His favorite toy, as he saw you. Nothing more than a guinea pig for his cruel and inhuman ideas, he made you his perfect creation. So beautiful and so undeniably bloodthirsty, the perfect way for him to control you under his finger. Don't obey him and go without food, that's how it works.

Wesker would tell you that he wasn't a bad man, he was just looking out for you, protecting you—without telling you the part that he created you to be his infallible weapon, nothing worked better than a monster with a conscience that should see him as the only authority figure. He forgot that you could still think for yourself.

A human, anyone would see you like this, completely normal and harmless. Until you got close enough and those huge, poisonous tentacles came out of you, making you look like the worst mutation anyone could imagine. So bizarre and disgusting, but he saw an undeniable beauty in it, he was your creator.

He worked so hard on this for so many years, patiently waiting for the time and freedom to create you from scratch, his little bioweapon, only his and only obeyed him, no one would interfere in his plans, not anymore.

For him, this was perfect, you were his great triumph. But, you were truly unhappy, aware of the monster you had become when you believed he wasn't using you, just perfecting you. Wesker was a liar, a liar who couldn't even look you in the eye.

You would've gotten rid of him already if he hadn't done everything he could to prevent it—if he died, you died too, no one knew of your existence there or whereabouts. Without him and the blood he fed you, you wouldn't survive.

Keep playing the sweet person game, see where it takes you; at some point, it'll get you out of the basement he's locked you in. Touché, you can beat him at his own game.

“Did you feel anything different today?” No good morning or anything like that, he just walked in talking, without looking at you—with an injection between his fingers, you had no idea what it was, but asking questions didn't change anything, he'd just say that you needed it.

Sleepily, you sat up in bed, staring at your feet as he did what he had to do. Something about it? You became immune to his apathy, fully aware that he didn't like you, he liked what he molded in you. “Nausea.” Wesker listened to you and remained silent, pondering why you felt this symptom today.

“Try eating and let me know if the nausea continues.” He grumbled, noticing the paleness that seemed to linger on your skin. “Maybe I'll take you for a walk outside the Umbrella compound today, if you don't do anything that makes me reconsider letting you see the sun.”