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William Birkin.
He was a disgusting thing, barely a person. Undeserving of love in all regards. Men, women, and children, all the like had lost their lives to him; To his tests and irrational obsession to be the best. His need to finish his work. To mean something.
But William Birkin lay now on the floor, in the puddle of his own blood, arms wrapped around himself so tightly that it hurt. At this moment, he realized something horrible. None of it had ever mattered. The only thing he’d ever done right, didn't matter. The science, the work, his precious G-virus, it was all fading, taken from in at a moments notice.
He sobbed, a terrible, hideous sound. It was high-pitched and choked, a pathetic noise. The kind of gargled wail that could only come from a dying man. He deserved this, didn't he? After killing James Marcus, stealing his research, and betraying Al, this was his punishment. He shouldn't have given him the virus, he should've spent more time with his daughter, he should've lived! He was a person! At least, he could've been one.
Will’s eyes open, and he reached into his jacket. Maybe he could live, maybe he had a chance at redemption. G could bring him back. All he had to do was be comparable with it. Not such a bad gamble, right?