Resident Evil - Chris-centric - PG - The S.T.A.R.S. Project (Chapter 2) 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 ALSO, LOL, mars_of_war wrote the Wesker in here because she's awesome.
Chris came in to work the next day, set his bag down, hung his jacket over his chair, and approached his manager's office. Everything had been a rush ever since five people had been fired for stealing company money, and there'd been a rush to convert people to doing the jobs that had been left behind while still maintaining their own duties. Chris had already been suffering over the doubly increased work load, which was why he knew the request he was about to bring up would be pushing his luck. Chris had always been a pretty responsible worker -- he rarely got sick, so he'd never taken any sick days in the time he'd worked there. Requesting time off, however, was usually a very long process -- not something you could do only forty-eight hours in advance.
He knocked quietly on wooden door. It was mostly open, but Chris figured it would be best to be polite. His boss, a tall, stocky man named Craig Sturmer, looked just as lost and swarmed as Chris did. Chris couldn't really manage to conjure up any feelings of pity, though -- Craig had always been a difficult man to work for. He wondered if Wesker was any better.
"Come in," Craig said, waving Chris in with a single swoop of his large hand. Chris obliged, taking a few steps into the small office and taking a seat. The office was small enough, but it felt even more cramped than usual -- there were stacks of boxes everywhere. Craig had just been promoted to this position about a month ago. Chris remembered when Craig had been just another guy doing legal paperwork with the rest of them, and he really hadn't been much better then. He'd been the type to order people around, using his size as an intimidation tactic. Chris, long used to that kind of behavior from his time in the Air Force, had never caved under Craig's demands, which caused quite a rift between them. It was never a surprise that, with his ability to get people to do whatever he said, Craig had been promoted. That didn't mean Chris had to like it, though.
Taking a seat at the chair in front of Craig's desk, Chris maintained eye contact with the man.
"Something's come up with my sister and I need to take Thursday off," he said carefully. It was a lie. Chris disliked lying, to be honest, but he couldn't really tell Craig that he had an interview for another job. "I know things are really strained right now, but I really need to take this time off."
Craig watched him from the other side of the desk, putting down the file he'd been reading when Chris had walked in.
"I don't know if we can do it, Redfield," he answered, gruffly. "We're trying to get everyone trained for the work left behind. You know that."
Chris stared Craig down. He so badly wanted to interject with his irritations that they were being made to do more work without any kind of pay increase, but he kept his mouth shut. What if he didn't get this STARS job? He could not afford to be unemployed...
"I know," he said. "It's one day. I can have my own work for the week done by Wednesday and take care of the training on Friday."
Craig glanced boredly towards his desk calendar, then picked up a small hand football on his desk. He leaned back in his chair, throwing it up into the air and catching it. Chris only watched him, getting the distinct impression he wasn't being taken seriously.
"If you can get your work done by Wednesday, I can consider it," Craig answered, finally. "So get the hell out of my office and get pen to paper, Redfield."
Chris smirked a little, standing from his chair. "Thank you." He turned, heading out of the cramped office and to his own desk.
As his eyes fell on the stack of papers, however, his hope faded. It looked even higher than it had been the night before...
No time to worry about that. Chris sat at his chair and pulled the first file down, opening it up.
The next two days moved in a blur -- Chris looked at so many files that his head swam with numbers. Somewhere in there, he found time to type a resume over a bowl of Wendy's leftover chili, secretively sending it to Wesker's fax number from the machine at work. It was nearing the end of his shift on Wednesday when Chris finally set the last file down, a very satisfied feeling spreading through him. He glanced towards Craig's office. The light was still on. Standing, Chris moved towards the doorway.
"I'm done," he said, carefully.
Craig glanced towards him, then towards his clock.
"You still have fifteen minutes," he noted. "Sort something."
Chris lingered there, frowning a little. "With the paperwork. You remember our bargain?"
"Oh, Christ, that day off crap again." Craig sighed, turning towards his computer. "You're finished? With your work for the week?"
"That's what I said," Chris answered, frowning.
"You need all eight hours?" he asked, putting the pen he was holding in his mouth and beginning to type something at his keyboard.
"...Preferably." Chris knew the interview would probably be over by eleven, but it would suspicious if he only took two hours out of his day for the reason he'd given. Luckily, Craig didn't know Claire lived in California. The only thing he'd seen was the picture of Claire on Chris' desk.
"Alright. It's yours. Go on." Craig waved him out of the office, and Chris was only too happy to obey.
When Chris got home that night, he ironed and set out his clothes for the next day -- a blue button-up with a black tie and black slacks. A suit jacket would probably be too dressy... wouldn't it?
Setting the alarm, Chris slumped to bed, thoroughly exhausted from his workload and the prospect of the next day's interview.
The alarm went off bright and early the next day, and Chris, used to having to get up at the first sounding of the alarm, rolled out of bed, yawning, and stumbled towards the bathroom. He turned on the shower, brushing his teeth as the water warmed, curling steam around his feet. Throwing off the tank top and boxers he'd slept in the night before, Chris showered as thoroughly as he could. It occurred to him that he was preparing for a job interview in almost the same way as he would a date, and the thought made him laugh a little as he toweled off and went to grab a banana for breakfast from the pantry. Standing in the kitchen in nothing more than a towel, he stared out his window, watching the snow falling lightly outside.
Jeez, a date. He hadn't had one of those in a while. Claire had urged him to hook up with someone, but Chris hadn't really had the heart to tell her how uninterested he was. He'd dated a couple of girls in high school, but the relationships had never been really meaningful, and Chris had never been really attracted to them -- no matter how attractive they were. Never mind that they only good sex he'd had before had been with a man... he frowned some at the thought of Claire's reaction to that. Claire was a practical girl, and not really homophobic, but something kept Chris from really wanting to tell her.
Finishing his breakfast, Chris tossed the peel into the trashcan under his sink and went to his bedroom to get dressed. He hung up his towel (he used to just throw it on the bed, but had stopped that habit when he kept coming home to get into a damp bed at night) and pulled his clothes on. Digging for a pair of black socks in his drawer, he glanced towards the clock. He still had a good amount of time left, but his nerves were already on fire, flying out in a million different directions. God, he needed this job. The thought of going back to the law firm to be a clerk for the rest of his life disgusted him.
"Please dear god, let Wesker be a better boss than Craig," he murmured to himself as he pulled his socks on. Slipping back into the bathroom, he ran a comb through his hair, then some gel, and walked to the living room, grabbing his shoes from the hall closet as he did.
Sitting at the couch to put them on, Chris sighed, trying to manage control of his scattered nerves. It was going to be fine -- he just needed to breathe.
In the car on the way to the police department, the radio played one of Chris' favorite songs. Maybe it was a sign of luck. Chris parked in guest parking and headed up the stairs into the front door.
The police department was pretty large -- it used to be Raccoon City's art museum, but the state had purchased it to renovate into the station back in the 80s. In the middle, there was a large statue, and past it, the front desk, where a woman was working at her computer. Chris waited patiently, glancing at his watch as he did. He was still pretty damn early. He knew it was best to arrive ten to fifteen minutes early for interviews. At least, that was what he'd always been told. Better than showing up late, that was for sure.
When the woman glanced up, she smiled, standing and strolling towards him. She was young, wearing a nice dress suit, her long hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Chris smiled back politely. She was a pretty attractive woman, honestly. It was no wonder she had a small diamond engagement ring on her finger.
"Hello," she said. "How can I help you?"
"Hi, I'm Chris Redfield; I'm here for an interview." He paused. "With Albert Wesker."
"Alright, Chris, let me see here..." she reached for a clipboard, scanned it, and then smiled. "Here you are. Let me just get you to sign by your name..."
Chris looked down. Sure enough, his name was written on the clipboard in very precise handwriting. Chris wondered if that was Wesker's writing...
Grabbing the pen offered to him by the secretary, Chris took the clipboard, quickly scrawling his signature in the space beside his name and appointment time.
"Here's a visitor's badge," she said, taking the clipboard and, with her other hand, reaching under the desk to pull out a small, bright pink badge. Chris took it. "Just make sure you keep it with you. You don't need to pin it on." She smiled. "And can I get your ID while you're here? I just need to keep it until you return the badge."
"Oh, sure thing." Chris set the badge down on the desk for a moment as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Pulling it out, he handed it to her. She took it, taking out a small binder filled with plastic pages usually used to hold baseball cards. Putting the ID inside, she smiled.
"Good luck!" she told him, and Chris nodded his thanks. He wondered if she knew anything about Wesker, if that cheerful 'good luck' was meant to be some kind of warning... if Chris would end up really needing it. Or maybe she was just friendly, and he was just freaking out. That seemed way more likely.
"Do you know where the STARS office is?" he asked.
"Sure thing! Here, I'll have you follow me. This place can get a little confusing sometimes." She laughed a little, reaching back to turn the monitor of her computer off before beginning to lead Chris away from the desk and back towards the front of the building. They took a pair of large double doors into a cramped room. Many people were lined up, holding what looked like various traffic offense tickets in their hands. Chris had gotten enough of those in his life to know them when he saw them. The secretary ushered them through, to a door in the back, and down the hallway. They came out to a staircase. She turned to face him.
"It's just up these stairs, and the door on the very end of the hall. That leads into the STARS territory. If you want Mr. Wesker's office, it's the second door on the left." She waved. "Come back when you're done to return your badge and tell me how it went!" And with that, she was gone, and Chris was staring up the staircase.
Now, left alone, he was suddenly more nervous than before. He tried to focus on Barry's words, tried to summon some of Barry's easygoing manner as he climbed the stairs. Barry probably hadn't been nervous at all...
He passed the first door in the upstairs hallway, then a large, stone statue. Behind it was the door at the end of the hallway the woman must have been referring to. Sure enough, a small posting by the door read "STARS".
And there was a card key reader. Chris stared at it for a moment in confusion. He didn't have a card key...
Blinking, he remembered the badge the secretary had given him, and he quickly reached into his pocket for it. Even though there was a plastic loop threaded through the hole stamped into one end, the back had a magnetic strip. Sliding it through the reader, the light on turned green, a small beep accompanying the sound of the door unlocking. Sighing in relief, Chris pulled the door open and stepped through.
He was just shy of ten minutes early. He moved past the first door on his left, stopping short at the second. The door was open a crack, and Chris paused, knocking at it. Time to calm down and get this show on the road.
"Come in," a voice said from inside. It was the same short tone Chris remembered from his phone conversation earlier.
The office on the other side of the door was a stark contrast from Craig's office. Everything was very tidy and immaculate -- even the papers sitting on the dark wooden desk looked as if they had a very specific place there. On closer inspection, Chris realized those papers were his own resume, and he thought he felt himself flush.
The man sitting behind the wide desk, however, was the real point of interest. Chris stood in the doorway, practically staring at him.
He hadn't imagined somebody so... young could be the leader of a Special Forces team. The man on the other side of the desk -- Albert Wesker -- looked only just older than Chris himself. He wore a blue and black uniform, and his blonde hair was slicked back, providing him with a very classy look. The first thing Chris really noticed, though, was the sunglasses over his eyes.
Normally, Chris would regard someone with sunglasses on indoors to be kind of idiotic. With Wesker, though, the glasses seemed to suit him so well that Chris couldn't even imagine the man without them. He was dazed with Wesker's appearance, dazed trying to figure out what was so striking, what was so different from what he'd expected, when Wesker's voice snapped him out of it.
"Please sit down." The man gestured to one of two chairs in front of his desk, and Chris was quick to take a seat. "You must be Chris Redfield."
"Yes, I am," Chris answered, quickly.
"I must admit, I expected someone older than you."
Chris frowned. He was only twenty-three -- was that really too young for police work?
"I have to say the same," he answered. He hadn't expected to actually say it, and the fact that he had surprised him.
Wesker looked similarly surprised -- and then slightly amused.
"You have a point." He reached for the resume on his desk. Chris could only assume he was looking at it -- the sunglasses on Wesker's face kept Chris from really knowing what the man was looking at at any given time. Maybe that was why he wore them...
"It says here you were in the Air Force." Wesker noted, tone sounding bored.
"Yes, sir." Chris answered, quickly.
"Hm." Wesker flipped the page, eyes skimming across the words, while Chris fidgeted slightly with his hands. The truth was that Wesker had already read the resume more thoroughly the moment he got it, and was only reviewing it now, picking out the parts he'd underlined previously, wanting more to watch how Redfield handled himself under pressure than anything else.
"Tell me, then, what can you bring to this team?"
That was a damn good question. Chris wasn't certain he honestly knew. It had been the question he'd been stressing over since his conversation with Claire four days ago, and honestly, Wendy's reassurances hadn't helped much.
"I've been told you could use a pilot," he said, hopefully. "I'm very skilled with flying. I also know how to work effectively with a team of soldiers and how to follow orders." He hoped it didn't sound as cheesy to Wesker as it did to him. He hadn't done too badly in the interview for his terrible clerk position, but he certainly wasn't doing too well now.
Wesker flipped back a page in Chris' resume, scanning his Air Force pre-requisites again. Truth was he had already interviewed for a pilot, and while Chris seemed just as qualified for the position, he hated to have to decide between the two of them based only on piloting experience. Brad Vickers, the pilot candidate, just didn't seem good for much else, and while Chris didn't have much actual experience, he had come with recommendations, and that counted for something. He'd also been courageous enough to respond to Wesker's comment about his age, to throw it right back at him, though it seemed he hadn't thought about it before he'd said it, based on facial expression after the words were out.
So Chris was careless, but honest. Wesker could respect not only the base honesty in the other man, but the outright balls it had probably taken to make the comment, even if he hadn't meant to say it. It meant Chris would be both reliable for his opinion, and also easy for Wesker to read, although he prided himself on his ability to read people well anyway. Both were good qualities for a S.T.A.R.S. member.
"I have a few more interviews this week, and some to review that I've already conducted. I should hope you're able to sell me on more than just your piloting abilities, Chris." Wesker's tone was clipped, but light. He was almost teasing, and casual with Chris' first name. Wesker knew it would serve a dual purpose: relaxing him into a sense of security, but also put him on edge. Wesker didn't look the type for joking, and the mixed message his tone relayed would be enough to keep the other man guessing. "Pilots are not particularly difficult to come by, and I would hope someone applying for this team would be able to do more than just cart bodies around."
Chris could only respond with an expression both annoyed and worried -- so Claire had been right. Military experience didn't seem to mean very much to this man, and even if it did, it sounded like he already had a pilot. Chris couldn't imagine anyone better qualified than him unless they were much older, or maybe a higher military rank.
"I wouldn't call the Air Force just carting bodies around," he said. He was trying to maintain Wesker's casual manner, trying to keep the air light and thin. He wanted to heed Barry's advice, definitely. "I'm also a very good shot, sir." He threw in the title a second time to emphasize that he knew how to respect his leaders. He was almost certain that much would mean something to this man. He paused. "I realize that the Air Force isn't exactly known for sharpshooters, but we used to have contests and I would out-do everybody." This wasn't an interview so much as a bragging session, was it? Chris hoped he wasn't coming off as annoying. He didn't really feel full of himself, but it was hard to sell himself without sounding cocky. "I've been maintaining that skill, too. I go to the shooting range every weekend." It was Barry's insistence, actually, that had kept that habit up -- he wanted someone to go with him -- but Chris didn't mention that part. "These things are all pretty easy to say, but I'd like to have a chance to show you."
Wesker smiled almost imperceptibly. A small turning up of the corners of his mouth. The look never reached his eyes, which couldn't be seen behind his sunglasses.
"Perhaps you'll get that chance," he said, simply, tapping the pages against his desk in a dismissive sort of straightening. He was finished with the resume and the bragging session. It was time to get down to business. There were things that needed to be discussed, points of matter that would need to be examined, if Chris Redfield was to be joining an elite team like S.T.A.R.S. How would the man do under extreme pressure? What were his mental strengths? More importantly, what were his perceived weaknesses? Ones that Wesker could push him on immediately, reserving the ones that he failed to notice himself for later.
"You understand that if I am to accept you, it will be under a trial period. You'll have a provisioning period - two weeks. You, and several other rookies, as well as my seasoned members will be tested, and the sessions will be rigorous. Your stamina, mental stability, and your professed dead-aim will all be called into question in these simulations. Do you see any reason that you would not be able to undergo and complete a two week training session? Keep in mind that you will not be allowed to leave the training facility until completion of all courses. If you have pets, or other things that need to be taken care of at your home, you'll need to make arrangements to have them cared for. You will also not be allowed to contact anyone during this period. No phone calls, no letters, nothing. Any arrangements will need to be made prior to start of your training, and should you drop out for any reason, you will not be considered for the position, nor will you be allowed to reapply."
Wesker's tone was all business.
Jesus, this really was serious business, wasn't it? Chris could feel his expression getting wider as Wesker spoke, and he worked quickly to clear it off his face. Luckily, he didn't have anything in the way of pets -- just a potted plant that was already pretty much dying anyway. He'd ask Barry to water it for him, but Barry would be undergoing training, too. He wondered how the other man could possibly go two weeks without word from Wendy or Melissa. Especially with Wendy's pregnancy...
But, the Burton family's worries were not his own. Chris dismissed them quickly, focusing at the matter at hand.
"I can do that," Chris answered. It sounded like a very juvenile answer to him, but he didn't know how else to word it. "I have no other obligations." Hopefully, that would be a good sign, too. Chris was, upon being accepted, ready to devote pretty much all of his time to the team. He pretty much already did that with the damn job he had now, didn't he? Work had always been a big chunk of Chris' life. Claire really was right -- if Chris wasn't active, he wasn't happy at all. "Where is the training facility located?"
"That question will be answered if you are selected, and not a moment before," Wesker replied tersely.
Wesker's expression did not change, although Redfield's confidence and eagerness were points in his favor.
"Tell me your biggest weakness," Wesker said. It wasn't a question, or even a request, but not quite an order. Just a statement that required a response.
Chris got the feeling those kinds of 'statements' were normal with Wesker. Even if the man had a sort of formal, brisk nature, he was still shaping up to be much better than Craig. Wesker was intimidating, but in a different way -- and Chris expected that from a leader in his position. It was somewhat necessary.
Turning his attention to the question, Chris frowned a little. His biggest weakness... that was a good question. He knew Wesker wanted to hear something real, something substantial -- not those weaknesses people made up for interviews that were actually strengths. Jeez, why was it so hard to think of one?
"I think it's hard for people to see their own weaknesses, sometimes," Chris answered. "I over-think things, I know that. I get nervous in situations like, well, this one." He smiled, a little. "But those things sound pretty trivial, I think. I'm sure I have other weaknesses. Actually, I think one of them is not being able to answer these kinds of questions about myself, because I can't really... read myself. I have a hard time standing back and looking at situations I'm involved in objectively, so I have a hard time reading my own weaknesses and faults."
Perceptive, Wesker thought, although there was still no noticeable change in his demeanor. The answer was a good one, although it skirted the question a little more than Wesker would have liked.
The S.T.A.R.S. Captain reached up with one hand and removed his sunglasses, folding them and placing them on the desk in front of him. He folded his hands near them, and looked at Redfield. Really looked at him. "Do you have any questions for me, or anything else you would like me to consider when reviewing your application for the position?" Wesker asked.
The pressure was on.
Chris' expression didn't change in the slightest when Wesker set his sunglasses on the desk. He matched the man's gaze, carefully, trying to show he wasn't nervous or worried in any way. It had taken him a while, but it seemed like he'd finally gotten comfortable in the situation. Of course, that would happen just as the interview was about to end...
"I've never done police work before, as I'm sure you noticed," he said, slowly. "What exactly is expected of us? Do we have set hours, or do we work when needed?"
"You will have set hours, but you will also remain on-call if needed. This means you will have a pager on your person at all times. As you are aware, S.T.A.R.S. handles the more delicate cases, that the RPD would rather not deal with. This means more violent cases, harder work and longer hours than normal police work. This also means that if there are no cases of this nature, you'll be doing ordinary police work. Filing, traffic duty, and the like. You will, of course, be trained in all of this. Normally, you would be sent through standard Police Academy, but S.T.A.R.S. has it's own training agenda. You'll find that it's much more rigorous, but also more concise. You'll be taught applicable things when needed. Training is also on an on-call basis. This is not a job or a means to an end. If you don't have the time or the devotion to throw your entire life into this, do not bother wasting my time."
Wesker narrowed his eyes at the last bit, driving home exactly how precious his time was to him, and how little of it he had to spare.
Chris frowned a little. He hadn't hoped to come off as someone who would waste Wesker's time, and if that was the impression he'd given, he was in big trouble.
"I value my own time too much to waste anyone else's, sir. I promise I am very serious about my application." he had kind of guessed that they would have this kind of schedule -- Barry had done the same sort of thing in SWAT. "I am not looking for a job." It was really the truth. When he'd talked to Claire about this opportunity, they'd talked about Chris' life... not his 'career'. Was he really so much of a workaholic? He'd never considered himself one.
"Very good," Wesker said, reaching for his sunglasses. He returned them to their usual position over his eyes with a fluid motion that radiated dismissal.
"I'll be in touch."
Chris got the hint. He stood from his chair, feeling a sort of hope mixed with fear and worry boiling in his stomach. He wondered how quickly Barry had gotten a call back from Wesker -- how many more times he would have to go back into the dead-end desk job before he could finally tell Craig he was finished.
If he could.
It would be nice to work here -- it was a nice building with nice people (well, the secretary had been, at least), and Chris could feel his desire to get this job bursting out of him. He wished he could find a better way to tell Wesker, to let the man know how hard he would work, how good he could be, but there wasn't one that wouldn't be stupid.
Chris certainly wouldn't mind working for someone so damn attractive, either. The thought had come out of nowhere, but it wasn't particularly surprising in any way. Wesker was very handsome -- Chris had thought that even before the sunglasses had come off, and when they had... damn.
He grinned a little, stupidly, as he held out his hand to let Wesker shake it.
"I appreciate your consideration, sir," he said, sincerely.
Wesker raised an eyebrow over his sunglasses at the proffered hand. He sat there for what, for Chris, was probably an excruciatingly long moment, before rising from his chair and shaking Chris' hand. At least the other man's handshake was firm - Wesker could appreciate that, although the goofy look on Chris' face wasn't helping to plead his case any.
That aside, unbeknownst to Chris, Wesker had already made his decision, and his heartfelt appreciation sparked little in Wesker, aside from setting his mind into idle motion, cataloging and discarding ideas for how he could use these qualities in Chris for the better of his team.