Resident Evil: Volume I

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟹: 𝙰𝚕𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚝 "𝙼𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗'" 𝚆𝚎𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚛

F/c- favourite colour
A/f/c- another favourite colour

14th October 1996:

*BEEP*
*BEEP*
*BEEP*

My eyelids crack open, one still partly closed and gummy. I groan through my closed mouth and slam a hand over the alarm clock.

"9: 00AM"

Man, I hate waking up before ten o'clock. Always have, but I guess I'll have to get used to it if I want to be productive.

I'm not going to make this some stupid cliché from a movie where the character just stays in bed and everything starts to suck, I'm gonna actually get up and get ready for this interview. I definitely owe it to the S.T.A.R.S boys, after all, this Wesker guy seems strict and a tough nut to crack. No wonder Brad wanted to stick to protocol. I'd be nervous with someone like him watching over me as my superior.

It's been about a week since the job fair and I'm lucky I was even offered this interview. I still can't believe how quick this is all happening but enough rambling about it, I better haul my ass out of bed if I want to make a good impression. When I was a kid, I always loved waking up early because it meant I was the only one awake in the whole house and it gave me that sense of serenity. Just being alone but not really. It also meant I could do my own thing without anyone to disturb me but now that doesn't really matter since there isn't anyone to disturb me.

My Mom is originally from England but moved over to America to marry my Dad. I was born in England too which is a pretty fun fact to tell people.

I've been in the USA since I was 3 so unsurprisingly I don't remember much about what it was like over there. I'm an only kid too so I don't have any older siblings to tell me stories or anything. My Dad passed away due to a terminal illness not long after our USA citizenship was approved but I was too young to really understand. On a better note, I remember a lot about him which I'm grateful for even if it's bittersweet sometimes. I remember his voice, the cool clothes he wore, the smoky scent of the leather bracelets he owned, and his strange obsession with vintage comics. Hell, I even remember the stickers he kept on his cigarette tin. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss him because I do and always have done but at least I know I'm like him which gives me a lot of comfort.

From what I remember, he was stubborn and could be a pain in the ass, like me. Because of that, I feel proud since it means he's not truly gone.

No, not now. Now isn't the time to get sentimental; you have to have a clear mindset for today.

Anyway, what I was going to say was that because she's British, my Mom likes her tea. She taught me how to brew one in a minute and at the time it was boring but now I'm fucking thankful for it. There's something about the plain yet sweet taste of it that brings me comfort; or maybe it's just my British roots.

Perhaps I'll take this time to appreciate my apartment, I haven't done it in a while. Mom, my grandparents and (f/n) helped sort it out with me nearly a year ago for my 20th birthday and they did a damn good job of it. It has the basics really: a bathroom, a small kitchen, an average-sized living room and a bedroom. The tables and other stuff like that were moved out of our old house from the attic. I never really asked where they were from but they were stable and that's what counted. The wallpaper in my room was already there and I liked it the moment I saw it, it's (f/c) with a (a/f/c) pop art design and it gives me a sense of nostalgia when I look at it. Probably from when I was in Art back in school and we did Andy Warhol.

I always have the lights in my room dimmed because it's calming I guess; makes me feel cosy and safe. The rest of the rooms here are just plain — there's nothing much special about this place but it's home to me and I love it.

Ok, admiring time is over now (y/n) better get dressed and moving! I'm not a dresser upper type so I'll probably just throw on a shirt, a jacket, shorts and some boots. It's not like they'll judge me based on my fashion so I might as well wear something comfortable.

Oh god the nerves are really starting to make themselves known now. My stomach keeps squirming uncomfortably and it doesn't help that I haven't had breakfast.

I peek at myself in the mirror of the bathroom and breathe a sigh of relief; thank god my skin is cooperating with me today, I'd be so embarrassed if I went in looking like a pepperoni pizza.

I lean my arm into the shower and twist the dial quickly before shooting my arm back out. The water takes time to heat up and I'd rather not get blasted by a jet of cold water. To kill some time before it gets to the right temperature, I brush my teeth and stretch a little to get used to the feeling of walking — god it's been a while since I left the house. Out of boredom, I make condensation marks on the mirror and draw on them; the usual smiley faces and square houses.

The steam wafting past my nose tells me that my shower awaits and I waste no time in stripping out of my dirty pyjamas (I say pyjamas but really just a shirt and shorts) and hopping into the stream of hot paradise.

The water pours onto my hair and droplets hurry down my face in a pleasant manner. My eyes squeeze shut automatically to prevent any pain because man, it stings when it gets in your eyes.

Something about showers and baths are just so refreshing. Then again, feeling clean is just refreshing in general.

I wash my hair as quick as I can and scrub myself down with my favourite body wash; I have to keep basic levels of hygiene if I want to make a good impression. Just for a few more minutes, I let the heat wash over me until the last of the tingling in my stomach subsides and then cut the water off before stepping back outside; the air feeling much much colder now. I shiver slightly and begin to dry myself down - I guess even heaven can't last forever.

After sorting my hair out and making sure I'm as dry as I can be, my still slightly damp feet take me back to my room to settle the outfit situation out. What did I say before? Right, shirt, shorts and jacket, simple enough. With each item listed, I pick it out from my drawers and cram it over my head or legs (depending) to save as much time as possible.

I quickly survey myself in the mirror, grateful that I look actually presentable for once.

Anyway, interview here I come. Hopefully this "Wesker" is approachable or I don't know how I'll be able cope. It's not really been a skill of mine to get on with everyone.

Right, it's 9:55, I should be down there by 25 past so then I'd have 5 minutes spare. Perfect.

After a few minutes of procrastination, I finally make it out the door and rush down the steps to the outside world. A smile creeps its way onto my face as I stare at the pavement where everyone parks their car.

My Jeep is still looking good. Ever since my Grandma and Grandad got it for me, I've cleaned it pretty much every day and it definitely pays off. I look at my distorted view in the reflection and sigh, hopefully this goes well. My hands scramble around to check my pockets and...phew. Still got my keys. My car keys aren't like the car; they're rusty with tacky beer key-rings on them but at least it makes them look like they're mine, I guess? That's one way of putting it anyway. Enough worrying, time to get this baby on the road. I open her door and she's still as sleek as ever. It's nice to take pride in something in life.

*VROOM*

I love that noise. It just makes you feel like a free spirit. I'm saving up for a motorbike, then I can really feel like a free spirit.

Yikes, I should get going now, can't be late otherwise blonde Dracula's gonna want my blood, at least, that's from what I've heard. I push my foot down and feel the car soar.

"Well folks, nothing like a song to get your hair blowing out your window on this fine Wednesday morning," I smile as the radio starts playing "Breakfast at Tiffany's" I love that song. And it fits just perfectly as I drive off into the distance just like in a movie. I pray to nothing in particular that I don't make a fool of myself. But, I suppose all you can do is hope, right?