Chapter Text
Doctor Victor Gideon talked too much.
The hour was late. Zeno was down six cigarettes and there were still no signs that the doctor would stop his rambling anytime soon.
Elpis this, Elpis that. Viruses and blood and parasites and charts and variables and procedures. Gideon seemed never to tire of his gruesome work.
Not that Zeno had been paying much attention.
For the past hour, he'd provided hmms and ahs and the occasional nods in all the appropriate places. But his mind had wandered to the ever-present crows which dwelled in the courtyard trees. His seat by the room's only window provided an excellent vantage point from which to ponder the little creatures, and as he blew smoke through the screen, he wondered what it would feel like to sprout wings.
"And the recent data — which was disappointing due mostly to certain, aforementioned incompetencies within Doctor Richardson's department — might still be salvageable."
"Hmm," Zeno replied.
Gideon stood abruptly. "Forgive me," he said. "I sometimes forget myself." He huffed a laugh, low and breathy, meant only for himself. "You must have important matters to attend to."
"Yes." Zeno stood. His black duster, which he wore always, had slipped an inch or so off his shoulders. He adjusted it with his free hand. "Important." The word tasted bitter on his tongue. Or maybe it was the cigarettes. He had so many important things to take care of.
The doctor's private office — one of many — was a drab, cramped room situated behind a secret panel on the top floor of the sprawling Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center. Despite its diminutive square footage, the office was kept fastidiously clean. A desk spanned the length of a wall. On it were several computer monitors, stacks of paperwork, and a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold.
Zeno picked up the ornate ashtray he had borrowed from the lobby and made to leave without another word.
Behind him, the doctor shifted. "Zeno?" Ancient wooden floor boards groaned beneath his weight as he took a step closer. "The recent…mistakes."
Zeno froze, hand on the door handle.
"It's regrettable." Gideon sighed. "But they became aggressive. A shame, truly. They showed such promise in the — "
"Spare me the details," Zeno snapped.
"Well."
The silence that followed stretched an uncomfortable distance. Zeno refused to be the one to break it. He knew what was coming next. What always came next.
With another sigh, Gideon continued. "We need more funding. It takes…a great amount of resources to create new subjects. I'm sure you understand."
Money. Always money. Zeno's jaw clenched. "How much."
"We're starting from scratch. At least another couple million to start."
"When."
"By the end of next week, if you want to see fresh results this year."
"There should be results already."
"Spencer's research was — is — complex. These things take time."
Zeno turned. Gideon offered him a smile that Zeno did not return. This seemed hardly to faze Gideon. No matter how many scowls Zeno tossed at him, the doctor reciprocated only with smiles that would look pleasant on any other face.
Still, Zeno scowled. "Take less time then."
"Hmm." Gideon seemed to genuinely take the comment into consideration. "With proper funding, perhaps."
Zeno scowled harder. Gideon's smile widened. Crooked teeth crowded his mouth, a handful of them gold-capped. The surgical scar that extended in a twisted line from his chin to his navel appeared bruised in the dim lighting. "Would you like me to see you out?"
The Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center, comprised of two separate wings, a spacious central hall, and more hidden passages than could be counted on two hands, was easy to get lost in.
Zeno knew his way around. "No, thank you."
-+-
Zeno's world consisted of three important tasks.
Task one: Act as liaison between Doctor Victor Gideon and The Connections, Zeno's employer. This included facilitating conversations and managing correspondence between the two groups.
Task two: Guard the underground ARK facility and the precious material within it.
Task three: Satisfy clients.
Of the three, guarding ARK was easiest. There was great pleasure to be had in disposing of soldiers and agents who wandered too close to the underground laboratory located at the center of the abandoned Raccoon City. Zeno took pride in his ability to take down an entire squad with precision made possible by his superior strength and speed. And he liked his gun.
But in the vast amounts of time between patrols, enemy target practice, and emails, there were only the dusty ruins of Raccoon City and the endless corridors of ARK to keep Zeno company.
There were other staff members employed by The Connections to keep the underground facility functional. Scientists, researchers, and developers who worked day and night to supply The Connections with a steady stream of bio-organic weapons. None of the staff was especially fond of Zeno, but the feeling was mutual. He avoided them as much as possible.
A vacant storage bunker connected to ARK served as Zeno's base. It was a strategic decision; the bunker provided easy access to the surface due to its location at the edge of the ARK facility. And if its distance from the central laboratories meant that Zeno didn't have to spend time in sterile hallways, surrounded by test tubes...
That was only a bonus.
It was close to dawn. Zeno flicked through the cameras connected to the surveillance system for the hundredth time. Nothing, nothing, dust, nothing, pack of wild mutant dogs sniffing the corpse of something putrid, nothing.
He looked at his phone. A check of the perimeter would kill some time. He made his way outside. Once the sun rose, it would be too bright for him to truly enjoy a breath of semi-fresh air. The gentle pre-dawn light was almost too powerful for him to look at without his sunglasses. He did it anyway, lifting the clip-on shades and squinting through his prescription lenses at the sky.
Pretty. Orange and yellow above the collapsing buildings. He lit a cigarette.
Even the mutant dogs were gone by the time he completed the perimeter check, chased away by either the approaching daylight or by Zeno's presence. He stared down at the corpse they had left behind. One of those BSAA agents, long dead, missing its head. He couldn't remember when he'd killed this one. After a while, they all became the same.
It would be hours before he was allowed to return to his rooms and sleep.
Driven by boredom and the threat of the sun, he ducked back into the bunker and sat back down at the computer terminal. It wasn't connected to the internet, but there were thousands upon thousands of files to sift through. He randomly clicked through them.
Some files, he wasn't able to access.
Some files were more boring than staring at BSAA corpses.
Some files were…tolerably interesting.
The files pertaining to Rhodes Hill were a favorite of his. A blueprint of the original building before it had been renovated in the mid-1960s, a historical record sheet of all burials conducted at the adjoining chapel, a memo announcing weekly Donut Fridays.
A picture of Doctor Gideon, from nearly two decades before, just after he had purchased Rhodes Hill. He hadn't looked quite normal even then, his skin pallid, eyes intense, sclera abnormally dark. Another picture — more recent, only three years ago — marked Staff 2018, the year Zeno had started working with the doctor. All other staff members were dwarfed in his presence. The long surgical scar that had been only a faint line decades prior now had deeper, jagged edges. Piercing, muddy yellow irises were fixed on something past the camera.
Unnatural eyes.
The mark of the t-Virus.
Zeno removed his glasses momentarily to press a hand against his own tired, sensitive eyes. Even the renowned Wesker had been unable to escape the ocular side effects of the t-Virus. It was a problem that Zeno had been told The Connections were still working on.
Once, in passing, Gideon had mentioned to Zeno that he found t-Virus eyes beautiful. He hadn't been looking at Zeno when he'd said it, but Zeno thought about the comment every time he accidentally made eye contact with himself in a mirror.
Zeno didn't find Gideon beautiful, but he didn't find the doctor repulsive either.
The others did. The ones who operated above Zeno. They sneered at the way the doctor rhapsodized about the late Ozwell E. Spencer. Cringed at the crude self-experimentation he had subjected himself to.
Shortly after Zeno was created, The Connections had ordered him to act as liaison, the singular point of contact between their prestigious organization and Rhodes Hill. They acted as if it were some kind of punishment to spend time at the quiet care center, conversing with the doctor, but Gideon had never been unkind to Zeno, even though his research involved experimenting on—
Zeno shook his head. He didn't like thinking about that if he didn't have to.
He crossed his arms and returned his attention to the dusty ruins on the security monitors.
He watched and he waited.