Chapter Text
Rose stares at the RPD station of Raccoon City.
It’s a big building, kind of fancy, old in the way she likes them, the stone ancient and full of stories.
She keeps her gloved hands tucked into the pockets of the jacket she stole in a clothing store. It’s three sizes too big and it makes her look young and a bit lost, which is exactly the effect she’s aiming for.
The woman in the grocery store had called her ‘sweetie’ in a concerned tone when Rose had paid her sandwich exclusively with coins. It had taken thirty seconds to put the correct amount on the counter and Rose’s face was warm in embarrassment when she left.
She got here with a few bills in her wallet but she can’t use them. The date is wrong. The details are wrong. The serial number is wrong.
But it’s 1998 and phone booths are still a thing so Rose did something she once read about in a Stephen King’s novel, slipping thin strands of mold inside the machine until she could unlock the mechanism and get the coins.
The jacket also hides her black short-sleeved shirt, tactical belt and the knife tucked in its holster against the small of her back. And it goes well with her cargo pants and military boots. She also stole a beanie to accentuate the runaway look.
She takes a breath. The air is cool against her skin. It’s still early, barely past eight, but the streets are busy, people going around with their lives, totally unaware of the tragedies to come.
If Rose gets her way, they will continue to live happily in this town, which doesn’t exist anymore in her timeline.
She takes a step forward, crossing the open gates of the RPD, and once she starts moving, she doesn’t stop, heading straight for the double doors and ignoring the vaguely curious looks two cops smoking near the steps throw her.
The man sitting at the reception desk smiles at her politely. His nametag reads ‘E.Edward’.
“Can I help you?”
Rose received a few hours of undercover training a few months ago, but she was never a great actress. Still, she plasters a winning smile on her face and tucks her elbows on the counter.
“I’m here to see my brother,” she says brightly, and the officer looks a bit surprised. “He didn’t warn you?”
The man blinks, his smile still here despite his surprise – and why would he be suspicious?
“No, he didn’t, but I’m sure I can give you a hand in his whereabouts. What did you say his name was?”
Here goes nothing, Rose thinks. “Wesker, Albert Wesker. Is he here today?”
The smile slips for a second, something close to disbelief passing on the man face, but she holds his gaze steadily, squashing down the urge to fidget. She needs to sell the act.
To his credits, the officer regains his composure quickly and throws her a small smile. “I can ask, give me a second.”
He grabs the phone, punches a few buttons, and Rose tries to ignore the lingering look he gives her as he waits for the line to connect.
He clears his throat. “Hello, Officer Edward speaking. I have a young woman at the reception, she says she’s Captain Wesker’s sister and wishes to speak to him.” He waits for an agonizing amount of seconds. Rose can’t hear what the other person is saying, but the officer doesn’t look overly suspicious. He nods, once. “Alright. Hold on.”
He tucks the phone against his shoulder. “What’s your name, Miss?”
“Alex,” she says.
She can thank Chris for his very thorough training on the biggest names in the bio-terrorist business. He was adamant that he knew what she was up against, and made her read an ungodly amount of confidential files so she could have a good understanding on what happened for the situation to get so bad.
So she knows about the Wesker’s children. About the Spencer’s Mansion and the whole debacle with Captain Wesker betraying his team and running off to become one of the world’s most renowned bio-terrorist.
And she knows, even if the timeline is a bit messy in her head, that Alex Wesker is currently a big name in Umbrella’s game of powers, and even if her relationship with Albert seems less than ideal, the name is a sesame key Rose is not afraid to use.
The man repeats the name, nods again, then hangs up.
“I’ll escort you to the S.T.A.R.S office, Miss,” he says, with a friendly smile.
She follows him, a part of her still amazed that it worked. Captain Wesker probably knows it’s not his sister coming to see him, but he’s probably curious as to how would use the name to get an appointment with him.
The officer looks at her with ill-concealed curiosity, so she smiles at him as they climb the stairs leading to the first level.
“He didn’t talk about me?” She asks, keeping her tone light and her hands tucked in her pockets. She manages to inject a small amount of vexation in her voice.
The officer makes a small, amused sound. “I don’t have a lot of opportunities to talk about family with Captain Wesker.” He pronounces the name with something akin to respect. “I’m just a police officer, and he’s the Captain of the S.T.A.R.S team.”
She nods with a self-depreciating grin. “Yeah, I get that. He doesn’t really talk about me anyway.”
The officer’s expression is way too sympathetic and she almost feels bad about lying to his face like that.
“I’m sorry,” he tries, and she waves the apology away with a shrug.
“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
The officer suddenly stops and she does too, and she understands why when a strangely familiar-but-unknown person appears in the corridor, walking in long strides and wearing a green shirt and fuck.
Her chest suddenly aches like someone punched her heart out of her ribcage.
It’s Chris.
Twenty-something Chris Redfield with a S.T.A.R.S uniform and a pleasant expression on his face, and when he stops right in front of them with a “I can take it from here, Eliott”, all Rose can do is stare.
For her, Chris died three days ago.
He looks so young, face smooth and free of worried lines and five o’clock shadow, his eyes bright and expressive, his smile too sincere, too free. He looks thinner, not as bulky as Rose knew him, still reasonably beefy but not as much.
“Hi,” he says with a grin and a wave and Rose almost leaves right on the spot because it hurts too much.
This is Chris before everything. The Chris she only saw in a handful of old pictures, the ones Chris was always a bit ashamed about for some reasons.
“Hi,” she manages to say. “Thank you,” she says, turning to smile at the officer, hoping her face is not broadcasting the bottomless grief she feels in her chest.
“You’re welcome. Have a nice day, Miss.”
The officer looks a bit disappointed, like he wanted to see her talk with Wesker, but he leaves with one last friendly smile and Rose is alone with Chris.
She doesn’t know him. He doesn’t know her. But it’s still the same deep-brown eyes and crooked grin and she’s hit with the sudden urge to grab him and never let him go because Chris died and she didn’t get to say goodbye.
She swallows past the lump in her throat and gives the Chris staring at her with unabashed curiosity a little grin.
“I’m guessing your Captain didn’t tell you about me?” Her tone sounds a bit strained, but it’s fine. She can pass it off as being pissed at Wesker for never mentioning her.
Chris looks like he wants to laugh. It’s so weird seeing like that – his face an open book she can read so easily. “He’s pretty tight-lipped about his personal life, you know.” He makes a sweeping gesture toward the corridor. “Come on, let’s not make him wait. The team’s pretty curious about you.”
She really hopes her smile reach her eyes. “I’m sure they are.”
They start walking. The height difference is the same, so that’s one thing that never changed about Chris. She tries to be subtle when she looks at him from the corners of her eyes, and catches him doing the exact same thing.
He looks a bit embarrassed to be caught in the act. “So, how old are you?”
“Twenty-one,” she says, quick and easy because it’s the truth.
Minus forty-three years. I’m living in the negatives here.
His face brightens up. She understands why Jill once said Chris had been hit the hardest by his sudden change of career spurred by the Mansion.
He looks so nice and friendly.
“Eh, not that much younger than me!” God, he had to bring it up. The fact that they are only four years apart now. “I’m twenty-five.” He winks.
If Chris Redfield starts flirting with her she’s going to cry.
Thankfully, it seems she has kick-started more of a brotherly instinct than a womanizer one, because his face softens as they come to a stop in front of a door with a S.T.A.R.S sign.
“Hey, I don’t know what’s your story, or why you need to see Wesker, but if you need help, I can lend you a hand, you know.” His voice is low and rushed, and he looks genuinely worried. It must be Rose’s big jacket and tired face.
Or Chris Redfield always had a radar for people who needed some help.
She nods, not trusting her voice not to break if she tries to talk, and he smiles at her and opens the door.
It’s an office, desks and computers that look big and clunky, files cabinet and a few people she doesn’t recognize sitting and talking to themselves. All of them look up to stare at her as she slips behind Chris.
One correction. She recognizes the woman wearing a blue shirt sitting a few feet away from her. Jill, as young and innocent as Chris is, her eyes glinting with curiosity and excitement.
Thankfully, Chris doesn’t let anyone get a word in before leading her toward the closed door at the end of room. He’s glaring half-heartedly at Jill’s not-so-subtle attempts at flagging him down, and one big bearded man in the corner is smiling with all his teeth in display.
Chris knocks on the door, and it opens almost immediately.
Rose looks at a man she’s only seen in pictures up until now, and understands why nobody seemed that surprised by her very bold lie.
Albert Wesker has blond hair, blue eyes, and if Rose wasn’t a hundred percent sure they aren’t related, she could have some doubts.
“Hi,” she says, taking her hand off her pocket to wave at him. She doesn’t smile – she doesn’t need to. Chris eyes her glove with some kind of calculating look on his face and it takes her a second to see why – Wesker also wears gloves, but probably for very different reasons.
Wesker steps aside wordlessly, and she braces herself and steps into his office.
“Redfield, go back to work.” Wesker doesn’t sound particularly angry or amused or anything, really.
Rose quickly looks around the office – it looks perfectly normal, and there is even a picture of the S.T.A.R.S team on the wall. The door closes behind her and she turns her head.
Wesker is staring. There is a small frown on his face, but it disappears when he steps around to sit behind his desk.
He makes an inviting gesture to the chair in front of the desk, and Rose sits down, taking off her beanie and raking her fingers through her hair.
The easiest part of her plan is done. Now come the hard part.
“Now, I don’t know who you are, or why you would use a name I haven’t heard in years to get to my office.” Wesker starts. His eyes are a lighter shade of blue than hers, almost too pale. “But for your sake I hope you have an excellent explanation for your little stunt.”
He’s keeping his voice low, not wanting to hear the agents behind the closed door to hear him.
“Would you have accepted to see me if I had used my real name?” She puts her beanie in her pocket. “I didn’t have a lot of option, and playing off the family resemblance was my best bet.” She makes a face. “Believe me, it’s not like I enjoyed pretending to be related to you.”
“And what is your real name?”
She leans against the back of her seat. Her heart is a steady beat against her ribs. She can do this.
“Rosemary. But people call me Rose.” He tilts his head to the side minutely. Probably trying to remember if the name’s familiar.
It won’t be. She doesn’t exist yet. Won’t exist for another twenty-two years.
And maybe she never will, but it’s a small price to pay for Chris to live.
“I don’t know you,” Wesker finally says, stapling his fingers under his chin and looking at her coldly. “But you seem to know me, and used a name you shouldn’t know to get here.”
She shrugs. “I know a lot of things.”
The smile he gives her is utterly devoid of warmth and humor. It’s not hard to see the powerful creature hiding behind the thin veneer of humanity.
Albert Wesker won’t be injected with the Prototype virus until next month, but he’s still a force to be reckoned.
Raised to be a weapon.
Like Rose, and plenty other people before her.
“I see.” He mirrors her position, leaning back against his seat. His eyes are two cold slivers of blue. “And can I ask where exactly you found this knowledge?”
“It’s a bit complicated, and you probably won’t believe me, so,” she waves a hand around, “and I’m not here to talk about me anyway.”
He gives her a very manufactured questioning look. The way he emotes makes her think of a robot trying to look human, and failing very badly. How did none of the S.T.A.R.S agents got suspicious of him?
“You’re not?”
“Nope.” She starts fiddling with the cordon of her jacket. “I’m here to tell you to stop your stupid plans and get a hobby.”
Alright. Not her best attempt at converting an evil bio-terrorist to the good side. In her defense, she doesn’t have a lot of experience doing this. Most bio-terrorists are too busy trying to kill her, or cut her open with a scalpel to listen to her speech about doing the right thing.
At least it’s enough for Wesker to drop the aloof attitude and looks surprised for a moment.
“I’m sorry?”
She winces. “Let me rephrase. I’m not – I don’t usually do this kind of things. It’s more – “
She has to stop, because she was about to say it’s more Chris’s job to talk people down, but Chris is dead and the Chris in this timeline is young and doesn’t know anything about Wesker’s plans.
She swallows. Doesn’t let anything show on her face because if her assessment of Wesker is correct, he’s the kind of person to latch onto any hints of weakness.
He’s starting to look at her with a very unimpressed expression.
“I know you’re planning on letting your team go into the Mansion and make them fight your B.O.W,” she starts, ignoring the small contraction of Wesker’s hands. Like he wants to reach for his gun. “And then betraying them, and faking your death, and then going off with some rival organization I don’t remember the name off.” She stops to take a breath. “I’ve got a lot of names in my head right now, don’t hold it against me.”
“How did you –“
“I’m not going to tell you,” she says quickly. “It’s not important.”
He’s staring at her like she’s speaking another language. It’s fair. Honestly, Rose feels like she’s going crazy half of the time.
He opens and closes his mouth. She gives him a smile. One that probably looks as manic as she feels.
“Your plan is terrible and doesn’t accomplish anything.” She starts to bounce one of her legs.
She kind of understands his confused-but-angry expression. If some random girl dropped out of nowhere to sprout some nonsense about his future, she would be confused and pissed off too.
“So. Don’t do it. Even if you do it, I’ll stop you, and I would rather have you as an ally, to be honest. You look like a piece of work.” She clears her throat. That’s why Chris told her she wasn’t made for interrogation tactics. She’s too fast, go straight for the punch instead of running in circles.
“You’ll stop me?” Wesker repeats, and he seems to have come to the conclusion that yes, she’s completely mad, but he can indulge her for a moment, because she knows things she shouldn’t know. “You?”
His eyes rake over her body with a slight arch of his brows.
Rose looks like a perfectly normal twenty-one years old girl. She’s on the smaller side of the scale, doesn’t have a lot of muscles to her name, and she’s dressed up like a depressed college student.
It’s her biggest strength. Because nobody looks at her and thinks, “most dangerous B.O.W of our time”.
It would be a stretch.
So she smiles at him, showing teeth and her fingers itching under the gloves.
“Me.”
Maybe he thinks she’s overconfident because he doesn’t look convinced of anything.
So she gets up, very slowly, not wanting the man to shoot her or something, and puts her hands on the desk, leaning to stare at him straight in the eyes.
She lets the human façade drop. Blank expression. Glowing eyes. White veins coursing under the skin and disappearing under her collar. The smell of mold and mildew and something rotting. She smiles, again.
“Believe me. You don’t want to be on my bad side.” She leans forward, again, and he doesn’t move away. “I’m something you’ve never met before, and you don’t have the means to kill me.”
She slips the glove of her right hand between her teeth and pulls. Her hand is covered in white, shiny veins, and she forms a blade with the mold thrumming under her skin.
“So you better get your shit together, Albert Wesker, or the S.T.A.R.S team will have to find another Captain.”
She stabs the blade through his sleeve and the wood of his desk, missing his skin by a hair. He doesn’t react much, probably because he’s very good at controlling his emotions, and the move was kind of expected.
He stares at her. Then at the blade. Then at her again.
And then he laughs.
He laughs exactly like she was expecting him to – the kind of evil cackling she’s gotten used to over the years.
While he does his villain thing she takes off the blade and makes it disappear before putting her glove back.
He’s smiling, and it looks a bit less predatory than the last one. “You’re an interesting one, Miss Rosemary.”
“Just Rose,” she says. “Think about it, Wesker. I’m coming back tomorrow.”
“I’m still unsure what you want me do to, Miss Rosemary.” He sounds highly amused. What a change.
She lifts her fingers one by one as she starts listing off things. “Don’t let the S.T.A.R.S team go the Mansion. Don’t try to steal the samples, it won’t work anyway, but still. Don’t run off to play bio-terrorist for some criminal organization, it won’t do you any good. Don’t –“
“Do you want me to sit here and do nothing, Miss Rosemary?” He leans forward, putting his chin on his fist. He’s smiling.
It’s like a switch has been flipped, the stoic and serious attitude completely gone, and Rose wonders if she’s facing the true Albert Wesker, or if this is another façade.
She pretends to think about it. “Kinda, yeah. It would be better, to be honest. But if you could just – I don’t know, not do anything evil for a few months, it would be great.”
He lifts his brows. She sits back down on her seat. Her legs feel like jelly.
“Why would I need to do that? What is your goal here?”
Long-term goal, not letting Chris die.
Short-term goal, not letting Chris die and loses his faith in the world.
Also, stop the infection and destruction of Raccoon City. Destroy Umbrella before it can do more damages. Find The Connections and stop the creation of Eveline. Then go to Romania and kill Miranda for good, before she can kidnap baby Rose and kill her father.
She doesn’t know if she’s going to have the time to do all of that, but she can try.
“I can’t tell you that,” she says, briefly closing her eyes because pointing fingers at Chris is a very bad idea. “But if you want one demand, it’s to not betray your team.”
Wesker looks wistful. At least he’s not laughing at her face again.
Rose feels very tired, all of a sudden. The past three days have been a whirlwind of confusion and grief and daze, trying to understand where she was, and how she ended up back in time right after Chris died and why in Raccoon City of all places, trying to find a place to stay and money and food and try to come up with a plan because she was here for a reason, and she couldn’t waste her chance at making things right.
That and she spent a good half of that time convinced she was hallucinating the whole thing and waiting for the other shoe to drop and monsters to come out of the sewers, but it never happened.
“Listen,” she says, her voice soft and almost too gentle. “I know what it’s like to grow up with people calling you a weapon. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re destined for something and you don’t have a choice because other people already made it for you.” She thinks of her mom and Chris and the Hound Wolf Squad. “I know, I know how fucking bad it is to only being considered useful when you’re good at killing things.”
Her little speech seems to have absolutely zero effect on Wesker.
“I have a doctorate in virology, Miss Rosemary. I’m not exactly –“
Of course he has an ego.
“I don’t care,” she interjects tiredly. “And they don’t care. As long as you do what they ask for, they will pat your head and congratulate you. The second you try to break away? It’s over. You’re a rabid beast and you need to be put down.” She gives him a little grin. “You’re betraying Umbrella, sure, but you’re just trading a leash for a slightly longer one, Wesker.”
Ah, she hits a sore spot, because he looks briefly angry before his stoic look comes back.
“And what’s the point anyway? Power? Money? Some kind of recognition that you’re very smart and strong?” She shrugs. “People can see that without you trying to destroy the world.”
“Why would I tell you my goal if you are not willing to tell me yours?”
Good point. She smiles. “I know. I’m just saying, you don’t have to be evil.”
She probably sounds like a cartoon character for six years-old right now. Wesker is not the kind of man to be impressed by that.
“You won’t find a purpose,” she corrects herself, blaming her bone-deep exhaustion and the very messy timeline in her head that she’s trying to remember correctly. “Doing exactly what you’ve been raised to do is not how you get fulfillment. Something like that.”
He just looks very bored by the idea. Fair. She just asked him to forget his whole “let’s make humanity stronger by killing it” goal. Maybe letting him sleep on the idea is better.
She gets up. She feels like she could sleep for a week except she doesn’t have the luxury to let time pass by.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Same hour,” she says, tucking her hands back into the safety of her pockets.
“You do realize how ludicrous this entire conversation was, I hope.” He also gets up, stepping toward the door. His voice is back to his controlled, almost toneless cadence.
“Yeah, I know.” He has his hand on the doorknob. “I sure hope you’ll at least think about it thought.”
He opens the door, throwing her a look that feel a bit too amused, like he knows she’s asking for the impossible.
“Brother,” she adds with a winning smile, just to see his smug expression slips right of his face.
The S.T.A.R.S agents are desperately trying to look busy as she steps outside the office. They are not very good at it. Chris is scrambling with a pen and Jill is typing nonsensical words on her keyboard while looking straight at them with unabashed curiosity.
The bearded man – his name suddenly comes back in her memory, Barry – throws them a grin, straightening on his seat.
“How was the family reunion?” He asks. Not afraid to poke the bear then.
Every look varying degree of anticipatory and scared, but Wesker only tilts his head to the side.
“Delightful,” he says, voice so dry the word sounds ironic. Barry smiles. Someone coughs in the back. “Now, run along, Alex, I’m very busy.”
Jesus, does the man think she’s five? She throws him a disbelieving look. “Alright. See you tomorrow.” She tries to act like there isn’t a bunch of people eavesdropping their little conversation. “Idiot,” she adds, because even if she never had any siblings, she’s seen the way Chris and Claire acted around each other, and the insults were a common occurrence between them.
Wesker probably doesn’t know that because he looks ready to throw her out of the window.
Chris stifles a laugh behind his computer.
Rose whirls on her feet and heads straight for the door before Wesker can ruin all her efforts.
“Redfield, please escort her to the door, I don’t want her wandering off in the building,” Wesker calls after her, and he’s definitively enjoying making her look like a lost little girl.
“I know where the exit is,” she says, waiting at the door as Chris almost makes the pile of files on his desk fall to the ground in his haste to join her.
“We never know,” Wesker declares, leaning against the doorframe with a fake concerned look. “You do have troubles navigating uncharted waters.”
Rose decides that flipping him off with a smile is a very sisterly attitude.
“Your concern is heart-warming, as always.” Chris looks both embarrassed and on the verge of hysterical laugher. “Bye,” she adds, waving at the team still watching her with confusion and a great deal of amusement.
She receives a few waves and salutations and she gets out of the room before Wesker can add another not-quite-insult to their goodbyes.
Chris follows her, scrambling behind like he’s still not over the situation.
“You’re okay?” He asks after a few seconds of silent walking.
All things considered, it’s a good thing Wesker appointed an escort for her, because this place is a maze and she would have definitively taken a wrong turn on her way out.
But why did it have to be Chris?
“He’s a handful,” she says with a confidence she doesn’t feel. “But it’s fine.”
He makes a small sound she can’t decrypt. She avoids looking at him because his eyes are like a direct window to the gaping wound in her chest.
They get to the stairs. The lobby is busy with milling officers and a few of them lift their head to look at them, curiosity written all over their traits. The rumor of Wesker’s estranged little sister seems to have hit the mill then.
“Do you –“ Chris starts to say, looking to the side, a strange look on his face. “You got a place to stay?”
She doesn’t know what he’s making of the situation but she can guess.
A young girl who’s only option was to ask for her brother’s help, a brother who has never mentioned her before, and didn’t look that excited to see her.
Doesn’t paint a good picture but Rose can work with that.
“Yes,” she says, and it’s not a lie.
She’s found a shitty hotel on the seedy part of the town, one where they didn’t ask for her ID and didn’t bat an eye when she paid in change. The room smells like dust and mold and the shower is disgusting, but she has a roof above her head and she can lock the door at night.
Chris doesn’t need to know that. She’s pretty sure he’ll try to help her if she tells him about her living arrangements, and she doesn’t need to involve him in this anymore than he already is.
Bleeding heart, Claire has once said about her brother, not sounding very happy about it.
If she’s not careful she’s going to end up in Chris’s apartment or worse, with Chris heading straight for Wesker’s office to ask the man how he could let his little sister stay in a dangerous place like that.
“A friend is letting me stay on her couch,” she adds, for Chris’ peace of mind. “It’s fine, really. I just need to get back on my feet, you know.”
He nods, all serious and big, concerned eyes. It’s jarring to see him like this, but at the same time she recognizes the expression, even if Chris has toned it down over the years.
“I get it. If you need help, I’m here, alright?” He smiles, crooked and warm. “I know a thing or two about bad situations.”
He’s twenty-five, his parents died a few years ago, and he’s paying for his sister’s college tuition on a cop’s salary.
Or whatever salary the S.T.A.R.S agents received. It’s probably pretty good, but college is expensive. And Chris has been taking care of Claire since he was a teen.
She nods, trying to look appreciative of his efforts and not heartbroken by his eagerness to help a total stranger.
“Thanks,” she says, a bit softer than she intended. “See you around.”
He waves at her as she goes down the stairs and she tries to squash down the pathetic need to run back at him and ask for a hug because she’s not a kid anymore, and he’s not her Chris.
She gets out of the building right in time for the first tears to spill from her eyes.
The past is confusing, terrifying even, because Rose is completely and utterly alone.
She can’t go to Chris and ask for help. She can’t call her mom and talk about her feelings until she feels better. She can’t get Claire and Jill and tell them about her problem so they can find a solution together.
She doesn’t have her gun or her phone, she can’t check on her laptop when she has a doubt, all she has is her knife, her mold, and the very messy recollection of past events in her head.
She doesn’t even know when or how Alex Wesker died. Or the name of the organization Wesker worked for after betraying Umbrella and the S.T.A.R.S team. Or what Chris did right after the Mansion. Or how he came to create the B.S.A.A with other people. She knows that Jill was here but how did they come up with the idea, who funded it, why did it go so wrong?
Sitting in her shitty hotel bedroom with sheets of paper strew all around her, Rose tries to remember the important events.
It’s that or crying again, and she learned very early that crying, as cathartic as it feels, is completely useless.
The Mansion’s accident happened (will happen?) at the end of July. Today is June 19th. She has less than a month to convince Wesker to stop his bullshit.
But Wesker is just a cog in the machine. An important one, sure, but he’s not directly responsible for Raccoon City getting overrun by zombies and being blow up by the government.
If she’s remembering correctly, the T-virus didn’t start spreading through the city until after the Mansion’s Accident.
Something about a water supply. She digs around in her notes to find the page and adds, in the corner, “water supply”. On the sheet, there are a few notes about a certain Doctor Birkin, something about Sherry (she’s met her a few times, and remembers well her faraway look whenever someone referenced her father) and rats (?).
She was half-asleep when she wrote these down.
The infection is not the most pressing matter.
Right now, the Umbrella’s lab in the Arklay Mountains (she digs some more to get the right page) is under attack from some kind of...
Creatures. The files were vague about this one, and Chris didn’t seem to know what exactly was causing troubles to the pharmaceutical company.
She reads over the mess of lines and words, most of them adorned with question marks. There. That’s why Umbrella asked Wesker to get the S.T.A.R.S team inside the Mansion. Get rid of the B.O.W overriding the place, blow it up once they got their combat data (?) and leave with the samples.
Of course, Umbrella doesn’t know Wesker is going to betray them, but Rose does.
She scribbles a few random notes about some kind of Cerberus type of B.O.W she vaguely remembers from Chris’ training videos and takes a deep breath.
The easiest thing would be, honestly, to go to the Mansion and blow it up herself. No need for the S.T.A.R.S team to go investigate, not backstabbing by Wesker, and one big chunk of Umbrella’s research blown to pieces.
Then, go find Doctor Birkin and take whatever evil virus he’s working on so it can’t spread into the water supply.
And then...
She has no idea. But it’s a start.
But she’s alone. She doesn’t have anyone to watch her back, she doesn’t have weapons and bombs, she doesn’t know a thing about the inside of the Mansion. And Chris has told her, more than once, than she should always know what she’s getting into before breaking down the door.
It would be a pretty bad homage to Chris to die stupidly in the same Mansion that kick-started his career in the B.O.W business.
And to die right after he did.
She closes her eyes and wills the tears away. She’s not a kid anymore. She’s an adult, Chris trained her personally and made sure she had all the right tools to face whatever life threw her way.
But she also feels very young and lost. She talked big game in front of Wesker because showing weakness is not the way to go with him, but she’s not that invisible.
She had realized right after waking up here that her powers, even if they’re still here, don’t work as well as they usually do.
She can still use her mold to form weapons, and she’s pretty sure she still has her speed and strength, but...
Her underground network is silent and it’s like one big chunk of her body has been amputated, because she’s learned to rely on it for information more than she probably should. It’s useful because the earth speaks and Rose knows how to listen, but here...
It’s quiet. Dreadfully so. She can’t track people with her eyes closed and know where they are going. And more importantly, she can’t teleport, which is one of her biggest strengths in combat. Her theory is that whatever sent her back in time didn’t want her to spread her mold all around the place because it would mess with the timeline, but it’s just a theory and she wishes she could still use the full scope of her powers.
She uses her network to teleport. But also to regenerate her body when she gets hurt, and it scares her to be here with the threat of dying for good hanging above her head.
She’s tough and heals fast but she still bleeds and she knows that if she’s not careful, it could be the end of the line for her.
Here. Stuck in 1998 with no one knowing who she is.
Nobody will mourn her if she dies here.
She presses the palm of her hands against her eyes and grits her teeth.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, she chants in her head but it’s useless, the tears are already here.
She curls on herself, her face against her knees and her arms around her legs, and let herself have another crying session because shit, what the fuck am I supposed to do?
She gets to the RPD building at ten past eight and to her surprise, Wesker is outside, on the side, with Chris smoking a cigarette next to him.
Seeing Chris first thing in the morning, enthusiastically waving at her, is too hard so she focuses on Wesker, who’s wearing sunglasses that screams nineties more than the clunky technology.
She wonders how the hell she’s supposed to take him seriously when he looks like a cheap version of the Terminator.
And also, are Chris and Wesker friends? Why are they hanging out together when Wesker is obviously not smoking?
Chris is still waving very enthusiastically as she stares at them from the gate. Like she could have missed them, somehow.
He’s not your Chris. No need to be so scared, a little voice that sounds like her mom gently says in her mind, and she listens to it, and moves forward, one step after another, hands in her pocket and a quick, easy smile on her lips.
She slept three hours, drank two coffee and her mind is a fuzzy mine-field of bad memories, half-forgotten events and bottomless grief, but she can do this.
If only Wesker could take off the ridiculous sunglasses because she’s two seconds away from laughing hysterically.
“Hi!” Chris says very loudly when she gets close enough to their little gathering of two.
She tries to smile. She’s only known Chris as a very grumpy person in the morning. He never talked before 10 AM, and only if he had his three cups of coffee, black and no sugars. The overzealous smile on Chris’ face is a surprise and a stab to the chest all in one go.
This is what he could have been.
“Hello,” Wesker greets with all the amiability of a robot on low batteries.
She waves. God she’s tired.
“Sup,” she says, because she’s twenty-one and not a damn Terminator.
Chris looks very excited to see her, which is weird, but maybe she did trigger some dormant big-brother protocol in him and he’s very keen on adding another little sister to his small family.
Maybe. That or he’s trying to look good in Wesker’s eyes because Wesker is his boss. But Chris was fired from the Air force for disrespecting authority and insubordination.
“You’re late,” Wesker points out, none of the expected warmth of a brother welcoming his sister in his voice. He’s worse at this than Rose. He’s not even trying, the bastard.
“Ten minutes,” Rose says slowly. “And I don’t have an alarm.”
Because she doesn’t have her phone.
The disapproval rolling off Wesker’s neutral expression is almost strong enough to make her wince.
“Punctuality,” Chris says sagely, apparently immune to the weird tension permeating the air.
“Your Achille’s heel, Redfield.” Wesker keeps his tone perfectly neutral but Chris still smiles like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
“You got a cigarette?” Rose asks Chris before they can get swept over by Wesker’s grand sense of humor.
He blinks, surprise written all over his face. When did he start hiding his thoughts behind a stoic mask? Was is right after the Mansion, or later in his career?
“I’m gonna need an ID for that, Miss,” he jokes, but he pats his pocket and takes out his pack of cigarettes.
Her ID is not the right shape or color and the date will give him a stroke, but she smiles.
“I’m twenty-one,” she points out, and he theatrically presents her with a cigarette. She accepts it with enough dramatics to make him smile.
“Redfield, you have a report to write,” Wesker says, sounding a bit exasperated. “And you,” he turns to look at Rose, “we should move to a more secluded place.”
“Sounds like you’re going to kill me,” Rose says matter-of-factly, taking the lighter Chris is holding out for her.
Chris manages to make a sound that’s both panicked and amused. Wesker smiles, thin and not amused at all.
“I would never, my dear sister.” The sweetness of his tone is so forced Rose wants to laugh.
Yep, he’s totally going to try and kill her as soon as he gets the chance.
Chris actually looks worried. It’s kind of sweet of him. Rose throws him a reassuring smile, like death threats are actually very normal for them.
She’s pretty sure Claire threatened to shoot Chris more than once.
“Redfield, your report,” Wesker warns, and Chris winces and pockets his lighter and cigarettes before nodding.
“Alright, bye, see you, take care,” he goes through as he starts walking backward toward the entrance. All of that with a little wave and a smile, like Rose’s his best friend in the whole wide world.
Rose sighs and waves back. “Thank for the cigarette!”
Chris makes finger-guns at her and disappears inside the building.
Rose looks at Wesker. “If he gets hurt I’m killing you,” she warns, low and very serious. Because if she can preserve this version of Chris for a bit longer, she will, and no Albert Wesker is going to ruin her attempt.
Wesker lifts his brows. “Redfield is one of my best elements. Why would I hurt him?” He starts walking down the side of the building, in a very dark alley that leads to a small courtyard. Fenced, but empty. Not beating off the murder allegations then.
Rose follows, flicking ashes into the air. She’s not even a smoker, but if it can help her stay awake, she’ll take it. The next drag makes her throat sting and her eyes water. To think her Chris has a cigarette in his mouth ten minutes after waking up…
Wesker stops and waits, arms crossed, an expectant look on his face.
“You’re planning on throwing him in the middle of zombies,” Rose says quietly, coming to stand in front of him.
He tilts his head. “Like I said, he’s a good element. He has all the skills needed to survive.”
She bites her cheek so she doesn’t say anything else on the subject. He’s staring at her and it’s starting to get on her nerves.
“So? Did you think about it?” Since he’s not going to talk, she has to make the first move.
His smile looks genuinely amused. “I did, Miss Rosemary.”
“Just Rose,” she mutters.
“You really are a strange girl, Miss Rosemary,” he continues, ignoring her interruption. “You waltz in unannounced and sprout some nonsense about my fate, expect me to believe you and disappear with an ominous warning.” His voice is definitively livelier now, some kind of glee seeping through the words. “Anyone would dismiss you as a raving lunatic, you know.”
“Yeah. And I didn’t even tell you the half of it.”
“So you do realize how insane you look,” he points out with a manufactured concerned look. “That’s a good thing, you at least possess some kind of self-awareness.”
She really wants to punch him so she takes a drag of her cigarette and smiles with all her teeth.
“Thanks for the concern. I’m fine. I may sound completely mad but I’m not, not yet at least. What’s your answer?”
“Well, you only gave me a day and a few vague hints about what’s to come if I refuse, so may I ask a few questions before giving you my definitive answer?”
She narrows her eyes at him. He just smiles, bland and way too innocent to be sincere.
“Ask away, but I might not answer,” she says, shrugging to herself because it’s not like he can force her to say the truth.
“That’s fair.” He’s more agreeable than she thought he would be. It almost looks like he’s enjoying this. “Who are you, exactly?”
“That’s a terrible question. I’m Rosemary, I’m twenty-one, and that’s all you’ll ever know.”
He smiles like he’s been expecting that. “It doesn’t hurt to try. Tell me, do you know Oswell Spencer?”
Doctor Oswell E. Spencer. Owner of the Mansion, co-founder of Umbrella, and the man who raised Wesker into the dangerous bio-terrorist he will be one day.
He died way before she was born, she’s sure of it, so she shakes her head. “No.”
He stares at her. “I’ve heard the name before, but I never met the man,” she amends. Staying as close as possible to the truth is a great way to avoid being caught in a lie.
He appraises her for far too long and her cigarette is finished. There is no bin around so she squeezes the filter until most of the ashes have fallen down, and tucks it into her pocket.
“Alright.” He probably pored over his files in search of a strange blonde girl with weird powers and blue eyes. And found nothing because Rose doesn’t exist yet. “What are you?”
God she really doesn’t want to get Wesker involved in the whole mold nonsense. It’s a recipe for disaster if the man who invented the Uroboros gets his hands on Miranda’s cadou.
“A hybrid,” she says, and it’s not a lie. “That’s all I’m willing to say about it.” He looks disappointed. “But Umbrella has nothing to do with me,” she adds, because she has to give him something.
“But you have everything to do with them, am I wrong?”
She nods. “I want them gone.”
“And I am your best bet for that?”
She frowns. “Maybe. Getting rid of you solves half of my problems, really. And I’m asking you nicely before trying to kill you, so.”
“So you think this will prove it’s in my best interest to trust you?”
She’s too tired for this, she should have slept more, and all she can do is throw a very weary look at Wesker.
“Believe me when I say it’s not worth it. You should quit when you still have the chance and, I don’t know, go sight-seeing, take some painting classes, get a girlfriend.” She stops for a beat. “Or a boyfriend, if that’s more your thing.”
That provokes a reaction, a very slow rise of Wesker’s brows and a slightly incredulous look.
Right. 1998. Homophobia was still very much a thing. Gay people couldn’t even get married.
“Whether or not you listen to me, I’m still going to do my thing, so,” she says quickly, before Wesker can prove himself to be even more of an asshole by adding homophobia to his long list of crimes.
“And what is your thing, exactly?”
Rose closes her eyes, very briefly, Chris’ voice echoing in her head, gruff and fond, keep your cards close to your chest, kid.
She opens them again. “I’ve told you. Destroy Umbrella.”
Amongst other things.
“And why did you come to see me?” He leans forward, and she involuntarily takes a step back. He’s tall and it’s very easy for him to loom over her. “Was I really the best option you had for that?”
It’s sad to say, but yes. He kind of is.
“You can say that,” she says carefully, fiddling with the cigarette’s filter in her pocket. “So, what’s your answer?”
He stays silent for almost fifteen seconds, staring at her and even if she can’t see his eyes, she can feel the weight of his gaze on her.
Then he smiles.
A slow, unnerving, delighted smile.
“I have a proposal, Miss Rosemary.”
Wesker wants to get breakfast and since it’s in a public space and he’s paying, Rose goes along.
It’s her first real meal in three days and she kind of forgets about Wesker until she’s halfway through her plate of eggs, bacon and crispy, perfectly toasted bread.
When she lifts her eyes Wesker is looking at her with a funny look on his face. All he ordered was a cup of black coffee and a sad-looking sandwich with way too much salad in it to be considered a good snack.
“What,” she says, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. Chris always said she looked like a ravenous raccoon when she ate. Not her fault her metabolism burns through calories like crazy. And it’s not like she’s trying to impress Wesker.
Her mom did teach her how to eat properly, thank you very much, but Rose kind of doesn’t care about that right now.
“Nothing,” he says very slowly, with the tone of someone who’s holding back at least a dozen scathing remarks.
“Your proposal?” She prompts, because they’ve been here for thirty minutes and so far, the only thing Wesker has said was “one black coffee” and that’s it.
She breaks a piece of toast in half and uses it to wipe the grease off her plate. The warm food is doing wonders for her mood, but she hopes she’s not going to fall asleep as soon as she’s done eating.
A nap sounds great, but not with Wesker looking at her like he’s recalculating his proposal.
“It’s more of a deal, Miss Rosemary,” he finally says. He’s keeping his voice low, even if the small dinner is more or less empty. It’s kind of surprising, considering the hour, but maybe the place is too well-hidden for people to come have breakfast here.
It’s probably why Wesker chose it.
There are two waitresses behind the counter but they are too far away to hear them, and Rose is pretty sure the small group of construction workers in the opposite corner is more interested in the soccer match broadcasted on the TV than by the two weirdos having a staring contest a few feet away from them.
“I’m listening,” Rose says before taking a bite of her grease-infused toast. Something close to disgust passes briefly on Wesker’s face.
He’s holding his coffee cup like a shield against bad manners, and Rose finds it strangely endearing.
She’s seen how sometimes monsters act like men, and how jarring it can be to realize that under the murders and the death threats and the crimes against nature, people stay people. It’s reassuring and terrifying all at once, because she knows how fragile her own sense of humanity is.
How easy it would be to just say fuck it and let it all go.
She can kill until her nails are red with blood and the thing under her skin thrums with glee, and then she can come back home and wash everything away and drink some tea with her mom while watching the news.
People stay people. Even when they are terrifying monsters born to destroy humanity.
Wesker seems to be bracing himself for a long speech, so she keeps munching on her eggs.
“You want something from me,” Wesker says. One of his fingers is tapping against the rim of his cup. “You want me to forget about a plan I spent months putting into place for the sake of something as ridiculous as doing the right thing. Am I wrong?”
She shakes her head. It’s not just about that, but her mouth is full and she wants him to be done with his monologue before attempting to speak.
“Obviously, I have no interest in that. There is no point in doing the right thing in this world, Miss Rosemary.” His smile is thin and full of condescension. “If I may speak plainly, it’s kill or be killed, and I would rather be the hunter than the prey.”
Rose manages not to laugh at his face and honestly, she should get a medal for that.
“You seem to have a rather naive view of the world,” he adds.
She doesn’t call him an asshole because her mouth is still half-full, but it’s a close call.
Naive?
She was never naive about anything. Ignorant, maybe, and she still is because there is a lot to learn, but never naive.
She was four when the B.S.A.A classified her as a level 3 B.O.W.
There are four levels in the classification. The only reason she didn’t get the fourth one was because she was very young, protected by Chris Redfield, and none of the doctors and researchers were a hundred percent sure of her destructive potential.
And even if she was never directly mistreated, her mother and Chris hovering right behind her to make sure the blood draws were just that, there always was an undercurrent of danger following her.
It was like a very uncertain deal had been passed between a bunch of men in suits and a four years old little girl.
Don’t cross the line.
Stay as human as you can, do what you’re told and everything will be fine.
She swallows.
“I’m not naive. I’m just trying to be optimistic,” she says, before Wesker can insult her even more. “That’s different. I know the world is a shitty place. Doesn’t mean I want to make it worse.”
Wesker looks like he wants to sneer but manage to stop himself at the last second.
“Fine.” He waves a hand around, as if trying to push her correction away. “This is not important right now.”
“You brought it up,” she points out. She cradles her cup of coffee close to her chest, letting the warmth seep through her gloves.
Even with the sunglasses she has the feeling he’s staring her down.
“Since I’m obviously not going to abide to your demand without an excellent reason, you’ve resorted to death threats,” he continues, as if nothing had happened. “A brave move on your part, I must say.”
He’s making fun of her but she has thick skin and she actually likes the fact that she’s not seven feet tall with razor sharp claws so she just smiles.
“I’m extremely curious about what you are, Miss Rosemary, but I can’t really force you to tell me the truth, so I’m forced to take your word for what it is.” He takes a very calculated sip of coffee and gives her a smile. “A bluff.”
“It wasn’t a bluff,” she immediately says, almost dropping her cup straight on the table, which would have been a very bad thing.
He looks kind of amused by her lie.
“As impressive as your powers seem to be, everything can die, Miss Rosemary.”
She suppresses the small pang of blinding pain in her chest, they do and Chris did, and forces her face to stay neutral.
Everything dies. It’s the natural order of the world, her mom has said one day.
Doesn’t mean Rose has to contend herself with it.
“I can,” she agrees, pushing a breadcrumb around the table with her finger. “I’m just very hard to kill, and I’m not letting my guard down with you.”
He lifts his brows. “Really? You spent fifteen minutes devouring your food without even looking at me.”
“We’re in a public place. You’re not going to kill me in front of witnesses. You’re the Captain of the S.T.A.R.S.” She shrugs. “I’m not following you into the woods thought.”
He makes a small sound that could be a laugh. “A wise decision.” He’s definitively amused, which is annoying. She barely slept because she was expecting him to stalk her down and kill her in her sleep. “Now, we’re at a stalemate, Miss Rosemary.”
“Just Rose.”
“I won’t give in to your demand and you are obviously not going to back off.” His voice has dipped low, slow and careful. “We could spend the rest of the week dancing around each other and trying to force the other to give up. And it won’t end well, I’m sure of it.”
He’s the Captain of a private strike-force funded by Umbrella. She’s a twenty-one years old girl with a knife to her name and nothing else. The issue of the fight is pretty obvious, even with her mold.
He can point a finger at her and unleash Umbrella on her, force her to run away and hide, make her public enemy number 1. He can change his plans so she has no idea what’s coming next.
He can make it very difficult for her to save Chris and Jill and everyone else.
She can follow him home and try to kill him, then go to the Mansion and destroy it as best as she can, but then what? She’ll still be alone with no means to move to her next goal, and even if Wesker dies, another one will take his place. At least she has some idea what Wesker’s planning, even if she messed up the timeline enough as it is.
No every disaster Chris had to face was the work of Wesker, after all.
“It won’t,” she agrees quietly.
He nods. “Or we can call in a truce.”
She must look kind of surprised because he gives her his patented predatory smile. “A truce, Miss Rosemary, is when two people decide to put aside their differences to work together toward a common goal.”
“I know what a truce is, I’m old enough to drink,” she manages to say. Her voice sounds a bit strangled.
“I’m still not convinced of that,” Wesker says, his smile growing a bit wider.
She can’t show him her ID, she really can’t. She wishes she could though.
“What’s the common goal here?” She asks, ignoring his dig at her youthful appearance.
He puts down his cup to put his stapled fingers under his chin.
“I’ve been tasked to destroy the Arklay laboratory after making sure the B.O.W were viable for combat.” She nods, waiting for him to get to the point. “It is, as you already said, not my long-term goal, as I intend to leave Umbrella.”
“Still on a leash,” Rose mutters, and he briefly looks like he wants to slap her.
“As touching your concern is, this is not the subject, Miss Rosemary. Not sending my team into the Mansion would be a glaring proof of my lack of allegiance to the company. I need to make them believe I’m still following orders. And that’s where you come in.”
She’s very confused and it must show on her face.
“I’m not – Wesker, you just told me I look like a kid. How is that a good trade for you team?”
He looks amused, the bastard.
“Indeed, your appearance is rather unsatisfactory, but we can work on that.” The man spits insults like it’s a second nature. “You’ll do just fine, with your strange little powers.”
Chris trained her to fight B.O.W. She knows how to deal with most monsters mad scientists create in their basement. It doesn’t mean she wants to see what Wesker’s hiding in the Mansion, especially with half of her strange little powers not working.
And also, what the hell.
“You think Umbrella is going to sit back and let you use some random girl for your tests?”
“They will, if I present you under a flattering light.” He gives her a grin and takes a sip of coffee. “And I will. We just have to lie.”
“That’s –“ she doesn’t know what to say. On one hand, this is great, because it means the S.T.A.R.S team won’t be dealing with the Mansion, but on the other hand, the whole point of Umbrella funding a private squad was to see how well they would fare against their B.O.W. “Umbrella is going to know something’s up. And what happens after I killed your pets?”
“It won’t be an issue if you join the S.T.A.R.S team, Miss Rosemary,” Wesker says, and that’s it, he’s completely insane and she should have never talked to him. “Your age, as uncertain as it is, shouldn’t be a problem. We have a seventeen years old on the Bravo team after all.”
Rebecca Chambers, genius bio-chemist and a fucking minor. What the hell, Umbrella.
Wesker’s lips are slightly curled downward, which could mean he’s just as appalled at the idea of giving a gun to a teen as she is. Or it could mean he has some deep hatred for Rebecca Chambers.
Either way, this is the stupidest, worst idea Rose has ever heard.
“And then what? You conveniently forget to bring your team with you to the Mansion when the time comes?” She almost wants to laugh. “Great plan, I’m sure they’ll not suspect a thing.”
“We keep them away from danger and you, Miss Rosemary, can show me what you’re made of.”
Mold. Lots of mold, she thinks.
“This is very stupid,” she says, forgoing the pretence of being kind of polite. “Me joining your squad is a terrible idea and it’ll paint a big target on my back. I don’t want to deal with Umbrella hunting me down.” She swallows. “I really don’t want to end up in a cage.”
“It won’t happen.” The man’s confidence is a bit annoying. “You are too interesting for that, Miss Rosemary.”
She tries to ignore the little pang of fear at his words – she’s being called interesting before, and it never ended well.
She went to Wesker because he was her best bet in stopping the situation from getting worse. She never thought he would be interested in her in any other ways than a strange girl throwing a wrench in his plans.
She very slowly looks at his concealed eyes. There is something close to trepidation gnawing at her chest.
He’s smiling, of course he is.
“A cage can be more than just four walls,” she says, and her voice sounds weak.
“I know that.” He tilts his head, considering her with something she can only call razor-sharp attention. “And I said it won’t happen.”
“And what happens after?” Her voice sounds muffled to her own ears.
“Well, I do believe this could be the beginning of a beautiful partnership. After all, I’m not against seeing Umbrella being destroyed.” He gives her a little grin. “Rest assured, I’ll not conduct any kind of experimentation against your will.”
“Seems a bit unfair.” She swallows. “You get exactly what you want but with me as a fun bonus. What do I get out of this?”
He looks a bit exasperated. “Exactly what you wanted, Miss Rosemary. The safety of the team.” He pronounces the last word with a derisive twist of his mouth. “And I repeat, I won’t dissect you unless you ask for it.”
It sounds like a joke but Rose has been too close to actually being dissected to laugh or even crack a smile.
She feels like she’s standing at the edge of a precipice. She can get up and leave and forget about Albert Wesker, try to go through with her half-assed plan of blowing up the Mansion and hope she won’t die.
Or she can shake hands with a man she absolutely doesn’t trust, and pray that he’s not going to sell her to some bio-terrorist syndicate in the near future.
This is incredibly stupid and dangerous but –
She can keep an eye on him. She can control what happen in the Mansion. She can make sure Chris and Jill are safe. She can even steer Wesker in the direction of the upcoming infection of the city and hope he can give her a hand. If she dangles the prospect of getting some samples out of it maybe it will go well.
She can, well, not be alone in this anymore, even if it’s Wesker.
“Alright,” she says, the words heavy on her tongue, “it’s a deal.”
They shake hands over the table, glove against glove, and she has no idea if she made the right decision, but time will tell.