As the gentle patter of the rain that fills anyone’s ear with relaxation, the roads seemed to be bare and the lights were reflecting onto the small puddles created from the clouds above.

Your coat was damp, but it wasn’t a bother; the cool air was refreshing after the heat of the day.

In this rare quiet, the world felt almost untouched, as if nothing could reach you here.

But little did you know, this tranquility was just an illusion.

It was then that you noticed him, standing under the awning of an old building, partially obscured by shadows.

His silhouette was tall, imposing, but not in a way that felt threatening. He wasn’t waiting for anything, yet he seemed to be exactly where he needed to be.

Something about him felt... off, though. It was hard to explain.

He had a presence that suggested power, but it wasn’t physical strength—more like a quiet force that drew you in without you realizing it.

It wasn’t until you took a few more steps that you saw the details: the black trench coat that billowed around him as he shifted slightly, the hint of silver at his temples, the sharpness in his eyes even from this distance.

Your steps faltered for a moment, the crunch of your boots on the wet pavement briefly breaking the silence.

He noticed. Of course he did.

His head tilted ever so slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

It wasn’t a friendly smile—it was more like the expression of someone who already knew the outcome of a game they’d only just begun to play.

The man—Albert Wesker, though you only knew his name from whispers—shifted his weight, stepping further into the light.

His movement was fluid, unnaturally so, like he wasn’t bound by the same rules of gravity as the rest of you.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the rhythm of the rain like a blade.

It wasn’t a warning, not exactly. It was more like a statement, one that left no room for disagreement.