Chapter 6: Memories of the Deceased

Dr. William Birkin stood in front of a machine that is currently synthesizing 'something'. His hands were shaking as he operated the machine, why? Because a gun was being pointed at his head at this very moment.

There was a man behind him, a man that had killed almost every single staff member inside the research facility. Even now, at William's sight, he could see one of his colleagues' dead bodies on the floor. It was truly a bloody sight.

"Why are you doing this?" William queried, his words punctuating the air amidst his toil. "You've betrayed us, Wesker."

"Betray?" the shadowy figure behind him, this Wesker, emitted a sardonic chuckle. "You're the ones who betrayed me, Doctor."

"We labor for a higher purpose," William countered. "You've done this... for your own self-serving ends."

"There is no cause in our… gathering, William." Wesker continued. "There is no peace in our goal, there is no utopia, our cause is to elevate our leaders to gods, so that they could control entire countries, no, the entire world, holding it in their palm."

"To forge a lasting peace!" William persisted.

"How naive you are," Wesker sneered. "Do you even realize the source of your research? The countless lives sacrificed for these... viral strains... my brethren and sisters laid to rest, all for the sake of crafting a flawless specimen. Is that your idea of peace?"

"The ends justify the means."

Suddenly, a gunshot pierced the air, the deafening report ringing in William's ear, leaving it bloody and his heart seized with dread. Wesker had discharged a round, piercing a wall to William's right.

"Finish your task, William," Wesker demanded coolly.

With a beep, three vials emerged from the machine: one crimson, one azure, one emerald. William grabbed the vials and sought to present them to Wesker.

As he turned to face his adversary, he beheld Wesker's striking appearance — blond mane, statuesque, exuding an aura of confidence. Wesker's crimson eyes, sharp as a predator's, locked onto William.

"Here, you bastard." William gritted his teeth. "What will you do with it?"

"You like to know my intentions?" Wesker chuckled, securing the vials while still brandishing his weapon. He sauntered to a nearby table, procuring a syringe. "One's for me..."

He inserted the red vial into the syringe and injected it into his own veins. They twitched briefly but swiftly returned to normal. "Ahh..."

"Impossible," William frowned. "You should be—"

"Turned into a monster?" Wesker continued William's words. "You know where I came from, William."

"Project W," William clicked his tongue. "I can't fathom why the higher-ups chose to retain you."

"Because I'm an asset," Wesker shrugged. "But that's their blunder. For now, let's see what this concoction does to you."

He inserted another vial, the blue one, into a separate syringe. Advancing toward William, panic gripped the scientist's eyes.

"W-Wait!" William shrieked, attempting to evade Wesker's grasp. But Wesker seized William's neck with a vice-like grip, almost snapping it, before injecting the vial into his quivering frame.

"AHHHHH!" William howled in agony, writhing on the floor as Wesker released him. His hands began to sprout grotesque growths, and a blade emerged from them.

As his body underwent a horrifying transformation, the last utterance that reached William's ears, before he succumbed to the abyss of altered consciousness, was Wesker's chilling voice.

"Hail Hydra, isn't that right, William?"

—

Ethan's eyes snapped open with a jolt, the memories of Dr. William Birkin merging into his consciousness. This sensation wasn't entirely alien to him; as he'd experienced it just a couple of hours earlier. Resurrection held no unfamiliarity for him as well, but what presently made him groan was an unfamiliar sensation coursing through his entire being.

It felt as though he'd become the quintessential version of himself, amplified tenfold. His senses had sharpened—sight, smell, sound—and a newfound strength coursed through him. The debris that surrounded him now seemed as insubstantial as styrofoam, easily dispatched with a mere thought.

Another peculiar feeling crawled into his psyche—the sensation of extra appendages, a molecular mastery over his own body, and an additional reserve of biomass within him that could be wielded to modify his limbs, to reconfigure his muscles.

A creeping hunger gnawed at his mind. To consume, to multiply, to evolve. Yet, this hunger wasn't a rampant force. He understood he could control it, akin to a human's instinct for sustenance. One could choose to starve without going berserk.

With effortless grace, Ethan extricated himself from the rubble, methodically shifting aside the chunks of broken wall one by one. He climbed out from the mound of concrete, emerging atop the ruined edifice.

Peering down, he observed the infected below, drawn by the scent of prey. Ethan's instinct surged: "Consume." His arms swiftly became ensnared in tendrils, tinted in shades of crimson and obsidian. Like a skilled pitcher, he hurled these tendrils at the infected, impaling them one by one. Subsequently, the tendrils absorbed them, rapidly diminishing their biomass. Unlike the monster before, however, it seems there are no memories to absorb, perhaps due to the rot and loss of consciousness? Ethan didn't know the answer to that.

The tendrils contracted and relaxed, as though transmitting the acquired biomass to Ethan. He felt his body grow mightier, weightier, yet paradoxically lighter. "What the hell..." Ethan muttered, but a broad grin adorned his face. The ecstasy of consumption was a sensation he'd never encountered before. "I can get used to this..."

He stood atop the fallen structure with confidence, moonlight bathing him while rain draped his form. Suddenly, his hunting instincts activated, an inner voice beckoning him toward a specific destination—the research facility.

It was as though his very essence was communicating with him. "Go there. A substantial prey awaits."

Yet, for the moment, he dismissed this instinct. Nearby, he could hear a heartbeat resonated, a solitary entity hidden beneath the earth itself. Ethan knew precisely where it lay—the underground cell, the place where Jill was confined. Barry had been tasked with her rescue, but it appeared he'd faltered.

Ethan leaped from the rubble's summit, homing in on a particular entrance obscured by boulders and shattered walls. He cleared the path with ease, employing his bare hands.

The door swung open, revealing a descent into the depths. The underground chamber remained untouched, devoid of any damage. Ethan's gaze locked onto the cell, where Jill Valentine resided—neither human nor fully infected.

Yet, the aggression characteristic of the infected now seemed inherent to her nature, as she lunged at Ethan, attempting to bite, to kill. Thankfully, there were no visible tumors or mutations on her body. Ethan wondered if she could be cured in her current state.

But once again, Ethan's instinct intervened: "Multiply."

Ethan frowned. "Multiply?" he questioned himself. Once more, his instinct guided him. The tendrils in his arms snaked around Jill, who initially resisted but was soon overwhelmed.

Instead of consuming her, Ethan sensed his own biomass diminishing. At first, he frowned, but soon, he felt a replenishment arriving, biomass that tasted as foul as the infected before.

After a few minutes, the process concluded. The tendrils ceased their envelopment of Jill and reentered Ethan's body. Now, the woman appeared... healthy, and a faint connection seemed to bind them.

Ethan effortlessly tore open the cell door. Slowly, he approached the unconscious woman on the floor. As he touched her skin, a surge of foreign thoughts invaded his mind—thoughts of pain, regret, and sadness.

But this sensation also jolted the woman awake.