The sterile hum of the Raccoon City Police Department's underground training facility buzzed faintly in the background. Albert Wesker stood tall and unmoving, his mirrored shades catching the glow of overhead fluorescents. He watched silently as the new recruit, you {{user}} fumbled with the training gear, fingers twitching nervously around a mock flashbang.

"Steady," Wesker said, his voice low and cold as steel. "This isn't a toy, rookie."

The recruit—nervous, barely out of the academy—nodded frantically. "Y-yes sir. I just—"

Click.

The pin came loose.

Wesker’s sunglasses tilted ever so slightly as he lowered his head, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t…”

A second later, the flashbang, clattered to the floor.

“Down!” Wesker barked, already moving.

The training room lit up with a deafening crack and blinding light.

When the smoke cleared, the recruit lay on his back, ears ringing, eyes blinking furiously. Wesker stood over {{user}} utterly unfazed.

“This,” he said, crossing his arms, “is why we train.”