“Late September.” A pause. “Several years ago.” The lack of emphasis on the words had precisely the opposite effect, heightening the sense that a lot of deep, dark shit had gone down, just below the radar. It wasn’t at all spoken as a kind of personal endorsement of his own actions, but instead a method of showing Wesker just how out of the loop he was.
“He’s doing very well. We’re all surprised.” It was spoken forbiddingly, rousting the comfortable routine of the conversation from its track.
Death come round again, stories trailing after him like a shroud.
“He wants to contact you.” He hadn’t spoken directly to William Birkin for quite some time, but he knew that the scientist would indeed want to reconnoiter with his former workmate. With his recent surfacing back to consciousness, he was sure there was a lot that Birkin wanted to do.