Resident Evil - Chris-centric - PG - The S.T.A.R.S. Project (Chapter 1) Title: The S.T.A.R.S. Project Author: Emily (lightningrapier) Fandom: Resident Evil Pairing: None just yet. Rating: PG. For now. Warnings: Er, spoilers for RE1? Summary: Chris needs a better job. Disclaimer: CAPCOM IS MY GOD When I was a kid, I wanted to be a capcom, like, for space missions. Seriously. Notes: Uhm, I wrote this before I knew what Barry's family's canon names were, so stfu, because I'm too lazy to fix it right now. :D
Chris pulled up to the small brick home around five. He was honestly thankful his car had made it at all -- it wasn't doing so well. It had been fine when it was new, but that had been six years ago, and Chris was beginning to think it was time to trade in his first car for something a little more practical.
Climbing out of the car, Chris grabbed the bag of chips and case of beer he'd brought and stepped up the walkway to the front door. The door itself was already open -- a screen door kept bugs out, and, Chris imagined, small girls in. He peered inside -- the house looked cozy as always, which meant a small amount of disarray. Chris smiled slightly, shifting the case of alcohol in his arms to avoid dropping it as he hit the doorbell. He could hear the small ding inside, amongst the sounds of the television in the living room just down the hall. There was the faint smell of cooking from inside as well, which meant Wendy was making her famous "football night chili". Damn, that sounded good.
A little girl appeared in the hallway, toddling, wearing a pair of flannel pajamas with Disney characters printed on them. It was certainly cool enough. She waved to Chris with her free hand (the other held an unclothed Barbie doll, the hair had been colored a pale aqua with markers), approached the door, and then turned to face inside the house.
"Daddy! Chris is here!"
"Let him in!" came the call back. The small girl turned back to Chris, grinned, and unlatched the screen door to let him inside. Chris was thankful -- it was starting to get cold standing outside that long. January was not kind to Raccoon City, that much was for sure.
"Hey, man, you want me to close this door for you?" Chris asked, calling into the living room. Barry glanced back towards him from his place on the couch.
"Damn, is it open again? I thought it was a little chilly in here. Make sure you lock the deadbolt, too."
Chris turned to lock the door, then looked back to the small girl, who was smoothing the hair of her Barbie doll.
"Did you open the door?" he asked, giving her a sly sort of smile. The girl looked up, then back towards the living room, where her father was engrossed in the TV. Turning back towards Chris, she nodded.
"I thought it could help lure Molly home," she said, quietly, in a secretive whisper. Chris frowned a little. Molly had been the Burton family dog, who'd gone missing about a week ago. Chris and Barry had hung up posters all around the neighborhood and gone looking for her, but they hadn't found any trace of the dog at all.
Chris opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Barry's voice.
"Mel, bring our guest inside! I won't have you being rude, now."
The young girl giggled, taking Chris' hand and pulling him down the hall. Chris stumbled along behind her, into the cramped and slightly messy living room. Even if the Burton house was small and filled with what most people would consider clutter, Chris found it very homey and comforting. A lot better than his stark, undecorated apartment. Chris had moved to Raccoon City six months ago, but he just hadn't found the time to do anything but unpack his things. His place didn't have the "lived-in" feeling Barry's house did, that was for sure.
"Hey, man!" Barry said, lifting a hand in a wave when Mel dragged Chris in. She let go of his hand, going towards her father to climb into the man's lap. Chris made himself at home, taking a seat on the well-worn couch, setting his chips and beer on the coffee table already littered with snacks and other items. Football games at Barry's house were always a good time. Barry's wife, Wendy, was just as big of a fan as the two men were, and she definitely knew how to cook. The Super Bowl was a damn good reason for all kinds of wonderful food.
Barry hugged arms around his daughter, kissing the top of her head. "You gonna watch the game with me, sweetheart?" he asked. Mel only giggled and shook her head.
"I'm watching the Princess Singalong upstairs," she told him. Barry glanced down at the doll in her hands.
"You outta put some clothes on that thing," he told her. "She'll catch a cold." He kissed her again, and she slid out of his lap.
"See you, Chris!" she called, turning down the hall towards her room. Chris waved towards her.
Barry turned to him, then glanced down at the six-pack on the coffee table.
"Ah, damn, we'd better get these on ice." He stood, grabbing the beers, and moved towards the kitchen. "So, what's been up with you lately, man?" he asked, his voice carrying. The kitchen and living room were practically connected, no door between them, so Chris could hear him easily.
What was up with him? Not much...
"Just working," he answered, glancing towards the TV. The game hadn't started yet, so most of what was on the screen were announcers talking about pre-game activities and what they expected from the event. Chris had never been interested in sports announcers running their mouths -- he just wanted to see the action. "How about you?"
"Is that Chris?" a woman's voice asked. "You didn't tell me Chris was here!'
"He rang the doorbell, you didn't hear it?" Barry countered, and Chris grinned some, standing from the couch and heading into the empty doorway between the kitchen and living room. Wendy was standing at the stove, checking on a huge pot of what Chris assumed was chili. She turned when he came in, and Chris saw she was wearing a Raccoon City Sharks t-shirt. The Sharks definitely weren't playing in the Super Bowl (they probably never would), but Wendy had always liked them anyway.
"Hey," Chris said, lifting a hand. "Smells good in here."
Wendy snorted some, grinning. "God knows I've been slaving away at this pot of chili since this morning."
"She took a break to watch Oprah," Barry interjected, and Wendy laughed in slight embarrassment.
"So, what, you're working, that's all?" Wendy asked Chris. "Is that what I heard you say?"
"Yeah, been putting in a lot of hours. Trying to make up for the dent that was Christmas in my bank account. You know how that is."
Wendy sighed. "Don't we ever." She placed a hand over her stomach -- slightly enlarged under the t-shirt. "At least we didn't have to worry about this one yet. Just the little runt. Did you see her?"
"She's been dyeing her dolls hair, I see," Chris answered, grinning some.
"Christ almighty, she'll be dyeing her own, next," Wendy answered, shaking her head and turning back to her pot of chili. "Only five and already wanting to make crazy fashion statements. This one's going to be a problem as a teenager. I've told Barry that from the start."
"You still gotta get parental consent for tattoos and piercings at her age, I think," Chris assured her, and Wendy only laughed.
"How many hours is a lot?" Barry asked, taking out a beer from deeper inside the fridge. Chris put his hand out for one, too, and Barry obliged.
"More than forty," Chris answered, frowning. "It's like misery. Like hell."
Wendy shook her head. "You need something new, Chris," she answered. "Oh! Barry! Why don't you tell him about that new thing that's opening up...?"
Barry cracked open his beer, took a sip, and nodded. "Police's startin' a new unit," he said. "Maybe you're interested."
"Oh, no way," Chris answered. "I am so done with that kind of work. Military was enough for me, thanks."
"C'mon, you're telling me you're satisfied with a desk job?" Barry interjected. "They need a lot of good men. You know you're more than capable. It's not as militaristic as SWAT was, it seems."
"You mean you're switching?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow. He hadn't expected Barry would ever quit his job. SWAT was a dangerous gig for a guy with a family to raise... maybe that was the reason? "SWAT too dangerous for you?"
"It doesn't seem to be any less dangerous," Wendy said, crossing arms. She had always supported Barry and his career choices and hobbies, but Chris was sure she worried. Barry was skilled, but sometimes skill wasn't everything, and Raccoon City had been getting more violent over the past years. "What's it called again? S.T.A.R.S.?"
Barry nodded. "Special Tactics and Rescue Squad," he clarified. "They're going to handle cases the police can't handle on their own. SWAT's more manpower -- sounds like STARS is going to be more like a combination of police work and SWAT work."
"What it sounds like is that you guys might put the other two out of business," Chris answered, taking a sip of beer. "And this is just starting?"
Barry shrugged. "More or less. It's been a smaller project since last year, but they're expanding, adding another team. I think it was mostly under some kind of trial period. I'd heard about it before, but they're just now starting to recruit more people. Doubling up, so to speak." He paused. "It was pretty easy for me to get consideration since I'm coming in from SWAT, but you might find it harder just to walk in. If you want to give it a shot, I'd recommend you. Get your foot in the door, I guess."
Chris looked a little unsure. He wasn't averse to police work for any specific reason -- but desk work seemed to pay more. He couldn't stand the job he had, but it paid enough for Chris to pay bills and send money for Claire in California. Her scholarships paid for her schooling, books, and dorm, but she still needed money for food and other necessities. It was kind of Chris' responsibility, as far as he was concerned.
"How about pay?" he asked, tentatively. He was considering it, a thoughtful expression on his face. It had been about seven months since he'd exited the Air Force, and he really was starting to get restless. He wasn't really cut out for a desk job, he knew that much.
"It's better than what I was doing with SWAT," Barry answered with a shrug. "Probably around the same as you're making now, if not more."
"It would be plenty enough to take care of you and your sister, Chris," Wendy added, and Chris glanced up at her, a little surprised. He'd never discussed sending money to Claire with Wendy or Barry -- she must have assumed.
"Think about it, man," Barry said, moving back towards the living room past Chris. Chris frowned some, following him back towards the couch. "I'll put in the word for you, I mean it. Just do it quick."
"Yeah, okay," Chris answered, reaching for the bag of chips on the table he'd brought. He opened it, reaching inside. "I'll think about it."
The Green Bay Packers swept the floor with the Patriots, 35-21, something nobody had really expected but Chris. He grinned a little as Barry handed him the twenty they'd bet on the game (the first of a lot of bets Chris would collect at work the next day), and quietly excused himself so as not to wake the sleeping child upstairs, carrying a warm tupperware container of the leftover chili Wendy had insisted he take with him. The drive back to his apartment building had been short, and Chris parked in his assigned spot, thankful some idiot hadn't taken it. The streets seemed to be lined with cars. No doubt people still at parties that would last into the night.
Chris put the chili in his fridge as soon as he got in and noticed the answering machine on his table was flashing. He pushed the button, listening to the message as he kicked off his shoes and hung up his jacket.
"Hi Chris... it's Claire... I just called to tell you I got the results back from my finals and thought you would want to hear the news, but you're probably watching that football game. Just give me a call back when you get this message, you know I don't care what time it is." The machine beeped, indicating the message was over, and Chris slid down on the couch, reaching for the phone, dialing Claire's dorm room number. He knew she stayed up late and needed little sleep, so he didn't feel too guilty calling her at midnight.
"Hello?" she answered. She sounded a little tired, but not like she'd been asleep.
"Hey, it's me," Chris answered. "Got your message."
"Ooh, okay. Hang on, let me grab the sheet." Chris heard the sounds of Claire setting the phone down and shuffling of papers before she came back. "Okay. English."
"C'mon, let's hear 'em," Chris answered, grinning a little. Claire had always done well in school. "You're reading the subjects off like you got different grades on them or something."
"I thought you'd want to hear the percents!" Claire objected, though she sounded amused. "Alright, alright, they're all A's. But I did better on English because there was a bonus essay. Full points on that. I thought the 110% would be impressive."
"Very," Chris answered, grinning. "I knew you'd do it."
"Aww, thanks. Took some work, though."
"Well, everything worth doing does," Chris answered with a shrug. It had been something their father used to say -- and Chris was actually surprised to hear it come out of his mouth.
"What about you?" Claire asked. "Don't tell me you're still working like crazy."
"Oh, jeez, here it comes," Chris muttered. "You know I'm doing it to send money to you."
"Don't say that. Make me feel guilty." Claire sighed. "You just hate it. You shouldn't do something you hate so I can do something I love."
"There might be another job opening up," Chris said, suddenly. He hadn't planned on talking about it with Claire, but it had come out of nowhere. "Barry was telling me about it today. I haven't decided if I'll take it yet, though..."
"What kind of job?" Claire asked.
"It's... police work, basically," Chris answered. He wondered what Claire's opinion on police work was. "Barry says it's some kind of special operatives team or something. They do work regular cops can't do."
"You've never been a police officer before," Claire answered. "Do you think you'd be qualified?"
"Barry seems to think so..." But really, Claire brought up an issue Chris hadn't considered himself. "I kind of assumed military experience was enough..."
"You should look into it," Claire said. "It sounds much better than what you're doing now. I think you're happier when you're more active, anyway."
"You think?" Chris asked, slightly amused. "Maybe so... anyway, I'm gonna get some shut-eye. Work tomorrow."
"Night." Chris hung up the phone, then sighed, throwing his head back and staring up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes. He was pretty exhausted. Chris never thought sitting a desk for hours on end could be tiring, but he was finding he was even more exhausted than he had been in the military...
Despite his collection of a good amount of money the next day at work, the day was pretty horrible. The work load had doubled with the firing of a lot of people over some finance scandal, and Chris was called in by his manager to start training to take over their jobs. Not only would the work be harder, but the pay rate wouldn't be increasing. It was just too damn much.
On lunch, Chris grabbed his desk phone and dialed Barry's number.
"Hello?" Wendy answered. She sounded like she was very pre-occupied.
"Hey, Wendy, it's Chris."
"Oh, Chris! Sorry, I was just getting Mel into the tub. The only way I can do it anymore is telling her the Barbies all need baths and she has to help them." She sighed. "Barry should be getting home soon. Did you think some more about that job?"
"Yeah, I did," Chris answered. "Claire says I wouldn't really be qualified for something like that."
"What about all your Air Force training?" Wendy asked. "Barry was telling me they need pilots, too. Helicopter, I think. You can fly one of those, can't you?"
"Well... yeah," Chris answered. He hadn't thought about that... "Anyway, I'm still gonna give it a shot, so could you pass the message along? Or ask him to call me. You guys have the work number, don't you?" He glanced down at his desk, where the cradle for the phone he was using lay. "I think I gave it to Barry about a week ago."
"He's still got it. I put it in the address book." There was a loud splash. "Oh, Chris, hang on a second--" Wendy muffled the receiver with her hand, but Chris could still hear her yelling, "Melissa! You do not jump into the bathtub! You're going to slip and hurt yourself!" She brought the phone back to her mouth and sighed. "Sorry about that. She is out of control sometimes."
"It's fine. I'll let you go. Just let him know for me?" Chris glanced down at his watch. He still had enough time to go get food.
"Oh, of course I will. I'm glad you changed your mind. I'll have Barry call you when he gets home."
"Talk to you later." Chris hung up, standing quickly, pulling his jacket off the back of the chair and sliding it on. He grabbed his car keys, heading outside into the January weather. It was much colder than it had been the day before, and Chris shuddered against the breeze.
Barry didn't call until Chris had gotten back and nearly finished his fast-food lunch. Chris picked up the phone.
"Grahms and Associates Law, this is Chris Redfield, how can I help you?" he answered. The phone greeting had become almost automatic. One time, Claire had called at home and Chris had answered that way, leading to a very amused younger sister and a very embarrassed brother.
"I hope to hell that's the last time you have to answer the phone that way," Barry answered. "I got your foot in the door, man."
"Really?" Chris sat up suddenly. He glanced around, then lowered his voice a little. "What do I need to do?"
"The guy wants you to call him and arrange an interview, I think," Barry said. "Told me to give you his phone number. You should call him today before he leaves for the night."
"Okay. Hang on one second." Chris took a drink of his soda and quickly grabbed a legal pad and a pen. "What's the number?"
"It's (412) 555-7827," Barry said. "Guy's name is Albert Wesker. Don't call him his first name, though. Don't think he likes it much."
Chris scrawled the name down quickly. "Got it. Anything else...?" He was already trying to figure out how he was going to get the time off for the interview.
"Good luck, man. Don't let him shake you. Just stay calm."
"Alright. Stay calm, got it." Chris sighed. "Thanks a lot, man."
"Don't thank me. Just focus on getting in there and doing your best."
"Alright." There was a pause. "My lunch is over. Better get back to work. I'll call you when I do my interview and tell you how it went."
"Alright. See ya."
Chris hung up the phone and quickly finished his food, tossing the wrappers and bag into the trashcan. He turned back to his desk to work steadily on his stack of paperwork, but his mind, too used to the monotony of the job, wandered elsewhere. The prospect of such a big change in his life was nerve-wracking as well as exciting -- and Chris couldn't help but worry that he was getting himself all worked up over something that wouldn't even come through in the end.
He worked quickly through the paperwork, and, when his break rolled around, Chris didn't get up to have a cigarette like he normally did. Instead, he picked up the desk phone, looked down at the phone number he had copied down, and quickly dialed.
The phone was answered on the third ring.
"Yes?" was all the man on the other end said.
Chris sat there for what felt like a full minute of complete silence. It was, in reality, no longer than a couple of seconds, but the unusual greeting had really thrown him off his game.
"Hello, is this Albert Wesker?" he asked, finally.
"It is." The reply was brisk and formal -- as if the man had spent a good portion of his life learning how to respond to things using as few words as possible. Chris could tell this was a very serious man. Better get down to business.
"This is Chris Redfield. I believe my friend Barry referenced me to you?"
A slight pause. For a moment, Chris thought Wesker might not have any idea what he was talking about.
"Yes, he did."
Chris waited for there to be more, but nothing else came. The air felt very forced, awkward.
"I was interested in looking into a position with STARS," Chris said, finally. God, why was this conversation so stilted and awkward? Was this what working for this guy was gonna be like? Chris glanced towards the paperwork stacked high on his desk and realized, even if it was, it would be better than the bullshit he was doing now.
"Yes, Barry mentioned that," Wesker said, finally. "I suppose you'd like to set up a time to interview. I'd like to have a resume faxed to me before then."
"Of course. Can I get that fax number?" Chris asked. He didn't really have a resume, but he could type one up pretty quickly. How hard could it be?
"The number is (412) 555-3299. I have time available on Thursday morning. Ten AM. Does that work?"
"Sure," Chris said, without even a glance towards his desk calendar. He had the feeling you got one chance with this guy. Maybe he was just overreacting... Barry had told him to be calm, but Chris could feel his nerves creeping in already...
"I will see you then, Chris," Wesker said, and Chris heard a click followed by the sound of beeping in his ear.
He slowly hung up the receiver on his end, staring down at the notes he'd been jotting during the conversation.