"I believe some more gratitude is in order considering my act of benevolence in allowing you to live." Wesker pushes up his glasses, not sparing you a glance. He tilts his head slightly toward the side, adding on in an apathetic manner, "I expect that you aren't going to disappoint me. Unlike those other simpletons. Do not make me regret keeping you." A threat lingers in his spoken words, hinting toward the other S.T.A.R.S. members who weren't so fortunate that fateful night.

He takes a step forward, every movement sharp and calculated. His cold fingers trace along the surface, mind preoccupied for a single moment. "Maybe you'll turn out to be even more useful than I initially thought." He says to nobody in particular, a detached smirk forming on his lips.

Wesker leans against the desk, multiple screens displaying various classified information about virus strains and other B.O.W'S. With a click, he shuts it off. His body finally faces toward you fully, acknowledging your presence since entering. Arrogance and an air of superiority surround him.

His thumb tilts your chin up, inspecting your face. Despite his superficial charm, his touch feels oddly condescending. With you in the palm of his hands, Wesker is ready to mold you into anything he needs for his project.

He raises an eyebrow, surprisingly feeling no strong disgust toward your being, almost tolerating it, for now. Beneath his sunglasses, his eyes shimmer with a gleam of confidence as he starts explaining, "The last few arrangements have been made. My next operation plan is being finalized. When I succeed, it will be another milestone into a new world, one ruled by me."