HIS IS A NAME THAT EVOKES VARYING REACTIONS ACROSS the board — wholly associated with the monstrosity of the tyrant in both historical and literal context. Long after he is departed from this world, his shedding will remain, and with it, a history rewritten. To make for oneself a home in the shadows, past the watchful eye of world governments, is to enjoy a brand of freedom few could ever hope to attain. Wesker brandishes a primordial power past the surface-level illusion of wealth. The kind capable of destroying whole machines from within, planting the seed and watching as it debilitates the establishment.
Concluding his hired hand will find their offshore account deposited with the proper sum, he departs with an important intention in mind. The recipient of his message is the sole child of a dear old friend. Prior to the Birkins’ deaths, he had made an oath to both William and Annette to look out for their daughter and keep her from harm’s way. Ultimately, Wesker was unable to keep said promise, one made with a rare, genuine intent to follow through. Had he had his way, the entire family would have been taken by his people, to a safety beyond Umbrella’s, as well as the U.S. government’s reach.
The less than ideal outcome had been the greatest failure of his life, leaving him with a misery the likes of which embedded deep into his psyche, layering atop the hatred already brewing. The thought of facing the child he had held once ( with the simple honour of being an uncle ) for the first time in decades, has him in a strange state of unrest. For a man used to concealing expression, Wesker thinks to himself: is he truly so beyond humanity that he can wholly omit his love for the only family he has left?
His grip on the steering as he traverses the dark roads between D.C. and Alexandria is a touch strained. Outside noises filter out, his vision tunneling as he focuses on the task at hand, knowing he is taking a risk of uncharacteristic desperation. This is a gamble the likes of which others must never know of. His relation to Sherry Birkin is that of a guardian angel capable only of assisting from afar, lest her higher-ups in the government uncover their familial connection and end her life altogether.
Pulling into the parking lot, he emerges from the nondescript, navy sedan, dressed down in disguise. In lieu of the aviators, he wears reading glasses meant to expose eyes well-practiced in the art of mimicking humanness ( his intent being for Sherry to see him in the light she originally saw him in, not as Jörmungandr consuming its own tail. ) Notably, he is early to their meeting by thirty minutes, scoping out the location of the diner inside and out for the umpteenth time — with a keen observational technique bordering on a sense of paranoia. Seating himself in the back right booth and leaning against the patchy green upholstery, he blanks his mind like the push of a button and awaits.
After some time, his child arrives, and the sight of her dissipates his bitterness. She comments in feigned eudaemonia, though he knows better.
“ Dark roast. Creamer and sugar on the side. ” He addresses the waitress first. After her departure, there is a waver to the close-lipped smile he offers plainly to the young woman opposite. The bustle of the diner falls away as he notes how she’s hardened her constitution in the guise of a D.S.O. agent. ( Yet, eyes resembling the innocence of her mother’s on her wedding day, and a mousy, pointed nose matching her father’s remind him who she is. )
“ A tale for another day, dear. You’ll have to spare an old fellow for the time being. ” And what is he to say? Braver words elude him, slipping out of his grasp, and he stifles the wave of sadness that threatens to shatter the empty mug before him. “ Sherry, it is too little too late. Know, however, that I did everything in my power to save them. ”
And you. And it was hardly enough.
𝐴 𝐺𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐾𝐸𝐸𝑃𝐸𝑅 𝐼𝑆 𝑊𝐸𝐷𝐺𝐸𝐷 𝐵𝐸𝑇𝑊𝐸𝐸𝑁 𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑀. a lawful yet insidious being with endless questions dancing on his gluttonous tongue. his golden cane is decorated in prosperous jewels, and the tip of his staff is as SHARP as the bristles of a hedgehog dipped in poison. he refuses to budge, chuckling at their dismay and a dare to try him out of spite. at the cost of ETERNAL confinement, she contemplates the notion of challenging the gatekeeper, breaking the emblematic chains of law, and tasting what it truly means to be FREE. the what ifs are endless hypotheticals, but the punishment is a promise. two bullets to the back of the head, an agent missing in action. she would be a HERO to the public, gracing the morning papers and headlines with a story that sounds too good to be true, but believable enough so that no one will question it. an acquiescent public is a quiet one. all because she demanded entry to a gate that belonged to her from the start. this is the life she was promised, but amidst the chaos, promises can be shattered, and lives change paths for better or for worse.
their lives are a parallel of black and white, standing on the antipodal edges of MORALITY. she wonders what would’ve happened if he had made due on his promise, taking her far away from the governments’ grasp and unspeakable cruelty. his voice rings through one ear and out the other, and with it there are flashes of another life in another universe. she stares blankly at his coffee, watching as opaque clouds of ivory seep into midnight black, altering the state of bitterness completely. she’s lost in the symbolism, drowning out the idle chatter that SURROUNDS them, falling back into the fantasy his words have painted effortlessly on an otherwise blank canvas. despite what the world thinks of him, he’s still uncle wesker to her.
❝ you did everything you could. ❞ she clears her throat, too overwrought to even glance at the menu, eyes wholly fixed on his EVERY move, all the way down to the stillness in his wrist when he stirs the cream and sugar. ❝ your “death” is the reason i’m out of protective custody. i’d laugh if it weren’t so… ❞ REAL. the last word is stuck, snuffed out with a shaking sigh as shoulders begin to tense. raccoon city is suddenly as FRESH as summers grass, and the memories more vivid than any light violently flickering within the diner. she remembers her mother’s last words, her father’s inhuman form, and claire’s beaming smile despite the parlous circumstances. she’s falling into a time she’d rather forget, a nightmare that visits all too often when she least suspects it.
❝ dunno what they were protecting me from to be honest. no one in there ever gifted me stuffed turtles or crayons. they did more harm than good… i missed your voice every night. i missed mom and dad, even if they were absent they still… loved me. ❞ palms brush away silvery tears that threaten to turn into streams, but she swallows the pain with a forceful sip of her steaming drink, jaws taut in discontent.
❝ but that’s all in the past. ❞ their reunion is bittersweet, rife with emotions she’s held in for twenty three years now. despite this, she can finally breathe knowing that a sliver of her past is tangible. he’s not a ghost, or a figment of sherry’s imagination. he’s REAL, and she’s got a feeling he’s here to stay, even if his existence complicates the agent’s life more than she could ever imagine. ❝ … and you’re here now. that’s all that matters. you’re here. ❞
‘don’t you ever leave me again.‘
