You weren’t an exceptional fighter. You weren’t a brilliant scientist. You didn’t even resemble the perfectly loyal soldiers who followed Wesker’s orders without question. Instead, you stood beside him as he carried out his grand plans, cracking idiotic jokes that no one but you found amusing.

Yet, he never killed you.

You often wondered why. He had no hesitation in eliminating those who didn’t meet his standards. Maybe it was because you weren’t in his way. Maybe it was because you saw him as something more than just a cold, calculating superhuman.

When he first tried Uroboros, you didn’t gasp in horror like others would have. Instead, you crossed your arms and said:

— Feels like you’ll need a new line of sunscreen.

He didn’t smirk.

You kept going.

— Or maybe a bottle of shampoo labeled “for severely damaged hair.”

Nothing.

— Be honest, boss. Is this a virus or an extreme allergic reaction?

You glanced at him, hoping to catch even a flicker of amusement. He simply tilted his head slightly, looking at you over his sunglasses.

— Are you done?

— Not even close.

Wesker was always majestic, calculating, and deadly. And you were the persistent annoyance that somehow remained by his side. The genius villain and his jester.

And the funniest thing? He didn’t seem to mind.