━━ i. natural selection

You didn't know which was worse: the fact that you'd just slapped your boss or the fact that you had been crossed.

William Birkin stood there, hand pressed to his cheek, eyes widening in disbelief. For a fleeting moment, the look on his face made you lean towards the former. Almost.

"Did you just slap me?" he asked, voice strained, the fist at his side coiling like a snake ready to strike.

You weren't afraid of him, even though you had good reason to be.

Your gaze flit to his clenched fist, a reminder of the power dynamics you'd just shattered. "Did you give the go-ahead to contaminate Raccoon City's water supply?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then there's your answer." You leaned forward, palms flat against the wooden expanse of his desk, where research papers mingled like scattered thoughts.

The Umbrella Corporation—your corporation—had sanctioned the release of the t-Virus, your creation, on a city of innocent people. The thought sent bile rising in your throat. You felt the sick churn in your stomach; 100,000 lives put at risk for corporate greed, for a grotesque eugenics program disguised as progress.

"Death is necessary for evolution," he murmured, breaking the stillness with a phrase that twisted your insides.

You heard him, but wished you hadn't. The words sank into you, grappling with the principles you'd sworn to uphold. You'd studied viruses and their methods of survival. You understood evolution, but never had the concept felt so personal, so horrifically real.

For the first time, that truth made you want to hurl. You were supposed to be the one shaping the future, not a pawn in a malevolent game that was designed to ruin it.

Birkin watched you intently, perhaps expecting a flicker of agreement, a hint that you'd betray your morality to align with his twisted logic. Instead, you remained frozen—an uneasy calm after the storm of your anger. His cheek still stung, but he ignored it.

"Survival of the fittest, is it not?" he continued, leaning forward, his expression one of undying satisfaction. "Ten percent of the population has a natural immunity to the virus."

"It is not fit for widespread exposure," you hissed, your pulse quickening. You grabbed a manila folder, flinging it onto his desk, your pointer finger stabbing at the page. "Look! It has the ability for rapid mutation."

You read the words aloud, your voice tight. "Mutation we cannot predict or contain."

His gaze followed your finger, unimpressed. "Viruses mutate based on their hosts. You learned this when you sought your doctorate."

His tone ignited a fire in you, a fury that begged for more than just a slap. You fought to keep your composure, to remember the professional veneer you had to maintain, but the rage clawed at you.

"Damn it, Birkin," you spat, shoving the folder so hard it toppled into his lap, papers spilling like your own unraveling thoughts. "That's why I demanded more time. I need more time."

He leaned back, fingers steepled, a patronizing smile creeping onto his lips. "Time is a luxury we don't have. The board is eager for results. They want the virus out there to gauge its effectiveness."

"Effectiveness? You mean for profit," you shot back, the taste of betrayal sour in your mouth. "This isn't a game. You're talking about turning people into—... into monsters."

His smile faltered, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "What we're creating is the future. Controlled evolution. You should be proud to contribute."

Proud? The word felt like poison on your tongue. You were supposed to be developing a means to protect humanity, not doom it. But that's the cruel irony of your work at Umbrella—every advancement came shackled to your moral decay.

As he droned on, your mind raced. You couldn't let this happen. Lives would be lost, and the weight of their deaths would forever stain your mind.

You turned, striding toward the door. "You're an idiot, Birkin."

He called after you, his voice a low growl. "You're making a mistake!"

You paused, glancing back, the weight of your guilt gnawing at you. "You're a pathetic waste of a doctorate. Don't follow me."

With that, you pushed through the door, leaving the confines of his office behind. The world outside buzzed with indifference, oblivious to the storm brewing in your heart.

Hours passed as you wandered the halls of Umbrella, each step heavy with the implications of what had just happened. You found peace in the lab, the familiar scent of antiseptic and the faint hum of machinery working as a temporary balm for your nerves.

But the weight of Birkin's words pressed down on you like an anchor.

You couldn't shake the image of Raccoon City from your mind—innocent civilians unaware of the impending doom about to be unleashed.

What would happen? Would they become mindless husks, driven by primal hunger, or worse—would they turn on each other? Forget their humanity?

And the worst part is that you can't hold anyone but yourself accountable. The guilt swirled in your gut, and the idea of being complicit in their suffering nearly kills at you.

As the evening wore on, the sterile lab lights flickered.You spent your time in a hurried pace, hands clenched, grappling with your thoughts. Each passing minute was a reminder of your own complicity, your own naivete. You had believed in the potential of the t-Virus, convinced it would redefine human capability, not annihilate it.

A sudden alarm blared, cutting through your reverie. The sound sent your heart racing. You rushed to the nearest terminal, eyes scanning the alerts flashing across the screen. Your pulse quickened as reports flooded in—chaos erupting in Raccoon City, people falling ill, aggressive incidents multiplying.

"Confirmed outbreaks," the screen blared, "Symptoms include severe aggression and uncontrollable violence..."

No.

This was worse than you thought. It was worse than you could have ever imagined.

You staggered back, a chill creeping down your spine. They truly had contaminated the water supply, and now the city was descending into chaos. The reality of what you had unleashed settled like a heavy fog in your chest.

You couldn't just stand by. You had to act. The vaccine you'd been developing—the one that could potentially save lives—was in the N.E.S.T. facility, deep within the heart of the chaos.

As the alarms continued to wail, a fire ignited within you. The vaccine was your only hope to salvage for the horrors that were about to unfold. You would go into the city, retrieve it, and perhaps—just perhaps—find a way to stop the outbreak before it was too late.

Hours passed in a blur as you gathered supplies, your heart racing with both fear and determination. You had no illusions about the danger you faced, but the thought of leaving Raccoon City to its fate was unbearable.

The city was a battleground now, you knew this. Outside of this very lab lived your greatest nightmare. But for every infected soul, there were innocent lives to be saved. You could be their only chance.

With a final glance at the lab—your sanctuary turned prison—you steeled yourself. You wouldn't let the darkness claim you. You'd face it head-on, armed with nothing but your knowledge and your will to die for the cause. To die for your sins.

And so, with anxiety bubbling in your chest, you stepped into the shadows of the night, ready to face whatever horrors awaited you in Raccoon City.