Chapter Text
Wesker’s tolerance for others demanding things from him had never been high, but the past year had made it abundantly clear that he was not meant to work under anyone. Unfortunately, he was in no position to establish his independence any faster, forcing him to take shortcuts. However, the sheer audacity of those ‘shortcuts’, calling him on the official S.T.A.R.S. phone right in his office, infuriated him. Did they want to sabotage him? The conversation had left him deeply irritated, and he tossed the receiver back onto his desk with more force than necessary. It was only late morning, the peak of busy hours. To make matters worse, their demands were downright childish. As if Wesker could simply grab the samples and walk away without Umbrella noticing, never mind the fact that he hadn’t worked in the laboratories for nearly a decade. Wesker was no fool; he would not get himself killed. He just had to remain patient, even if his new benefactors were anything but.
Not that Umbrella was any better. They were a sinking ship, completely oblivious to their own demise. Yet, since they hadn’t gone under just yet, Wesker dutifully prepared to answer their call as well. How tiresome.
A firm knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, annoying him further. Unless there was a case or something urgent, S.T.A.R.S. members knew better than to bother him.
“Yes?” he called out.
The door opened to reveal Marvin. Wesker wanted to grimace, but forced his features to remain neutral. The Lieutenant was a pain in the ass, always so self-righteous, and unsurprisingly not a big fan of Wesker. At least his meticulous work ethic regarding paperwork made up for his personality.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” the Lieutenant said, closing the door behind him. Without giving Wesker a chance to answer, which would have been a resounding yes, he continued, “I wanted to talk to you about our new rookie.”
“Ah. Leon S. Kennedy, was it? He was scheduled to start today, correct?”
Wesker had a faint recollection of the name. He remembered skimming the application months ago, but the kid was meant to be a regular beat cop, so it wasn't Wesker’s concern.
“Yes, he’s here. I’ve already given him the tour,” Marvin confirmed with a slight smile. “Snarky little thing, I left him with your team, I think they already adore him.”
Wesker lifted an eyebrow, irritated. “My team is supposed to be working, and not entertaining a newbie.”
Marvin ignored the comment, pressing on. “I want you to meet him and consider taking him on as a new recruit for S.T.A.R.S. ”
For a moment, Wesker thought he had misheard. “I’m sorry? You want me to place a rookie cop on my elite team?”
“I already forwarded his academy records to you. He’s a prodigy," Marvin insisted. “He expressed interest in working for S.T.A.R.S., and frankly, I just came from the shooting range with the kid. He’s a natural. I don't say this lightly, his talents would be completely wasted as a regular patrol officer.”
Wesker was not interested in this prodigy in the slightest. Alpha Team already had one too many young, headstrong individuals for his liking, people who thought they knew best. Marvin, however, gave him no opportunity to voice his refusal.
“I’m sending him to your office in half an hour. I know the final decision is yours, but at least consider it,” the Lieutenant said. Once again, without waiting for a reply, he turned and left. God, Wesker despised him.
Wesker scoffed at the empty space Marvin left, already resolving to give the rookie a hard time when he came, for wasting his time. He had no intention of looking at the kid’s academic records either; it wasn’t as if grades were a reliable measure of true capability. But Marvin's confidence irked him. The Lieutenant knew him, a bit more so than Wesker was comfortable with, so Marvin knew that springing a new recruit on him was the easiest way to make him dislike them. And yet, he had done it anyway. This implied that despite the risks, Marvin believed there was a genuine chance Wesker would accept this Kennedy. If so, the boy had to be exceptional. Hadn’t the Lieutenant mentioned they were just at the shooting range? Did the kid possess some flawless marksmanship that impressed everyone? No, that couldn’t be it; Marvin knew Wesker would never be swayed by simple showmanship.
In the end, as was so often the case, his curiosity won. He pulled up the files Marvin had forwarded. The evaluation papers and final marks were all exemplary, packed with glowing recommendations from his instructors. His performance, already impressive, had skyrocketed to perfection during his final half-year. He had taken his final exams six months ahead of schedule; he was supposed to graduate this summer, but he had wrapped up his entire curriculum by February. Now, barely three months later, here he was.
Wesker was not intrigued, or so he told himself, but since the files were already open, he decided to run a quick background check. Predictably, it came up squeaky clean. The only mildly compelling detail was that Kennedy was an orphan from out of town, meaning he had likely relocated specifically for this position. This raised a question: why would someone with his credentials settle for a regular beat cop job in Raccoon City, when virtually any major police department in the country would have welcomed him with open arms?
Wesker closed the files. Maybe a bit intrigued. But meeting Kennedy will surely dissipate any interest.
Exactly half an hour later, the expected knock echoed from the door. Wesker felt a brief urge to leave the rookie waiting, but such petty behavior was beneath him. Instead, he called out a cold “Come in,” and leaned back comfortably in his leather chair. For the rookie’s sake, he hoped the boy wouldn't go for a handshake.
The door opened to reveal someone who looked considerably younger than Wesker had anticipated. It’s not like he hadn’t seen the pictures attached to his files, and they weren’t even bad photos of him. But the Leon S. Kennedy that stood before him was so much more than those photos made him believe. He had a decent, athletic frame, shorter than Wesker but most people were, with dirty blonde hair in a style that would make most people look like they are trying way too hard to look attractive. But this kid had the most earnest face, handsome, but clearly not reaching its full potential of handsomeness yet, given the lingering trace of youth still softening his features. Not that it mattered; the overall look was simply unbearably adorable, and Wesker felt a twinge of annoyance at himself for even making the observation.
“Dr. Wesker?” The kid flashed a brilliant smile his way. It looked mostly just irritating, but he knew that this worked like a million bucks on probably half of Alpha Team. Pathetic, really. “What a rare opportunity to actually meet you.”
The phrasing was unexpected. First of all, it was not widely known that Wesker had a doctorate. Sure, it wasn’t a secret, but he never used it these days, mostly because it led to questions that he could answer but preferred not to. It wasn’t even engraved on the brass nameplate outside his office; that simply read Albert Wesker, sans the 'Dr.' So the kid at least looked him up. Wesker's paranoia was prickling in the back of his mind, even though he knew it was irrational. But it was the second half of the greeting that truly intrigued him. Individuals eager to make a strong first impression typically opted for safe, deferential phrases like “It’s an honor to meet you” or “A pleasure, sir.” But a “rare opportunity”? Honestly, it wasn’t that rare of an opportunity. Wesker did have a bit of a reputation as the head of S.T.A.R.S., but you could definitely run into him in quite a few establishments around Racoon City. He had to do grocery shopping for God’s sake.
“Leon S. Kennedy, welcome to the Racoon City Police Department,” Wesker said, offering a smile he deemed pleasant enough. It would do no good to show his disdain for the kid this early on. He inclined his head toward one of the chairs in front of his desk, and Kennedy took the gesture as the invitation it was and sat down. “I hope your first day hasn't been a disappointment.”
“Oh, no, it’s been great so far. I can’t believe that… that I’m actually here, ” Kennedy said, his tone bordering on emotional. Wesker had no idea why, with qualifications like his, the boy could have aimed for far more intriguing places than Raccoon City.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why Racoon City?” Wesker voiced his question.
“You could say I have a bit of a personal attachment,” Kennedy replied with a shrug.
“And Marvin mentioned you have intentions to join S.T.A.R.S.?”
“Honestly, until the Lieutenant brought it up as a possibility, I hadn’t even considered it.”
Wesker raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“Just didn’t think it was an option. Working under the… famous Albert Wesker himself.”
Kennedy said the word ‘famous’ like it burned his tongue.
“Is that so? With your academic records, it’s hard to believe you didn’t think every door would be open to you.”
“Oh? I would love for every door to be open for me,” the rookie grinned, the expression shifting into a borderline smirk that completely transformed his face. It made him look far more mature, his tone carrying a distinct, flirtatious edge, as if he couldn't help but turn the conversation into a vague innuendo. “It would make my life so much easier. But the sad truth is, they’re usually locked behind some overly complicated puzzle designed by some incompetent narcissist.”
Wesker blinked. He had no idea what Kennedy was talking about. Was that supposed to be some poorly constructed metaphor aimed at him? He couldn’t tell if the kid was brilliant or dangerously stupid. So, he simply stared at him blankly.
“But in the last half hour, I realized something,” Kennedy continued, his grin widening into a full-blown smirk. “If I want to accomplish everything I need to get done over the next few months, there’s no way I can do it alone. I need an Umbrella spy, already planning to betray them.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Wesker did not move. Not a single muscle in his face twitched, his practiced mask of cold indifference remaining in place. Yet beneath the desk, his hand drifted toward the tactical knife strapped to his thigh. His mind, usually a calculated machine, spun into overdrive, processing the threat with lethal speed.
Who sent him? Umbrella? The Agency?
No, it made no sense. If Umbrella suspected his impending betrayal, they wouldn’t send a twenty-one-year-old rookie cop to play word games in his office; they would send a cleanup squad to erase him. If it was his new contacts from the rival company, they wouldn’t jeopardize the deal by sending an unvetted civilian to mock him.
Wesker’s hidden gaze locked onto the boy, analyzing every detail with vicious intensity. Kennedy’s posture was relaxed, almost casual, there was no tremor in his hands, no sweat on his brow, and absolutely no fear in his eyes. He lacked the hardened, cynical aura of a trained corporate spy, yet he possessed a terrifying, unearned confidence. He looked entirely like a civilian kid, and at the same time, entirely like someone who held all the cards.
“That is an incredibly dangerous accusation to make in a police station, Officer Kennedy,” Wesker said, his voice dropping to a smooth, low purr that carried a promise of violence. “And a remarkably delusional one. I suggest you choose your next words very carefully, or your promising career will end before your first shift does.”
Kennedy didn’t even flinch. If anything, the smirk on his face only softened into something resembling pity.
“I know about the T-virus, Wesker,” Leon said quietly, leaning in just enough to keep his voice between the two of them. “I know about the Spencer Mansion. I know you’re planning to fake your death to sell Umbrella’s research to the highest bidder. And I know that in less than two months, this entire city is going to become a graveyard.”
Wesker’s heart didn’t skip a beat. It froze.
The mansion. The virus. The faked death. That last one wasn't just a secret a simple spy could discover; those were thoughts he hadn't ever written down or spoken to anyone about. He himself only toyed with the idea, a half-ready plan not really formed yet for when he has to sever ties with Umbrella completely. His paranoia flared into a white-hot panic, but he channeled it instantly into pure, cold malice.
“Who are you?” Wesker demanded, the pleasant facade completely gone, replaced by the terrifying aura of a man who had nothing left to lose.
Leon let out a soft, dry laugh. It wasn’t the laugh of a twenty-one-year-old rookie; it was a heavy, cynical sound.
“Who am I? Right now, just a guy trying to fix a very, very long line of catastrophic mistakes,” Leon said, casually crossing one leg over the other. “But if you want the short, highly unbelievable version: I’m from the future. About thirty-odd years from now, to be exact,” Leon said, then grimaced. “Damm, I’m old.”
Wesker’s initial reaction was a flash of pure contempt. This kid has the nerve to make jokes at him! Time travel? It was absurd. But even though Leon had that stupid smirk, it seemed he was completely serious, like he actually believed his own words. Then he must be some lunatic. Yet, as he stared into Leon’s eyes, he found absolutely no trace of psychosis. There was only a calm, unshakeable certainty.
“You expect me to believe a fairytale?” Wesker hissed, his voice like grinding ice. His hand remained on the hilt of his knife. “You are a corporate plant. A spy who managed to intercept my encrypted files. Tell me who you work for, or you won't leave this room alive.”
“Go ahead, pull the knife. See how fast a ‘rookie’ disarms you,” Leon replied, his smirk widening, entirely unbothered by the lethal aura radiating from across the desk. “And for the record, no one intercepted your files. You’re too paranoid to leave a trail. I know all this because you are incredibly famous where I come from. Especially among my friends.”
Wesker narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses, his mind desperately clawing for a logical explanation. “Famous? For what?”
“Oh, the usual,” Leon said with a sarcastic wave of his hand. “Being an existential threat to humanity, turning yourself into a bio-organic freak, trying to play God. My friends and I spent literal decades wanting you dead. And eventually, we succeeded. Volcanos are a great touch for a final boss fight, by the way. Very dramatic. I always mourned I wasn’t present.”
“You’re insane,” Wesker whispered, though the conviction in his own voice was wavering. Fear, rare and sharp, began to prickle beneath his skin.
It was a secret, dangerous fascination he had never whispered to a single living soul. Not to Birkin, not to his handlers, no one. For years, as he watched Umbrella catalog one mindless, grotesque failure after another, a quiet, arrogant voice in the back of his mind had toyed with the idea. He had imagined creating the perfect virus, a flawless serum tailored uniquely to his own genetic makeup. His pride whispered that if he were to take it, he wouldn’t end up like the mindless Tyrants or the deformed monstrosities rotting in the Arklay labs. He would become something more. Something better. Logically, he knew it was a massive, lethal gamble. He knew it was his own dangerous arrogance speaking, which was exactly why he had remained so cautious, keeping the idea strictly as a theoretical fantasy. Especially since he imagined doing it with Wi… Brikin. He imagined he would have Brikin’s cursed, brilliant mind by his side. But now he knew better than to trust anyone.
But playing God? Changing humanity through his own perfection? It was exactly the kind of twisted, magnificent path he could see himself taking if he ever found the missing piece of the puzzle. How could this stranger know the exact, unspoken architecture of a future he hadn't even fully committed to yet?
“Maybe a little,” Leon admitted, shrugging with a hint of self-deprecation. “Dealing with literal monsters for half your life tends to do that to a person. But here’s the thing, Captain: I died in my timeline, and somehow, I woke up back in my twenty-one-year-old body almost a year ago. I’m not letting this chance slip. I’m saving this city, and whether you like it or not, your Umbrella-betraying, virus-stealing ass is going to help me.” Leon leaned forward, his boyish face suddenly looking terrifyingly ancient. “Because if you don't, I’ll leak your little double-agent status to Umbrella by noon. You think you’re a genius, Wesker, but right now, you’re just a guy on a sinking ship, and I’m the only one offering you a lifeboat that doesn’t end in a lava pit.”