A small stress-breaker. Gettin' my plot bunnies back. Don't expect too much.
the elixir of life
Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it. Birkin, Wesker, Lisa, PreMansion.
Through the clear plexiglass wall it looked like that hideous, malformed experiment they had made it to be.
The plexiglas wall hid the true nature of a little girl cowering under layers of burned skin and exposed flesh.
The plexiglas wall did not allow her continuous summons of her mother to reach the outside world.
The plexiglas wall stole Lisa Trevor's identity by labeling her subject: type B: NE-alpha and degrading her to a plaything for the scientific world.
She had done it again.
Spencer issued an interdiction regarding female employees.
Enough faces had been ripped from involuntary mothers.
Nobody wanted to work with her.
That's why they had called them.
Her life was in their hands.
If they found her useless, it would mean her death. Her freedom.
"I've never seen anything like this," Birkin said. It was the first time in hours he had looked up from his microscope. His pupils were dilated.
Some got their kicks out of drugs. Birkin got his from watching a teenage girl moan in resistance of her restraints.
In a way, they were both sick.
They took only samples at first. No physical examinations. They were not far enough to see beyond the child, to glimpse the monster.
"She will bring no results," Wesker said.
"She lives. That's a start. That's more than we've ever had. Go back to the leeches if you can't stand a girl whine."
"It's not that, William. Don't be silly." But it was. And it would be, for years to come.
He had been right. The monster-girl was nothing special. Three months now and there was not one of the breakthroughs Birkin kept preaching about. They were at point zero. Back to the start. Every day.
"I'll talk with Spencer tomorrow," he said. "This is a waste of time."
"No." Birkin hadn't slept in days. You smelt it the moment you entered the lab.
"Stop trying to find something where there is nothing. We have better things to do. The chimeras, the dogs. Your hunters."
"My hunters? I might be a genius, Al, but not even I can make frogs more dangerous than they are." He looked through the plexiglas. "Give me one more week. I'll find something."
Lisa Trevor's martyry was prolonged for years to come, because the man who never left created.
He created pain.
More faces of her mother.
It was with Lisa Trevor's help that William Birkin created the apocalypse of Raccoon City.
"G as in gene?"
"You might be a genius in virology, Will, but you're not one in giving names."
"It's what's inside that matters, not its name. I'll get far with this, Albert. I can feel it."
"What will become of her now?"
Behind the plexiglas wall, Lisa Trevor called for her mother. While their priorities had shifted, hers had not.
"What do you mean, what will become of her?"
"You don't need her anymore now, do you? What will you do with her?"
Birkin finished his notes, before he looked up and laughed. He pointed at Wesker's ID tag.
"That's not my problem, Al. You're the one who changed divisions. Security, huh? She's yours. Do what you want with her."
Spencer approved his request of disposing of subject: type-b: NE-alpha.
He said, "She's yours. Do what you want with her."
So he did. He picked two of his best men and told them to get it over and done with.
When they were done, they came and reported.
They looked as if they had just killed a fourteen year old girl. Both resigned.
Years later, he would find that they had lied to him and requested the transfer because they feared his wrath.
Years later, he would still hear Lisa Trevor call for her mother.
Years later, when he would meet her again at Spencer's Estate.
From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
- William Wordsworth