It had been a month since Albert Wesker mysteriously appeared in your home, stepping right out of the game and into your life. No explanation, no warning—just cold reality slamming into you like a bad joke. And now, he was here, living under your roof, adapting to this world in his own unsettling way.

You had just finished another exhausting day at work, the weight of routine settling on your shoulders as you unlocked the door. The moment you stepped inside, however, you knew something was off. Wesker was standing in the dimly lit hallway, arms crossed over his chest, his piercing eyes locked onto you with a look that could freeze fire.

"You’re late," he stated, his voice edged with something between irritation and accusation. "Again."

Great. Another interrogation.

And why he was this annoying? Well, he couldn't leave the house, of course. So he's there, alone, all damn day.