July 23rd, 1998, 12:30 PM, Raccoon City Underground Laboratory
William Birkin laughed. It was a dry, joyless sound, like cracking metal. Annette had just relayed Eddie's words to him, his brazen claim of being able to create a serum superior to the G-Virus.
"He's just posturing," Birkin said, shaking his head with false amusement. "Surpass my work? He can only dream of it. No one in this field can touch me." His ego was an impenetrable wall. "But it's interesting. He's hostile towards Spencer. Good. Let him play. If he asks for something, give it to him. Make him feel comfortable."
"You don't trust him?" Annette asked, a shadow of worry in her voice.
"I trust that Spencer trusts no one," Birkin retorted, his tone turning icy. "That boy is related to Marcus. And we know who ordered Marcus's death." He moved closer to her, his gaze intense. "If we kill him, Spencer will have the pretext he's looking for to send his dogs after us. So, for now, we keep him happy."
"Can I help you with the G-Virus?" she asked, hopeful. "Anything…"
Birkin's face shut down. "No. The G-Virus is my concern. You focus on the antidote. It's crucial."
He dismissed her, not physically, but with his words. A cold refusal that left her more alone than ever in that labyrinth of steel and secrets.
July 23rd, 1998, 1:00 PM
The air outside hit Eddie like a release. He inhaled deeply, like a man resurfacing after nearly drowning.
"Are you alright?" Karen asked at his side. Her voice was neutral, professional, but her eyes studied him with a new focus.
"Never better," he replied. "It's just… the air down there. It's dead. Stale."
Karen raised an eyebrow. "Seemed filtered and clean to me. If you'd seen the places my team and I used to train… The sewers of Marseille have a smell that stays on you for weeks. That's real suffering." A rare, small smile touched her lips at the memory.
"No, thank you," Eddie said, shuddering at the thought. "I'll stick with air conditioning."
July 23rd, 1998, 7:45 PM, Arklay Mountains Mansion
In his private laboratory, Eddie was hunched over a genetic sequence analyzer. The screen projected a complex dance of helices and protein bonds. The equipment, state-of-the-art and entirely illegal, was a gift from Alex. Spencer suspected nothing; he blindly trusted his "Wesker Project," never imagining that one of his most successful creations was conspiring right under his nose.
Eddie drew a drop of his own blood and inserted it into the synthesizer, adding an infinitesimal dose of the T-Virus. He watched the screen. His cells reacted instantly, violently. A total rejection, a molecular-level self-destruction.
"Even at the minimum dose, the rejection is 99.8%," he muttered, frustrated. "A complete failure."
"That's to be expected," a calm voice said from behind him.
Alex was leaning against the doorframe, a book open in one hand. She wore a simple black dress that made her seem even more ethereal. "If it were that easy, the Tyrant Project wouldn't have required a genetically compatible subject like Sergei. Forced adaptation is nearly impossible."
"Nearly," Eddie repeated, turning to look at her. "Alexia Ashford did it."
"Alexia took fifteen years," Alex replied, closing her book. "She used low-temperature cryogenics to slow the symbiosis process, giving her body time to adapt. A brutal method, but effective."
"I know," Eddie said. "Cryo-sleep."
Alex's eyes shone with an almost feverish intensity. "It's a method worth considering. The most suitable location would be our base in Antarctica."
Eddie stared at her, caught off guard. "You really want to do that? It could take years. Decades."
She approached, the rustle of her dress the only sound in the lab. She placed a cold hand on his cheek. A charming, and simultaneously terrifying, smile curved her lips. "Eternity is well worth the wait, don't you think? But don't worry, darling." Her tone became playful, almost a parody of intimacy. "I'm not going anywhere. Not until you're ready too."
"There won't be a need," Eddie said, his voice suddenly filled with a fierce determination. "Give me time. I will create a perfect serum. A serum that won't require a fifteen-year sleep. A serum that will make us what Spencer always dreamed of."
"Gods?" Alex whispered, her eyes reflecting the cold light of the laboratory.
"Yes," he answered. "And gods don't sleep."