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Chapter 34: William ✗! Vera ✓!
🕑 Added 2025-10-09 22:03:54 +0000 UTCJust as Vera was heading to the White House, the media announced that she had successfully pushed through the House of Representatives a bill to sanction and freeze all Umbrella activities and force its reorganization.
Soon after, footage appeared of Vera speaking confidently to the cameras beneath the Statue of Freedom on Capitol Hill, joined by numerous congressional dignitaries. The broadcast went live across the world.
Denver, Colorado. Inside a covert safe house hidden within an upscale downtown apartment building, news of the Federal House passing sanctions against Umbrella played on the screen, casting shifting blue light across the dim room.
A tall man in a navy shirt with a shoulder holster, wearing sunglasses and slicked-back blond hair, leaned back in his seat and quietly watched the broadcast.
Among all the balding, middle-aged men and bobbed-hair matrons, that striking young figure stood out sharply.
Dressed in a high-end dark uniform patterned with crimson technical lines, she had a delicate, refined face that looked almost sculpted, and shoulder-length wavy pale-gold hair that cascaded down her shoulders.
And those unforgettable indigo eyes.
“Spencer, caught in your own web. How could someone like Vera Adelheid ever let you manipulate and drain her?”
Albert Wesker revealed a cold smile.
He wasn’t entirely sure how much Vera actually knew about Umbrella’s secret biological virus and bioweapon research. After all, she had never proactively engaged with virology or made any suspicious moves—that much was true. But her confident, dismissive attitude could not be faked.
From just a few brief, indirect encounters and observations from the shadows, Wesker sensed that he and that woman were, in some way, the same kind of person.
He admitted that in the past he had felt envy, jealousy, and even inferiority toward this woman’s achievements and meteoric rise to power, much like William had once felt toward Alexia in the original story.
“William, in the end, you still lost.”
Creak.
Wesker watched the pixelated, blurred image of the deformed monster shown on the news. The bold headline read, “William Birkin, Umbrella Chief Virologist, Mastermind of the Raccoon City Incident.” His hand clenched, veins briefly rising on his forehead before fading.
At Umbrella, William Birkin had been one of his few friends.
When Wesker had willingly injected the experimental Progenitor virus variant to fake his own death, it was William who had prepared and administered it.
Over the past few years, Wesker had seen William driven nearly insane by the pressure Vera brought. His personal ambition, the contempt and suppression from colleagues, and the increasingly grim prospects within the company had pushed him to the edge. Wesker also knew that William had been in contact with high-level military officials and was possibly preparing to defect.
The result was obvious: William still lost completely.
She hadn’t even bothered with him.
Spencer had made the move first.
Looking again at the news, Wesker realized Vera, Washington, and the Pentagon had probably been aligned for a long time.
Even if William had succeeded, Wesker doubted his friend could have competed with Vera. The military might have wanted BOWs and bioweapons, but the cybernetic technology, smart-controlled unmanned systems, and advanced electronics Vera offered had a far brighter future. Her products were already being mass-produced and generating profits, while William’s technology had too many limitations.
Now William had indirectly caused the world’s first major biohazard leak. The military immediately severed contact with him and sided with Vera’s congressional testimony, pushing all the blame onto him.
Pentagon: William Birkin? Never heard of him. We hope Ms. Vera won’t misunderstand.
Soon after, Wesker saw news that William’s alma mater had removed him from its hall of fame and revoked his graduation credentials. Several private hospitals also announced they were terminating all cooperation with him personally.
“Rest in peace, William. I’ll never repeat your mistakes.”
Though the footage was blurred, that grotesquely swollen human form told Wesker everything. His friend had died the moment he was infected with the G-virus.
Beep, beep.
A text notification cut off his thoughts. He picked up his phone. Caller: Ada Wong.
Beep.
Connected.
Wesker asked, “Did you get it?”
“No progress yet.”
A slightly husky, mature female voice came through the speaker.
“You didn’t tell me your Umbrella power struggle would be this intense. Vera Adelheid’s U.S.F., the Paris headquarters’ U.T.S., the clueless U.B.C.S. still trying to rescue people, the U.S.S. Spencer sent, the RPD police, and the military’s special forces—it’s complete chaos. The number of BOWs in the city and bio-experiments that escaped from the labs far exceeds your estimates. It’s too chaotic. I haven’t had any chance to enter the underground research facility.”
“William Birkin has turned into a monster roaming the school district, apparently searching for his daughter. He ran into military special forces and engaged in heavy combat. Zombie hordes are converging on the city. I also can’t reach the secondary target right now.”
Wesker listened quietly, then spoke in a low voice. “That’s your problem to solve. I chose you because you could handle risk. Double the payment—don’t disappoint me.”
“I’ll try. I’m working on infiltrating the Raccoon City police teams. They’re gathering survivors, so I might get a chance to make contact with the secondary target.”
“Then you’d better hurry, Ada. Vera Adelheid is in Washington. Once she gets what she wants and the military evacuates the survivors, they’ll decide Raccoon City can’t be saved. What comes next will be complete sterilization.”
Beep.
Call ended.
“Before Vera Adelheid mobilizes more troops... no, there’s no time. I can’t expose myself yet.”
Wesker put down his phone and looked at the computer screen. Using a backdoor William had left, he was monitoring the Raccoon City underground research facility’s surveillance system.
---
Raccoon City.
Southeast District, Raccoon Elementary School.
Roars and wet chewing sounds echoed endlessly, followed by inhuman howls of pain.
Tap, tap.
By the wreckage of abandoned cars, faint footsteps sounded at the edge of the road, followed by low curses.
“Damn it! Umbrella U.S.S. bastards!”
“Enough. Quiet. We lost this round. Their gear... since when did U.S. special forces equipment become this outdated?”
“You too, shut it. Frohler’s dead. If that William Birkin monster finds us, we’re finished.”
A group of U.S. special operations soldiers in urban camouflage stumbled into a cleared building. They pulled the curtains, ate compressed crackers for energy, bandaged their wounds, and checked their remaining ammunition.
With casualties mounting, the squad’s morale was low.
“Boss, any word from command?”
When squad leader Jettingham set down his headset, the team looked at him anxiously.
Their situation was grim. Their first encounter with the U.S.S. had been a complete disaster, and they had drawn the mutated William Birkin right to them, suffering heavy losses. The earlier gunfire had drawn nearby zombies, and if they made more noise, U.S.S. snipers would pick them off.
They weren’t afraid of combat, but being ambushed by that giant-eyed monster during a firefight meant certain death.
“Ma’am, I hope your method works,” Jettingham muttered. After a moment, his expression turned strange and conflicted. If the other party’s coordinates hadn’t been the White House, he would have cursed them outright.
He turned back. “Command says to head west along Raccoon Avenue.”
The squad’s bioweapon specialist swore. “How? That damn monster’s right at the Raccoon Avenue fork near the middle school. Without heavy firepower, that’s suicide!”
“They gave us a ‘method,’ if you can call it that.”
“What method?”
“Either we wait here, or...”
Jettingham’s troubled gaze drifted toward the room’s radio. Staying put wasn’t working either. Gritting his teeth, he said, “Let’s try it. We’re Echo Six. We’re not waiting for corporate security to bail us out.”
He outlined the plan.
The rest of the team looked at him like he was insane.
“Use sound to lure it? Whose idea is that? What sound could lure it? Its wife? Its daughter?” the squad medic muttered.
“Maybe an old rival will work too.”
With that, Jettingham picked up the radio and adjusted the frequency. “Orders are orders. Move to the building across the street. Watch my signal—I’ll draw its attention.” He gestured for his team to move, then crept along the wall toward the elementary school.
A small blessing: the mutated William Birkin attacked everything, zombies included.
Blood and flesh littered the street.
“Help me...”
Near the school entrance, the monster was making thick, guttural noises, as if choking on something.
“ROAR!”
The air trembled with the sound.
Abandoned cars blocked the gate, nearly all splattered with blood and scattered bones. Jettingham found one that looked sturdy enough, with its windows open.
He turned the radio volume to maximum. “Alright,” he whispered, took a deep breath, and hurled it into the car before running full speed back toward his team.
From the radio, amid the static, a cold female voice rang out:
“Dr. William Birkin, long time no see. It seems you’ve failed again.”
The voice was clear and cutting.
In the near-silent schoolyard, it was deafening.
BOOM!
A steel pipe struck the school gate, screeching against metal. The walls shook, and the street filled with the roar of a violent storm.
“Vera Adelheid Russell... it’s all because of you. I’ll kill you. Because of you... kill you... I’LL KILL YOU!”
A deformed figure appeared before the car. The shredded white lab coat was soaked in blood and stretched tight over a body swollen to more than two meters. The right side of his skin had ruptured completely, a massive eyeball bulging from his shoulder. His enormous right arm looked nothing human.
“How ugly you are, William Bir—”
“DIE!”
The deformed head of William Birkin, forced down to his chest by the G-cells, shrieked with rage. Eyes nearly buried in mutated flesh flared blood red. He swung the steel pipe down.
BOOM! The car crumpled, glass bursting everywhere.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
He struck again and again until the pipe bent and broke, then smashed with his fists until nothing remained. The car was flattened, the radio crushed, and Vera’s voice silenced.
“That’s one serious grudge,” Jettingham muttered.
With William Birkin distracted, Echo Team slipped past the middle school into the east entrance of Raccoon Avenue. Jettingham, listening to the pounding blows and that name shouted over and over, felt his throat go dry.
“This is Echo Six. We’ve entered Raccoon Avenue. Over.”
---
White House, Situation Room.
Creak.
Vera set down her headset. Everyone around her was silent, hesitant to speak.
She raised an eyebrow. “Why is everyone staring at me?”
“Mr. President, Mr. Simmons,” someone said quietly, “shall we continue assessing the possibility of saving Raccoon City?”
