Albert Wesker (willbegod) wrote in twd_logs, @ 2011-03-21 15:07:00 |
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Current music: | Make Me Bad - KoЯn |
Mini-Event: The Pfizer-Umbrella Merger
Who: Albert Wesker and... YOU.
Where: The Pfizer Building, Brooklyn
When: March 21st
What: The last three days, in retrospect.
Disclaimer: This thread was made with permission from Nij.
The view from the president's office in the Pfizer building was quite... interesting. The cityscape was dull and lifeless; cars in the middle of the street street, backed up for miles. Cars having collided with one another, blood caking the tar on the streets, the occasional zombie wandering the alleyways. The most striking scene visible from the top floor, however, was the large, billowing cloud of smoke rising a few blocks away...
Two days earlier...
Since splitting up with Jill at the small, ratty motel in the suburbs of the Bronx, Wesker had already begun to feel his powers becoming slightly unbalanced. He needed a new injection, and he was feeling his skin crawl. Clutching his chest, he grasped for a nearby newspaper. Bellvue Hospital Center... New York Stockpile Exchange... Pfizer... Pfizer. Perfect. A pharmaceutical company listed in the New York Stock Exchange, and based right here in the Big Apple. At least... that's what Wesker was lead to believe this place was called.
The next few hours were mundane. A few zombies needed to be smashed against the side of a building, but beyond that, all the man needed to was pick a few bandoliers of ammuntion from the Stockpile Exchange, a gun shop whose name was a pun on the NYSE. With his Samurai Edge fully reloaded with plenty of spare magazines, he was ready for his one-man-army takeover of Pfizer.
The building was impressive. Standing at well over twenty stories, complete with a pill production plant, incinerators, and a security wing, it would serve as both the perfect fortress, and the perfect place to begin work on whatever strand of virus was causing this new breed of zombies. Wesker withdrew his Samurai Edge, slipped a new magazine into the pristine, ornately decorated Desert Eagle, and entered the building.
Almost immediately, the zombified workers turned on Wesker, and with the emaciated, desperate-for-food look that only a zombie could give, began shuffling towards Wesker's position. Red eyes began glowing behind his shades, and the man grinned. "I've come to propose a merger... non-negotiable." With the insult thrown, Wesker vanished from sight, with only the sounds of screaming zombies and crunching bones following.
One day later...
It had turned out that, perhaps by an act of divine intervention, the drug production facility was mostly intact. While a small tune-up would be required from being out of business for so long, the building's generators were enough to power the production facility and general utilities, but not much else. Lacking any T-virus samples from which to make his vaccine, he was forced to improvise. Wesker had withdrawn a good amount of blood from his own body - nothing that wouldn't be replaced in seconds from his regenerative abilities - and distill it enough to isolate the virus itself. Using on-hand drugs in the facility along with samples from zombies he had killed fairly recently, he was able to create a facsimile of the vaccine. Unfortunately, Wesker was fully aware that it was only the next-best thing to his own vaccine he had developed using Umbrella technology. There would be side-effects, but at the very least, he was safe from morphing into any kind of monster while retaining his own powers.
Only moments after restoring power to the facility, Wesker was quickly injecting himself with his new vaccine/drug hybrid. His body seemingly sighed in relief with the virus being held once more at bay, keeping his powers in check. Wesker audibly sighed, the tension and stress he had felt vanishing, knowing that his vaccine had worked. He knew full-well what was in store should he be deprived of his life-saving serum, and thankfully, that wasn't going to happen.
Present day...
The facsimile-vaccine was working, but Wesker had begun having strange cravings. Cravings he couldn't explain. He would occasionally black out, and find his face covered in blood, and eviscerated zombies surrounding him... zombies he had kept for experimentation. He had an idea of what was happening, but he didn't dare think about it.
The smoke billowing up a few blocks away was from the massive amount of zombies he had cleaned out of the Pfizer building, which he had cremated. If he was going to keep this place, he didn't want it to be full of rotting corpses. Burning zombies was the generally-accepted way of preventing the spread of the disease, anyway.
Sitting in the former president's chair on the top floor of the building, Wesker stared out of the window. Surely people would see the smoke signal... and then he could judge for himself who he was dealing with, besides zombies.
((I sort of rushed the ending. I'll clean it up later.))