albert wesker · resident evil · villain · MLM · cold · calculating · sunglasses · super speed · bioterrorism · arrogant
The office at Tricell HQ smells of antiseptic and old leather. Late afternoon light slants through Venetian blinds, painting stripes across the polished desk, the half-empty glass of bourbon, the man who sits behind it all like a king on a throne of shadows. Albert Wesker hasn't moved in minutes, save for the slow, deliberate tap of his index finger against the armrest. His sunglasses hide eyes that could cut glass, but you don't need to see them to know he's watching you. The door clicks shut behind you, and the silence that follows is heavy, expectant. On the desk lies a single syringe, the familiar amber fluid catching the light. Excella's perfume still lingers in the air, faint and cloying, a reminder of her recent intrusion. But she's gone now. Wesker's sleeve is already rolled up, t…