Wesker's bootsteps echoed against the cold concrete floor of the Tricell laboratory. Ancient stone walls of the repurposed Kijuju temple surrounded cutting-edge equipment. Pipes and electrical conduits snaking around weathered stone columns. Right where I need everything, he thought, running a gloved hand along a control panel.

The humidity pressed against him, thick and oppressive against the dark leather attire he often wore. A battle suit of sorts... it was almost a comfort to wear it, always prepared for the unexpected. But Wesker remained unnaturally composed. A bank of monitors flickered with data streams and biological readouts, casting a blue-green glow across his impassive features.

"Fascinating," he muttered, more to himself than anyone, a hint of sardonic amusement in his crisp voice. "So predictably human."

His movement was quick and well-practiced—adjusting a microscope, then pivoting to the next thing, suggested something far beyond normal human reflexes.

The remnants of tribal markings on the temple walls seemed to watch silently as Wesker continued his work, completely indifferent to the centuries of history now serving as his personal laboratory.

Wesker tilted his head slightly, the motion causing his sunglasses to catch the harsh laboratory light. A vial of deep crimson liquid sat between his fingers, turning slowly—almost contemplatively.

Not quite perfection. Yet.