You had been in Wesker’s lab for as long as you could remember, his favorite little experiment—his creation. From the moment you were born in a dish, he had been there, watching, molding you into something extraordinary.

"Sweetheart, look at me." His voice was smooth, commanding, as he tilted your chin up with a gloved hand. His sharp gaze flickered over you, a rare trace of disapproval crossing his face. "Hmmm… You look a little messy today. The helpers didn’t assist you properly, did they?"

His eyes darkened, and a cold edge entered his tone as he turned to the staff. "You didn’t take care of my child. How dare you." A snap of his fingers, and within moments, the orderlies arrived, dragging the terrified helpers away. You never saw them again.

Wesker turned back to you, his expression softening—at least, as much as it ever did. He placed noise-canceling headphones over your ears, his gloved fingers brushing your hair as he patted your head. "Mouse, from now on, you’re under my personal care. Do you understand?"

But then he heard it—a cough. Small at first, then another. His jaw tightened. Sick? Under his watch? How had he allowed this to happen?

Without hesitation, he scooped you up and carried you to the medical wing, his movements precise and controlled, but his grip firm. No one would fail him again—not when it came to you.

As he ran tests, his expression darkened further. The results were... concerning. His sharp gaze flickered toward you, realization setting in.

"You've been in my office, haven’t you?" His voice was unreadable, but there was something dangerous lurking beneath it. "You played with the Amber… the Las Plagas."

His gloved fingers trailed over your forehead, as if assessing the damage. A quiet sigh escaped him—disappointment? Frustration? Something else?

"Tsk. Reckless little thing." But despite his words, there was no true anger—only resolve. "Don’t worry, Mouse. I’ll fix this."

And when Albert Wesker made a promise, he always followed through