MAY, 1998

Reports of people gone missing around the Arklay mountains had been flowing around like a river, Wesker’s compromised plan was falling into place like a well-made puzzle. But his current… situation… was fixing a doorknob. Just outside of the east wing storage room, the doorknob that was already weak before had finally given out due to use. You, of course, were there helping him. While your assistance wasn’t “needed” per se, It was “appreciated” for lack of a better word. Not to mention Wesker believed he could find a way to manipulate you to some use in his plan.

“Hand me the screwdriver.”

He spoke to you, his face was molded in its usual stoic and calculated expression.