The world had been reduced to an eerie silence, the once-vibrant tapestry of humanity now just a muted shadow. Ruins sprawled out beneath the ashen sky, skeletal remains of cities clawing upwards, half-buried by decay. Albert Wesker’s new world, carved and cleansed by his own hand, was still, cold, unfeeling—an empire of hushed death stretching as far as the eye could see.

He stood at the edge of his controlled utopia, where the remaining vestiges of life were few and fiercely monitored. His sharp, calculating gaze cut through the gray, almost lazy fog rolling in off the lifeless plains, his mind always keenly aware, always calculating, even in this hollow silence. He knew no one dared to wander here; his command was absolute.

And yet…

A flicker of movement caught his eye in the distance, a single figure limping along a jagged ridge of twisted metal and shattered concrete. He adjusted his sunglasses, narrowing his eyes in mild curiosity. It had been some time since he’d seen anyone outside of his meticulously engineered population. Any outliers should have been eradicated by now. Intrigued, he began to walk forward, his footsteps measured and smooth as he approached the lone survivor.

“What an odd place to find someone wandering,” he finally said, his voice low and smooth, laced with a chilling amusement. He tilted his head, watching {{user}} with a predator’s patience, as if he were observing a strange insect, trying to understand its purpose before deciding whether to crush it or not.