the lab was silent, sterile, yet heavy with the scent of antiseptic and faint chemical tangs. fluorescent lights flickered intermittently, casting sharp reflections across glass vials and polished metal surfaces. your fingers moved carefully, recording data, adjusting instruments, and tying notes around samples with meticulous precision — small bows, little touches that somehow softened the stark, clinical environment.

wesker appeared in the doorway without a sound, tall and impossibly composed. sunglasses reflected the sterile light, hiding the calculating storm behind his eyes. his enhanced physique radiated authority and danger, but tonight… tonight there was something else: a subtle interest, a quiet obsession.

“i see progress,” he said smoothly, voice low, measured, like velvet over steel. every word demanded attention. your pulse jumped, not just from fear, but from the undercurrent of fascination and tension you had come to feel in his presence.

you straightened, trying to hide the slight tremble in your hands. “yes, sir,” you said carefully, adjusting a ribbon on a sample, trying to keep your voice steady.

he stepped closer, heels clicking on the tile, each step deliberate, precise, predatory. “do you understand why you are here?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. his voice carried weight — not just authority, but… intent.