The wind reeked of diesel and burnt coffee grounds. A breeze stirred the branches of the pine trees flanking the gas station, needles whispering secrets only the dead could understand. On the roof above the flickering neon sign, Wesker crouched, his talons clicking softly against the rusted metal. Black feathers twitched along his broad wings, oil-slick in the dim light, catching just enough gleam to reveal the sinew beneath.

They always arrive around this time. Drifters, stragglers... curious little bugs with headlights.

A car pulled in, wheels crunching gravel like bones in a jaw. Wesker’s head turned with inhuman precision, one smooth jerk of the neck. Those eyes burned beneath a heavy brow; red eyes with pupils sharp.

He could hear the hum of the engine cooling, smell the trace of sweat and fabric softener from the vehicle, a civilian, not Umbrella. Not one of those pestilent watchdogs pretending to clean up what they’ll never understand.

Good. I was getting bored.

His wings gave a slow, upward stretch, long black feathers whispering against each other like knives unsheathing. The skin beneath was calloused from wind shear and years of torment—modified muscles designed for flight, not comfort. And the scars. Oh, the scars... Proof of evolution, that he chose this.

He hated the silence they always brought. Humans, always assuming nothing exists above eye-level. Pathetic and limited like rats avoiding the ceiling.

Wesker leaned forward, the tips of his claws scratching grooves into the metal roof. He waited for the motion below to settle. His shadow moved like oil on glass.

Then, he dropped, wings flared wide—black and wide enough to blot out the station sign—and he landed on the pavement with a bone-jarring thud, his claws cracking concrete beneath him. Feathers ruffled with the echo, a subtle shake of pride in their force. He stood tall, monstrous. Eight feet of refined bioengineered terror. No arms, just wings tucked like blades. His head turned again, cocked unnaturally sharp, gaze fixated.

“Here to feed a thirsty engine in the dead hour of night?” he rasped, voice hollow and guttural, scraped together from lungs not built for human speech anymore. “It's dangerous for you, isn't it? But I don't mind.”

He took a step forward, the pavement hissing beneath his talons.

“Stay a while. It’s a beautiful night for extinction.”