Disclaimer - The usual.

Birkin grunted softly as he secured the straps, pointedly ignoring the muffled cries. Instead, his attention was focused partially on Wesker, who was watching him intently, and partially on ensuring he properly did his task. It wouldn't do to have any strays throwing their weight around and potentially destroying expensive equipment.

"I was told long ago, by a physician of no little skill, that the only way to fully understand how the human body works…"

Another set of straps, more ignored noises.

Birkin adjusted a nearby lamp, briefly wondering if the bulb was giving off the proper amount of light.

Then he seemed to recall he'd been speaking.

"…is to take one apart. Now. The one part where we…disagreed…"

Violently, but Wesker didn't need to be told as such; Birkin felt rather confident that his friend – if friends they were – could deduce that on his own.

"…was whether that body had to be living, or dead."

The cart holding his tools clattered loudly, breaking whatever remaining sterile silence remained in the laboratory. Aside from the two men and the unfortunate soul strapped to an autopsy table, the room was devoid of organic life.

Well, unless one counted the numerous vials full of potentially hazardous viruses. Birkin would argue that they were very much alive, and so very adept at evolving to suit their surroundings that he'd fallen in deep fascination with them when he was still young.

The perfect beings, he considered them, always changing, always driving single-mindedly towards bettering themselves and ensuring their line continued. Their survival abilities put humans to shame.

"Personally." Birkin paused again, pursing his lips and distractedly brushing imaginary dust off the victim's chest, "I prefer the heart beating. You can learn more through the process of death than simply studying its after effects."

Absolutely nothing more than his opinion, of course, but Birkin was arrogant enough to assume that any deduction he reached would soon be proven correct. It wasn't often that he experienced failure.

Which was why they were both being paid so handsomely by Umbrella to carve open what were essentially screaming pieces of meat, to study and create new ways to invade those bodies and, perhaps, to bring them one step closer to being as perfect as the virus.

Birkin doubted that would ever happen, but he was more than happy to try.

Unfortunately, he had a tendency to talk while he worked, which often annoyed other scientists. Wesker, for some reason, had always been especially tolerable of Birkin's more eccentric habits, and the two had, at the very least, found allies in one another.

And what advances they made!

"I find it especially fascinating to witness the way a heart stops beating, and its effect on blood passing through the veins, feeding organs and, of course, the brain."

Wesker silently handed him what appeared to be a serrated blade, long and slender. Smiling – Wesker always seemed to know exactly what tool was necessary for each task – Birkin accepted it and, without hesitation, cut into the victim's chest. His movements were skillful, almost delicate, as if he were wielding a paintbrush rather than a blade.

Though Birkin did consider himself something of an artist, in his own way.

"And it often seems as if it's more…pleasant to crack open a bone when it's still connected to living tissue."

"I couldn't agree more."

It was the first time Wesker had spoken since entering the room. He was a quiet one, almost universally distrusted, and even Birkin was relatively wary around him. However, they worked together quite well, and seemed to share a mutual understanding that was lacking with the other scientists.

"I had a feeling you'd see things my way."

The scream was just as muffled as the prior protests, which took some of the music away, but Birkin didn't want to deal with further distractions.

Absently, Wesker reached out and trailed a gloved finger in the spilled blood, tracing it over flesh as if he were fascinated watching the color shift as it slowly dried. The patient was squirming now, breathing heavily, nearly hyperventilating, and Birkin gave him a quick shot to ensure he wouldn't check out too soon.

Exchanging implements as necessary, Birkin worked diligently to open the chest cavity while Wesker watched attentively, occasionally scribbling notes into a small book. What he was recording was anyone's guess; not even Birkin dared poke his nose into the blonde's business.

When the heart was finally exposed, beating frantically, mirroring the patient's panic, Birkin smiled again, wider this time, showing a childish delight as if he'd unearthed a mound of chocolate candies instead of a human heart.

"If we could create something that would invade and fuse with this organ," Birkin said, gesturing as if to ensure Wesker's full attention was on the heart, "it might be easier to control the body. This pumps the blood, this ensures that the brain gets what it needs to continue working, and if something contaminates the circulatory system…well, not dealing with brain damage would certainly be a positive side effect."

It was all theoretical, of course, like most of their work. There would be successes, and there would be failures, but essentially, they were growing closer to their goal with every dissection, every injection of a foreign substance, every experiment they participated in using state-of-the-art equipment and facilities.

Umbrella knew how to run an operation.

"…I really should have gone to medical school," he commented as he slowly stroked the victim's face, as if mockingly trying to soothe them.

"You know," Birkin continued conversationally, finding himself unable to remain silent for long, "had we chosen this line of work oh, a couple hundred years ago, townspeople likely would have burned this place down."

"Without a doubt."

"We would have had to resort to graverobbing, too."

"Such a travesty."

"We could have hidden them in barrels of whiskey and made a fortune on the side."

Wesker's tone was decidedly amused. "You always cover every corner, William."

Leaving the heart exposed, Birkin moved lower, situating himself beside the man's left leg. Another blade, this one thin, sliced into the meaty thigh, another rivulet of blood staining skin. When he hit bone, he silently reached out a hand, but Wesker instead nudged him aside.

"You can't steal all the fun."

Birkin laughed, sketching a bow and stepping aside.

Shifting his grip on a bone saw, Wesker wasted no time in amputating the limb, reveling in the sound of the patient's agony. Birkin clapped his hands, slowly, as if he were applauding an especially entertaining opera.

"Now I see why the girls love you, Albert."

The comment didn't make any sense, but it was so typical of Birkin that Wesker simply quirked his lips, close enough to an answering smile as he ever got.

That almost-smile turned into a deep frown. "We're losing him."

Indeed they were. Cardiac arrest; a fascinating event to observe.

"He could have been so useful, too," Birkin mourned.

"He still will be. Perhaps moreso."

"Albert, they are so much more interesting when they're warm."

"Is that how you seduced Annette?"

Birkin pouted. "If you were jealous, all you had to do was say something. I would have stepped aside for you."

Wesker snorted. "That's hardly what I meant."

"Of course not. …oh look, you distracted me, and now I missed watching this man die. Look, the heart's already gone still. You always have to ruin things somehow, Albert."

Ignoring his companion, Wesker plunged his hand into the severed thigh, fingers exploring the grisly interior.

"You're going to have to make it up to me."

"I always do."

"And that," Birkin concluded, patting himself on the back for his brilliance, "is why we're the best scientists in this whole damn facility."

Now that was unmistakably a smile. "Just the facility."

"All right, the whole world." Bouncing on his toes impatiently, Birkin said, "What are you doing?"

"Learning."

Birkin leaned in, training the lamp to shine more solidly on what Wesker was doing. "So interesting…"