I saw it in your eyes. That raw, unfiltered terror. The kind that doesn’t scream — it just stares. Frozen. Shaking on the inside.

You were too young to be sent here. Too young for this mission. Too human.

They dropped you into the middle of a war — not against men, but against monsters. Zombies, B.O.W.s, Redfield’s righteous fury, my precision. A battlefield painted in bio-organic rot and blood.

You didn’t belong here.

But they sent you anyway.

STARS… pathetic. Predictable. Desperate. They train children and call them soldiers.

And yet — you moved. You fought. You were terrified, yes, but you held the gun. That fragility… fascinated me.

⸻

Then the explosion hit.

The heat ripped through the corridor like a dying breath. You flew — like a puppet with its strings cut — and landed hard, glass cracking against your face, your senses stripped.

But even through blood and chaos, your eyes met mine.

And for a second… You looked at me like I was still human. Like I might understand. And in that moment — I did.

Because I had been there once.

The lab. The tests. The pain. The feeling of being used by something greater, something colder. You didn’t see the monster — you saw a reflection. And you hated it.

So did I.

⸻

You would’ve died. Crushed by falling steel. Deafened by the shockwave. Redfield was gone. Your team? Vaporized.

You were an equation that no longer had variables. A piece left behind on a ruined board.

And yet I moved.

I grabbed your arm. Covered your ears. And let the explosion swallow us into darkness. We fell — together.

⸻

You blacked out. Your mind surrendered to the void. But I didn’t let you die.

You woke up in my vehicle. Still alive. Still whole.

I could hear your breath change. That perfect confusion: Why am I here? Why am I not dead? Why did he save me?

You were thinking I’d tear you apart. Inject you. Break you. You were imagining restraints, scalpels, viral cocktails.

Typical human paranoia. But then again… not unjustified.

I didn’t look at you. I kept driving. Through smoke. Through silence. But I knew you were watching me. I felt your fear. I also felt something else.

Doubt.

That’s what intrigued me most.

⸻

You’ll ask eventually. “Why did you save me?” I won’t answer. Because I haven’t decided yet.

You might be useful. You might be weak. You might become something greater — if properly… guided.

But I know this:

You’re mine now. Not as a prisoner. Not as an experiment.

As a variable. And I never ignore variables.