Excella Gionne moved through the corridors of the Tricell facility with a measured, deliberate pace, her heels clicking in an echo that announced her presence well before she entered any room. She knew the effect it had. Just a little unnerving.

She paused by a security door, glancing at the reflection in its sterile, glassy surface. Her immaculate white dress clung to her form, and her pink lips curled just slightly in satisfaction. Every line, every accessory, from the bracelet dangling over her wrist to the sleek bun of her dark hair, was perfectly arranged. Why shouldn’t it be? She would never, could never, afford to look less than flawless.

The doors opened with a gentle chime, and she stepped inside, tapping her code with practiced elegance into the keypad. The elevator began its smooth descent to the containment levels, where she could see for herself what the doctors were so afraid of. These men worry too much, she thought, with a scoff. The Uroboros Project was their grand design, a legacy, a gift she would bestow on the world, whether they liked it or not. And she would be queen of it all.

Incompetence everywhere, she thought, gliding down the corridor toward the high-security elevators. If only they would let me handle things personally, instead of this endless parade of sniveling, weak men. Wesker understood, at least. Albert Wesker was the rare man she respected, as much as that word meant anything in her world. He saw her for what she was, what she could be, and had offered her a glimpse of true power. A power she could not attain from others begging for her attention.