RESIDENT EVIL → THE WESKER FAMILY
To the public, little is known of the families behind some of the world’s most renowned bioterrorists, but the question remains: did they play a role in causing their children to walk down the path that they did? Or are these individuals simply ambitious criminals with delusions of grandeur?
For Diana Wesker (née Afanasyeva), her introduction into the bioweapons black market trade was upon discovering her employers were using her research into limb regeneration with salamanders to further their experiments in creating enhanced soldiers, instead of developing human therapies with which she was recruited for. Although the prospect of using biological weapons in the military did not appeal to her, the concept remained fascinating for her own selfish endeavours. Born on the 27th of October, 1963 in Sydney, Australia to Russian immigrant parents, Diana had harsh expectations placed upon her at a young age, ones that no matter how hard she tried she could never live up to. Her mother, Tatyana, was an unfeeling woman, absent for long stretches of time with little regard to how it affected her daughters, much more concerned with her craft as an accomplished opera singer. Viktor was no better. A strict man whose role as father and ballet master blurred, he pushed his girls to one day follow in his footsteps. Whilst Sofia enjoyed ballet, and went on to become a professional ballet dancer, Diana’s heart was set on going into the field of biology. She wished to make a name for herself, separate from her family – to which she succeeded.
Diana was married to former U.S. Marine, Dave Monroe, for only a year until he was declared dead in 1992 after succumbing to injuries sustained in a horrific car accident. Foul play was ruled out while Diana played the role of the grief-stricken widow, but in reality, she had snapped after years of mistreatment at her husband’s hands, and opted for something she could pass off as an accident to be free of him. For years she believed he was dead – and he was, legally – but that proved to not be the case when he found his way back into her life again in 1999. Unbeknownst to her, she had been lied to by the police and coroner, who were paid off by her employers when they took Dave’s body for themselves and used him as one of their first test subjects in developing supersoldiers. Before he could ever hurt her again, Diana’s second husband, Albert Wesker, tracked the man down, captured him and tortured him, before allowing Diana to get her violent and bloody revenge.
The origins of Albert Wesker’s involvement in bioterrorism, alongside his twin sister, Alex, are much different than that of Diana’s. The two hail from London, Canada, but unfortunately, they hold no memories of their lives there, nor what happened to their biological parents when they were eight years old. Agents of Oswell E. Spencer, an aristocratic billionaire and eugenicist, took the twins from their home and executed their parents as per Spencer’s orders. Albert and Alex were then placed in a home funded by the Spencer Foundation where they were given new names and a privileged upbringing. They had access to the best education possible, free to pursue whichever field they decided, but it was by no accident they both went into virology and bioengineering; at home, their adoptive parents – agents whom they believed to be their real parents – instilled them with the beliefs of Oswell E. Spencer, harbouring disdain for war and pestilence, and believing humans to be an evolutionary dead-end in need of a rebirth. They were only two of the hundreds of children “adopted” as part of what is known as Project W, a plan intended to develop an advanced race of human beings. The most promising candidates were headhunted by Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, the twins amongst them, where they went on to create bioweapons for the company founded by none other than the man who had handpicked them for his plan. The final stage of this was to infect the thirteen Spencer saw fit, however, only two survived; Albert received the intended effects, now possessing superhuman abilities, however, Alex was only offered more time to live due to her terminal degenerative illness.
In the summer of 1995, Diana was working undercover within Umbrella to gather development data on their projects for her company. Here, she had a chance encounter with Albert, an intelligence officer at the time, which permanently altered the course of her life. The two were never seen far from one another’s side, marrying in 1998, and they went on to become notorious in the bioweapons industry. The development of the Uroboros virus was where things took a turn for the worst. Although Diana’s infection was successful and she bore abilities that rivalled her husband’s, the plan itself did not succeed as they had hoped, and almost cost Albert his life at the hands of his former subordinates.
Now, they work within the shadows, with Diana declared missing and Albert believed to be dead. Their legacy, however, lives on with the mark they left on the world. As visionaries in their field, they influenced bioterror attacks carried out by countless individuals and organisations. In turn, they also inspired others to fight against such atrocities. One such person happens to be Albert’s son from a former relationship, Jake Müller, whose existence he was unaware of.
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So… have you watched or played The Last of Us? If you have, could you write Thena and Gilgamesh meeting after a fight with a few clickers?
Gil panted behind his palm. Even his heavy breathing was liable to get him killed in a situation like this. Fuck.
Half the party was already dead.
Between the upper floor and the lower, they had split up. He didn't know everyone--hell, he didn't really know anyone. No one had to know anyone in their little section of city life, and he liked it that way. But any loss was a loss, and it meant more food for those things.
Two clickers, as far as he could gather. One was on the mezzanine level, trying to flush out the rest of the team. The other was on the lower level, already spreading cordyceps to those below. Fuck.
Gil slowed his breathing. He looked up at the broken skylight. There was still some glass in it, but it was mostly a big ass hole letting in the elements now. If only he could get eyes on them. He was one of three of them who had real experience in the field.
He always tried to tell people he grew up in America, but he spoke the language. Then he would say that everyone had to do mandatory service, but that still meant he had firearms training. Didn't matter if it was the Korean forces or US army, they wanted anyone who could hold a gun and not shoot their own nuts off.
The other two were the team leads, did this regularly. One was a sharpshooter, talkative but also deceptively observant. Gil didn't know if he had served or if he just had perfect eyes, but either way, he was always on the scope. The other one was definitely the kind of guy who liked his time in service. He was tightly wound, always had a stick up his ass, liked barking orders.
The only other one Gil even somewhat recognized was the woman.
He didn't know her name either, but he knew that the sharpshot called her 'T'. He referred to her as Blondie in his head sometimes, only because, well, fuck--he didn't think a person could get any blonder than she was. Not in the dumb way.
On the contrary, she seemed lethally sharp. He had seen her around. She kept quiet, kept to herself. But he had seen her use sign language and she was light on her feet; those were already two assets that made her pretty much royalty to the field team.
Gil flinched back as that sickening sound drew closer. That creaking, croaking click that gave the things their name. He looked down at the floor.
Blondie was waving at him.
He looked up from the puddle. She was in a pretty good spot, actually. She was up on one of the higher shelves, crouched like a fucking cat. Her hands moved but he made a face and shook his head.
She gave up on the real sign language. She had eyes on them. One was right behind him. The other was downstairs. Their own were each pinned in the crook of a corner. Better to deflect that thing's sounds.
Gil nodded. This was their best bet. He looked at her and angled his rifle.
She shook her head. It wasn't a good shot. And even if the other one was downstairs, it would just come charging up at them as soon as they made any real noise. And those it was infecting now would follow.
Gil tilted his head back again. Why had he agreed to raid duty again?
Oh right, he was just feeling particularly miserable about things. And he wanted off body duty--anything but hauling the lifeless sacks around all day. Maybe something in the kitchens.
Blondie was waving again. She pointed up at the skylight.
Gil shook his head. What was the busted ass skylight gonna do?
She pointed again, then at him, then up. She mimicked taking the shot. Then...snowfall? Rain? Rainfall; Gil made a face and she nodded. She was telling him to shoot the skylight. The clattering glass might - just fucking might - be enough to distract those things.
He tilted his head at her, asking if she was particularly sure about any of this.
She shrugged, pulling up the dinky little handgun either Thing 1 or Thing 2 had given her. She nodded at him and then aimed downwind from herself. It almost looked like she was aiming at him, but he could see that she really thought shit through when she had something to say. She was going to aim for the one closest to him.
He took his aim too, looking at Blondie up on the shelf. He held out his fingers. It was on three, if either of them mistimed this, shit could go south very fucking fast.
Blondie nodded.
One. Gil drew in a breath. He still didn't like guns at all. He had never had to use his weapon when he did his mandatory service. Two. He didn't like any of this, to be honest. He wasn't really a violent guy, by nature. But the world was what it was, now, and violent delights had violent ends. Three. All that was left was trying to live day by day.
The skylight clattered to the ground below, even the glass that was remaining falling inward. Maybe it didn't seem like much when it was up that high, but it was actually a hell of a lot of glass that rained down on the first floor. The clicker down there screeched as it was sliced up from above. The bodies of their own also got buried in the sharp snowfall.
Gil winced as his gunshot echoed in his ear. It wasn't really an echo, one shot was his and one was hers. He ducked down, expecting shit to rain down on him too.
Blondie had pretty good aim, apparently. She got the thing right through the temple. It was still up, sure, twitching and all, but the brain was dead, thus no longer a source of nutrients for its host.
Gil walked out cautiously. He peered downstairs. There were only a few masses writhing and hissing down there. He spread some shots around, making sure nothing sprang up to trot up and meet him. Once nothing seemed to be moving, he dropped the barrel.
Blondie gave him a tight nod.
He returned it, looking around him. Dumb and Dumber were already skulking around the rest of the mezzanine, looking for evidence of more of them. True gentlemen, leaving the lady fucking up on a pedestal. Gil rolled his eyes.
Blondie eyed him from above as he walked over to her. A little glass crunched under his boots as he did. She was still curled up pretty tight on herself.
Gil nodded his head for her to come down.
She looked around them. There was a clicker body and a hell of a lot of glass around them.
Gil sighed. It was always easier going up than coming down. He pulled the strap off his shoulder and set his weapon down. He extended his arms up.
She gave him a look.
He scoffed and waved his hands again. What did she think--that he was trying to cop a feel? He changed the position of his arms, promising her an easy dismount.
She had her misgivings, and he couldn't really blame her for that. He kept his hands up as she slowly unfurled her legs. She let them dangle a little before scooting herself closer to the edge. She was really trying not to trust him.
Gil moved forward, grasping her by the waist before she could really plummet that last couple feet to the ground. Jesus, she weighed as much as a sheet of paper. He kept his eyes on her as he helped lower her to the ground quietly. Once even her toes were on the floor again he let go, holding his palms out and stepping away. No funny business.
She continued to eye him like a cat would eye a stray dog. Maybe he could see why; she was an itty-bitty thing, not that anyone was necessarily well fed these days. But the jacket she was wearing really hid how delicate boned she was.
Gil raised an eyebrow.
She gave him one last withering glare before tipping her head. It wasn't much of a thank you, but he accepted it nonetheless. She looked over at the clicker that had been right on top of him and then at him, from the ground up. Her sandy coloured eyebrows raised as well.
He pursed his lips and tipped his head. He wasn't bit, but he wouldn't call this a fun day out, or anything. He shrugged, and she seemed to agree with his lacklustre sentiment.
Blondie looked across the open mezzanine. The sharpshot signed something to her, and she signed back. She even had slim little delicate fingers.
Gil tiled his head to catch her eye again, hoping to be filled in. There were regular classes for sign language back in town. Maybe it was time he actually attend some.
She nodded to him with a hint of a smile. "All clear."
Gil blinked as she walked past him on the way to the lower floor again. "You can talk?"
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