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The room was too white. It seemed I was the only one who noticed that. The floor was white. So were the walls. Even the lights were white, bright enough that I could see the veins under my skin. No windows, pictures, or toys. This wasn't a place meant for children.
And yet, thirty of us sat around a metal table in the middle of the spacious room, all sharing the same blonde hair and adorned in the same gray shirt and trousers. A boy across from me swung his legs beneath the table. I recognized him: his name was Daniel. He shared a dorm with me. He had told me he wanted to be an astronaut when he grew up. Meanwhile, the girl beside me picked at her nails. Contrary to them, I kept my hands folded neatly on my lap, just as they had taught us. No one spoke. Talking was heavily discouraged during these tests. A man in a pristine white lab coat paced around the table, watching each of us with a gaze that I felt pierced through my soul. He stopped behind Daniel, who eventually noticed the researcher was watching him, and forced his leg still.
"Each of you has been given the same puzzle," the man said, his voice monotone like he was reading off of a handbook, "You will solve it within the allotted time."
I stared down at the object that was placed in front of me. It was a small metal cube. I had done puzzles like this before. I learned not to rush it. A soft "beep" signaled the beginning of the test. Two minutes.
My hands moved to take hold of the puzzle, sliding each mechanism one at a time into place with a soft click. I rotated one panel carefully, feeling it shift beneath my fingertips and lock into the correct position. The timer ticked behind me with each passing second. I ignored it. I knew they were only attempting to test our abilities to focus. Another panel slid into place under my thumb. Three moves later, the structures aligned, and the cube opened, showing I had completed the puzzle. I gently placed it onto the table, looking back up at the timer. One minute and ten seconds left.
"Subject thirteen," the researcher announced behind me. I heard the pencil glide across paper as he jotted something down on his clipboard. "Finished."
I didn't react. Showing excitement was additionally discouraged. I folded my hands in front of me and waited. As the timer hit forty seconds, more of the group had successfully solved the puzzle. However, Daniel was struggling. His fingers slipped on the cube, sending a panel back to the wrong position. He twisted the cube once more. The panel snapped right back. A shaky exhale escaped him before he could stop it.
"I think mine's broken…" he whispered, fingers beginning to tremble as they grasped the cube tighter, "Albert?"
For a moment, my eyes slightly widened, not expecting him to address me. I looked over at him, my eyes focusing on his puzzle. I knew exactly what he needed to do. But the researchers had made it clear: aiding others during these tests would result in discipline. They had proved that the last time I attempted to help. I forced my gaze back to the table, a pang of guilt settling in my chest. Meanwhile, the clock continued its ticking. Practically all of us had finished by now. Ten seconds left. Daniel's breathing grew faster, shakier.
"Come on, please…" he squeaked, fingers skimming over the cube, twisting various panels in a panic. Only the beep of the timer made him freeze. Time was up. Two guards entered the room through the door behind me, walking toward Daniel without speaking. He shakily rose to his feet when they grew closer.
"Wait— Please, I can finish it! I just— I just need another minute, please…!" Daniel yelped as one of them placed a firm hand on his shoulder. They began to pull him away as he looked back. But it wasn't at the researchers, or his puzzle, rather me. The same guilt twisted in my chest. I almost rose from my chair, but I made myself remain in my seat, knowing they'd do the same thing to me if I interfered. Daniel tried to struggle, but it was useless. As the three of them left the room, the door shut behind them with a dull thud. The room fell silent. The researcher adjusted his glasses, turning back to the table to address us.
"Failure is not compatible with this program," he said calmly, his gaze settling on my own, "Remember that."
I looked down at my cube, then at Daniel's unfinished one. I folded my hands together and stared at it, lowering my head.
–––––
The amount of evaluations only increased after that. Intelligence tests, physical trials, and stress tests were the usual. After each one, the children who failed to meet expectations were removed. We never knew what happened to them. Every time I watched one being dragged away by the guards, I thought about Daniel and his unfinished puzzle. I remembered the way he looked at me before he was taken. It was haunting.
I couldn't sleep. I laid in my dormitory bed, my mind unable to settle down, thinking of what could happen if I didn’t perform successfully. I looked at Daniel's empty bed to the left of me. If I failed, I would be discarded, like him. And I couldn't let that happen.
A knock on the door snapped me out of my haze. Footsteps approached the side of my bed, the figure turning on the lamp on my bedside table. It was a researcher.
"Subject thirteen," he said, "you've been requested." Requested. That word was new.
I swung my legs over the side of my bed, the tile floor cold against my feet. I followed the man through the hallways, which smelled the same as the testing rooms, like sterile chemicals. We walked in silence, my gaze drifting around the halls. The walls were glass in some places, behind them lying rooms full of equipment: test tubes, microscopes, and rows of sealed containers. Eventually we stopped in front of a door that was different from the white doors I had grown used to. This one was made of polished wood. The researcher knocked twice before opening it, ushering me in.
"Sir. The boy." The researcher announced before leaving.
The room was warmer than the other rooms I had been in. Instead of the white lights that constantly hummed, a lamp on the desk cast a yellow glow across the room. Several shelves of books lined the walls. Behind the desk sat an older man. He looked around 40. He didn't look up right away, busying himself with writing something on a piece of paper before setting his pen down, his eyes meeting mine. He nodded slowly, my feet drifting toward his desk.
"Albert Wesker." he said. My name sounded strange coming from him. He didn't say 'subject thirteen' like the researchers. Albert Wesker.
"Yes, sir." I replied.
"You have been performing exceptionally well in your examinations. Your cognitive scores exceed the others considerately," he mused, tilting his head, "Quite impressive."
I wasn't sure how to respond. Praise was rare. When we did receive it, it usually meant the researchers would start expecting more from us.
I paused, choosing my words carefully. "Thank you very much, sir."
The man rose from his chair. "My name is Oswell E. Spencer."
I had heard that name. It was typically whispered between the researchers in conversations they assumed we couldn't hear. Oswell E. Spencer, the CEO of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals.
"Do you understand why you are here, Albert?" He asked, steepling his fingers.
"Yes, sir." I said, nodding.
"Explain why."
I hesitated. There were correct answers and incorrect ones here. Saying the wrong thing could also result in punishment.
I finally spoke after a moment. "To improve myself. To be better."
"Better than what?"
I thought about Daniel again. His empty bed in our dormitory and his unsolved metal cube lying on the table.
"Better than humanity."
Spencer simply watched me for a moment before nodding his head, seeming pleased with my answer.
"Precisely," he said softly, "Humans are built upon mediocrity, Albert. They are bound by limits which they refuse to overcome. For centuries, this has held them back. But occasionally, someone extraordinary will appear."
He rose from his chair and came to stand next to me, resting a hand gently on my shoulder. "You were not made to be ordinary," his gaze shifted to the books scattered across the shelves, then back to me.
"You and the others represent something greater: the next step in human evolution. And from what I have seen, you are the most promising of them all," he said, giving my shoulder a soft pat, "Continue performing as you have been. Understood?"
I nodded. "Understood, sir."
–––––
Ten years had passed. The facility had not changed in that time. However, the number of us had. Thirteen remained. They still had never explained what happened to the others who failed.
I chose my desired field two years prior. Virology and biotechnology. It was the path Spencer expected of me, and the one I understood the best. The researchers at Umbrella saw possibility, evolution in viruses.
Evolution. A word that Spencer liked to use.
I was eighteen now. Old enough to begin working within the Arklay Laboratory operated by the Umbrella Corporation. The doors of the laboratory slid open automatically as they sensed my presence, a soft hiss emanating from them. Lights reflected off the stainless steel tables and containment chambers, my gaze stopping on an assortment of test tubes inside a rack.
“You’re early,” A voice rang out from further into the room, belonging to a scientist who was hunched over a microscope, blonde hair disheveled. He barely looked up as he adjusted the lens. “You know most people wait until their shift actually starts to come in?”
“Have you forgotten ‘most people’ are not assigned to research the t-Virus?” I replied, which elicited a smirk from the other.
He finally turned to look at me, adjusting his red tie as he walked over. His name tag read ‘William Birkin’. He was two years younger than me. Rumor had it that he had gotten his doctorate when he was fifteen years old.
“Come here, look. There’s more microbes inside.” Birkin said, gesturing to the microscope.
I stepped closer and looked into the microscope. A plethora of organisms swam through the fluid inside, indeed more than I had seen the night prior. I looked back up at Birkin, his eyebags telling me more than I needed to know about how late he had stayed at the lab last night.
“I spliced RNA from Ebola into its genome. Look how much it’s changed! I call it the t-Virus beta strain,” Birkin remarked, his voice quiet but carrying a remarkable amount of excitement, “It should increase its contagion while allowing people affected with it to remain alive as a stable bioweapon.”
I merely stayed quiet, taking another look into the microscope. Birkin laid a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it a few times.
“Most of the researchers think this is dangerous. But you know what? I see potential,” he said, “Do you see that too, Wesker?”
I thought for a moment. I saw something that could reshape the world entirely. Perhaps something that could become the next step in human evolution, as Spencer had told me years ago.
“I see opportunity.” I answered, watching Birkin’s grin widen.
–––––
“Captain?”
The word cut through the darkness. I opened my eyes slowly, the laboratory now gone and replaced with my office in the S.T.A.R.S. headquarters. Umbrella had reassigned me to the Raccoon Police Department two years after I worked with Birkin on the t-Virus. Papers were scattered across my desk, showing a new case report and a half-finished operations plan. For a moment, I struggled to separate my past from the present. The scent of antiseptic still lingered, but now I could smell coffee, paperwork, and the leather of the chair I sat upon.
“Captain Wesker?”
I looked up. Standing in the doorway was Chris Redfield, the pointman of the Alpha Team, which I led. He leaned against the frame, arms folded loosely across his chest.
“You planning to sleep through the entire shift, Captain?” He commented, tilting his head.
For a moment, memories still clung to me. The metal cube puzzle, Spencer’s conversation with me, and Birkin’s voice clouded my mind.
Chris snapped his fingers lightly in front of my face. “Captain, you with me?”
“Yes.” I said, blinking a few times before adjusting my sunglasses.
“You were out cold for a while. Long night?” He asked, moving closer to rest a hand on my shoulder, rubbing it softly with his thumb. It made my chest twist in a familiar way.
Something like a smile crossed my face before it dissipated. “I suppose you could say that, yes.”
Chris shrugged before stepping away. “Well, we’re going over the plan again. Jill keeps thinking that we missed something in the reports.”
“Typical of her.” I sighed, Chris softly laughing at my comment.
Across the main office floor, I saw Jill, Alpha Team’s B&E specialist and ‘master of unlocking’, leaning over her desk covered in documents. Barry, our weapons specialist, stood beside her, nodding as she pointed to something on the map. They were planning because they trusted me. Chris stepped back toward my office door, heading toward them.
“Come join us when you wake up fully, Captain.” He called over his shoulder.
I watched him go. The way all three of them leaned together over the desk, discussing a strategy, made them look like a real team. Umbrella had never allowed us to have that. My eyes drifted to the file on my desk. It described the incidents and disappearances near the Arklay Mountains. This was the mission that would send us to the Spencer Mansion, constructed by Oswell E. Spencer himself. My orders were clear: lead S.T.A.R.S. there, collect combat data, and ensure Umbrella got the results. The team was not meant to survive. I leaned back in my chair, my dream flashing through my head again.
Failure is not compatible with this program.
I closed the file. If things had been different, perhaps this bond we all shared could have been real. But the world would not allow that. Chris glanced back toward my office again, waiting. I rose to my feet, inhaling deeply for a moment. Soon, the mansion incident would begin, and I would betray them. The life I had built here would end, and so would my team’s trust in me.