Resident Evil - Chris-centric - PG - The S.T.A.R.S. Project (Chapter 3) 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 had no idea what to do with the remainder of his day off.
The interview had really only taken about half-an-hour (returning his guest badge to the secretary taking half that long), and it was 11:00 by the time Chris got home. At least the commute wasn't too long.
Claire would be in class now, so it would be a waste of time to try and call her. Chris didn't care too much for leaving messages. He'd rather talk with someone than to someone.
The beauty of staying home all day quickly wore thin when the only thing on TV was "The Price is Right". Chris changed into jeans and a t-shirt, deciding he'd go take a walk in the area around his apartment building (Raccoon City's "downtown"), and see what was there. Even though he'd moved in nearly seven months ago, Chris had still never gone down to the little shops that lined the streets around his house. Maybe he'd grab some lunch, too.
Upon glancing out the window and seeing that it was still snowing outside, he grabbed a jacket, too.
The sidewalks weren't too icy -- the small white crystals of salt dropped to melt the ice crunched under Chris' shoes as he walked. It was chilly, but not unpleasant weather.
He passed a few shops (mostly what appeared to be snooty women's clothing boutiques with bizarre garments hanging in the windows) before noticing a small cafe at the corner. He'd been thinking about going for a while, but it looked a little out of his league. Even so, he had time to burn today (even if he didn't have money to burn), and he stepped inside after buying a copy of The Raccoon Times from a small metal vending machine outside the door.
He ordered a steaming latte and sat at a small table in the window, glancing down at his paper, flipping through the articles. There wasn't much he cared to read. Flipping to the sports section, he scanned the words (mostly interviews from coaches and other experts about the recent Super Bowl). Chris remembered what he hated about having nothing to do. He'd been unemployed when he came to Raccoon City for two whole weeks, and that time had been a miserable collection of hour after hour, days melting together with nothing to do but stare at the television and eat Cup o' Noodles. It was more than Chris could bear.
He definitely couldn't allow that to happen again -- which is why he knew that, even if he didn't get this job, he'd still go on working at the damn law offices, no matter how miserable they made them. They could never compare to the misery of sitting around his house doing nothing for hours on end.
...Jeez, maybe Claire was right. Maybe he really was a workaholic.
He took his first sip of his latte prematurely -- it hadn't yet cooled down the way he liked, and it scorched his tongue. Chris pulled the cup away and hissed in pain -- Goddamnit -- and, just as he did that, he noticed a familiar someone walking by the window with another man at his side.
It was Albert Wesker, without a doubt, still wearing those sunglasses, even in the grey, cloudy weather. It wasn't any more ridiculous than wearing them indoors had been, but somehow, Wesker exuded this sort of aura that made Chris refrain from even thinking he was ridiculous in any way.
Chris didn't, however, recognize the man Wesker was with. He was a little shorter than Wesker (Chris imagined pretty much anybody would be -- and only a 'little' shorter was still an impressive height), with dirty blonde hair that, while trimmed short in the back, hung in his eyes. His skin was pale, and he looked sallow -- not nearly as brought-together and elegant-looking as the STARS captain he was with. Even so, Chris noticed that the two men walked side by side, their paces matching perfectly. It was a sign that the two really... knew each other.
How weird, for Chris to see Wesker like this. It was weird, actually, to think of the man as having a life outside of the big, important desk he'd been sitting behind. Chris thought maybe Wesker wanted his employees to think of him that way.
Not that Chris was one of those just yet...
The two men disappeared into a used book store. Chris finished his latte, folded his paper, and left the coffee shop. He felt a little tired, but he couldn't decide if he really was sleepy or if he just didn't want to be faced with the prospect of going home and doing absolutely nothing.
It was five-o'-clock when the sound of the ringing telephone woke him up. Chris rolled over in bed at the first ring, towards the sound, letting out a very irritated moan and grabbing the pillow he wasn't using, not quite managing to cover his head with it. It rang again, and he reached out, grabbing it from the bedside table, knocking over his digital alarm clock in the process. The clock hit the carpet.
With the third ring, Chris lifted the phone up, two feet from his face, and stared blankly at the flashing display.
Finally, before the phone could ring again, Chris answered.
"Hello?" he said. Or, attempted to. It was muffled and somewhat distorted -- making it very obvious he'd been asleep. Chris figured it had to be Claire, though... who else would be calling?
There was a long pause before a very chilling voice answered, "Did I wake you?"
Chris was instantly awake.
"O-oh! No, I'm sorry! I was... I mean, it's fine. I'm awake..." Why was Wesker calling him? On the same day?
...How long had Chris been asleep!?
He ducked suddenly for the alarm clock on the ground, staring blankly at it. Five? AM or PM? Was it even still Thursday?!
He hoped to god Wesker was calling with good news, because if Chris had slept as long as he thought he had, he didn't have a job anymore. And hadn't he just been thinking about how bad unemployment was?! How could he have forgotten to set his alarm? He might as well tell Wesker now that he apparently wasn't responsible enough to take the goddamn job as he couldn't even calculate how long he'd been asleep--
And then Chris realized that, in his frenzy, he'd completely missed what Wesker had just been saying.
"Huh? I'm sorry... I didn't hear you?"
Another very long pause.
Wesker tried, with some difficulty, to keep the irritation out of his voice, which resulted in a bland tone when he spoke. "I said, I've been looking over your resume," The S.T.A.R.S. captain repeated the words with a measure of slowness in his voice. His patience was clearly being tested to its limits, and he was beginning to reconsider both Redfield's potential as well as his recommendation that Barry had provided. Still, Wesker knew he needed to fill the position, and while Chris Redfield did, apparently, have his imperfections, he seemed to have a few qualifications, and quite a measure of potential. The sheer fact that he hadn't so much as flinched when Wesker had lowered his sunglasses in the interview was a step in his favor, as far as Albert Wesker was concerned.
His sluggish replies and obvious lack of attention at the moment wasn't working in his favor, any more than his over-enthusiasm toward the end of his initial interview in Wesker's office had.
Chris was listening, now -- but what to say to something like that? It was so open-ended, and Chris knew the "...and?" he was thinking really wasn't such a good idea.
"Did you have any questions?" he asked. "I could schedule a time for a follow-up interview if you wanted to meet in person." Never mind what a lie that was. If he did still have a job, he'd never get another day off. Wesker didn't need to know that. What Wesker needed to know was that Chris was willing to do anything to get this job... because it was true.
You could schedule a time? Wesker thought incredulously. This is my time we're talking about here, he thought to himself, shaking his head. If anything, this Chris Redfield had nerve in spades.
“You indicated that your experience with the Air Force lent you a tendency toward obedience and teamwork. How far are you willing to take an order?”
As much as Wesker had wanted to ask this question to Chris’ face, to watch his expression, the phone would be just as interesting. People tended to be more honest over the phone, he’d noticed, willing to say things that they either couldn’t or wouldn’t say while looking someone in the face.
Wesker leaned back in his chair, eagerly awaiting Chris Redfield’s response.
Chris paused. He’d been woken up for this? It was such a weird question. Wesker had completely ignored what Chris had last said, too… like he hadn’t even spoken. Chris got the feeling that it was just something Wesker did. The more he talked to the man, the bigger picture he painted of Albert Wesker’s personality. It wasn’t something Chris disliked so much as it was something he was unsure of. He got the feeling he would need to be exceptionally sharp and on his toes to create a good impression in Wesker’s book. He wasn’t a man who could be won over with simple enthusiasm and charm.
A good thing, maybe – Chris wasn’t entirely sure how charming he could be.
Hesitating with the question, he finally decided to answer.
"There's a joke that Marines have," he began, "Where they talk about an Air Force cadet who is given a gun by his superior and told to shoot himself in the head. The cadet does it and dies. All the other guys in the Force would get pretty pissed to hear the Marine kids tell it, but... I always thought it was kind of true. At least, about me. I know that I always look up to the man above me and trust him entirely. If that gun were handed to me, I would have to trust that there wouldn't be a bullet loaded in. I would fire."
That was the most concise answer Chris could give. He was practically half-asleep, so he hoped it hadn’t sounded too... weird.
Wesker listened quietly to Chris Redfield’s response, examining the sleeve of his jacket, and picking a lone hair off of the cuff of it. Holding it up to the light and examining it revealed it to be just the slightest shade darker than Wesker’s own, which brought the slightest hint of a smile to his lips. Chris’ response broadened that smile into a smug grin. This young man would be perfect. Of that he was already sure.
"5 am, Monday morning. The precinct lobby. If you're even a minute late, you can turn around and drive home." Wesker paused, his no nonsense tone changing only slightly. "Do you have any questions for me?"
Chris' eyes widened. Had he… just gotten a job? Should he quit his old one? Wesker was not a man he wanted to cross, and this was certainly not an offer he wanted to pass up.
"N-no, sir!" Chris replied, quickly. Monday morning... Chris needed to get out of bed and figure out, first, if it was Thursday evening or Friday morning. Or... Friday evening. Oh, Jesus. "I will be there."
The hurried tone and stutter in Chris Redfield’s voice was both amusing and irritating to Wesker simultaneously. Amusing because Wesker was honestly looking forward to testing the young man’s loyalty. (Not only his, but at this point, especially his.) Irritating, because while it adequately expressed Chris’ desire to please it also communicated a bit of uncertainty that Wesker found somewhat disgraceful. He hoped that Chris Redfield possessed significantly more confidence than that tone belayed to him. Anything less would be a great disappointment.
He dropped the hair from between his fingers and let it float to the ground, before reaching for a rolodex at the top left-hand corner of his desk.
"I will see you then." Wesker’s tone was curt, and he hung up the phone without another warning, flipping through the rolodex to make one more call before he brought up the subject of the new recruits with Chief Irons. It would be more of a formality than anything else. The S.T.A.R.S. project was his, and his alone. Chief Irons was a cover and a means to filter Umbrella’s funding through. A funnel and a figurehead. Nothing more and nothing less. Still, Wesker would need to fill out all the necessary forms and bring them to him for approval.
He could honestly say he was looking forward to five am with his new recruits. And the older ones would put these new kids through the mill, just as punishment for having to go through it again themselves. Wesker could feel the competitive spirit when he’d brought up mention of a second training session. A few of what would soon be Bravo team had grumbled their reluctance at being cut off from the outside world again, but Wesker had waived their complaints away, reminding them of the responsibility they had signed on for when becoming members of S.T.A.R.S. He flipped through the rolodex, stopping at the end where he tacked on the new hopefuls and began to dial.
On the other side of the city, Chris was busy staring up at the ceiling, torn between pride and disbelief. He's just gotten his job -- the job he wanted! It was beyond perfect! He was going to have to either not show up to work or fax his letter of resignation, though -- the five AM start time on Monday didn't give Chris any other option, considering the place was closed on weekends. Never mind that he would probably already be fired if he didn't show up today.
Now that he was more awake, he could look at the clock and see that the PM light was not lit -- meaning it was five AM. So Wesker had called him that early in the morning!? Chris supposed it was Wesker's way of testing him -- seeing if he could think on his feet this early. Even so, it was kind of cruel. Chris wondered what would have happened if he hadn't answered the phone.
He could still get an hour and a half of sleep in to be in to work by eight o'clock (to... resign...), and so Chris rolled back under the covers, closing his eyes and trying to will himself to sleep. It did little good, though -- his mind was busy swimming with images of the new job, even though Chris didn't have the slightest idea what it would really be like. He thought about his military experience, and Barry, and, finally, just as he was drifting back to sleep, he thought about Wesker -- the powerful, intimidating man on the other side of the desk. But Wesker had a human side. Chris had seen it for himself, when he saw Wesker walking down the street with the other man, talking, even smiling to each other. Chris wondered what it took to get Wesker to smile like that...
He woke up to the sound of his alarm clock at exactly seven-thirty AM. Groaning, Chris rolled out of bed -- not unlike how he'd woken up only two hours ago. He felt unbelievably drowsy, and part of himself wanted to just stay in bed. Hell, let the bastards fire him. It wasn't like he didn't already have something new lined up. But, Chris reminded himself, that kind of thinking was seriously dangerous. Getting himself on a lazy, irresponsible track was a really bad idea now. Wesker would not stand for it. Of that, Chris was certain.
He was going to have to get used to being woken up at all times of the night and morning. This was only the beginning.
Even so, as he got dressed, he couldn't help but be disillusioned by the idea of the job he was about to go attend for the last time. All the people in the office would feel so far away -- even further than they already had. Chris was about to be living in a different world from them. He'd felt this way before -- this is what had happened when he'd gone from high school to the Air Force. The last day before being sent to boot camp, he'd gone out and just... felt how completely separated from the world he really was.
He wondered how long this training was going to last. Wesker hadn't given an estimated time frame or anything...
Thoughts of the job and training followed Chris all the way through the traffic on the way to work and up until first break. It was 10:30 -- time enough to call Barry and tell him the good news.
Barry answered the phone on the second ring.
"Hello?" he asked. Chris could hear voices in the background -- likely the television.
"Hey," Chris said. "It's me. What's up?" Chris was... admittedly pretty bad at breaking news, good or bad. He liked to wait for an opening. Claire hated it. She's often complained about how they'd get halfway through a conversation and he would "drop a bombshell". Chris grinned a little. He'd probably do the same thing again when he called her.
"Stayin' home with the little one while Wendy does some grocery shopping. It's my last few days of freedom." Barry paused. "Hey, you heard about your interview, right?"
Leave it to Barry to cut to the chase. Chris felt joy and relief wash over him. Telling someone else about the job made it more real. It was such an amazing feeling, knowing he would be out of this shithole of an office and back doing the work he was meant to do.
"Maybe. How's Mel doing?"
Barry sighed. "C'mon, man! She's right here, she's doing fine, and she wants to know if you got the job. Isn't that right, baby?"
"Hi Chris!" A voice on the other end called, and Chris almost laughed. He was in a damn good mood.
"Alright, alright. I get it." Chris sighed. "I got a call from Albert Wesker at five AM this morning."
"He called me around that time, too," Barry answered. "Wendy was pretty upset."
"So I'll be seeing you on Monday," Chris finished, grinning to himself. "Monday at five."
The call went on for a few more minutes -- Barry offered to let Chris carpool with him so his car wouldn't be sitting in the municipal parking lot for God knows how long -- and Chris hung up, a good feeling filtering in through every one of his pores.
Now all he had to do was quit his job.
He sighed, turning back to the stack of work he had left to do. It seemed so pointless, all things considered. Responsibility ruled that he should finish out the day and then turn in a letter of resignation, and, Chris reminded himself, responsibility was something he was going to be a slave to in this next job, so he might as well force himself to get used to it now.
Or, he thought, You could have one last hurrah.
He stared at the clock. Two hours until lunch. His stomach was grumbling, he was tired thanks to Wesker's call, and he wanted to talk to Claire about the news.
And he wanted to be irresponsible, damnit.
Chris pulled a pen off the stack of paperwork on his desk, grabbed a sheet of paper from the nearby printer, and began to write.
To whom it may concern:
I, Christopher Redfield, am terminating my position within the company, Grahams and Associates Law Firm, as of today, Friday, January 31st, 1997. I have been offered another job position to work with the Raccoon City Police department.
Thank you, Chris Redfield.
He signed the paper, quickly, his hand almost trembling as he did.
Standing from his desk, Chris took the paper towards Craig's office, knocking on the half-open door. Craig was at his desk, sifting through paperwork and looking generally annoyed.
"Come in," he growled. Chris slipped in through the door, closing it after him. The sound of the heavy wood hitting the door frame caught Craig's attention, and he looked up questioningly.
"Ah, Redfield," he said. "Something for me to sign? I hope you enjoyed your day off yesterday, because things are going to get really hectic here this next week and you know I'm counting on you to take up Miller and Ralph's workloads--"
"Sorry, Sir, I won't be able to do that," Chris answered. He stopped in front of Craig's desk, sliding the paper across the smooth wood, leaving it right where Craig could read it. There was a pause, as the man's eyes moved down from Chris to the letter, another as he read the contents, and another as he took the time to process them.
After what seemed like, to Chris, an uncomfortably long silence, Craig let out a small choke that Chris thought was probably supposed to be a laugh, and then another, and another. He pushed the paper away from him, shaking his head.
"So that's how it is then, huh?" Craig asked. "Great. Just great. You couldn't give me warning, could you?"
Chris said nothing. Getting into an argument with Craig now really wouldn't do anybody any good.
"Get out of my sight, Redfield," Craig growled. "We'll mail you your last paycheck."
"Of course." Chris turned, heading out the door, glancing back to catch one last glimpse of Craig, elbows propped up on the desk, head in his hands, staring down at the letter.
Maybe, Chris thought, if they'd wanted to keep him so badly, they should have given him a raise when they made him take on three times the workload. Chris didn't have any hard feelings for Craig -- not really. But employment was a tough world, and if Chris could get better work for higher pay, it didn't matter how great Craig or the Law Firm really was -- he'd go.
Passing by his desk, Chris grabbed his jacket, pulling it on, and then took his briefcase, slipping the one personal item on his desk inside -- his framed picture of Claire, the photo taken for her Senior year of high school.
When Claire had gone from high school to college, she'd talked to Chris about feeling fresh -- a sort of crisp, new feeling, like she was standing on the threshold of becoming a new person, and all she had to do was look down and let herself fall into it. Chris had never really been able to relate to that feeling, but, as he left the Law Firm for the last time, unlocking his car and climbing inside, he thought maybe he finally understood.
The sun was shining over the peaks of the mountains, melting the snow around him, and Chris glanced towards the bright rays, feeling a sort of wonderful hope building up inside of him. This had, he decided, been the best thing that had ever happened to him -- and he had Barry, Wendy, Claire, and, finally, that mysterious enigma, Albert Wesker, to thank for it.