January 4th, 1992
The hospital's hallway was coated in silence. The shuddering curtains down the hall were the only noise and only appeared every now and then. The halls lay empty aside from the medical cart, strewn open in multiple ways, IV's poked out and oxygen cords dangled along the sides. Along the wall was a row of leather seats, the general waiting chairs that most hospitals carried. Among them a man sat hunched over in a small leather chair; his hair was bleach blonde, his skin pale. His hands were clenched under his mouth, and he whispered words to himself.
His right shoulder had a huge patch that read "RPD" in gold letterings, the symbol of the Raccoon City Police department. His body shook, and soon a loud scream flooded the hallways. He bounced to his feet, spinning on his heels and jolting down the hall to hallway door that read "Surgical Area". He slammed a hard fist into the wooden door and released a deathly scream. The man's sudden movement caused a former closed wound to reopen, blood dripped down his back, soaking into his blue clothes.
Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong that day.
Another scream hurled from the closed doors and he rested his head against the metal part in agony. He remained there for another moment, but then pushed himself away. He spun, dizzy from the loss of blood, and then found a seat closer to the doors. He wheezed when he sat, and placed his hand over his bleeding wound—a gun shot. Underneath his breath, he cursed and threw his head against the wall. He wore tinted glasses, but reached up and threw them onto the floor with swat.
Again, a scream echoed from behind the doors.
January 6th, 1992
The bundle of white lilies cradled in his fingers couldn't repair the damage that he caused.
The hospital was full of life now. The lights all turned on, the sun bighting up the outside. The difference from a hospital at night and a hospital in the daylight is the amount of people… It's like a ghost town at nighttime, but a mall in the day time. The tall blonde man pushed his way through the entrance doors, and made his way to the service desk. In a hushed, coarse voice, he spoke barely above a whisper to the nurse sitting at the desk. She nodded and rose to her feet. She grabbed a notebook from the desk, and then nodded for the man to follow her.
The walk was a short one, an elevator trip later; he arrived to the third floor of the hospital. Never before have his hands been sweaty, but they were now. His wound suddenly throbbed, but that might have been because of his increased heart rate. The nurse walked him to the room numbered 406, and she tapped the door lightly.
"Ms. Muller, you have a visitor." Her voice was monotone; habitually she's gone to rooms like this. When a voice pips in from the depths of the room in a sweet "Come in" The nurse nods to the blonde man, checks her watch and proceeds down the hallway, back to the elevator.
The man only hesitated for a moment before he entered the white room. The sun gazed in as a fire, and the glow was intense. The man removed his glasses, and looked at the petite woman lying in the hospital bed. He features were hard to figure as her pale skin reflected the sunlight.
…The only noticeable feature present was the frown that her pink lips made.
She cradled a small baby bundled in a blue cloth in the safety of her arms, and her grip only grew tighter when she saw the man enter the room. He approached her slowly, and stuck the flowers out to her.
"I brought these for yo—"
"I don't want them, don't take a step closer." She hissed, breaking the man's confidence. He took a step back, and let the lilies drop beside him, his knuckles turned white with the grip he had on them and he looked off to the side, glaring at the window.
"You have no right to be here," The small woman continued with an edge to her elegant voice. "You're a threat to my baby."
The emphases the mother placed on "my" caused the man to snap his head at her, anger lines forming quick on his face.
"You mean our baby."
"I mean my baby. You will have no part in Jake's life, Albert." Her voice was suddenly cold, her brows furrowing in the sunlight. Her pixie cut did all but make her look angry. The man couldn't help the small, sad smile that fell on his face.
Albert shuffled to one side of the room, placed his hand on a railing, and looked outside.
"You've named him." It was a simple statement, one made from surprise.
The woman had to bite her tongue. "That's of no concern to you."
"What makes you so sure I'll let you keep him?" The man looked to her, to the baby, anger in his eyes, a growl in his throat. "He is partially mine."
The mother's posture never fell, her resolve never wavered. "I'll turn you in if you come near him. I know how precious those calls are. I don't think you want the police to know your scheme."
When she said calls, she meant research… Hidden research she was never told about. Albert smiles, defeated, but then taps his gun, his face suddenly going cold. "What makes you think I just won't kill you if you're that sure it was important? We always need more test subjects."
"Because I'm the mother of the only individual you've ever loved."
Silence fell between the two. She looked nonchalantly into his eyes, and he glared tiredly back. ...She was right, there. He scoffed, and looked away, kicking the wall. He threw the lilies onto the floor, and then flicked his sun glasses up.
"Muller." He remarked her last name as a goodbye before stepping toward the door, he bowed at her mockingly and then threw the door open and exited the room.
"I'm sorry Wesker…" The woman took one last moment to gaze at the baby boy in her arms, and she smiled tenderly at it. Papers sat beside her, birth certificates for Jake; the only evidence that proved that Albert Wesker was indeed Jake's father.
March 15th, 1994
"Well Jake, say goodbye to Raccoon City! May you never remember this hell hole!" The mother of the boy tossed him gently into the air, and the gurgling toddler smiled at her and wiggled his fingers in excitement. He wasn't aware that they were even moving. The mother smiled to the boy, her hair had grown out a bit since then, and fell in a brown heap above her shoulders. She tickled the young child and walked to the passenger seat of the car.
"Let's hope we have a safe trip, yeah!" She gushed in a baby voice and poked the young boy's stomach; he laughed as she fascines the seat belt and then shut the door. She walked around the front of the car, gathering up her keys and slid into the driver's seat. She placed the keys into the ignition, and started the car. The radio started, and Journey blasted on the radio, she turned it up, and when Jake started to "sing", he was screaming randomly with the lyrics, she moved the review mirror to watch him.
She smiled sweetly, but then returned the review mirror to its proper place, and was surprised when she saw a man standing a decent amount away from her car in a white lab coat. Blonde hair seated on his head, and dark glasses over his eyes.
Almost instantly, she whipped around, placing her hand on the passenger seat for support and looked behind her car.
"Wesker?" she questioned, enthralled by the idea that he might be near her family again, but when she turns, he is no longer standing there. She rubs her face once and then turns back around and puts the car in drive.
"I must be seeing things. I hope he straightens out…" Her eyes drift to sadness, but she blurs it out by turning up the radio.
April 4th, 1996
"Mom, what was dad like?" From the corner of the room, a tired woman stared onward to her four year old son who gazed adoringly up to the night sky… The truth wouldn't cut it. She went on to a smile.
"He was… very unique."
Albert Wesker stood in front of a mass of people, the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. department was finally being created for the police department, and a well trained special ops division that will take care of tasks normal police can't. All that undercover cop nonsense finally paid off. Umbrella will be pleased with Wesker's promotion, most importantly, the access to more information that it will provide.
The smile that Wesker gave to the cameras wasn't necessarily false. These people, praising his name had no idea for his power—and somewhere, that wrench was watching as well. With a new program at his finger tips, he could literally control the city if he plaid his cards right. Not only the city, eventually he could control the world. He just had to take his time.
He walked up to a podium as cameras flashed; he removed his glasses, and set a small stack of papers down beside him. He was on the news, cameras rolled everywhere, nearly a quarter of the population was at this inauguration—this S.T.A.R.S. group was almost a public affair. Rookie police officers stood strong behind him, giving him support from behind the lines, literally.
"Hello Raccoon City civilians." The entire crowd became quiet; he smirks as he gazes at his papers.
"I swear to devote my life to protect this city as the Captain of the S.T.A.R.S special operations team." Whistles blew for him. With just that statement, he won them over.
People ate this shit up.
April 16th, 1998
The newest member to the group was a young Rebecca Chambers, a surprising 18 years of age, small, and barely out of a short medical program. She didn't even finish the academy… Wesker favored her for some odd reason.
Chris, Jill and Forest were tucked in the corner of the police station, eating a poor lunch and swapping gossip stories.
"I heard she did you know to get the job." Forest whispers condescendingly to the small group. Jill laughs, but Chris remains stoic, and takes a bite of his sandwich.
"I vaguely heard the police chief mention that she reminded Wesker of his last significant other." Chris defended, looking ever so serious with his eyebrows furrowed. He was hunched forward lightly, as if it was top secret, and Jill and Forest just cracked up again. Chris didn't understand what was so funny, so he sat back in his chair.
In between her laughs, Jill managed to reply, even with all her wheezing. "Wesker… eee with a female hhh unlikely, Chris."
Chris actually had to pause, thinking for a moment about it. "Well, that's true, but doesn't that negate what Forest said also?"
Forest was already getting up to leave when Chris mentioned his comment, and he only rolled his shoulders. "Was just playing around, I really don't care about what the old guy does, or the new girl for that matter." He gathered his lunch sack, their break was almost over. Forest continued with: "He's weird enough as it is, always leering and silently stalking around the police station like he's gathering information by looking at the walls. He gives me the creeps. I can't wait for my transfer to go through in August."
Jill quickly scarped down the last of her cookie and then looked at Chris with beady eyes. "I can't say I care for him too much, either, but he got me out of my thieving streak, and got the police off my back... so I'm not going to complain if he has weird habits."
Chris hadn't known Jill for very long; they just went through the academy together and met there; but, he was well aware of her sketchy past. He smiled at her, rose to his feet and tossed his paper sack in the trash beside the bench they sat on.
"I'm not sure if you and Forest are right, I think Wesker's a pretty decent guy. " He mentioned slyly and then turned to look at Jill and stuck out his hand. "Everyone has their own story."
He winks at her, and she rolls her eyes, placing a cookie in his hand.
"Didn't think you noticed." She playfully taps him on the arm, and he takes a bite from the cookie in satisfaction.
"Me, forget dessert? That's never going to happen." He laughs it off as they head down the hallway together.
July 20th, 1998
"Sorry, Jill. It's nothing personal." He laughs as he walks away from the cell block that held Jill. She yelled after him with choice words.
"Come back here bastard! You can't do this!" She screams and pushes on the door, not gun, no help, no food or water… Was he planning on starving her or using her as bait? "How many other people are in on this scheme!?"
Her cries fell on deaf ears, Wesker kept a cool stride to the top of the stair case, once there, he opened the door, pressed each button and made his way across the facility to remove the disks that would release Jill from her cage.
"Rats in a cage… Let's see how well prepared this operation really is." It appeared as though insanity sunk beneath his skin, but he knew well what he was doing. He would do anything to improve his experiments… Anything to rule the city. If that was considered insane, then Albert Wesker was slightly crazy… He grew more accustomed to it every day. He smiled begrudgingly, and entered the elevator back to the Mansion.
He needed to play innocent to keep a straight face with Rebecca and Chris. He grinned as the light fell over his features with each level the elevator rose. Oh, how this would be a test worth the wait for.
January 5th, 1999.
"Mom!" A young Jake ran into his mother's bed room, holding up five fingers. It was barely day break.
"I'm seven now!" He remarks happily, his mother groans, but props herself up on her elbows to receive the warm hug from her son.
"I'm glad to hear that." She winks at him, and even through her stressed caused wrinkles, she leans in and kisses her son on the forehead. He shakes his head and tries to wiggle away from her grasp.
"Eww! Cooties!" He cried playfully with a shrill laugh following, but his mother simply tightened her embrace and then forcing out excitement she looked him in the eye and pointed a finger at him.
"We are going to have a blast today! Go get dressed; I'll be ready in just a minute!" Jake squealed in delight, and then hopped out of her bed and crashed on the ground, he ran through her door, and to his bedroom where he tossed off his one-sy.
He kicked it to the side of the room, and with triumph, stood above his discarded 'baby clothes'
"After today, I will never have to wear a one-sy again!" He grins, missing a few front teeth, but with his hands still on his hips he walks to his dresser and begins to pull out pants and clothes. They mismatched horribly, but on this special day he didn't care too much. He pulled on a bright orange shirt, and sky blue pants.
His green socks made him look like a half finished rainbow. He wiggled his toes, and went to fetch his shoes from underneath his bed when he heard a loud THUMP in his mom's room. From the opposite side of the room, he stared at the door, and peeked his head out from underneath his bed.
"Mom?" he called to her, but she didn't reply. He picked himself up, and then slide in a child like fashion to the hallway. He turned to her bedroom door, and narrowed his usual wide eyes, and frowned.
"Mommy?" He tries again, when no reply comes, fear and panic settle.
He runs to the door. He's breathing heavily, as if he ran a mile, his heart racing; it was just him and his mom, no one else in the house.
When he opened the door, he faced a sight no child should ever have to. His mom laid face forward on the ground, unmoving—dead looking.
The ambulance arrived seven minutes later, and Jake sat huddled next to the corner—he had no idea what to do; he didn't touch her in fear that she would be cold.
June 3rd, 2004
Jake walks carefully into the clean room of their apartment, pulls out a chair, and sits comfortable beside his bed ridden mother. She looks over, and smiles at him. He gives her a weak smile back and grabs her hand.
"How was school?" She asked happily, blinking her eyes at him.
"…I… I got a job." He pats her head, and smiles. Even as manly as he thought that he was becoming, tears still swelled in his eyes when he looked at his mother's face. He brushed a stray hair from her eyes, and she raised her shaking hand, the one that he held.
"Why..? You're too young Jakey." She smiled sadly, but her tremors recoiled so badly that even Jake's upper arm shook. He looked away from his mother, and bit his bottom lip.
"This group connected with an Eastern European company was interested… and they will pay me 11.50 an hour; we can finally catch up on bills…" he paused, looked to his mother, and then stood up to kiss her forehead—the same way she did on his seventh birthday. "You can't go back to work after your last incident—you're not well enough."
Tears swelled in her eyes. "If your father…"
"Don't even talk about him." He cut her off, albeit, rudely, but unintentionally, he stopped, collected his thoughts and released a sigh; he couldn't stay strong when his mother's watery eyes stared at him. "If he cared he would have helped us… but he's never shown his face around us… besides..." he trailed off and his gaze fell to another place.
His mother placed a hand on his cheek, alerting him. He gazed at her sadly, but she only smirked and ruffled is untrimmed red hair. For a moment, the same verve that Jake's mother had before his seventh birthday returned.
"I have no idea why you have red hair—neither I nor your father had this color." Jake laughs, despite the circumstances.
"I love your optimistic personality mom." He releases her hand, and then kisses her on the forehead again. "I'll take care of you from now on."
October 8th, 2008.
"FUCK!" Jake grabbed the bullet wound that cut into his right shoulder, and ducked behind another barrel.
God damn drug lords and their god damn lackeys! Jake pulled a white clothe from his leather jacket, and then began wrapping it around his wound. He jumped up onto his feet, and checked his ammo. Five rounds left: one for the boss, four for his lackeys. His eyes narrowed dangerously. For a few moments, there was no movement.
"I think we got him, sir!" his voice was coated in a thick accent, vaguely resembling a Jamaican accent, and when they began to settle; that's when Jake decided to strike.
He dashed from the side of the barrel, the handgun pointed directly at the boss's head, and then he let one bullet fly—two steps later, two more flew, and then two more. All but one man lay dead, shot in the head. He missed by a hair with the last sht. Jake rolled into a squat across the room, and took cover behind a cabinet.
"Give up, you're dead now."
"Fuck you! You're out of bullets now!" A sardonic laugh erupted from Jake's throat, and he pressed his head on the cabinet. I don't get my money until all of you fucks are dead. From the corner of his eye, he saw the man turn his head, probably looking for a way out and he did—it was death.
Jake once again pushed himself out from cover and assaulted the man. He was next to him in three seconds flat, just enough time for the man to raise his gun. Jake placed one punch in the man's ribcage—and another to his face; when he unwittingly dropped the gun, Jake skillfully snatched it from the air, and pointed it at the grounded solider.
"Who's fucked now, fucker?"
Upon leaving the building, he carried a brief case of drug samples—or what he thought was drug samples.
"My, my, how you've grown." Jake spun around, raising his gun to the voice on top of the roof. A tall blonde man in a black trench coat sat there, applauding the young mercenary.
"I must say I'm surprised you grew up to be such a trooper… Was it because of your mother's illness?" The man jumped from the building and stood at the entrance of the building, smiling at Jake like he found a piece of candy. Jake spat at him, and cocked the gun.
"What do you know about my mother!?"
The man only toyed with him walking back and forth, Jake should have simply left, but he was intrigued by this stranger who knew his mother—only a select few new about his mothers chronic illness.
"Answer me!" he responded irately, ready to get home—so help him God if this stranger did something to his mother. The company he ran with promised her protection in exchange for his services.
"I know that you caused her illness." This hit Jake like the bullet he took earlier.
"I know that you caused her illness…" he repeated. "Your creation drained her life force." His face seemed so sinister in the dying sun, eyes hidden behind dark glasses.
"You don't know anything!" His mother was a very sensitive topic, and he backed up after the man's comment. "Shut up!"
Jake already felt this; he knew he was never normal… He was always stronger than the rest of his kids—and his intellect was far above any average person. He didn't doubt that he wasn't normal… From time to time the thought that his superb development was the cause of his mother's sickness, but he never let it plague him—until now.
"What do you want!?" he suddenly asked, sweat beading down his face. The man smiled.
"I want that briefcase you're hold, son."
Jake scoffed at the way he said son, his level head returning. "Too bad, you can't have it." He retorted, but the intruder took steps forward.
It wasn't anger that made Jake shoot, it was his habit; someone didn't comply; you're trained to fire—it's how it works… but he wasn't prepared for the man to be faster than a bullet. He was beside him in moments, seconds…half a second maybe.
"You should have just left the briefcase.. this gives me no joy." Wesker's voice was so cold in Jake's ear that he mistakenly flinched. Before he could blink, he was spiraling into a nearby building; the gun flew in the other direction.
Wesker remained still, dust from the sand in Africa blaring around his feet. He grits his teeth, and gathered the brief case.
"…it was nice to finally meet you again, Jake. It's a shame it had to be like this." He straightens his glasses, turns with a swish of his coat, and cracks his neck. "Give your mother my regards."
Jake could only watch with blood in his left eye as the stranger walked away with the evidence that was going to reward him two million dollars; he passed out shortly thereafter.
March 10th, 2009.
When he found his mother lying lifeless on the bed, Jake Muller wasn't as surprised as he should have been.
In fact, some part of him felt relieved.
Normally, finding your mother dead one morning would startle any normal seventeen year old… but Jake was aware of his mother's position… deathly aware; it was almost impossible to leave the house—not only was her general health going down, her mental health wasn't what it should have been.
She had days when she frequently screamed bloody murder and in another language cursed his father and himself for the agony she was putting through—thus justifying his thoughts that he truly was the cause of her disease… he wasn't exactly sure why, and even if he sat around depressed because of the guilt in his heart; he couldn't fix it.
He approached her coffin, placed his hand on the oak finish, and bowed his head in respect. Music played in the cemetery; a cloudy overcast teased them above. He closed his eyes, and tried to remember her smiling face; but he was already finding it hard. His mother didn't smile often before her passing… It was almost like she forgot how. His face remained stoic throughout the funeral, although he was one of the few family members that attended, he didn't give a speech.
To the day, he regretted that moment.
He should have stood up and told the amazing stories about his mother, how hard she worked; she was an extraordinary woman… He didn't' understand why his father walked out on her; he never would.
In the distance, Albert Wesker stood quietly behind a tree, one hand folded over another. If someone wouldn't have known better, they might have thought he was sad. He stares as the coffin is lowered, and dips his head down, a small shudder running through his body.
"I'm sorry, Kathryn."
December 16th, 2013
Christmas was right around the corner, everyone was gathered together to remember the good times in life, Jill, Rebecca, Billy, Chris, Sherry, Jake, Leon, Claire and the rest of the "survival" group in one place. The new BSAA headquarters opening up in Washington seemed like a reason to party, so they gathered there to celebrate and regroup.
Sherry pulled Jake around the entire night, introducing him to as many people as possible; after all, if they were going to be dating, Claire had to approve.
"You're Jake, huh?" She raised her eyebrows and gave her 'oh really' look.
"Yeah, it's nice to meet you." He gave a half smile, and extended his hand.
"How'd you get that scar, Mister Jake." She winks at him as Leon comes up behind Claire to greet Jake.
"Nice to see you again" he remarks quickly and pats his shoulder as Claire shakes his hand.
"…A stranger back when I was sixteen gave it to me." He shuffles, touches his face, and then gives an exasperated sigh, "It was my first failure." Claire laughs at the comment and then see's an ever pregnant Jill trying to grab a fallen fork off the ground. Claire excuses herself, and Leon follows on her heels, wishing Jake good luck.
Jake's half smile disappears, and he slumps his shoulders—he was never big for parties or get togethers. The young blonde grins beside him and presses a kiss against his cheek. In some way that must have been her way of saying Claire approved. Heat rose to Jake's features, and he looked away, trying to walk to the other side of the room so she wouldn't embarrass him.
"Hey Sherry! You need to see this!" Claire shouted after her from the other side of the room, fascinated by something that Jill was showing her, Sherry looks apologetically at Jake, and he nods to her.
"Go see what she wants. Don't let me stop you." He gives her his best forced smile, and then when she leaves, he takes a 'macho' lean against the bar they had set up and watches her from across the room. Chris creeps up beside him, and nudges his shoulder, holding a can of beer up to him.
"Relax, enjoy yourself." Jake took the can from Chris and stared hollowly at it. Discomfort crowded the air, both of the men were aware they didn't care for one another. But at least Chris was trying.
Jake's stomach churned lightly, the question he's been wanting a true answer to since he was four itched at the back of his head. He looked at Chris, to which Chris looked back awkwardly.
"Chris…" He paused for a long moment; the party seemed to go silent as the two glared at one another. "Tell me about my father—the truth."
Authors Note: Let me explain a few things.
Jake's mother had a resemblance to Rebecca because In Resident Evil Two on Wesker's desk you can find a picture of Rebecca if you click 30 times or so. Wesker might have had an infatuation with Rebecca at one time, or was intrigued with her character—and therefore, I tied it in a bit.
I'm not sure if Jake's mother actually dies.
I wrote the scenarios as I saw them happening.
I'm aware that Wesker was a scientist long before 1992, but to get into a program like STARS as a captain, I assumed that he would need to be in the RPD for at least a little while to gain recognition.
I kinda sorta hinted at Wesker being in love with Jake's mom, but I didn't want to make it definite, because it's Wesker, and to make him head over heels would make him out of character; but he had to have some attachment to her, obviously, right? Or he would have killed her and her baby.
This is written in a Diary format; you just get pieces of the story, but you don't get all of it.
I hope you all enjoyed; leave a review and tell me what you thought! :)