Chapter 103: William Birkin Gets His Strictest Mother
Half a month later. Early morning.
Outside the Umbrella Corporation building.
Three black armored transport vehicles, similar in construction to the kind used to move cash between bank vaults, pulled up slowly at the company entrance. Before anyone inside the vehicles had stepped out, fifteen armed security personnel emerged from the building and surrounded them in a complete perimeter.
Leading them was Leon S. Kennedy, in full combat gear.
Leon's current standing within Umbrella had come a long way from when he first arrived. His operational results had been consistently exceptional, and Matthew had elevated him to the same rank as Hunk, with the independent authority to deploy a portion of company forces without seeking prior approval. In the language of a much older era, he would have been something like the commander of the palace guard, the kind of rank that came with the authority to act and explain later.
People passing on the street noticed the scene and stopped, pulling out phones.
They found their footage was coming out blurred. Static at every attempt. As if someone had decided the area was not worth recording.
At the same time, Umbrella's internal security team moved the onlookers back from the building perimeter.
Only after a clear space had been established did the three vehicle doors open simultaneously.
Three armed escort teams stepped out. Each team worked together to carry a large black metal case. Heavy enough to require effort, but every step steady, no swaying.
They entered the building and rode the elevator to the laboratory level without a word spoken between any of them.
At the far end of the laboratory corridor, William Birkin and his deputy Thomas Chips had been waiting for some time.
The first team's leader stepped forward and addressed them both. "Which one of you is Thomas Chips?"
Thomas came out from behind William immediately, one hand already going up. "That's me. I'm Thomas Chips."
The team leader did not take this at face value. He asked for identification. Thomas produced his credentials without hesitation, and the leader compared them carefully before returning them and directing the team to set the case down.
"Thomas Chips. This has been prepared for you jointly by Mr. Lawrence and Miss Eleanor. Please handle it carefully."
The second team leader: "Which one is William Birkin?"
William had his credentials out before the question finished. The second team placed their case beside the first.
"Mr. Birkin. This is from Mr. Lawrence. Handle it with care."
The third team's leader followed directly behind. "Mine as well."
As the three teams filed out of the lab level, William did not miss the count. Thomas had received one case. He had received two.
A quietly satisfied expression settled onto his face.
Once the corridor was clear, he turned to Thomas with a well-rehearsed look of weary concern.
"Aiyo, Thomas, would you look at this. Our project load is already stacked to the ceiling, and the boss keeps piling more onto my side of the floor. What am I supposed to do with all of this?"
He paused meaningfully.
"Actually... could you spare me any people?"
"Not a single one." Thomas's response came flatly and immediately, with a small dismissive wave. "My team doesn't have spare hands either. And besides, the boss sent you a full batch of new personnel recently. By my count you're barely using them. You might consider sending some this way."
The suggestion was delivered with a certain tone.
William was entirely unbothered by it. He spread his hands with the expression of a man describing forces beyond his control. "The thought had crossed my mind! But look, two more projects just landed, and any buffer I had is already gone. Now I'll need to go back to the boss and ask for more people again. So much back and forth, it's honestly exhausting..."
He exhaled a practiced sigh of hardship.
"But there's no point complaining about it to the deputy director. I should just go focus on the new work."
"That's exactly right, Director William," Thomas said, already gesturing to his team to bring the equipment. "Get back to your section. I won't keep you."
Thomas and his team moved down the corridor toward the east wing.
William watched him go, smiled privately with some contempt, and thought what he always thought about Thomas.
Deputy director. Arrived at this position on luck and nothing else. If Martin were still in this lab where he belonged, Thomas would be invisible, a bit player filling in wherever the real work needed padding.
"Carefully," William said to his own staff, and headed toward the west wing.
Laboratory Level, East Wing.
Thomas sealed the east wing door and opened his case himself.
Pressure vented with a muffled hiss, accompanied by the sound of automated mechanisms engaging. A cloud of white vapor spread from the seams as a glass container roughly a meter and twenty centimeters tall was raised from its base on a support structure.
Inside the thick glass, a brain floated in nutrient fluid. Dense tubing connected to it from both above and below, threading into the brain's surface at multiple points. Every few seconds, a faint electrical pulse moved across it.
Thomas studied it. "What is this?"
A pre-recorded audio message began to play from inside the case.
It was short. An introduction and a purpose.
The brain belonged to Alexia Ashford. Umbrella's most outstanding researcher. Its youngest genius. The person who had once made William Birkin's achievements look modest by comparison, and who had single-handedly developed a near-complete version of the T-Veronica Virus.
Her body no longer existed. Only this brain remained intact.
Matthew was not sending it to Thomas to be studied. He was sending it to assist Thomas's research. Testing had confirmed that the preserved brain had retained cognitive function. The tubing and circuitry attached to it were designed to transmit her thoughts as data output.
Thomas looked at the container in front of him, and the excitement building behind his eyes was not something he tried to hide.
With this, his team's research output would increase several times over.
The chapter's narrator noted in passing: William Birkin had also received his strictest parent today. His strictest father. No. His strictest mother.
Laboratory Level, West Wing.
William did not yet know that the cloud he thought he had finally outrun was settling back over his head without his permission.
At this moment, William was entirely preoccupied with the honors Matthew had conferred upon him, and what the two additional cases might mean for his standing within the company.
Under the bright laboratory lights, William clasped his hands behind his back in the manner of someone with the authority to direct others and said, with measured deliberateness: "Open them."
"Yes, Director Birkin."
Compared to Thomas's hands-on approach next door, William's manner was considerably more aristocratic. He had earned the right to act like this, in his estimation. The V-Virus development and the Astartes Prototype project had made him the single most prominent figure in the research division outside of Ada and Eleanor. Everyone who passed him in the hall addressed him as Director.
Two staff members opened the two cases simultaneously.
Another round of pressure release. White low-temperature vapor seeped from the seams.
When the cases were fully open, William could see what each contained.
The first: biological material, already divided and sealed into individual glass containers. Body parts.
The second: rows upon rows of sealed virus canisters. They were packaged identically to the T-Virus, the same container type, the same configuration. Everyone in the room made the same immediate assumption: a new T-Virus variant.
William was still speculating about whose remains were in the first case when the pre-recorded audio began.
Brief. Just an identification and a context note.
Alexia Ashford.
Thomas, hearing the same name in his wing, had felt delight. William's first response was shock.
Then wild joy.
Her? It was actually her?
He had never believed the official account. A talent like Alexia Ashford did not die plainly from some viral exposure. That was not how someone of her caliber ended. The "infected by a virus" explanation had always seemed like the kind of excuse a bureaucrat wrote for paperwork.
And now he had confirmation. The brilliant, insufferable genius who had once made his accomplishments feel insufficient was genuinely, completely, thoroughly dead. Dead in a way that was not ambiguous. Her body had been cut apart and placed in tubes.
Research material.
William turned to look at the second case. The audio for it played as he looked.
T-Veronica Virus.
Hers.
The corners of his mouth moved in a way he wasn't entirely controlling.
Alexia. You never imagined this, did you. Your life's work, the virus you spent everything on, and it's in my hands now. That's fine. I'll take excellent care of your creation. By the time I'm done with it, it will be more stable, more efficient, and better than the version you built.
He instructed his team to store both the T-Veronica Virus samples and Alexia's remains with appropriate care.
Then he went directly for the elevator at a pace that did not involve stopping.
Matthew's floor. He needed to go up to Matthew's floor immediately.