— But, you see, — I finished the official conversation, transitioning to friendly relations, because we can't be called enemies. I didn't feel hatred for him in the past; he's just trash, and there's plenty of that scattered on the city streets. People only pay attention to him, that is, trash, if… they dirty their shoes. — I have respect for people who take what is theirs — at any cost. It's not for me to judge you for your transgressions, but for the people who came up with stupid laws to maintain order. So why am I here? It's simple: you made a fatal mistake.
I smiled wider when his pupils trembled with fear.
He sought salvation in the stuffed wolf behind my back, as if it were alive.
— Where is Sherry Birkin? — I asked with a slight mockery. — You stole my competitor's daughter. And there are fears that William won't have the heart to continue our fight. I'm for fair play, — I added, widening my smile and intently observing the police chief through my dark glasses.
— Bitch, why couldn't you have said it earlier… just ask?! You… — he fell into hysterics, listing every possible swear word, which went unheard by my ears. — She's in my room, and…
The lounge area is right past the corridor with the stuffed tiger.
— Just ask? That is certainly my mistake, — I agreed. — As is breathing the same air as a stuffed animal.
Before the frightened police chief could grab the shotgun, my hand had already grasped the pistol and pulled the trigger. One simple shot, and his brains decorated the heads of the stuffed animals.
I wonder, if I am a god, and a god has no father… Then there can be no former employers? God has always existed and was never subordinate to anyone. Any deviations from this version must be erased.
— What a stench, — waving my palm in front of my face, dispersing the foul odor, I got up from the chair and headed toward the daughter of my old friend and opponent.
Sherry, at first glance, is useless. A second glance is possible if William didn't die but was infected with the virus in an attempt to escape the catastrophe. This is possible if he had mental problems. Given the specifics of his work — this is not excluded. In this case, my friend's daughter acquires a more practical application. If Golgotha infected Birkin, he will certainly try to find his relatives because of the instinct inherent in any carrier of the G-virus — to spread the infection through offspring. Sherry is the perfect lure or bait.
Putting away the pistol so as not to scare anyone, especially a child, I calmly walked through several corridors and stopped at the door. Should I kick the door in or knock politely? But, as it turned out, there was another option. Just open it, because Chief Irons, relying on his ability to intimidate children, did not consider it necessary to lock the girl up.
It was easier for me; I didn't have to rummage through the police chief's dirty pockets.
— Sherry, how glad I am to see you, — I politely addressed the girl, who was huddled in the corner, and tried to make my voice friendly. A long time ago, when she was nine, I visited the Birkins.
— And who are you? — she asked with slight distrust, examining me suspiciously. Or was it the place where we were? Who knows who you can meet at the crazy police chief's who engages in indecencies in front of children.
— Wesker. Albert Wesker, — I walked up to her, knelt down on one knee, and smiled.
I had to calm children down after difficult S.T.A.R.S. operations. These were not the operations where soldiers run under a hail of bullets. These were the ones where you had to deal with the aftermath of a bloodbath. The adrenaline subsides, and only a depressing feeling remains at the crime scene. And if there were children nearby, as now, the situation becomes unpleasant. But this is Birkin's daughter; she should have bloodthirstiness, intelligence, and madness in her blood.
— I remember, you, yes, the uncle with glasses, — her comment made me feel a tension in my temples. — Were there shots? — she tilted her head in the direction from which the noises came.
— You see, your father and I are old friends, — I tried to give my tone shades of sympathy and fairness. — When the catastrophe began in the city, I went to his house to help — him or someone from his family. But there was no one home, and I continued my search until I found myself here. Where the police chief… He didn't do anything… to you?
I deliberately asked this question in a sharper tone to evoke an emotional reaction from the girl. Monotonous conversations rarely lead to quick contact.
— He was bad, — she grimaced. — But he didn't do anything, only helped a little. And he yelled a lot, well. He hurt the lady.
The police chief was afraid that his sponsor — William Birkin, in case of anything, would send him to the experiment table. Irons visited many Umbrella facilities; he definitely knew about the secret research. And what awaited him for falling into disfavor.
— The fact that he kidnapped you speaks volumes. But don't worry, he won't do anything to you anymore, — standing up, I continued more confidently. — The city is going through tough times, but you shouldn't be afraid. I will try to find your parents. If you want, we can look for them together.
A child during a zombie apocalypse is heavy ballast; even a cripple with a cane would be more useful. But a worm will also work as bait.
Sherry quickly agreed to follow me. And a little later, she passed other tests, including an exam for bravery. We lingered a little in the police chief's office to find useful key cards and keys. Then we headed to the main hall of the police department, from where we could go down to the prison cells. The path was not short, but the girl held on confidently. The corpse of a living person, that is, Irons, didn't scare her much, and she kept her distance from the zombies with a cool head on her shoulders. While I was dealing with them, she didn't get in the way and quickly determined safe places. She didn't ask unnecessary questions; she mostly listened and answered.
What is the reason? She has good genes. She is intelligent beyond her years, because she is the daughter of two brilliant scientists. Even if she doesn't have a special potential, her education was at a high level. Thanks to the financial capabilities and knowledge of her parents, who were leading Umbrella scientists. Perhaps, if Birkin is dead or infected with a terrible virus, I can take Sherry in. Twelve years is a lot to raise a loyal subordinate from scratch. But there are so few intelligent children that I have no choice.
Ugh, I'm already preparing the ground, just in case the lure is tenacious or useless.
— I'll ask a few questions; try to answer if you know, — I suggested to pass the time.
It is important to be able to rely on intuition and trust your own assumptions, but sometimes you need to test those assumptions for strength, say, with facts. I asked Sherry three questions, simple but illustrative. Questions about the definitions of a chemical element, isotope, and radioactivity — this is basic knowledge that twelve-year-olds rarely talk about, especially in stressful situations. She answered briefly but correctly. And not only that, the girl also understands what quarks and leptons are. This allowed me to start a brief exam from beginning to end, which Sherry passed almost perfectly. Now all that remains is to find out how well she was taught virology. It's useless to ask about other sciences; firstly, I would be disappointed, and secondly, her fanatic parents certainly wouldn't teach her anything else — either themselves or through private tutors.
— Not a bad level, five or six years ahead of the curriculum, — I mused, adjusting my glasses as we approached the main hall of the police station. — Sherry, what factors influence the virulence and pathogenicity of viruses?
— Ahem, — she shyly avoided the answer, tapping her fingers.
She is too slow; maybe her parents weren't involved in her education? Instead, did she read everything herself from books? I would have taught my children all the subtleties of their future profession in advance — a virologist who conducts experiments on people to create dangerous and evil mutants. If her intellect masters the basic concepts, she will handle the more complex ones. It's only strange why the girl looked at me so suspiciously, as if I was up to something bad, and not trying to help her find a bright future as my loyal subordinate.
— Dad said, — she continued as we passed through another door, behind which I quickly eliminated two zombies that had interrupted her answer. — Well, the age of the infected person, their state of health. This affects their immunity to the infection.
Birkin, you did teach her, getting ahead of me. I was already starting to worry, because both Annette and Birkin were crazy fanatics of virology.
— The virus's ability to mutate quickly, the virus's interaction with the immune system, the genetic features of the virus, and your response. These are the four main factors, — I briefly supplemented her knowledge, but not completely. Let her be interested and learn more herself.
Children need to be motivated to seek answers to complex questions, creating an information hunger in them. It's better to give them short answers instead of long ones. That's how I will train her. If she survives Raccoon City, of course.
— Look, someone's there! — the little one exclaimed as we entered the main hall and saw a girl in a bright red jacket, blue jeans, and black boots. A lost soul, and a beautiful and slender one at that, with dark hair and blue eyes.
She reminds me of someone… Staring closely, I was pleasantly surprised. Claire, if I'm not mistaken, she's aged a bit since I was figuring out all the details about her brother — Chris Redfield. Fortunately, her features are recognizable.
— Hey, over here! — she noticed us and waved happily as we went down the stairs to the first floor. I didn't expect to meet her here; it was a pleasant surprise.
— Claire Redfield, — I calmly addressed her when we got closer.
Sherry stood behind me, and I looked at the girl who could become a useful tool for influencing Chris. I even became interested, if I seduce his sister, could I deal him a strong psychological blow? I see great prospects in this plan.
— Do we know each other?
— Your brother told me a lot about you. Only good things.
— Chris! — she became anxious, running up to me, as if written on my face was where he was. — I'm sorry… I came to the city to find my brother, but… all this is happening here. Is he here?
— Chris is not in the police station; he is far from the city. As far as I know, he's fine, and we're stuck here, among the infected, — I answered in the same tone. — Sherry, don't be afraid; this girl won't do anything to you. She is the sister of a brave S.T.A.R.S. soldier who defended this city from criminals and terrorists. With mixed success.
Given the zombie apocalypse, with big mixed results.
— Um, okay, — she nodded, showing that she was ready to talk.
Claire got along well with children; they exchanged a few phrases and immediately found common ground. When they became friends, the blue-eyed girl decided to ask me:
— What's your name? Are you a police officer? — she looked in my direction with distrust, because I was wearing a dark suit and gloves, more suitable for a hired assassin from action movies. Many would say that this is stupid, but I can argue that it's style.
— I worked with your brother, — I answered with a slight smile. — Until the squad was disbanded.
— The squad was disbanded?! But why didn't Chris tell me anything?! He disappeared a few months ago; I couldn't contact him. The phone didn't answer and…
— It's all right, — I soothed her. — He wanted to protect you from trouble, like a good brother. Not to involve you in danger. If Umbrella gets to him, then that's the end of it. That's what he thought.
— The pharmaceutical company? What does it have to do with this?
— The infected people are its business, — I briefly told her. — The catastrophe in the city is its fault.
— We… — she paused, starting to walk around nervously, and suddenly blurted out: — We have to stop Umbrella!
Damn it. Claire is Chris in a skirt.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose wearily, but kept my composure. And it stayed that way until a loud crash was heard on the upper floor, similar to an explosion. Ten seconds later, heavy footsteps were heard, as if a couple of tons were pressing on the boards. No, it can't be. I was just joking about a Tyrant being dropped on the police station. A joke. A bad one and… A Tyrant, breaking down the door, seemed to have a different opinion. A strange specimen… This is definitely the last or one of the last clones of Sergei Vladimir. A new model.
— What the h— is that?
— How dare he look down on me, — I looked maliciously at the two-meter Tyrant, remembering Nemesis. — The way "he" looked.
If that creature says "S.T.A.R.S." — then it will be completely depressing. All the generators for the railgun have already failed, so all that remains is to hope that the new Tyrant is very different from Nemesis. But, one way or another, a plan is needed…
— Claire, if possible, take the girl with you and head towards the reception area. I'll try to stall him, — I frowned and gave the order, watching the hulking mass move towards the stairs. I need to try to defeat him, in memory of the ugly friend with the grenade launcher. And tentacles.