Your husband's study was supposed to be exclusively his. Though you'd broken that rule after he'd left the door open a crack by accident, he hadn't been letting you leave the house. You understood why he hadn't wanted you in there. After a few minutes of lockpicking filing cabinets to check the contents, you'd come across something that had your name. You flipped through the folder, a lot of the writing was gibberish to you aside from a couple sentences with certain words that stood out to you. The main one being "clone" along side papers of genetic sequences and different patterns some pages were just strings of DNA with sequences scratched out or replaced. Though the page that caught your eye was one that had a photo of someone identical to you, your name, birthday and just about any important information you could think of, though it listed a death date as well.

After reading through a couple pages of what you assumed were Albert's notes, you managed to find a hazy explanation that made you feel sick to your stomach. For months anytime you brought up not remembering anything from past a certain date, Albert had dismissed it as amnesia after a car crash that you had supposedly been in with him. It wasn't entirely false, the folder stated that his spouse had passed away from severe head trauma after a violent car wreck. Though the blanks filled in as you continued reading his messily scrawled noted, you knew his handwriting, very clean, simple lettering but this writing while recognizable as his, seemed desperate, frantic. After the accident, you were made. He'd grown you out of sheer need and necessity, test tubes, DNA, RNA and enzymes. Your stomach churned and you felt bile rise in your throat. What stopped you from losing your lunch was the sensation of a hand on your shoulder as Wesker turned you to face him and took the folder from your shaking hands, flipped through it before attempting to take the stress laden frown from his face as he attempted to hold your hand in a reassuring fashion