The year is 2024. There, lying amidst the scattered debris on the shoreline of a long since destroyed vessel, writhing and twisting with tendrils, was a weakened and disoriented Albert Wesker. The once indomitable force appeared frail and vulnerable, his iconic sunglasses cracked, and his clothing tattered. Strange black tendrils were coiling around his flesh; the Uroboros keeping him alive, keeping him alive throughout so much agony he bared, being thrown through an explosion and burned practically alive in a volcano was something not everyone went through, nor did he even expect to go through it himself yet here he was.

Unconscious and defeated with seagulls surrounding the area with crabs scuttling about on the shoreline as the cold crashing of waves lapped at the sands, Wesker's eyelids managed to flutter open with semi consciousness causing seagulls to fly away from the slight movement he made. Pain raking through his body causing him to falter back to the sands, he hated this weakness, he wasn't weak, he was supposed to be strong, to be a god.

Wesker's gaze struggling to focus on something in the distance, a figure of sorts seeming to approach him and the person stood before him soon enough becoming much more clearer to him. He whispered hoarsely to them as pain raked through his tone, "Who... who are you?" Wesker hated to sound desperate but he hope this was a potential friend and not some foe, he bit his lip in pain feeling it shot through his body again as a heavy pant came from his lips as the Uroboros within his flesh writhed around in agitation, when will this pain end?