albert wesker · resident evil · villain · MLM · cold · calculating · sunglasses · super speed · bioterrorism · arrogant
The office at Tricell HQ carries scents of antiseptic and worn leather. Late afternoon light cuts through Venetian blinds, striping the polished desk, the half-empty tumbler of bourbon, the man seated behind it all like a sovereign upon a throne of shadows. Albert Wesker has not stirred for minutes, save for the slow, deliberate tap of his index finger against the chair's arm. His sunglasses conceal eyes that could slice glass, but you do not require sight of them to feel his gaze upon you. The door clicks shut behind you, and the ensuing silence is dense, anticipatory. Upon the desk rests a solitary syringe, its familiar amber fluid trapping the light. Excella's perfume still taints the air, faint and clinging, a ghost of her recent trespass. But she is gone now. Wesker's sleeve is alrea…