Author's Notes: Ok, for the most part, this is a PG-13 story, hence keeping the PG-13 overall rating. However, there are a few later chapters that could be considered 'R'. I will warn you in advance with a heading at the beginning of such chapters.
This story is a sequel of sorts to "A New Tide" though I believe it can stand on it's own if you have not read that. However, reading "A New Tide" will help you understand this story a little better.
This story takes place roughly around five years after "A New Tide" and is solely from Alan Wesker's point of view. (That's Albert Wesker's son, in case you haven't already figured it out from the summary.) =^-^=
Jill, Chris, Carlos, Rebecca, Barry, Steve, Claire, Wesker, and other characters will appear in this fic, and there will be a bit of romance.
Oh, and there will also be a tiny bit of swearing though I wont overdo it. ;)
I hope you don't see any typos, but if you do you'll know what I meant. Hopefully.
So here's my fic! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Resident Evil. I'm not sure who does, exactly, but they're probably pretty rich and don't need my money. The only things I own are my story and the characters I have invented for it. )
Chapter 1: A Visit to Bayview
I walk through the streets of Bayview, Oregon. The sun is out and shining brightly in the cerulean sky. I adjust my custom black sunglasses to a more comfortable position along the bridge of my nose and continue my purposeful stride down the sidewalk.
All around me, people go about their daily routine of life, oblivious to the dangers that lurk in the dark of the night. They continue to mow their lawns, check their mail, pull out of their driveways.
Sometimes I envy them. Such simple lives. They say ignorance is bliss, but I know better. What you don't know can hurt you. I've seen it too many times in my twenty-three years of life.
I am Alan Wesker, son of the infamous Albert Wesker. And I find my thoughts drifting to the past.
My life story--where to start?
Well, I really don't remember much about when I was really little, I don't imagine that many people do. But I do remember growing up in a somewhat privileged family. I got almost all of the material things I asked for, and I had caring parents.
Or so I thought.
When I was eight years old, I got a little sister, Spade, to share my life with. An unusual name, I know. My name was almost Ace, or so I've heard. What a pair we would have made! Ace and Spade. Reminds me of the ace of spades in a card deck. Luckily, my parents liked the sound of the name Alan better.
For the most part, my mother was a stay-at-home wife, the kind that packs lunches for their kids when they go to school and keeps up the house. I can vividly remember the delicious scent of warm cookies fresh from the oven almost every day after I got home from school. Then, as I would munch mouthfuls of chocolatey goodness, she'd ask how my day had went, if I had made any new friends, did I have any homework…the usual.
Sometimes I'd have to help with my sister when she was younger, but, more often than not, afternoons and evenings found me outside playing in the big field out back or inventing new games to play with my friends. I liked cartoons, but I only watched them when I couldn't be outside, which, thinking back on it now, was probably why I stayed in such good shape over the years.
My father often worked long and odd hours at Umbrella, the 'pharmaceutical' company, and I never really saw him a whole lot on workdays. Some days he got home around the same time I did, but it was usually late into the evening before he got back from work.
I really had no real idea about what my father did at his job, other than the stuff he told me about being a scientist.
Of course, that led to some assumptions on my part, most of them incorrect.
Ah, the innocence of youth.
I didn't know it back then, but my father was a mad scientist if ever there was one. I thought he was working on cures for illnesses or whatever, when in actuality he and his friend Dr. William Birkin were working on viruses! Just like some of the villains on my cartoon shows. The ones I always hoped the heroes would catch.
Anyway, I had no clue to my father's true nature.
Though he was never the overly-affectionate type, whenever he was home he seemed so…fatherly. He used to sneak us kids extra junk food before dinner when Mom wasn't looking. Made wisecracks. Helped me with my homework whenever Mom was too busy. Sometimes we'd even play baseball in the field, the whole family.
Not that he didn't have his darker side. There were times he'd get off of work in a horrible mood; something must have went wrong in the research or whatever. I dreaded those days. Days he would snap at Mom--and even Spade and I--over the littlest things. And being punished by him was a nightmare.
Still, it was never too extreme, and I could certainly never have imagined him killing anyone.
All that was to change.
It was around the time he founded the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. branch--when I was already in my teens--that I started noticing a change in him. For the worst. It seemed he always came home in a bad mood. He was always complaining. He acted like Spade and I almost didn't even exist.
I could tell it upset Mom. I'd find her alone in her room some nights, crying. She never told me why, but I knew.
I finally got up the nerve to confront my father about it, and to this day I can still remember how much that wicked smile on his face scared me. It was cold. Ruthless.
He paid more attention to us from then on, but not in the way I would've liked.
Some of the stories he told about his work at Umbrella fell nothing short of morbid. Hideous mutations. Co-workers being eaten alive or mutated in the most horrible of ways. Huge, powerful Tyrants being the perfect bio-organic-weapons, and the next step in warfare.
We'd hear about a shoot-out or murder on the news, and he'd side with the killers, saying that the victims had been foolish and deserved what they'd got. He just seemed not to care about anyone or anything.
Then came the nights I will never forget.
My mother, sister, and I were just vegging out in front of the TV when a news flash interrupted our program saying that the Spencer Mansion had been blown to bits.
We were all worried, knowing my father's S.T.A.R.S. teams had been headed there. We stayed tuned, called the station…everything, but to no avail.
The S.T.A.R.S. were M.I.A.
It wasn't until the following night--after we'd already heard that Barry, Chris, Jill, and Rebecca appeared to be the only survivors--that my father came in around one a.m., surprising us all.
He was dressed all in black with his perpetual shades and, to me, looked like he hadn't even been scratched. But he was acting strange and seemed far more happy than he should have been about the Spencer disaster.
He was changed. I could tell. And it scared me.
He then told us everything that had happened at the mansion. Everything. More than I wanted to know.
He talked about how stupid the S.T.A.R.S. were and how he had set them up for Umbrella, and about the T-virus and the monsters. He laughed as he described in gory detail the fate that had befell each member of his team. How he had held Barry's family hostage to get his assistance, even how he himself had murdered Enrico with a single gunshot.
And Enrico had already been wounded! How ruthless is that?
He seemed to think it was all very funny and seemed very proud of his work.
I thought I'd be sick for a week.
He even informed us he'd joined a new corporation, HCF.
However, when we told him about his surviving teammates, he totally went off the deep end, and I thought I saw something glow red behind his sunglasses; red like the eyes of a demon. He growled that he would have his revenge, especially on Chris.
I hadn't the guts to ask him why he wanted revenge; I was afraid of what he might do.
Later, he seemed to cool down, and we moved out of Raccoon City days before the T-Virus reached it.
Weeks passed, and Dad seemed to be raking in a lot of money with his new job. But when I heard HCF was going to unleash a virus on an unsuspecting city, I knew I had to stop it. So I sought out Chris Redfield, and together, with his sister Claire, we went to the unnamed island to prevent a catastrophe.
Only, we were a little late for that. It seemed that one of HCF's other enemies had already beaten us to the punch, and the entire island was overrun with zombies, monsters, and…sadly…at least one Tyrant.
I learned a lot of things there. I learned why I should never stand directly behind Chris. I learned that my dad had a super-virus that made him supernaturally strong and fast. I learned that zombies are easy to outrun and that hunters will take direct orders from me.
Oh, yeah, and I can't see why my dad thought Tyrant was so special. That thing tried to kill me!
It was Chris who'd saved my life, distracting the Tyrant so that I could escape.
I don't care what my father says about the Redfields, they are good people. Chris and Claire probably became the closest friends I've ever had, even when they found out who I was related to.
However, I must agree with Dad about the Ashfords. They are horrible people! They're so caught up in themselves that they can't see anything else, and that Ash is one of the snobbiest, rudest people I have ever had the misfortune of meeting.
It all came down to a big fight in an underground cavern. My father ended up impaling Chris through the lower stomach with a metal pipe. I'd helped Claire pull it free, but, unfortunately, Alexia came up and grabbed Claire. To make things worse, Alexia has a super-virus too. It's not like my father's, but it does give her special abilities.
To save Claire, I rammed a knife through her chest , and the last thing I remember was an intense pain in my arm and a brief sense of weightlessness before I blacked out.
When I awoke, I was…different.
Dad had given me his virus through his own blood in order to save my life. He said I would have died without it.
But is that really true? Even now, five years after all that has happened, I can't help but wonder.
In any case, the virus changed me. In addition to heightening my physical senses to well beyond that of a normal person, I am stronger and faster. Much stronger and faster. I can break bullet-proof glass with just one finger, and I can easily outrun a car on the highway. Of course, I can't keep up such speed for too long.
There is little that goes on that I do not see or hear, and my sense of smell is such that I can detect a barbeque from over a mile off if the breeze is just right.
I do not injure easily, and when I do I heal within minutes, sometimes even seconds, without any telltale signs I was even hurt.
Immediately after Dad had revived me with the virus--something which he likes to call T-2 Virus--we moved away from my mother and sister, and I haven't seen them since, much to my regret. He said that being around them would only put them in danger. Of course, I believe that is a bunch a hogwash, but try as I may, I still haven't been able to find them over the years. Wherever they're hiding, they're hiding good.
Maybe one of these days I'll find them.
My father took a keen interest in teaching me to hone my skills, and I have developed into quite the able fighter. I can kill with my bare hands. Even though I carry a gun with me, I seldom use it.
Dad had been training me for the day when we would go up against Alexia together. I saw no problem with that; after all, the bitch nearly killed me.
But I have to wonder what the virus has cost me. What was sacrificed in order for me to attain such power?
My father said he had sold his soul.
Had mine likewise been used as a bartering chip?
A disturbing question.
I try to push such thoughts aside and continue my walk.
A bright yellow rubber ball bounces out in front of me, and I wait for it's owner--a cute little girl around the age of four or five--to go out and retrieve it. She barely notices me as she scoops the ball off the sidewalk and throws it back into her yard.
But her mother does.
"Hey there cutie! Where are you headed today?"
I turn my head in her direction and she winks at me, hoping to catch my attention.
She is sitting out on the front steps of her house; smoking a cigarette and blowing circles of smoke around her tasseled brown hair like a halo. She grins at me; her teeth in desperate need of a trip to the dentist's office. She looks to be in her late thirties or early forties and is very thin and scraggly looking. I can smell illegal drugs all over her clothes, and I instantly feel sorry for her young daughter having to live in such an environment.
"Sorry, I'm not looking for a date," I state flatly, cutting off all hopes she may have had about the two of us at the pass.
She gives an indignant snort, but says nothing more.
I walk right on past her.
I am really not surprised she noticed me though. The blonde-haired guy dressed almost exclusively in black and wearing sunglasses is not something you see every day on a regular basis.
I am five feet, ten inches tall, around 170 pounds, with neatly-kept blonde hair. I have a good figure and look neither too scrawny nor too bulked up.
I have been told by more than one girl that I am handsome.
I have been told by more than one person that I look a great deal like my father, and it is this last thing that has me worried as I reach the B.P.D. building.
Days ago, while I was in the area, I learned of the existence of a newly-formed S.T.A.R.S. Branch, which was supposedly run by Chris Redfield.
So I'm thinking, Hey, I wonder how my old friends are getting along. Maybe I could join the team. Seems to me they could use someone with my skills on the force, and I've wanted to join S.T.A.R.S. ever since my father founded the Raccoon City branch. It's not like I have anything else to be doing right now anyway. And it's about time I went out and started making a living of my own rather than relying on my dad for support.
I freeze just outside the door to the Bayview Police Department.
What if this is all a really bad idea? Chris may not remember me too well, and I know my father would certainly not approve.
Then again, this is my life, not my father's. I can't live my whole life based on his principals. I ask myself what I have to fear--I'm just as powerful as he is now, or probably pretty close to it. Besides, it couldn't hurt to say hi, could it?
After a moment's hesitation, I open the door and step inside a cool, air-conditioned room. My eyes immediately adjust to the darker lighting of the room, and I can see a young redheaded lady at the main desk. The faint smell of fingernail polish and cleaners lingers in the air.
She looks up when I walk in.
"Hi!" she chirps as I approach her desk. She is clad in the normal police outfit--not with the elite S.T.A.R.S. unit. The plaque on her desk reads 'Stacy'.
Stacy grins far too wide, exposing several pearly-white teeth. "How may we help you, sir?"
I am straight to the point. "Chris Redfield, is he in?"
Stacy rifles through a stack of papers on her desk before answering. "Yes." She eyes me curiously, suspicion flickering across her face. "Do you have an appointment?"
I shake my head. "No. I'm just an old friend, live out of town. Haven't seen him in years. Is he busy?"
"Well, he was holding a briefing earlier, but he should be done now. I can page him."
Ok. That'll work. I nod my agreement. "Thank you."
Stacy picks up a yellowed phone and punches a few buttons on a panel next to her computer.
"Your last name, please?"
"Wesker." I say without thinking, and regret the word as soon as it leaves my mouth.
"Mr. Redfield, there's a Mr. Wesker here to see you!" Stacy calls into the phone.
I could slap myself. Stupid! So Stupid! I just know Chris is going to get the wrong idea about this! What was I thinking?
Because I have a heightened sense of hearing, I can hear the sounds of hurried footsteps coming from behind the door that's behind and to the left of Stacy's reception desk. It becomes obvious to me that more than just Chris is coming.
I don't have a good feeling about this.
Stacy turns to her computer and resumes her work as if I were not even there.
Seconds later, the door bursts open and Chris steps out to greet me--magnum raised and aimed for my face.
So much for a warm welcome.
He hasn't changed much over the years--gotten a little gruffer looking, maybe, but for the most part he looks exactly as when I first met him at Crystal Lake years ago.
He takes a few steps forward, and other people fan out around him; one of whom I recognize to be Claire. Same beautiful face I recognize from before. If anything, she has gotten even prettier over the years.
Some of the others draw their weapons, but Claire eyes me curiously; perhaps a flicker of recognition dawning in her violet-blue eyes.
I hold my hands up, indicating that I do not want to fight, and mentally kick myself for not wearing something less Wesker-ish. Pure black is practically my father's trademark.
"Whoa! At ease, soldiers." I say, keeping my tone friendly, "You can lower your gun, Captain Redfield. It's me, Alan. Not Albert. Remember? That HCF base five years ago?"
I am unprepared when Claire suddenly flings herself forward and embraces me in a tight hug. She puts her hand over my right shoulder, and some of her chestnut-brown hair drifts into my face. It smells pleasantly of strawberries.
"Alan! You're alive!" Her words ring with a certain shock and pleasure. Then she releases me.
Chris lowers his magnum, and I can see the great relief on his face. "It's alright everyone," he decrees, "It's just Alan. He may look a bit like Wesker, but he is actually Wesker's son. He helped Claire and I take out an HCF base a few years ago."
The rest of S.T.A.R.S. relax their weapons--some more hesitantly than others.
Relief continues to wash off Chris in waves. Had I been my father, he is worried he may not have been able to stop me before I killed him and half the team. It is not a misplaced worry.
"So, what's up? Long time no see."
Chris looks as though I have just slapped him. He bites his lip and I think I detect a shimmer of hatred in his eyes.
Was it something I said?
"Whoa! Time out!" A small woman around my age with shoulder-length reddish-brown hair calls whilst tapping the straightened fingers of one hand into the outstretched palm of another in classic calling-a-time-out fashion. "Wesker has a son?"
She looks as though she were having a hard time believing it.
I nod. "Yep. Right here."
Her face is familiar…now I remember! She's Rebecca Chambers, one of the original S.T.A.R.S. members led into the mansion, and the only survivor of Bravo Team. I have seen her face before in the old S.T.A.R.S. group photo. The rookie medic. My dad tried to kill her in the mansion by shooting her in the chest. It was a good thing she'd been wearing bullet-proof material.
I still can't imagine why my father would shoot her in the first place. Did he really consider her that big a threat?
She looks about as threatening as a little puppy. Of course, looks can fool. I myself am a classic example of that.
Hmm. She is kinda cute.
"What do you want here?" A muscular, older-looking man with graying brown hair, long sideburns, and a short beard stubble barks.
The sheer ferocity of his tone startles me. I mentally reach back into the past and try to bring his face to memory while I think of how to answer.
"Barry! Calm down. Alan's not like Wesker. In fact, he saved both Claire and me from Wesker!" Chris says, jumping to my defense.
Barry! Uh-oh, I remember all too well the things my father said about him.
I am beginning to think my dad had very few friends. This does not bode well for me, especially if I want to join the team.
Barry crosses his arms and says no more, but his eyes are narrowed dangerously, and I know he is probably thinking of throttling me.
He could try it and see what happens.
Yet I really don't want to humiliate the poor guy. He had a good reason to hate my father, and it only stands to reason he would be suspicious of me.
Chris takes the initiative, "Alan, this is Rebecca," he gestures to Rebecca,
"Steve." he points to another man around my age with neatly-styled, rusty-brown hair. I recognize him as being Claire's partner back at the HCF base.
"Carlos." I do not recognize this one, but he looks to be in his mid twenties with brown hair and a friendly smile.
"Barry." Barry glowers at me when I look his direction again.
"Alexis." A strikingly beautiful young woman stands to one side of Barry. My first thought is that I am looking at Alexia Ashford, the woman who tried to kill me. But Alexis doesn't have quite as harsh a look about her. She smiles and waves a bit when I look her way, and something in my mind clicks. I don't know why, but I feel very attracted to her. Like I could share my darkest secrets with her and she would understand. A strange feeling for me to have about someone whom I've just barely met, and who resembles my worst enemy on top of it.
"And, of course, my wife Jill. Claire and I you've already met, obviously."
Jill cocks her head to one side and studies me curiously, like I am a puzzle that needs figuring out.
Of course, I remember her from the S.T.A.R.S. photo too, but her mostly-red hair has grown longer over the years. She is still very pretty. And she still has that look about her--a certain intelligence in her eyes.
Chris is lucky, I think, to have her for a wife.
"I'm glad you made it." Chris smiles a bit, but it seems forced. He is trying to hide it, I know, but I really do not get the impression he is that happy to see me. I'm sure he knows I am not here to try to harm him or his team. Still, his edginess makes me uncomfortable. I find myself wondering what happened to him over the years. He really does look like he's been through Hell and back.
A door creaks open, and I snap my head to the side in time to see Stacy entering another room with a handful of papers, seemingly oblivious to the fact that just minutes before everyone had been ready to shoot me.
Ever since my training with Dad, I have grown increasingly aware of my surroundings. This makes it incredibly difficult for enemies to sneak up on me, but the flip side is that I'm always looking for problems where they don't exist.
As little as the creaking of a door or opening a window can startle me into a fighting stance.
Maybe part of me is looking for a fight.
In the years I have spent training with my father, we have fought many foes together. There were even times when he would purposely set me up to have me ambushed by vicious, virus-infected beasts or terrorists, and then sit back and watch to see how I handled myself.
Those were tough lessons. I had went out cocky and sure of my new powers, and that had turned out to be a mistake. Being super strong and fast did not make me invincible. Having sharpened senses only helped me if I used them correctly.
Being powerful, I soon learned, did not make me better than my opponents. It made me luckier than them. Whether or not I used my advantages was up to me.
Through trial and error, I learned. And I know it made me a better fighter than I otherwise would have been. Sometimes the hard way is the only way.
"So what brings you here?" Chris asks, snapping me out of memories past.
I return my attention to the S.T.A.R.S., all eagerly awaiting whatever it is I have to say.
"Well, I just wanted to check in and see how everyone was getting along." I gesture to Chris, "Last I saw of you, you had a pipe sticking out of your chest."
"Yeah? Well last I saw of you you weren't even conscious. You were lying on the ground, and Alexia was closing in. Let there be no mistake: I hate your father. The crimes he has committed are unforgivable. But it means something that he chose saving you over killing me. That was the one good thing he ever did." Chris smiles, and it doesn't seem quite as forced as before.
Claire actually giggles a bit, startling Steve. "I'll bet you got in serious trouble when you were better!"
I nod. "You bet. Trashing his jet, betraying his plans, befriending his enemies…I had to sit for what seemed like days through a big lecture. My dad was not very pleased with me. Mostly, he told me how he didn't approve of me hanging out with Redfields. He said a bunch of bad things about you which I won't even get into. Not that I listened. But if it's any consolation, the speech he gave about the Ashfords was possibly even more colorful."
I notice Alexis flinch a bit at the word 'Ashford'. That's probably because she is one. In fact, I'd be more surprised if she weren't. After all, I do remember seeing her with Alfred, Alexia, and Ash.
Again, I find myself drawn to her. She is standing off to the corner a bit, staring back at me with sapphire-blue eyes that seem to sparkle with an enchantment. Her denim jeans coupled with a light-blue blouse sporting dark blue trimmings furthers her professional appearance. I am actually kind of surprised her long blonde hair is not pulled back.
"You didn't happen to bring your father along to this city, did you?" Barry sneers. His feelings about me are pretty obvious.
"No." I admit, pretending not to notice the anger in Barry's tone, "Last I saw of him, he was in Utah. I doubt he followed me over here."
It is as if a switch has been flicked. A certain anxiety leaves the room.
They are afraid of my father. I can feel it. Sense it. Not that I blame them for it, but I think a few of them are kind of afraid of me, too.
The atmosphere is still thick with distrust.
Barry's practically wallowing in it.
I find myself reconsidering my earlier decision about asking to join. They probably aren't ready for it, and in any case there's no big rush.
Maybe if I just hang around for awhile they'll see. Not that I'd hang too close, because then they'd think I had a problem. And if I did I would.
But another part of me wants to tell them, to get it all out in the open. Then, at least, they'd know my intent and wouldn't think I was up to something. If I want their trust, I'm going to have to be trustworthy.
And I can start by not keeping too many secrets.
There is a bit of an awkward silence, despite the fact that there are nine people in the room.
I suck in a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "Actually, there is another reason I dropped by. I was thinking of joining S.T.A.R.S. I've always wanted to, and I don't mean to brag, but I do have some rather impressive skills."
From their reactions, it is as if I have just sprouted tentacles. Eyes widen, jaws drop a bit, and surprised gasps fill the air. Some even start laughing.
Barry is very angry at this suggestion. "Impossible! You can't just show up here dressed like that and expect us to trust you! What kind of idiots do you take us for? You're even wearing sunglasses, just like your back-stabbing father! You know what I think? I think you just want to join so you can lead us into a trap. Isn't that what Wesker wants? You might as well admit it."
"I am not Wesker!" I seethe, suddenly angry, "And I can't help it that I look like him. Black happens to be my favorite color, and if you'd been outside at all today perhaps you would have noticed how sunny it is. Bright light hurts my eyes. Since when is wearing shades a crime?"
It's true. My eyes are more sensitive to light than the eyes of a normal person. However, I don't bother explaining that the other reason I wear shades is to hide my very unusually-colored eyes. Red and yellow with catlike slitted pupils…I would be sure to draw attention if I just strutted around without some way of disguising them.
Chris is intrigued, but I can see the doubt nagging at him. He wants to believe me, but something is telling him to be careful.
Claire casts me a hopeful eye. She wants me to be on the team.
It's good to know at least one person does.
Chris rubs a hand to his chin, thinking it through.
Jill chews her lip nervously, her eyes drifting to her husband.
"You have skills? In what areas?“ Chris inquires.
"Tracking. Stealth. Strategy. Special operations. I'm good with a gun and an even better close combat fighter. I've had some…pretty intense training."
Chris cocks an eyebrow. "Training? Who trained you?"
I frown. "My father."
Barry is animated. "Oh, and that's not suspicious! Did he train you to kill? Did he teach you to betray your team?"
Chris waves a hand in Barry's direction. "Barry, that's enough."
Barry has one hand clenched into a fist, his expression pure rage.
Jill rests a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down." Her words are gentle.
Barry's next words are not. "Calm down?! Don't you tell me to calm down! Not until Wesker's killed your family. My wife and daughters…all dead. All because of him!"
Barry lunges forward more swiftly than I would have expected. But I am quick on my feet and sidestep. Barry grasps at air clumsily and nearly falls over in the process.
"Barry! That's enough!" Chris barks.
My heart does a double-beat when Barry's words hit home.
My dad actually killed his family? Last I knew, he was just threatening to. I feel a lot of my anger towards Barry start to drain away. I'd sure be pissed if someone killed my family.
"My dad killed your family? I'm sorry. I didn't know. That's awful." What else can I say? What else is there to say?
My dad never brought it up before. This in itself is curious. If I know anything about my father, I know he loves to gloat whenever he has killed someone of some significance. And after what I've heard from him about the S.T.A.R.S., it seems he would have told me.
Especially since I had to listen to how Enrico died. Again. And again. And again. I never should have told my father that I was friends with Enrico. I think he enjoys seeing my nauseous frown every time he brings it up.
If Barry has calmed down much, he certainly doesn't show it. He jabs an angry finger in my direction. "For all I know, you could have been in on that!"
I can't help it. Now I am starting to get a little testy. "I had nothing to do with that! I wasn't with my dad on that particular outing, and if I had been I would have stopped him."
I cross my arms feverishly. If Barry knows what's good for him he'll pipe down.
I know he is upset but this is going too far. I don't want to end up hurting him if he attacks again, even though a part of me wants to.
"Come on, B-man, we don't have enough evidence to start pointing fingers. If Alan says he wasn't there, then he wasn't there. We can't prove otherwise. Chill, man." Carlos says calmly.
Claire turns on Barry. "Alan saved my life and nearly died because of it. I can't picture him helping in the massacre of a family."
"No!" Barry huffs, "You don't understand! That night I got home…that night that…I found my family the way they were, I also found a note. From Wesker." Barry's voice is choked, as if there is something caught in his throat that he can't get out.
"A note? What did it say?" Jill pries.
Barry only shook his head.
I am curious. "Come, on you have to get this off your chest. I think it would be better if we knew."
"I think it would be better if you didn't." Barry turns and heads back through the door which he came through, on the verge of tears, I suspect.
"Do want you want, Chris," He sighs, opening the door, "But just remember: anyone's family could be next. It could be yours." Then the door closes and he is gone.
A bit of awkward silence follows. I feel everyone's eyes on me.
"What do you think, team?" Chris says finally, ending the uncomfortable quiet, "Should we let Alan have a trail period? Maybe test him a bit?"
Jill sighs. "I don't suppose it would hurt."
Carlos nods his agreement. "If he thinks he has what it takes. I don't think you should judge someone based on their father's bad behavior."
"I vote yes." Alexis agrees, "Heck, if we were basing on family, I'd really be in trouble."
"It's cool with me." Steve.
"Everyone deserves a chance!" Rebecca pipes, her cheer seeming out of place, "I would love to have Alan on our team!"
Claire grins. "You know what my vote is."
Chris rubs his hands together decisively. "Alright then, Alan. You're on Trial." He glances to the clock and notes that it is a quarter past two. "Think you could drop by around six tonight for your first session?"
"I'll be there." I promised.
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