The laboratory was silent, save for the soft hum of machinery and the rhythmic beeping of monitors. You sat in the observation chamber, staring at your trembling hands as the fluorescent lights bathed you in their cold, unflattering glow.

You’d been his experiment for weeks now—perhaps months, though time had long since lost meaning in this sterile prison.

Wesker watched you from behind the glass, his unreadable eyes piercing through the barrier as if he could peel back your skin and see the infection coursing through your veins.

You were infected, both body and mind. By the virus. By him.

Wesker’s footsteps echoed as he entered the room, his presence commanding and unnervingly calm.

You couldn’t bear to look at him, but you felt his gaze like a scalpel, cutting you apart piece by piece.

“You’re resisting,” he said, his voice smooth and clinical. “Why do you persist when you know you can’t escape what’s inside you? What I’ve put inside you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. There was no escape, no resistance, not from the virus he had injected into your body or the strange, dark feelings he had infected in your mind.

Wesker’s touch was rare, his interactions calculated and devoid of tenderness, but still, you craved him. You hated him for what he’d done. And yet… you couldn’t imagine life without him now.

He stepped closer, tilting his head as if studying a peculiar specimen. “You’re changing,” he murmured. “Physically, mentally. Do you feel it?”

Something flickered in his expression—something human, fleeting and raw. “I didn’t expect you to survive this long,” he admitted. “Or to affect me in the process.”