Empty Desks

The STARS office had never felt so empty.

It wasn't as if this was the first time Chris had been alone in the room – late nights, early mornings, everything in-between. There were plenty of times when it had never been full either – only in the last few months had both Alpha and Bravo Team been pulling double duty to work on the "cannibal murders" case. But there was a difference then that didn't exist now – whenever he'd been alone, whenever the office had been slightly empty, he'd operated in the knowledge that everyone would eventually be coming back to their own desk. That him being alone was the exception rather than the rule.

Now what was the rule? In the span of 48 hours, STARS had lost half over half its members, all of them to creatures that shouldn't even exist, created at the hands of a company that was meant to specialize in pharmaceuticals. Days had passed since then, and with each of them, he was getting more and more convinced that Irons was, at best, even more incompetent than he suspected, and at worst, a mole in the same way as Wesker. There'd been no follow-up investigation. No statements beyond non-sequiturs such as "investigating the incident" or "evaluating the conduct of the RPD Special Tactics and Rescue Service." The tabloids were gossiping, the officers were giving him and the others funny looks, and here he was, well beyond his shift, alone in the STARS office.

Specifically Albert Wesker's room.

Even now, it felt strange for him. He'd never really considered Wesker a friend, and standing in the office, he was reminded of why – no pictures of any friends or family, no real hints at the man's interests – there were books, there were files, there was a plaque on the wall that commemorated the founding of the STARS unit, but that was it. Wesker had always been a cipher. Now all Chris was left to wonder was whether his aloofness was down to him being an Umbrella mole, or whether the man was really just that isolated.

Maybe you killed everyone else along the way, Chris thought as he moved around the office. More little piggies for you, eh Wesker?

Right now, he wouldn't have minded Wesker to be here right now. That way he could do some serious bodily harm to the bastard. Because he was getting the urge to do something like that to Irons every time he saw the bastard, but he figured that trying to get the RPD to investigate Umbrella wouldn't be made easier if he antagonized the chief any further.

He took a seat at the desk and booted up the computer – the Windows 95 logo appeared, and after entering the STARS password ("Galaxy 1"), what followed was the computer desktop – various links and folders were displayed, with the STARS logo serving as the desktop background.

What are you hiding Wesker?

He went into the documents folder and searched "Umbrella" – while waiting for the search to complete, he looked at the case files on Wesker's desk. They went back months, all of them pertaining to the "cannibal murders." All typed by Wesker himself, all dated and signed, all reading like a standard police report. Chris frowned, even more so as he saw the photos forensics had sent – how easy had it been for Wesker to play the fool he wondered? Feigning ignorance when he knew what was going on the whole time? How many of these bodies here wouldn't exist if the man had developed a conscience, or better, if Umbrella had a set of ethics?

SEARCH COMPLETE

He returned his eyes to the screen – the results weren't promising. Using "Umbrella" as a keyword, he could already see that none of it looked incriminating – just various reports on Umbrella's legitimate activities within Raccoon City, or its statements confirming that the Spencer Mansion hadn't been broken into. Wesker had either covered his tracks, or he'd conversed with his paymasters in a system entirely separate from the RPD's network. Which made sense, he supposed, but still…

Damn it Wesker. Why couldn't you have been careless just for once?

He laid back in the deceased captain's seat and closed his eyes. In his mind, he could see the moment when the Tyrant impaled the bastard. Wesker had been careless then. For a second, he'd derived some satisfaction before it, before seeing that tall, dark, and ugly wanted to kill the other human in the room, and as such, that other human was forced to scramble to get his weapons back, shoot it, escape, make it to the helipad, then shoot the thing some more, and finally destroy it with a rocket.

But only for a second. Because his memories of the mansion were more bad than good. And he could hear the sound of the door being opened.

Shit.

He wasn't supposed to be here – not in the RPD, and not in the captain's office. Taking a step towards the door, he pulled out his pistol, releasing the safety. Umbrella had Wesker on their payroll, and likely members of the city council and RPD as well. Umbrella had let innocents die to cover their tracks. Them sending a hitman to remove one of the few witnesses to their crimes at the Arklay Mansion wouldn't be beyond them.

Couldn't have waited until I was outside?

He could hear the person rummaging around. Maybe they hadn't come for him – maybe they'd come for STARS documents. Or worse, to plant some evidence that would sink what little credibility they had left (in the eyes of the city at least). Slowly, he opened the door, raising his pistol and-

"Chris?"

And blinking. Because looking down the pistol's sights, he could see Jill on the other end. Standing up at her own desk, wearing an expression that didn't just say "Chris," but "what the hell?"

"Jill…" he said, lowering the gun and holstering it. "I…" He trailed off – how did you explain drawing a gun on your colleague? Heck, how did one even explain having a gun on you outside office hours?

To anyone other than one of the survivours of the Mansion Incident? Not very well. To one of those survivours? He had a better chance, but try as he might, no words could come out.

"Chris…" Jill began, walking over to him. "Much as I sympathize on the whole door opens, draw a gun thing, I think it might be better if you didn't do that. Like, for everyone's sake."

He shrugged, evading her gaze. "Can't blame an itchy trigger finger."

"I can when the people around you have the distinction of not being the walking dead."

The walking dead – he couldn't help but smirk at the use of the words. He'd felt like the walking dead for days. He could barely sleep – partly in fear of someone like Wesker killing him in the night. Mostly in the knowledge of what he'd see in his dreams. What he'd hear. What at times, he'd even smell.

"Why are you even here?" Jill asked.

Looking at Jill, at the dark circles under her eyes, he could guess that she was having trouble sleeping too.

"Chris?"

"Stuff," he said. He nodded back to Wesker's office. "Investigating stuff."

"You think Wesker just left some evidence hanging around to find?"

He shrugged.

"Well, I don't either. But…" She gave a sad smile.

Desperate minds think alike. He gestured towards the office. "After you."

Jill went in, followed by her team member.

"I checked the case files and computer," Chris said. "No luck."

"What about the desk drawers?" Jill asked.

Chris tried opening one. "Locked."

"Hmm." She drew out a lockpick. "Wonder if I'm still in practice."

Silence lingered between the two of them over the next fifteen minutes. There was the sound of Jill getting the drawers open and reading the files, accompanied by the sound of Chris typing on the keyboard and mouse, looking for anything incriminating. By the end of those fifteen minutes…

"Nothing," Chris grunted, laying back in the chair.

"Nothing," Jill repeated, putting the files back in. "Just police and admin stuff."

Silence lingered between the two of them again. Five seconds rather than fifteen minutes, but far more uncomfortable.

"So…" Jill began.

Chris could guess what she was thinking – he was thinking the same thing. "What now?" was the question on both of their minds. What now, when STARS was in disgrace, when Irons was doing nothing, and when Umbrella was continuing to operate within Raccoon City? What now, when things were likely going to become much worse for all of them in the days and weeks ahead?

"Feels empty in here," Chris murmured. Still seated in the chair, he looked up at Jill, who was giving him a funny look. "I mean, the office." He gestured to the desks outside Wesker's abode. "Just four of us now. Five if you include Brad."

"Don't be mean," Jill said.

"Yeah?" Chris asked. "Tell me why not. Tell me why I shouldn't be mean when Brad couldn't even wait for us to catch up. When he's always hanging round at the back, even after seeing the Tyrant like we did."

"Brad saw a fraction of what we did," Jill said. "And if he hadn't lifted off, we might not have found the mansion."

"Doesn't excuse what he did."

"No. But Brad didn't betray us like Wesker did. And Brad isn't Irons."

No, Chris supposed. Brad wasn't any of those things. Brad was just Brad. Frowning, he walked over to the man's desk – it was a mess of reports intermixed with a variety of self-help books.

"You can always tell the character of a man by seeing what's on his desk," Chris said. He picked up a copy of The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People and showed it to Jill.

"That isn't an actual saying."

"Should be." He nodded back at Wesker's desk. "Wesker's got nothing on his desk. Looking at the man's soul, figure that's pretty apparent."

"And us?" Jill asked. "What do our desks tell us about ourselves?"

"Look around and see for yourself."

It wasn't really an order – they both knew what was on their desks. Barry, with pictures of his family. Forrest, with various marksman trophies. Rebecca, with a copy of her college degree in chemistry. His own desk was a cluster of reports, trophies (usually ones he'd won while in competition with Forrest) and a broken yoyo. Jill had a picture of her boyfriend there – Mark, Mike, he couldn't be sure.

She hadn't talked about him much, even before the whole "cannibal murders" started. He'd tried not to notice, but for whatever reason, he'd noticed when she'd started talking about him, and noticed when she'd stopped. Likewise, he noticed her walk over to Enrico's desk, looking at a picture of his wife. Frowning, he turned away – it had been hard enough to talk to Kathy. Talking to Alice, talking to the families of everyone who had died…

"Jill?" he asked.

"They haven't sent anyone to find the bodies yet," she murmured, before putting the picture down. "Edward, Kevin, Joseph…they're still out there."

Chris didn't say anything.

He just looked at the empty desks. Thinking of the people who had once sat at them.

Thinking of the people that would never return.

A/N

So, fun fact - the remake of Resident Evil 2 apparently has enough desks in the STARS office for all its members.

Truth be told, the original version of the STARS office didn't bother me - I'd assumed they'd just refurbished it after the Mansion Incident, or heck, go with the explanation in the novelizations that the desks were shared due to Alpha and Bravo Team rarely being on the same shift. Still, drabbled this up.