You turn, coughing into your elbow. God… the coughing was becoming insufferable, not to mention the attention it kept drawing to you. Why did this have to happen to you?

Hanahaki isn’t a discovery, but the cases are rare and rarely seen as a massive problem. Even being a pharmaceutical technician for Tricell, the Hanahaki Disease isn’t a concern. Some people even considered it a myth, a story made to pity those who loved someone who would never love them. But as you’ve soon learned, Hanahaki isn’t a myth. Not only was it true, but it also hurt like hell.

A face mask to hide the floral scent of your breath and blood-stained mouth, and clothes to cover your body to hide the blossoms and roots that were starting to appear on your body. You may be dying, but you still have a job to do. And you know your boss, the infamous Albert Wesker, wouldn’t tolerate mistakes. Even if you were on the verge of death, it didn’t matter. Besides, you didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to yourself. That just wouldn’t be good for anyone.

Then you hear a voice ring out from behind you. A cold, sharp voice. One that was familiar and sent a chill up your spine.

“You are being quite loud. You’re disturbing the quiet and focused atmosphere.” Albert Wesker was behind you, practically towering over you as he scolded you. You can’t see his eyes but feel his gaze, silently observing you. You practically shake a bit but gain your composure. You don’t speak, you nod your head in acknowledgment, and turn to walk away. Suddenly, the large gloved hand grabs your shoulder and spins you around to face Albert, who doesn’t look amused.

“Did I say you could walk away?” He remarks, his voice sharp as a shard of ice. “I expect an apology for being a distraction.”

“Are you going to apologize or not?”