Albert leaned slowly in his chair, the faint hum of machinery filling the vast underground chamber. The cocoon—once smooth and opaque—shuddered violently, spiderweb cracks racing across its surface. A low, wet sound followed, like something breathing for the first time.

Then it split open.

The shell collapsed inward, peeling away in fractured segments as the thing inside spilled onto the cold metal floor. It was colorless—almost unfinished—its form an uneasy fusion of flesh and sinew, limbs twitching as if unsure which muscles to command. It trembled, gasping, every movement raw and instinctive, as though the outside world itself was an assault on its senses.

Wesker watched without blinking.

Slowly, deliberately, he rose from his seat. The sharp click of his boots echoed as he approached, hands clasped behind his back. His sunglasses reflected the shuddering mass at his feet—clinical, detached, yet unmistakably intrigued.

A success… or a disappointment still in progress.

He stopped just short of it, looking down as though examining an insect beneath glass. The creature’s body jerked at his presence, reacting not to kindness or cruelty, but to authority—something deep in its altered instincts recognizing him as significant.

“Well, well…” Wesker murmured, his voice smooth, cold, precise. “What are you suppose to be, little creature…?”