The coffee house sat a few blocks off the main drag, a comfortable little nook that hid itself away from the biggest crowds to keep an atmosphere that could only be described as 'private'. Alyssa had picked it carefully, a place she could take a recalcitrant source, and given the nature of the meeting she was about to have, Daniel wouldn't be anything but. The walls were wood paneled, the floor a soft carpet, and most importantly, each table sat in its own little booth. She had arrived early, too early really, and had already finished her first cup, but she was nervous, and had hoped the time would help her relax a bit. It didn't.

  She waited with her hands wrapped around the second, black and plain, the way she always took it, an old habit from college, where she barely had the money to cover the basics, much less cream or sugar. It was an old, comfortable friend to her now. She told herself she was calm, and in a sense she was. The decision had already been made. That part was settled. She had survived the Arklay Hospital. Sitting there wondering about the what ifs didn't matter much after that, and her decision to dive head first into that hell, knowingly or not, had left her hungry for answers.

  She wanted more. Needed more. She had made the call because of that need, because the alternative was to pretend she could put it all back into a box somewhere deep in her mind and move on. At the time she’d dialed the number, she’d been certain. Sitting here now, waiting, that certainty didn’t stop the thin edge of unease from creeping in. Knowing what she was stepping toward didn’t make it any less daunting.

  Daniel arrived without pretense, slipping in through the door like he’d always been there. Alyssa noticed him immediately anyway. Even stripped of armor and weapons, he still drew the eye. The heavy jacket did most of the work, broadening his frame, hiding whatever he carried beneath it, but it was more than that. He moved with purpose, unhurried and direct, and the space around him seemed to adjust as he crossed it.

  He took the chair across from her without asking.

  “Alyssa. Good to see you’re holding up,” he said, as if they were old friends. Perhaps, having shared what they had, they were.

  Before she could answer, the barista appeared, bright and efficient, and asked him what he wanted. Alyssa listened out of idle curiosity and had to keep herself from raising an eyebrow. The drink he ordered was an overly sweet concoction, layered and absurd, not remotely what she’d expected from someone who carried himself like Danny did. The caffeine content alone would’ve been enough for three adults.

  “Daniel,” she said once the barista moved away, grabbing his attention, before floundering, settling on a lame, “So here I am.”

  The words hung there, inadequate. She tried again, searching for something cleaner, something that didn't sound quite so pathetic. Eventually she settled on the obvious.

  “So what happens now?”

  The barista returned, set Daniel’s cup down, refilled hers, and drifted off again. Daniel waited until she was out of earshot before he glanced around the room. It was mostly empty. A couple of people sat with laptops, headphones in, eyes down. The smooth jazz playing overhead washed over everything, softening the edges and swallowing the din.

  Daniel leaned forward, forearms set on the table, fingers threaded together. He didn’t bother with a preamble, didn't meander. There was no attempt to soften what he was about to say, and there was no way to, anyway. He laid it out piece by piece, note by note, like he'd rehearsed it, and she had to admit, he probably had. She watched him closely, as he spoke, his face blank, but the tone... it was always the tone, she'd learned, that betrayed someone. His tone was flat. There wasn't any doubt there, just the hard belief of someone who knew.

  Umbrella. The viruses. What they were designed to do and what they could do when they escaped control. He talked about the things he'd seen, the undead, the monsters, BOWs he called them, laying them out in a clear sequence. About how each virus was different, but each could jump species, causing rampant, violent mutations, and how they could be transmitted, by blood, by water, even by air, to her horror. It was highly lethal, nearly always fatal, and worse, it multiplied. What it killed, would get up looking to infect as many people as it could, an all-consuming plague that went from victim to victim, literally eating its way through a populace.

  He explained the scale of it, how deep it went, how it spread from one city, one state, one country to the next. How the reach of Umbrella had permeated the market like the virus they'd made, and how coveted it was among nations, as a weapon, as a deterrent, and in some cases, as a tool for immortality, no matter the cost. He spoke of labs scattered in and around Raccoon City, how the hospitals were one, but of more secretive labs, buried under the ground, and her mind jumped to the countless construction projects Umbrella had launched under the guise of "modernizing the city." But more than that, he talked about how it was a house of cards. How the company did barely anything to contain the nightmares they kept in their closet, and how it was only a matter of time.

  What he was talking about, to her horror, was a literal zombie apocalypse.

  Alyssa listened without interrupting, not because she was stunned into silence, but because she was actively weighing every word. She didn’t laugh or argue, and she didn’t ask him if he heard himself, not out of politeness but because she already knew he did. In another life, she would have cut him off early, flagged him as unstable, and mentally filed him away as a liability. She would have thought about emergency numbers, safe exits, and how to disengage without provoking him. Sitting there now, all she could do was listen to him describing a reality no one wanted to admit existed.

  But she lived through the Arklay Hospital, and that made all the difference.

  She had seen the dead rise, sticky and infested with those infected seedlings. She had seen insects the size of dobermans, bodies reshaped into weapons, and the Axeman in all of his grotesque reality. She had watched as each new monster tore at the seams of her fragile illusions, and beyond that, the smell, the taste, of death in the air still haunted her. Even so, the scope of what Daniel was describing made her stomach tighten. Knowing something was possible wasn’t the same as hearing how close it already was.

  He talked about government involvement as a shadowy cabal, explicit and entrenched, men and women on Umbrella’s payroll reaching from city hall to state offices and all the way up to the president himself. He laid out how officials had made bodies disappear for years, how entire departments had been quietly complicit. The sheer number of dead, the way they had vanished, was proof enough of how far the coverup went. An army of shambling plant-men didn’t come from nowhere, and those were just the ones that had been taken. God only knew how many more had just... vanished into the woods.

  Alyssa found herself nodding along despite herself, mind racing ahead to the implications. She knew how hard it would be to bring any of this to the light of day. She knew the filters, the lawyers, the editors who killed stories quietly, for any number of reasons, and she had no doubt that killing this one would mean a fat payout for someone above her and two in the head for her. Even then, when something made it through, making people care was its own battle.

  And the truth of it, the part that chilled her most, was that none of this would be enough.

  Nothing short of a live, snapping zombie dragged into daylight would convince the public. Even then, there would be reasonable voices insisting it was fake, staged, exaggerated. She could already hear them, already see the talking heads. Until the undead were literally gnawing on their femur, they would deny it all. It was an insane, entirely reasonable, and suicidal way to see it.

  Daniel acknowledged that reality without prompting. He said he’d been trying to find something undeniable, a silver bullet that couldn’t be argued away. What he’d found instead was a mass of fragments. Memos. Logs. Data that was damning if you knew how to read it, if you were already looking in the right direction. Proof enough to ruin individuals who signed their names to the reports, but not enough to bury the company itself.

  It sounded wrong to her at first, like he was working backward from the conclusion. But as she thought it through, she couldn’t see a cleaner path. She knew what a real exposé required. Receipts. Transcripts. Financial trails. Victims who could be named and verified. Everything tied together tightly enough that no one piece could be dismissed without collapsing the rest. She knew how rare that kind of package was even when the target wasn’t a multinational corporation with government contracts.

  When she asked him what he did have, Daniel reached into his jacket and slid a thin file across the table. It was thin enough to be almost insulting given what she knew the hospital had contained. “That’s everything I pulled from the hospital,” he said.

  Alyssa didn’t open it right away. She left her hand resting on the cover, then asked the obvious follow-up. Not just the hospital. Not just Arklay. She asked if he had anything from before. Any of his previous work. Anything he’d taken from other sites, other incidents, other places where Umbrella’s shadow had stretched too far.

  Daniel was quiet for a moment. Not hesitant, just measuring how much to say. Then he told her that he had. Past tense. Material that had painted a broader picture than anything from the hospital alone ever could have. Research fragments, internal documents, things that hinted at patterns instead of isolated crimes.

  When she asked where it was, that was when he told her about his benefactor.

  He explained that the rest of it had been taken as payment. Not sold, not traded casually, but surrendered as the cost of continued access. The way he said it made it clear that this wasn't something he would discuss further, but that didn't stop her. She pressed him, asking who the benefactor was, what kind of arrangement justified handing over evidence like that. He shut that down cleanly, offering nothing beyond the fact that it had been necessary. Reading his expression, she let it drop.

  She shifted tactics. Photos. Video. Audio recordings. Anything visual she could work with. He shook his head and admitted he didn’t carry a camera. That finally got a reaction out of her, disbelief flickering across her face before she could stop it. She asked him why.

  He explained it in the same blunt, pragmatic way he’d explained everything else. Nothing he’d found was rugged enough to survive the environments he was moving through. Even if it did, the fidelity wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny. Grainy footage and half-lit shapes would be torn apart by analysts before they ever reached the public. And even if he managed to get usable film, he had nowhere safe to develop it nor the skills to do so.

  She frowned, thinking it over. It struck her as shortsighted, but she understood the logic. Good video equipment was heavy. Compact cameras existed, but the image quality was questionable, especially in low light. The development issue, though, wasn’t the problem he thought it was. She knew people in the darkroom at work. Even if she couldn’t use them directly, she knew how to develop film herself.

  The bigger issue was fidelity and durability.

  As he spoke, a solution began to take shape. Certain cameras and recording devices weren’t available to the general public, at least not easily. They moved through professional channels, through dealers who sold to journalists and studios. She had contacts there. Not favors she called in lightly, but connections she could use if she had to.

  She floated the idea carefully. A working camera. Something compact, reliable, capable of recording to newer data storage. Experimental, yes, but not impossible to acquire for the right price. It wouldn’t solve everything, but it would address weight and film management.

  Daniel listened without interrupting, contemplatively. If she could provide the tech, then he could use it.

  She made it clear it was just an idea. One head of the hydra. They would still need more. She had a list in her head, even the beginnings of a plan, but all of that relied on somehow finding more than what he currently had to work with, and to her frustration, he admitted that the jobs to get that data were few and far between, unless he was willing to risk shooting up Raccoon General.

  Until they had that, there was no way to prove a conspiracy at the scale he was describing. No way to make it stick, no matter how convinced they were. More open tactics, chasing people, running down leads, all of them might get them somewhere, but that risked open exposure, and the payout for the risk was too heavily skewed. She had no doubt that someone would kill to keep things under wraps, so that left them trying the clandestine route.

  By the time they stood to leave, Alyssa felt heavier than when she’d arrived. Not because she regretted the meeting, but because she understood the size of what she’d stepped into. She had more questions than answers now, more concerns than she’d thought possible.

  She also understood, more clearly than ever, the scope of the task Daniel was facing.

  They had their work cut out for them.

  000

  Rebecca had been up before sunrise, not because she needed the time, but because she liked having it to herself. The turkey had been brined overnight, the pies had cooled without incident, and every side dish she’d sworn she’d prep ahead so she wouldn’t be rushed today had already been taken care of. By the time the morning light reached the kitchen, the whole meal lived comfortably in her head, timings and steps settled like an old song she knew by heart.

  Danny stood at the stove with his sleeves rolled up, a wooden spoon in one hand and a towel slung over his shoulder, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone playing sous chef today. The two of them moved around each other easily, dancing around the somewhat more open space of Rebecca's kitchenette, enjoying the lack of bar table that dominated his. He was there to mind the pots, keep things moving, and do his part, largely because hurricane Becca had pulled him out of bed in the wee hours of the morning so she could get everything perfect.

  Bumping him with her hip as she passed, pulling a wry look for him as she did, she whispered into his ear, "I love a man in an apron." The purred words were like lightning down his back.

  "Thirsty, Becca?" he shot back as he stirred the gravy, his manic pixie girlfriend dancing away to finagle the oven, the scent of the bird roasting inside teasing his nose.

  "Always, Danny." She laughed, as shouts rose from the living area, Enrico and Forest jumping up while Kevin gave a crooning cheer. The Sharks had just managed a miracle touchdown, though both Danny and Rebecca knew it probably wouldn't save the game. The Sharks had been having a rough season, and the game today wasn't looking to break that trend.

  "You can go join them if you want, hon." Rebecca stage-whispered to him, "I can handle things here."

  "Nah. Enrico still hates me, remember? I'd rather try to avoid a repeat of the last time the two of us were in touch distance." He said back with a shake of his head.

  "He knows better than to start something here, Danny." Rebecca sighed, but he just leaned in and nipped her neck in that way she liked.

  "I think I'd much rather stay here anyway. Think what I have to look at beats out that tragedy on the tube any day." Danny hummed into her nape, making her shiver as she pushed him away.

  "No doubt, you incorrigible man." Rebecca laughed. Daniel leaned just a little closer as if he were about to say something he knew he probably shouldn't. Rebecca caught the look and opened her mouth to catch him, already smiling, when the knock at the door cut cleanly through the moment.

  “Oh,” she said, pulling back with a soft laugh. “Saved by the bell.”

  Daniel lifted his hands in surrender. “I’ll behave.”

  “Liar,” Rebecca replied fondly, already turning away. She wiped her hands on her apron out of habit, the small, grounding gesture snapping her fully back into host mode as she headed for the door.

  Jill stood just outside the apartment door with a boxed pumpkin pie held neatly in both hands. Rebecca could see the slight tension in her shoulders as she came in, like she was going to be judged for the sin of buying a premade. Behind her, Chris shifted the weight of a glass tupperware from one arm to the other, cradling it awkwardly, the massive thing apparently quite heavy, his focus split between not dropping it and keeping it level.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Jill said, stepping inside. “I brought pie.”

  Rebecca’s expression softened immediately, taking it from her with a smile. “Hey. I’m really glad you’re here.”

  Once the pie found itself on a nearby table, she swept the taller woman up in a warm hug, and she felt a bit of that tension fade away. She wasn't unaware that Jill had some hangups about not being particularly skilled in the kitchen, but she'd told her not to worry. Jill was a little too competitive though, sometimes.

  Chris cleared his throat after a moment, left standing awkwardly. “I brought something too. Where do you want me to put it?”

  Rebecca’s eyes flicked to the dish. “I can see that.” She gave a giggle as she hoisted the glassware from the man, grunting a bit as the heft settled on her. "Jeeze Chris, what did you make?"

  “Sweet potato gratin. I got the recipe from Claire.” He said a bit sheepishly, but honestly Rebecca was just impressed. Jill on the other hand…

  Jill blinked, turning slowly. “You cooked.” She sounded like her soul had left her.

  Chris frowned. “Why does everyone keep saying it like that? You, Forest, Barry, hell, even Wesker!”

  “It's just... out of character, is all.” Jill replied, her mind latching onto an image of her partner prancing around in a fuzzy apron and failing to reconcile it with Mr. Macho Muscles.

  “I can cook,” Chris said, a little defensive now. “I don’t just live on protein shakes and jerky.”

  Rebecca laughed, bright and genuine as she shifted her grip to collect the pie with the finesse of a veteran waitress. “Come on, both of you.”

  As they moved toward the kitchen, Jill fell into step beside her, voice lowered. “I stood in that aisle for ten minutes,” she admitted quietly. “It was easier to just… pick one.”

  Rebecca bumped her shoulder gently. “You brought something. That’s what matters.”

  Jill exhaled through her nose, a hint of relief there if you knew her well enough to catch it.

  Danny looked up as they entered, eyes flicking briefly to the pie box and then to the dish balanced in Rebecca's other hand. He shifted smoothly, lifting the pie box up and finding a spot on the counter as Rebecca squawked at him indignantly. He just planted a kiss on her nose, before swiping the glassware from her with a single smooth motion.

  "Showoff." Rebecca snarked at him as she lifted the lid and paused, eyebrows rising. “Chris. This looks incredible.”

  Chris’s ears went faintly red. “It’s not a big deal.”

  Jill leaned in, inspecting it more closely. “You layered it.”

  “Yes,” Chris said, affronted on principle. “That’s how it’s supposed to be done.”

  Jill glanced at Rebecca. “I don’t know how I feel about this new information.”

  Danny snorted softly. “Hey, we guys can have hidden depths, right Chris?"

  "Damn straight." Chris replied, and the two fistbumped, drawing an eyeroll from Jill and a snort of amusement from Rebecca, before she clapped her hands once, the sound sharp enough to cut through the sudden cluster of voices and settle them.

  “All right. Jill, can you help me with the table? Chris, would you be so kind as to grab the plates?. Danny, keep watching the pots, please.”

  Danny gave her a casual salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jill paused mid-step and arched a brow at him. “Ma’am?”

  Rebecca shot her a warning look that was more amused than stern. “Don’t start. I'm on a roll here.”

  Jill lifted both hands in surrender. “I’m not starting anything. I’m just… observing.”

  Rebecca leaned in closer to her as they headed toward the table that had been set up, voice lowered just enough to be conspiratorial. “He did do a good job.”

  Rebecca wasn't subtle about who she was talking about, glancing at Chris as he chatted with Danny. Jill’s mouth quirked despite herself. “He did. I met him coming up to the apartment and I could smell that from a floor down.”

  “It’s a nice gesture, even if he made enough to feed three times the people here.” Rebecca said, fondness threading easily through the word.

  “I should've bought a second pie.” Jill replied, grumpily, though there was no real bite to it. Rebecca gave a small giggle at that, which drew in Jill despite herself as they made their way over.

  What would have passed for a dining room in a larger place was, here, the open stretch of living room floor that Rebecca had rearranged with quiet ingenuity. A couple of tables had been pushed together and draped with cloth to make something convincingly table-shaped, sturdy enough to hold the spread without losing anything to the floor. The chairs were mismatched, an eclectic mix that didn’t quite agree with each other, but it worked. Forest and Kevin had supplied most of them earlier, a dozen festive seats of questionable provenance that looked like they’d been liberated from various bars around the city, and somehow that only made the whole setup feel more complete.

  Jill noticed the name cards immediately. She picked one up between two fingers. “You did place cards.”

  Rebecca nodded, unashamed, as she took an armload of dishes from Chris, who made himself scarce almost immediately afterwards. “I didn’t want anyone drifting or feeling like they were supposed to claim a spot.”

  Jill’s gaze flicked toward the living room, where Chris had already claimed a spot next to Forest, the two hooting in an almost creepy unison. ”You just wanted to keep the gruesome twosome over there from causing trouble."

  Rebecca’s smile tilted, just a little. “I didn’t say that.”

  Jill snorted softly and set the card back down, noting that she'd wound up right next to Rebecca, alongside Danny, which was unsurprising. “Smart.”

  “Thank you,” Rebecca said, giving a curtsy as she placed down the fine china. The two worked to get the table set up while Danny managed the few things still finishing up, including the giant turkey that they'd barely fit into her oven.

  A second knock came, then a third not long after, and the apartment slowly filled.

  Ken Sullivan arrived with a small bottle of wine and a warm smile on his face, glad to have somewhere to be for the holiday. Edward Dewey came in behind him, joking about how he’d nearly ended up at the wrong building, and Richard Aiken trailed in last with the slightly uncertain posture of someone who wasn’t sure if he belonged at the table but hoped he did anyway.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Rebecca greeted each of them like she was welcoming family, and maybe that was the point. The way she hugged Ken, the way she smiled at Edward’s lame joke, and the way she made a point of looking Richard in the face and saying, “I’m really glad you came,” gave the whole gathering a warm, fuzzy feeling. These were her friends as much as they were coworkers, and as she played Hostess and got everyone situated, Danny watched on with a fond grin on his lips.

  That was when his phone chose to ring, the cell, not the wall hanger. Picking it up, he heard the familiar tone of Barry on the line, though it was to beg off. Rebecca came in as he was hanging up. “Barry’s not coming,”

  Rebecca turned from the kitchen entrance. “That was him on the phone?”

  Danny nodded. “Yeah. Said he’s got some big thing to go to, so he won't be able to swing by. He told me to tell you he appreciates the invite. He sent his happy Thanksgivings too.”

  Rebecca gave a small smile at that. "I figured as much. He said it would be a coin toss, anyway. Out of all of us I think he's the only one with the whole extended family thing going on."

  Daniel chuckled. “Good luck to him though. He gets to hang out with the in-laws.”

  “God be with him.” Rebecca said immediately.

  Jill, who had been listening, gave a laugh. “It just means more for us.”

  Rebecca nodded to herself, then turned to Jill. “Okay. Tell everyone Barry says happy Thanksgiving. He’ll be here in spirit.” Jill nodded, slipping back to the increasingly involved crowd around the couch and Rebecca slipped over to slide her arms around Danny.

  In the end, most of them wound up around the television, the game pulling focus without needing much encouragement. Forest and Chris did most of the shouting, arguing calls and outcomes like it might somehow change what was already on the screen, while everyone else listened when it was entertaining and tuned it out when it wasn’t. The noise rose and fell on its own, settling into the background as conversation drifted over it.

  Jill stayed closer to Rebecca instead, the two of them chatting quietly about something and occasionally laughing between themselves as things finished up. Danny kept to the kitchen, attention on the last dishes that still needed a few minutes. Chris made a few passes near the bread and managed to steal a roll before Jill caught him and sent him packing with a glare. Dinner would be soon, maybe an hour, just in time to finish the game, and for now, everything seemed great.

  The festivities were interrupted by another knock. Danny frowned as Rebecca opened the door, to reveal Wesker and his entourage, much as it could be called, as they all piled in. He was quick to school his features, even plastering on a casual smile as Rebecca pulled him over to greet the four, no, five people that came with the blonde bastard himself. In truth he’d wished he could have headed off the man altogether, but that would have been faced with the uncomfortable question as to just why he didn’t like Albert. So, like a coward, he held his tongue, gave Becca Albert’s message, and indeed she was happy to have him bring his guests.

  “Danny! Good to see you.” Albert said with the kind of casual ease that the man seemed to exude. “Let me introduce you to my friends, William, Annette, and their daughter Sherry.” He said, before turning to the last man, a broad, dour sort with thinning, close cropped hair and a tight beard. “And this is Jacob.”

  Danny greeted each of them in kind, shaking the hands of the Birkins, who he recognized immediately, as well as gently greeting their daughter, who seemed to be extremely shy, not that he could blame her. Jacob, on the other hand, seemed perfectly happy being apart from the group, accepting a casual hello, and kept to the background. Danny pegged him as a guard almost immediately, which made sense, since the Birkins were Umbrella nobility, much as a corporate stooge could be, but that just made him wonder just what they were doing slumming it with Wesker instead of hiding out at some million-dollar holiday gala.

  It was odd to see Wesker so comfortable, even more so than William and Annette, who managed to integrate themselves well among the rough and tumble STARS members. It really hit home that while the two might be raving nutters in a lab, they were also capable political animals. The only one who didn’t seem to know what to do with herself was Sherry. She was the kid at the adult party, and Danny felt for her, having been in that position more than once in his previous life. That was until Rebecca took the initiative anyway, while getting everyone situated.

  The woman had a gift for this, Danny had to admit, quite fondly in fact, as he watched her chat up Sherry, introducing the girl to Jill, who seemed a bit lost, and then to Chris and Forest, who immediately adopted the girl as their adorable mascot. Annette had seemed a bit concerned, but William seemed happy that his daughter was being so well received.

  Danny almost didn’t notice when the bodyguard, Jacob, found his way to the kitchenette. He turned to find the man giving him a once over, and for a moment the two just watched each other. Finally, Jacob broke the silence.

  “He’s a right pisser, eh?” the man said finally, and that threw Danny for a moment.

  “Beg pardon?” he asked a moment later. Jacob snorted, leaning back against the counter, and Danny saw his gaze land on Albert, the man discussing something with Ken and Richard that had the two laughing.

  “Wesker,” Jacob said. “Saw the look on yer face when yer bird opened the door. Ye were hopin’ he’d no’ show, aye?” Jacob laughed, grabbing a glass from the cupboard, then a second, and giving Danny a grin as he fished a flask out from his jacket, pouring them both a shot.

  “I didn’t think I was that obvious,” Danny said finally, and that pulled a chuckle from Jacob.

  “Aye. Dinna worry, I’m in the same boat,” Jacob said, lifting the glass after handing Danny the second. “Guy’s a prick, plain and simple. Struts about like a peacock when he thinks nobody’s watchin’. Cheers.”

  Danny tapped his glass to Jacob’s. “That really doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Oh aye. It’s good tae meet someone no’ bought in by his shite,” Jacob said as he took another sip of his admittedly smooth, very top-shelf whiskey. “Still canna figure how he talked William into comin’ out here, nae offence.”

  “I was a little surprised that he brought someone who warranted a guard, no offense,” Danny said as he enjoyed the burn of the alcohol. “I’m guessing they’re pretty important?”

  “Oh, somethin’ like that,” Jacob said. “Original plan was some big shindig, but the Birkins canned it.” He shrugged lightly. “They dinna tell me much, mind. That’s the price o’ bein’ the help an’ all.” Jacob laughed, and despite himself, Danny found he kind of liked the guy. He was down to earth, something Danny could appreciate.

  “Speaking of, you’re a bit far from home yourself, if I guessed your accent right. Irish?” Danny asked.

  “Ha. Close, but no’ quite,” Jacob said with a grin. “I’m a Scot. Out here on assignment from the big bosses, ken how it is?”

  “Guarding bigwigs and skipping shindigs, right?” Danny shot back with a grin, and Jacob raised his glass.

  “Aye. Guardin’ bigwigs and missin’ shindigs,” Jacob said. “Been a rough stretch, if I’m honest. Won’t break my heart tae head home once this is done.” He sighed, a note of wistfulness creeping in. “Been months since I got here, an’ it’ll be months yet before I leave. Pay’s good, job’s the job… but I miss home somethin’ fierce.”

  “Got a wife waiting for you?” Danny asked, and Jacob nodded.

  “Aye,” Jacob said. “An’ two wee girls.”

  He fished out his wallet. Inside was a picture of Jacob, his wife, and his two daughters. They looked happy, and so did Jacob, with that kind of quiet, wistful pride only a father could have.

  “You have a lovely family, Jacob,” Danny said as Jacob put the picture away.

  “Oh aye,” Jacob said. “Melly’s the best of them, an’ wee Jana an’ Emma’re about tae start primary.” He smiled, then sighed. “Was hopin’ tae be home for their first day, but that’s the work.”

  The two continued to chat while the turkey finished up, and he made it a point to avoid the Birkins or Wesker as much as he could, and with Jacob hanging around, Wesker seemed less inclined to bother him. It was a small mercy, even as dinner went into full swing. They’d ended up kidnapping some of Danny’s chairs to fill out the table with the extra guests, but aside from that, everyone found their way to the meal without too much trouble. Despite Rebecca’s careful planning, though, somehow Wesker wound up next to Danny, and much to his chagrin, Albert seemed to want to make up for lost time.

  It was weird for the man to just… make small talk to Danny, and Danny let himself be drawn in a bit. So much so that he almost missed it when Wesker asked him a surprisingly pointed question.

  “So Barry tells me you were interested in joining the force when they started recruitment in April, next year. Something of an odd career shift, don’t you think?” The words were smooth, but they arrested the attention of more than a few of the people at the table, Rebecca included.

  “I… uh, yeah. I got some books from Barry to go over, but it’s the physical I was more worried about.” Danny said, trying to disconnect from the question as best he could, but Wesker kept pushing.

  “You are a bit older than the usual intake, admittedly, but you aren’t that outside the demographic. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He laughed, as he cut himself another slice of the turkey.

  “Danny does work out a lot.” Rebecca said, adding on her own bit, a touch wistfully. “He’s not in bad shape.”

  “I bet you’d know.” Jill cut in, pulling a laugh from everyone at the table while Rebecca, caught off guard, blushed up a storm.

  “Case in point, though. You’re a decent shot, and even Barry can’t find anything to complain about.” Chris said from the side, and a look crossed Wesker’s face, one Danny didn’t like.

  “You know, if that’s your interest, I might have an alternative for you. Despite not having much in the way of experience, you might qualify for STARS. Not all of our members are former military or police. Rebecca for example, but also Ken and Richard were recruited directly from the civilian market.” Wekser said. “We look for talent, and if what I’ve heard is true, then you might have some hidden depths.”

  The words had a number of people looking at him a bit more speculatively, including his girlfriend. Kevin looked like he’d bitten into a sour lemon though, and Danny knew the man had been rejected again from STARS. He hadn’t held back when the rejection came in, telling anyone who would listen, including Danny when he’d caught him at the range not long ago. Having Wesker drop it in front of him was… well, it seemed targetedly mean, but that was just the surface.

  “It’s not the only option, you know.” William cut in. “If you’re looking to get into a new line of work, UBCS is hiring as well. If Albert thinks you might have what it takes to get into STARS, if that isn’t to your preference, I’m sure he’d be happy to put a recommendation in for you.” THe man smiled in a friendly way, “Wouldn’t you Albert?”

  Wesker’s smile went strained for a moment, so fast that if Danny had blinked he’d miss it. It was clear that Birkin was needling him a bit, but the offer was genuine enough. Not that Danny would ever take it, given everything, but… the move was calculated, if nothing else. Putting the idea into everyone’s head, trying to push him in a direction he didn’t want to go, but not having a valid excuse to deny it.

  “Of course, William.” He lied smoothly, and then turned back to Danny. “There’s no rush, and recruitment is going to be open for the foreseeable future. Talk it over with Rebecca, perhaps. We aren’t as… restrictive as the RPD, and have some more freedom in how we handle things when it comes to recruitment.” Albert finished.

  Rebecca was notably silent about the whole thing, and from a glance he could tell that she wasn’t expecting this of all things. And didn’t look terribly enthused about it either. He suspected that any conversation with her about it would be more her pushing away from him going that route. Given how their last talk went, he… wasn’t that surprised. Nobody seemed to notice it though, aside from Jill. Chris on the other hand seemed to be into the idea, as well as a number of the other guys, though he doubted Enrico’s enthusiasm was about his potential, and more about having an excuse to get him into a ring.

  That bombshell had pretty much derailed the rest of the meal, even though the food was excellent, Danny found he didn’t quite have the appetite to enjoy it all. Instead he was stuck between Wesker trying to butter him up, to various degrees of success with the peanut gallery, while Rebecca and Jill seemed to confer amongst themselves about something. All in all, it made for an awkward meal, and Kevin excusing himself to go home not long after didn’t seem to surprise anyone, though it was clear more than a few people hadn’t realized until after that he’d both still been there and had recently been rejected a fourth time for the very same position Wesker had suggested to him.

  After the meal, things had begun winding down, and Danny was glad to see the back of the Birkins when they excused themselves after Kevin had left, Danny giving Jacob a nod of farewell, surprised he’d gotten on so well with the Scottish bodyguard. He was also glad that apparently he didn’t rate the attention of the two scientists, even if their daughter was a treat, once she came out of her shell. Wesker had stayed till near the end, though, the man oddly insistent on floating around Danny, pulling him into a number of conversations, jokes, and discussions with a disturbing sort of ease. Rebecca was happy to see the two men get along, even if it took everything Danny had not to let his inside thoughts get outside. The couple of long-forgotten shots he’d shared with Jacob had eased his nerves a bit, but it was a near thing.

  Of course, everyone went home with a big portion of leftovers, even with over a dozen mouths to feed, and they were still set for leftovers all the same. Granted, once the last of Rebecca’s coworkers made it out the door, (Forest, surprisingly, being the last) that was when Rebecca planned her own celebration. Dishes and cleanup would be for later. For now, all the two cared about was being thankful for one another, in any number of ways.

  000

  Albert Wesker and William Birkin sat in the study of William’s home while Annette put Sherry to bed before retiring herself. The house had settled into a familiar quiet, the chaos of the day finally silenced in a way that William often needed once he was done playing the part of the socialite. Annette had always been methodical about it, consistent in a way William respected even if he never voiced it. It was one of the few routines that had persisted throughout their relationship.

  William loved her, after a sort, and she him, but her true passion lay for their daughter, and caring for her in a way William never could, married to his work as he was. That arrangement had worked out well for them, an understanding that helped keep things functioning even when he was consumed by his passions. William had his lab, his projects, his ambitions, and he was honest enough with himself to recognize that if anyone expected him to be a gentle father first, they were fooling themselves. Annette didn't ask him to be something he wasn't, and in return he didn't interfere with how she obsessed over Sherry, trying to protect her from the dangers that were inherent in their positions. If there was something that came close to tenderness in William, it surfaced most reliably when it came to the child, but even that was... stilted, at times. He tried his best, but he knew that Annette would always be Sherry's favorite, though that didn't bother him.

  Their marriage was one of convenience and opportunity, and both had accepted that, even if they enjoyed one another's company on occasion. It had been pragmatic from the beginning, and it stayed that way because neither of them pretended it was meant to be something else. Annette had gained stability, a position, and access. William had gained an ally with her own competence, someone who could handle the parts of life he dismissed as nuisances, and someone who understood the value of discretion. A partnership, in the truest sense.

  It was a distant kind of love, but it was there, grown slowly over the years and decades into what it was. It was the kind of affection built out of familiarity, not romance, and it persisted because it didn't demand anything either of them was unwilling to give. Both had their dalliances, or, on occasion, a necessary sacrifice, but neither held it against the other, and that balance made it work. In that way, they didn't disappoint each other.

  She had little interest in the politics of it all, even if she was very good at wearing the mask of the socialite. Annette could smile at the right people, say the right things, and give nothing away. She did it because it kept Sherry safe and kept them well funded and respected enough to be unbothered in their work. William understood that politics mattered, but he found it tedious. He preferred the clarity of the lab, the nature of discovery, and the perfection of his masterwork. Albert, for his part, found the masks entertaining.

  In the end the two were just compatible, understanding that their relationship was better for their ability to be happy when they were together and unconcerned when they weren't. There was a subtle brutality in that compatibility, an acceptance that neither of them would ever be each other's first priority. For normal people, that might have been the slow death of their relationship. For them, it was a relief. They didn't waste time worrying over the little things, or arguing over small concerns. It was almost idyllic, really.

  Albert admitted, if only to himself, that such a relationship would have been almost preferable to him, were he interested in such a thing, but he had never had the physical drive for something intimate, and the few people he did find intellectually stimulating enough to be around casually were far and few between. It was simply how he had been made, a defect or an advantage depending on the day. A relationship asked for vulnerabilities he didn't possess and couldn't convincingly fake for long. Even his interest in others, when it appeared, was rooted in utility, curiosity, or rare moments of genuine amusement.

  Still, he sometimes envied the Birkins for their functional love, if only to soothe the occasional longing of a life since past. He didn't allow himself nostalgia often, but certain domestic scenes could still scrape against an old memory, a reminder that there were versions of him that might have existed if things had been different. He treated that as he treated most inconvenient impulses, something to be acknowledged, catalogued, and then summarily dismissed.

  He did miss his siblings on occasion, if not by blood than by shared experience. They had been forged together, shaped through the same ugly process. All but one were dead, now, as far as he knew, and Alex could be... difficult to handle in long doses. Alex had always been difficult, not because she was unintelligent, but because she wanted attention and control in ways Albert found abrasive. Where Albert preferred clean, quiet dominance, Alex preferred the theater of it. He could tolerate her in short bursts, on his terms, and only on the rare occasion when she was stable.

  He'd long since accepted that his only guiding light now were his ambitions. He had stopped pretending he needed anything else. He did not crave belonging. He craved completion. He had goals that were not negotiable, and if he occasionally felt the echo of an old loneliness, he drowned it in the everpresent need to carry forward.

  Nothing else would fill that gap in his soul so much as success and power could. But he could still enjoy the little things, and in truth, he had found his distractions amusing, in one way or another. Tonight had been one such distraction. Not because he cared about the food or the holiday, but because it offered a controlled look at a variable he had recently become very interested in.

  "So, what was the point of all that?" William asked, as the two sipped a truly phenomenal scotch, relaxing after the day's events. Truthfully, William genuinely didn't care about the homey little get together any more than he did the million dollar galas that Umbrella hosted every year. He found both equally empty, just performed at different price points. A free meal was a free meal, and he'd thought Albert was much the same. Much like the scotch in his hand, he enjoyed it because it was good, not because it meant anything. The glass in his hand was comfort in the simplest form, a small indulgence that would be forgotten as soon as he put it down.

  "Oh?" Albert asked, playing innocent, but William had known his friend far too long for that. Albert could be theatrical when it suited him, but William knew when it was genuine and when it was bait.

  "Don't be coy. It's unlike you to play house like that, much less ask me to come along." William laughed. "Has the icy Albert Wesker found an interesting lady, at long last? Because, I'm sorry to say, she seemed quite taken." William said, mockingly, an old tease that lacked the heat to make it bite. Albert was famous for his total lack of interest in the opposite sex, or any sex at all.

  Albert chuckled at that, "No, nothing so base. In truth... I was curious about something. Though it was interesting to see what such a casual get together looked like." The man said airily, and William swallowed a grimace at the casual remark to the blonde man's rather fucked up childhood. William didn't pity Albert, because pity implied sentimentality, and Albert would have despised it. Still, the reminder sat there, unpleasant and undeniable.

  "And what was that? I didn't see you particularly interested in anyone in particular there." Weilliam said, finally, and Albert hummed. William had watched Albert all evening, not openly, but with the practiced awareness of someone who understood the man's predatory nature. Albert had been smooth, charming when he needed to be, and completely detached when he didn't. That was normal. What wasn't normal was Albert choosing to be there at all.

  "Usually you're a bit more perceptive than that, William." Wesker gave a laugh, and William shot him a look, before thinking back. He replayed the room, the faces, the voices, looking for what he had missed. He had mostly been concerned with the food and the basic social obligations. Albert had been the one steering.

  "Ah... the man. What was his name...?" William tried to recall, but then realized that he'd never actually spoken to the hostess's beau even once after greeting him at the door. It irritated him that he could remember chemical sequences more easily than names.

  "Daniel, William. Really, sometimes I wonder how you managed to climb the corporate ladder like that." He ribbed, and William snorted back with a good natured eyeroll. It wasn't the first time such a thing came up, after all. He really just didn't have the memory for it. "But yes."

  "Why though?" William asked, and Wesker leaned back, grinning. The smile was small, controlled, and it meant William had asked the right question. Just one of the tiny tells the man had picked up from his fellow blonde over the years.

  "Because he's not all he seems to be. Did you know that he saw through my act almost immediately?" Wesker said, making William glance at him in surprise. "I know, it surprised me too. I pride myself on my ability to blend in, but from the first time he saw me, he's been on edge. Oh, he hides it very well, but he could use some practice." Albert did not sound insulted. If anything, he sounded entertained. Being read was rare. Being read quickly was rarer.

  William knew immediately what Albert was talking about. The two didn't often speak of it, but Albert was a dyed in the wool psychopath. It was why he got along so well with a sociopath like William. The two didn't need to stand on pretense, and in fact perfected their acts by playing off one another. Their friendship was functional, honest in a way most relationships never managed, because neither of them required those polite fictions that others seemed to need too badly to function. The fact that someone had seen straight through Wesker was an impressive feat, but did that mean...? William let the question sit for a beat, because he knew Albert enjoyed making him reach for it.

  "Oh yes, he had you pegged as well, Will. He made it a point to avoid you like the plague, you know? It's honestly impressive." Wesker said, and William nodded thoughtfully at that. William had noticed the avoidance in a vague way, dismissed it as social discomfort, and moved on. Hearing Albert frame it as deliberate made him reconsider. Deliberate avoidance meant awareness. Awareness meant danger, or at least a potential one.

  "Which is why he caught your eye." William said, nodding. "That makes sense, I suppose. Do you think he's..." William left it unfinished because saying it plainly felt childish, like naming a club.

  "Like us? Perhaps. Kind knows kind, after all. But that isn't the only reason he caught my eye. Mr. Carter is a man of many talents." Wesker sipped his scotch, savoring the drink. "There's a reason I decided to offer him a spot in STARS. I think it genuinely surprised him, just for a second, almost as much as your offer for UBCS. Good show on that, by the way." Albert said with a practiced laugh. It had done wonders to throw the whole table into chaos, and watching how things fell into place had been an amusing sight.

  "I couldn't let you have all the fun. You are right though, now that I think about it. His was not the response of someone enthusiastic about a golden ticket like that. I wonder why?" William pondered, and Albert hiked an eyebrow. Interested to see what Birkin might come up with. William rarely bothered with people, but when he did, it was because there was something to dissect.

  "Could it be as simple as he doesn't want to risk being exposed in front of that pretty little girlfriend of his? She is quite the catch." William said finally, but Albert found himself disappointed. It was the easy answer, the one a normal man might lean on.

  "Come now, William. I doubt he's that attached. No, people like him, like us, always want something. We're of a very motivated mien, you know?" Albert laughed, and William conceded the point. "No, he has something deeper going on. He's managed to worm his way into my STARS almost perfectly. Cared for by the majority, with a bit of friction to keep the surface from revealing the depths, and I didn't even see it until just recently. Not only that, but he's made connections with a number of people important to the Force, like the Kendo clan. It's clear he's positioning himself for something." Albert’s amusement sharpened into something colder at the end. He didn't like surprises, but he respected competence, and that the man had slipped into Wesker's house like a thief in the night was an impressive feat.

  "Do you think he's a threat?" William asked. "There have been a few concerning incidents in the last few months." William didn't elaborate, because he didn't need to. They both knew that Umbrella had been floundering about like a fish on the deck, and the list of issues had exploded in recent years, especially this one. It was half the reason the two men were so confident in getting away with their own scheme.

  "I doubt it. No, this isn't some corporate game, I don't think. Daniel has something else going on, something related to the STARS. As for if he's a threat? Absolutely." Wesker finished, but that did more to calm William than it did to worry him. A threat didn't automatically mean an enemy. If it could be directed, angled towards the right targets... well that was just an asset in disguise.

  "But not to us. Not yet, anyway. And given the plans we've made, such a threat might be downright useful to have in our back pocket." It made sense to William when Albert put it like that. He didn't feel fear often, but he did feel irritation when variables appeared outside his control. If this Daniel could be turned into a tool instead of an obstacle, that was preferable.

  While the might be up to something, the what being a mystery as much as Albert's interest in him, then that didn't necessarily mean he would be a detriment to their personal goals, even if it might be to those of their corporate masters. William understood the difference between the two startlingly well. Umbrella was a vehicle to him, to both of them, and the unspoken advice to stay hands off until the time came to guide this variable, or to prune it.

  "It sounds like you might have an idea of what he's looking for. You've been investigating him?" William asked, and Albert nodded. William did not ask that out of concern. He asked because he wanted to know what Albert had learned, and because information was currency between them.

  "For some time now. Despite how plain he is on the surface, there is quite the depth of secrets to be dug up. His entire history as it's stated is a fabrication, on par with my own in fact. Very professionally done. It made me wonder about who had that kind of pull, but it was a dead end to begin with. Not surprising, really.” Albert waved. “Anyone willing to put that level of effort in wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave breadcrumbs.” Albert’s tone was casual, but the implication was not. A fake history with the kind of quality Daniel's had meant institutional access, and institutional access meant either someone powerful or someone dangerous, or both.

  “Yet he managed to tip you off. How has USS not cottoned onto him yet?” William asked, incredulously. William’s contempt for their internal security teams ran deep. They were useful when he needed them, but more often than not they were underfoot.

  “You give them far too much credit. They’ve been running around putting out fires all across the States in the last few years. Too many leaks, too many accidents.” Wesker snorted with a sly smile on his face. “The Hargreave mess was on our doorstep, but it was one of seven such incidents since January, even if it was the most… bombastic.” Albert’s smile said he enjoyed the chaos in the way one might enjoy watching animals panic in a confined space.

  “And you’ve been there stirring the pot, no doubt. Did you know that MacKinnon has been filing a string of complaints against you? Calling you obstinate, frustrating, dangerously incompetent, and a number of less savory things besides.” William chuckled. “I quashed them, of course, and that sock puppet CEO doesn’t have the balls to say a word about it.” William said it with the same tone he used when discussing equipment orders. People like MacKinnon existed to be handled, but that didn't make it any less tiresome.

  “Just another incompetent playing with forces he doesn’t understand, I assure you. His team were third stringers anyway. I would be more worried if they were talking about sending Him… but for the time being the situation is still only classified as espionage, and not even of anything particularly valuable.” They didn’t need to mention the man in question. He was Umbrella’s top operator, a boogeyman even Wesker was hesitant to treat lightly. William shrugged, losing interest in that train of thought.

  “I suppose that answers the question of why you chose to drag me along. Did you find anything else out from that little dog and pony show? While the meal was nice, I know I’m going to hear some whining from the upper offices for skipping the big Gala.” William opined, not really caring all that much, but making the effort to pretend anyway. The gala was spectacle, and spectacle required attendance from people like him. No doubt his playing hooky had left someone standing at the podium awkwardly holding another meaningless work award. Not for the first time, either.

  “I learned quite a lot, though nothing I’d care to share just yet. He’s someone to watch, slippery fellow that he is, though. He’ll be useful in the coming months, no doubt, but for now it would be best to let him be.” Albert finished, as the two relaxed in the evening night. He didn't say it like a warning, William noticed. He said it like he had a plan. He wanted Daniel to move. He wanted him to reveal his angles, his needs, his limits.

  "If you say so." William hummed, before the two fell into a comfortable silence. Daniel would be left to cause his mischief, and when he reached too far, Wesker would be there. With a helping hand, or a boot to the fingers was left to be determined, but he suspected he would have fun seeing just which it was. He had his suspicions of course. Very little happened in the city that he wasn't aware of, despite being of a technically middling position in the company. That said, he was sure that the coming excitement, planned or not, would be something to see. Chaos was a ladder, after all. One he was well experienced in climbing, and this next step would be interesting to take, no matter how things fell apart in the meantime.