Welcome To The Umbrella Corporation

Chapter Seven

Marcus punched in the access code and the doors slid open soundlessly. Wesker and Birkin, standing behind him, tried to look over his shoulders to see the hallway beyond the door, without trying to appear obvious about it. Marcus walked through the doorway and the two of them followed quickly. They were now in the secondary lab compound; Wesker and Birkin had been promoted.

“I probably don’t even have to tell you this,” Marcus said, “but you two are the youngest men ever to be promoted to this level. I hope you won’t disappoint me.”

“We won’t,” Wesker said casually. He glanced at Birkin and then said, “Well, I won’t at least. I can’t vouch for this other guy.”

“Very funny,” Birkin muttered, looking through glass windows into some of the lab rooms they were walking past.

Marcus stopped at a hallway intersection and folded his hands behind his back, turning to face them. “This is called the Alpha lab. Everything that goes on here is top secret and confidential, as I’ve already told you. Although you are still free to associate with the other scientists from the training lab upstairs, you are not permitted to discuss your work with any of them. You may only discuss your work with other scientists from this level. Is that understood?”

Both Wesker and Birkin nodded. Wesker kept his expression neutral, trying to act indifferent to the whole thing, hiding his eyes behind those reflective sunglasses, but Birkin’s attention was elsewhere. He looked up and down the hallways and into each lab he could see, visibly excited about the prospect of working here from now on.

“I’ll be honest with you,” Marcus said. “Despite what you think, neither of you are truly prepared for this promotion. I think each of you need at least six more months in the other lab. But I’m advancing you because you work well together. In other words, the two of you are qualified as a team, but not individually.”

“Does that mean we have to work together?” Birkin asked.

Marcus shook his head. “Of course not. You may pursue your own research. But I’d prefer if you would confer with each other frequently. Two heads are better than one, as they say.”

“If you say so,” Birkin said.

“Is this where the enzyme came from?” Wesker asked suddenly.

Marcus knew the question was coming, so he did not show any surprise at being asked, to Wesker’s disappointment. “No. The enzyme was developed in another lab.”

“Where?”

Marcus remained passive. “Antarctica,” he said casually. “Do you feel better now, knowing where it came from? Or are you going to ask to be transferred there?”

Wesker shrugged, trying to make light of the situation. He could tell he had crossed a line somewhere, only he wasn’t sure which line. “I’ll go wherever the action is.”

“The action is here,” Marcus said, and turned on his heel. He headed off down a different hallway, and the two rookies followed him. Birkin gave Wesker a harsh look, but Wesker chose to ignore it.

“That enzyme you were working on is a joke, gentlemen,” Marcus said, surprising them both and returning their attention to what he was saying. “It is a waste product. A leftover residue. Worthless, except as an instructional tool. We give it to new employees to see what they can do with it, to see how well they can manipulate its effects. That was the real test you were taking, and you didn’t even realize it.”

“Worthless?” Birkin sputtered. He sped up until he was walking beside Marcus. “How can it be worthless? It’s revolutionary!” He waved his arms, gesturing excitedly. “You could prevent cell damage! Reverse it, even! How can you throw away something with such potential?”

Wesker said nothing, already imagining what Marcus would say next. Birkin lost track of the big picture sometimes, overestimating and overreacting about the importance of some minor detail while missing the larger effect. He had trouble seeing the trees for the forest. Wesker did not have this problem, and so Marcus’ next words were not as shocking as they probably would have been otherwise.

“We’ve already prevented cell damage, William,” Marcus said. “I thought you would have guessed that by now.”

Birkin stopped dead in his tracks, and his jaw almost hit the floor. “You’ve already ...” he started, completely baffled. Wesker, not even slowing down, grabbed Birkin’s arm to pull him forward and get him walking again. Marcus didn’t even look back.

“It’s like I told you,” Wesker said. “That enzyme was just the tip of the iceberg.”

“They’ve prevented cell damage,” Birkin said, as if to himself. “If they’ve gone that far with their research, why haven’t they made it public? What could they still be working on?”

“I’m sure he’s going to tell us,” Wesker said.

Marcus finally looked behind him. “Very good, Wesker. You’re on top of things today.”

“Well, one of us has to be,” he said, motioning toward Birkin, who shook his arm loose of Wesker’s grasp and hurried forward until he was side-by-side with Marcus again.

“How did they do it?” he asked urgently. “Did they solve the enzyme’s method or just build on it? Did they get it to work on individual cells, or larger masses?”

“Please, William,” Marcus said gently, seemingly not bothered by Birkin’s behavior. “I already told you, the enzyme is a by-product, wasted material. It is the result of the work done here, not the cause of it.”

“A by-product of what?”

“I’m getting to that.”

At the end of the long, white hallway was a set of double doors with the words “Viral Containment Area” over them in bold red letters. As they passed through, Birkin looked up at the words, mouthing them to himself.

The room was smaller than Wesker had expected. It was about fifty feet square, brightly lit, the lighting made brighter because everything was white, even the chairs. The back wall was one large glass shelving unit full of test tubes and beakers and vials filled with any number of chemicals or compounds. To the left was a row of computer monitors and various chemical apparatus. And to the right ...

To the right was the biological Holy Grail.

Wesker walked forward to get a better look. Through a window of reinforced glass was a chemical rack of stainless steel. Set into it were a dozen or more test tubes filled with a glimmering silver liquid like mercury. Robotic arms were built into the ceiling of the small chamber with controls on the opposite side of the glass. Wesker stood directly in front of the window and stared at the containment area and the shining test tubes encased within. Birkin joined him, his eyes ablaze with wonder.

“It’s called the Progenitor,” Marcus said from behind them, his voice sounding far away. “It was discovered in 1962 by a brilliant scientist named Alexander Ashford. He’s one of the founders of the modern Umbrella Corporation. All of the work done at this laboratory, and the more advanced lab in Antarctica, revolves around the Progenitor, and even after twenty years we still have not fully unlocked its biological capabilities.”

Wesker and Birkin said nothing, staring at the test tubes of Progenitor. It was behind glass, and only robotic arms could come in contact with it. Finally, Birkin realized what that implied. He cast a worried look at Marcus.

Marcus nodded. “It’s a virus. It’s extremely contagious and extremely dangerous. We take the highest precautions when dealing with it.”

Birkin looked from Marcus back to the containment area, then back at Marcus. “How can it be dangerous? If it can prevent cellular damage – if it can do any of the things you’ve hinted at – how can it be dangerous?”

“It’s lethal,” Marcus stressed. “If released into the environment, it would undoubtedly kill everyone here. Are you beginning to understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

Wesker stepped closer until his face was an inch from the glass. He stared at the silver test tubes and smiled to himself. “It cures the disease by killing the host,” he said, and then laughed as if he’d made a joke. Birkin stared at him in disbelief, and at the Progenitor in barely disguised terror.

“Something like that,” Marcus said.

“It’s a virus?” Birkin said, still trying to overcome his initial shock. “I don’t understand how that’s possible. How did they discover it? Where did they discover it?”

“It doesn’t matter where,” Marcus said.

“Just tell me,” Birkin insisted.

“If you absolutely must know, it was discovered in Africa.”

“But where did it come from?”

Wesker sighed and took his gaze away from the Progenitor. The shimmering silver test tubes were like hypnotic eyes calling to him. Here they were, being shown the greatest biological secret in the world, and Birkin could not just accept what was right in front of his eyes. He insisted on doubting the reality of the situation because it scared him. Wesker could see it in Birkin’s wide, panicky eyes; the thought of a biological paradox like this – a violently lethal virus with the potential to cure cellular diseases – terrified him to the core. It was like discovering the fountain of youth only to find out it was full of sulfuric acid.

“I don’t care where they found it,” Wesker said, the sound of his voice apparently bringing Birkin down a notch. “I want to know what it does. I want to know how it works. I want to know everything there is to know about this virus.”

“In time, you will,” Marcus said. He looked at Birkin, who stared into the containment area in equal parts amazement and horror. “What about you, William? Do you want to continue your education and help in the Progenitor research, or have I misjudged your character?”

Birkin turned quickly and shot back, “Of course I want to learn about it! It’s just ...” he paused and glanced back at the silver test tubes, his voice becoming softer. Sweat had broken out on his forehead. “It’s just a lot more than I expected.”

Marcus closed his eyes and nodded. “Understandable. Shall we continue?”

“Yes,” Wesker said immediately.

They left the lab and went back down the hall they had come from. As they walked, Marcus spoke as if giving a lecture.

“The Progenitor’s main function is primarily regenerative in nature. When living tissue is exposed to it, the tissue is changed drastically. It heals remarkably fast, and as I’ve already said, cellular damage is repaired almost instantaneously. The Progenitor is a virus, and when it invades the cells, like all other viruses, it turns the cells into little virus factories. But in doing so, it makes the cells incredibly strong, giving them this amazing healing factor.”

“That’s what I don’t understand,” Birkin interrupted. “If it heals the cells, how can it wind up killing them?”

“It kills the host,” Marcus said. “It does not kill the cells.”

Birkin shook his head. “I don’t understand –”

“You will, if you listen.”

Birkin obediently shut his mouth, and Marcus continued. “When it infects a host, the host’s cellular structure is changed. It mutates the cells, like any other virus, and therefore weakens the host. But the individual cells become stronger. The rate of infection is incredibly fast as well. The time from infection to death is less than two hours.”

“Oh, my God,” Birkin whispered.

“The primary method of infection is through bodily fluids. Blood, saliva, mucus, even sweat. It can also go airborne in some rare cases, but infections by that method are blessedly uncommon.”

They came to a room marked “Audio/Visual” and went inside. There was a long conference table lined with chairs and a slide projector in the center. Marcus rolled up the projector screen to reveal a large screen television built into the wall.

“Take a seat, gentlemen,” he said, going to a large cabinet against the adjacent wall. The inside was lined with video cassettes, and after searching for a moment, Marcus came to the one he was looking for. He set the case on the table and pushed the tape into the VCR slot under the television. Wesker and Birkin took chairs, as instructed, while Marcus remained standing, folding his arms across his chest.

The tape came on and revealed a small observation room. A chimpanzee sat in the center of the room, playing idly with colored blocks. There was no sound to the video, but a small counter showed in the corner of the screen, currently set at zero. From outside the frame, a man entered wearing a hazard suit. His face was blurred behind the faceplate. The man touched the chimpanzee tenderly, distracting it, and then poked it in the arm with something. The chimp flinched, but the man continued to play with it and the chimp seemed to ignore the stealthy attack. After a few moments, the man got up and left. The counter started.

“He stabbed the monkey with a small pin dipped in the virus,” Marcus said. “The monkey has been infected. Watch the timer.”

The scene skipped ahead, and the timer now showed that thirty-two minutes had passed. The chimpanzee was still in the room, but it no longer played with the blocks. It stumbled around the small room, apparently disoriented. Unable to walk on its legs, it began crawling aimlessly around the room.

“The host loses control of its motor skills first,” Marcus explained as Wesker and Birkin had their attention riveted on the screen. “Reduced muscle control, blurred vision, and slurred speech come soon after.”

The scene skipped ahead once more, the counter showing that an hour and fourteen minutes had passed. The chimp now lay on its stomach in the middle of the room, barely moving. It twitched a few times, wiggling its hand, but otherwise remained still.

“The host slips into a catatonic state after an hour or so. Sometimes more, sometimes less, we’re not sure why there’s a disparity in the time frame.”

When the video skipped ahead once more, it showed the same scene of the chimp laying motionless in the center of the room. The counter showed that an hour and forty-one minutes had gone by.

“The monkey is dead now,” Marcus said. “All vital functions have stopped. Less than two hours after it was first infected.”

“My God,” Birkin said again, squirming in the chair. “No disease kills this fast. I’ve never heard of anything –”

“Quiet,” Marcus said. “It’s not over yet.”

The scene skipped ahead one last time, still showing the chimpanzee in the middle of the floor. The counter showed two hours and three minutes had elapsed since exposure. The chimp had not been moved.

“What’s going on?” Wesker asked. “The monkey’s dead, why are we still watching ...” But his voice trailed off as he watched the screen, and behind the sunglasses, his eyes got wide. Birkin raised a hand to his mouth and repressed a terrified moan.

The chimpanzee was moving again. It gradually got to his hands and feet and looked up, directly at the camera. Its eyes were open, bloodshot, and ablaze with fury. The chimp opened its mouth and screamed. Even with no sound on the video, Wesker could almost hear it, and it made him shiver uncontrollably.

“And after two hours,” Marcus said casually, “the monkey comes back to life.”

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