Link: -https://fiction.live/stories/Resident-Evil-The-Darwin-Initiative/iYKMwZiAJb2rSH4aq/home
Synopsis
Seven Umbrella scientists have been given their own private facilities and an opportunity to realize their wildest dreams. But in the end, only one can truly survive and thrive. Will it be you?
The meeting room is dim, as tradition dictates. What illumination remains present is a persistent, faint glow coming from a series of tanks along the wall, each holding within them a carefully preserved flower, its red petals shining against the back lit containment unit. The table is full, surrounded by people who's very presence exudes the kind of power and command that only those truly at the top of the world in some way can. At the table's twin ends, two men sit.
One is wizened, ancient, frail. His body is more bone and skin than flesh, his hair white and wispy, where it is not balding. A series of tubes tie him to a box connected to his wheelchair, attached to his wrists and temple. He looks sickly, sallow, the specter of death creeping just behind him. Yet for all of that, he is undeniably, palpably strong. Like looking upon a conquering king of old weathered with age and ancient wounds, the man is monolithic despite his weakness. His gaze is sharp, his features schooled in firm contemplation and understanding. His will moves mountains. His eyes narrow, peering down in front of him at the manila folder upon the table, opened to view the documents and the proposal inside.
His name is Oswell E. Spencer, known to some as the Earl Spencer. One of the three founders of the Umbrella Corporation, and the last still living.
Across from him is a younger man, his blond hair combed back from his face with a practiced smoothness. His expression is placid where Spencer's is disapproving. Where Spencer's form shows weakness, shows frailty, shows the slow ravages of time, the man across from him is nothing short of immaculate. Despite the darkness, a pair of sunglasses sit across his nose, the faintest hint of red glowing out from beneath them. His hands steeple together, black leather gloves creaking slightly as they move. There is some faint part of him that looks young, unsure, especially compared to the overwhelming force of Spencer. But at the same time, where Spencer is a king, this man is a prince, groomed from birth to claim the throne and propel it to higher and higher heights. His name is Albert Wesker.
The four others flanking the two of them in any other situation would also warrant such an introduction. They are men and women of power, of control, of ambition beyond the likes of most mortals. Each has, in their own way broken through into the realm of the gods, to live a life of which others dream. And yet, between Spencer and Wesker, they are barely present. Simple footnotes, under the shadows of titans. Each of them is a regional director of Umbrella, the company Spencer founded. But still, they are nervous. Nervous in the presence of their mercurial founder, and his mysterious protégé.
Wesker breaks the silence. "Sir, your thoughts on the proposal?"
Spencer frowns deeper, his eyes darting across the pages, cataloging every word and ever action it would entail, and in his mind synthesizing the result. After a few moments of tense silence, he raises his head, looking around the room at each of the directors, before resting directly on Wesker. As he does, he taps his skeleton-thin fingers on the document, a rhythmic pattern that matches the panicked tempo of the regional directors' heartbeats.
"This could be nothing but a waste of time and resources, Albert. Something that I do not have to spare."
"Yes, but if it isn't sir? I've seen the talent in the laboratories. There's more to exploit there, beyond what we're doing now."
Spencer sucks a breath through his teeth. "As your reports from your time working with them have told me, yes. Fine. The initiative has my approval. But Albert?"
Wesker stares straight at his benefactor, his employer, the man who is almost a second father to him, as his expression goes cold. The pressure in the room is suffocating. This, this is Oswell Spencer, not the frail form in the chair before him. This is the man who founded one of the most powerful companies in the world. The genius who pushed virology and biology to beyond their limits. The man with a vision of a new world.
"If they fail, it is on your head. All of your heads. Do you understand me?"
Wesker smiles.
"Perfectly sir."
On the the table, the folder remains open. At the top of it is a title, in bold font and bolder words.
THE DARWIN INITIATIVE