioned toward the briefcase. “Go on. It’s all there. I’m not going to kill you yet, Nicholai. I still have work for you to do, remember?”
“Yes,” Nicholai said. “But I can be cautious as well.”
He opened up the briefcase and took out a large manilla envelope. His smile growing wider, he ripped open the tape and peeked inside at the small bunches of money piled inside. Satisfied, he tucked the envelope under his arm and nodded to Wesker.
“It is very good to do business, as always. Now that old business is out of the way, what new business do you have for me?”
Wesker leaned up against one of the tables and crossed his arms. “Nothing fun, I’m afraid. I just need information.”
“I am not very well informed,” Nicholai said with a shrug. “What information?”
“You’ll know it when you hear it,” Wesker promised. “You’re the ranking UBCF officer on the East Coast right now, correct?”
“Yes.”
“By the end of the day, you’ll almost certainly receive orders to report here to Raccoon City. Umbrella will bring the full force of the UBCF here within a day or two, I’m sure of that. You’ll most likely be put in command of the troops here.”
“Good thing that I am already here, yes?” Nicholai chuckled. “Was the problem at your laboratory truly that bad?”
“This whole city will be infected in a couple of weeks.”
“That is very bad,” Nicholai said slowly, his creepy smile fading for the first time. “Are you sure of this?”
Wesker nodded. “Pretty sure. When they put you in command, and they probably will, just keep me informed about current events. Troop positions, infection rates, places in the city I should avoid, things like that. And on the off-chance that they don’t put you in command, keep me informed anyway.”
“I can do that,” Nicholai said. “And if someone else has command, I will give them an accident, yes?”
“By all means,” Wesker said. “But keep me in the loop. When things get really bad, I can give you important information as well. So we can help each other.”
“Very good,” Nicholai said. “And my payment?”
“Same as before. Which should be more than enough, since you aren’t doing anything difficult this time.”
“Was not difficult,” Nicholai grinned. “Was very enjoyable. Perhaps not for the woman, but for me.”
Wesker tried not to think about that part, so he ignored the comment. “Call me when you get your orders. And for your own benefit, don’t let anyone find out that you have ever been to Raccoon City before. When this is over, they’ll be looking for anyone associated with me or this location. In fact, it might be better if you just disappear. In the aftermath, I doubt there will be anyone left to identify bodies.”
“If it is as bad as you say, then that might be good advice. I think I will take it,” Nicholai said. He shook the envelope full of money and laughed to himself. “Goodbye for now, Mister Wesker, and I will talk to you again very soon.”
“Yeah,” Wesker said. “Keep in touch.”
Nicholai left the warehouse the same way he came in. Wesker waited until he heard the garage door close with a thud, and then looked down at the unconscious man at his feet. One Tyrant was okay, but Wesker wondered if maybe one would be enough. He also had some other variant T-virus strains he wanted to experiment with in the coming week, just to get some primary information to take with him when he left the city for good. So it occurred to him that maybe one subject would not be enough. He would have to find a couple more unwilling volunteers.
More work to do, he decided.