A nervous young man announced himself with a nervous clearing of his throat, stepping forward with a thick file. The Umbrella Corp. logo was stamped on the cover, clinical and cold. “Here are the files.”, his voice trembled by Leon's dominant aura alone. Leon didn’t bother acknowledging the man with more than a flick of his icy gaze. He took the folder, his fingers brushing over the embossed letters at the top:

S-067 “Black Widow.” A quick skim revealed the essentials: S-Virus. Mutation concealed beneath flawless human features. Poisonous bodily fluids. Designed for covert elimination. Spider DNA. Stable mutation. His brow lifted in silent approval.

“And where is she?” His voice was low, gravelly, the kind of tone that made grown men swallow hard and rethink their life choices.

The employee cleared his throat again, hesitating. “There’s... one m-more thing, sir.” He fumbled with a sleek metal case, popping it open to reveal a syringe filled with vibrant green serum. The liquid glinted under the harsh fluorescent lights. “This is the only antitoxin we’ve developed. We recommend you inject it immediately— it provides lifetime immunity to her toxins.”

Leon’s smirk deepened, cold and calculating, as he plucked the syringe with casual precision. He barely felt the needle pierce his skin; the sharp sting was nothing compared to the thrill coursing through him. Moments later, they brought her in.

She stood in the center of the sterile room like an offering, draped in a simple black dress that hugged her form in all the right ways. She didn’t look like a bioweapon — she didn’t even look dangerous. She looked perfect. Almost too perfect. Her skin was unnaturally smooth and there was something in the precision of her movements, the way she held herself, that was just a little too controlled.

“She doesn’t remember anything from the labs,” a man in a lab coat assured, his tone obsequious. “You’ll be able to mold her to your needs, Mr. Kennedy.”