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I squint, eyes narrowing as I read the note left behind for me.
Administer Albert’s doses twelve hours apart: once at 7 AM, and once at 7 PM.
- Excella
PS: And be sure to keep this case with you at all times. Ciao~
Simple enough.
I set the note back down and flip open the attaché case with a soft click. Inside, rows of pre-loaded syringes neatly arranged, each one labeled in red print: PG67A/W.
“Looks like we’ve got plenty,” I murmur to myself, the words falling flat against the silence of my office.
With Excella on a short leave, most of her duties have fallen into my lap, including working alongside Albert Wesker. Though, if I’m honest, it feels more like I’m working under him, as he’s become somewhat of my boss as of late. She’s entrusted him with more power within the company.
I take a seat, sighing as I sink into the chair. A little bit of a heads-up would’ve been nice, but she filled me in just yesterday, barely enough time to get a grip on the new workload.
I take a glance around my office. The desk is already cluttered with files I didn’t ask for, monitors displaying numbers that I don’t fully understand yet. I sift through Excella’s notes from last night, the contents extensive and dull. Something about compound inventory counts and transport schedules.
“I should probably input this into the system,” I mutter, leaning back in my chair. I absolutely despise being pulled out of the lab, I was never cut out for executive work. The more I think about everything, the more I could really use a coffee right about now.
Just as I let my eyes close for a moment, the intercom buzzes, sharply cutting through the silence.
“[Y/N], report to me. Now.”
His voice, stern and cold. Impossible to mistake.
I grab the attaché without hesitation and make my way across the facility.
Entering his office, I find him waiting with his back to me. His hands are clasped behind him, and he stands with a rigid posture akin to some kind of grand monument.
“You’re late,” he states without turning.
“By whose clock?” I ask, careful to not sound too brash.
I steal a quick glance at my watch. 7:01 AM. Shit.
He turns to face me, slow and deliberate, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Yours, evidently.”
“My apologies.” The words tumble out. I shake my head, swallowing a wave of self-reproach. God, I’m an idiot. I cross the room, placing the case on the central table. He sits without a word, already rolling up his left sleeve.
I pause a moment too long, my eyes trailing up the defined lines of his forearm, taking in the web of prominent veins beneath his pale skin. There’s always been something unreal about him, and now that I’m this close, it’s even more obvious. When I glance up to him, his brows are raised above the rim of his sunglasses— impatient. Enough staring.
A light sigh escapes him, irritation laced with a hint of amusement.
“A rather long study of the forearm, don’t you think?” He says dryly, voice tinged with mockery. “Are you going to administer the injection, or must I handle it myself?”
Mortified, I snap into motion, quickly tearing open an alcohol wipe. The sharp scent fills the air as I press it against his skin, circling the injection site with care. The room is shrouded in silence, broken only by the sound of the soft crinkle of packaging and the faint rustle of his sleeve. I reach for the injection next, the cold metal smooth beneath my fingers. Steadying my breath, I guide the needle in, clean and controlled. The syringe empties with a quiet, satisfying click. He exhales, slow and even, as if unfazed by the entire process, then rolls his sleeve back down in one seamless motion.
He doesn’t speak a word. Instead, he rises from the seat, walking toward the windows in the opposite side of the room, gaze fixed upon the expanse of the Tricell compound below.
“You know, it’s the smallest details that separate excellence from carelessness. I’ll see you this evening at seven,” he says, each word rich with condescension. “I trust your sense of time will have improved by then?”
I wince inwardly, lips pressing into a thin line. “Seven,” I nod. “I’ll be here. On time.”
He gives a quiet hum, turning back to face me, expression unreadable behind dark lenses. There’s a brief pause before a sardonic smile crosses his lips. “Good. It’d be a shame if you were late again, wouldn’t it?” he says. “You’re dismissed.”
I secure the case with steady hands and turn to leave. The attaché drags slightly at my side, weighted not only by its contents but the embarrassment of the situation. Behind me, the door shuts with a soft hiss, severing the space between us.
It’s not until I’m back in my office, alone, that I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I exhale slowly, everything that just happened catching up to me.
One minute late.
To anyone else, a minute would mean nothing. To him, it might as well be a failure written in blood. I set the case down and press the palm of my hand to my forehead, trying to banish the wave of humiliation that washes over me. One late dose wouldn’t destabilize him, but that’s not the issue. The issue is that someone in my position should be able to follow simple instructions; punctuality is of utmost importance.
Which is why I arrive ten minutes early for his second dose.
“You’re early,” he notes as I step inside.
I nod. “I thought it’d be best,” I reply smoothly.
“You thought correctly,” he replies, his tone smug. “Perhaps you can be taught after all.”
I say nothing. Same as earlier, I set the case down on the table, fingers steady as I flip the clasps open. My movements are smoother this time, more deliberate and controlled. It seems I have a better handle on my nerves.
He watches me as he settles into the chair in a slow, regal manner. I wait for the familiar flick of his wrist, the smooth roll of fabric up his forearm like before. But it doesn’t come.
The silence stretches, and I find myself stepping forward and reaching for his sleeve myself. My fingers find the fabric and ease it upward, gently.
“You hesitated this morning,” he says, breaking the silence. “Why?”
The question catches me off guard, as he’s not one for idle conversation. My mind scrambles to find an answer other than “because your arms look like they were chiseled by the Gods.”
I glance up at him. “I was focused on precision,” I reply, quietly.
“A safe answer,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth curling upward.
My hands work efficiently to sterilize the site, then I grab the injection.
I feel his eyes on me, observing my every move. Not with irritation this time, but with interest?
I grab his arm delicately in one hand, administering the shot with the other. Once the dose is delivered, I withdraw the syringe and dispose of it. He rolls his sleeve back down, quickly.
“I assume Excella briefed you on the nature of the serum?” he asks suddenly.
My eyes flick back up to his. “She did.”
His jaw tenses slightly. “Then I take it you understand the power behind it.”
“It’s incredible, really,” I pause. “You are… something else.”
The silence that follows is sharp. He tilts his head slightly, that damn smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Flattery,” he says finally, “is wasted on me.” His voice is low and steady, with an edge that could cut through titanium.
I manage to keep my expression neutral, but my pulse hammers in my ears. I offer the faintest of smiles. “Just… an observation,” I say quietly.
“Hm,” a low hum is all he offers in response. He rises, movements swift and fluid. I take a single step back: a natural response to keep the space between us from closing in too tight. But it doesn’t matter much, he steps closer to me anyway.
“Tell me,” he says. “Is it fascination?”
His gloved hand lifts, fingers settling along the line of my jaw— firm, but not cruel. The contact is enough to make my face hot.
My eyes flicker up to hold his gaze. “I—“ my voice falters. “I’m not sure I follow,” I say, barely recovering.
“I think you do.”
“You’re…” I begin, forcing my thoughts into shape. “Unlike anything I’ve ever studied before. The serum, the virus—”
“My, you speak so clinically,” he cuts in. “But that’s not how you were looking at me earlier.”
Heat blooms at the base of my neck. “I was simply analyzing,” I offer, though even to me it sounds unconvincing.
His touch lingers a moment longer before his hand slips away from my jaw. I stand still, unsure of what to say. My thoughts are tangled, searching for words, when in reality I probably shouldn’t say anything at all.
“Awfully quiet, are we?” he says. “I’m curious now, given your earlier commentary.”
I blink, caught between embarrassment and intrigue. “I thought you didn’t care for flattery,” I say, keeping my tone light. “Wouldn’t want to waste your time.”
He lets out a soft breath, barely a laugh, but it carries weight. “Perhaps you’ve piqued my interest,” he says at last, voice dark. He tilts his head, letting the silence stretch.
I stay rooted in place, though my mind refuses to settle. I yearn to say something, anything… but I don’t trust myself to say the right thing. My skin still burns where his fingers held my jaw, the ghost of his touch lingering as if I was branded by it. He stands in front of me with the stillness of a statue. Only the faint tightening of his jaw gives him away, a reminder that he’s not made of stone after all.
He takes another step forward, closing the distance between us. The distance that already felt so narrow now feels suffocating, or perhaps intoxicating? I’m not so sure anymore. How ridiculous am I? Though I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t drawn to him.
I tilt my chin up just slightly, and before I can second-guess it, my hand reaches up toward him. My fingers barely make contact along the edge of his jaw. The cool leather of his glove meets my wrist, taking it into his grasp, yet he doesn’t pull me away.
And here I stand, looking up to him. The absence of sound is almost tangible, pressing against my ears. His presence looms over me, and while I know my feet are firmly planted to the floor, I feel like I’m floating. There’s something about being so close, being adrift in the power of his attention…
My fingertips trace the sharp line of his jaw, skin impossibly smooth. And yet he still doesn’t pull me away… Instead, he leans into it, allowing it for the briefest moment. My fingertips meet the arm of his glasses before he snatches my hand away abruptly.
“Curiosity,” he murmurs, “can be a dangerous indulgence.” He releases his grip on my wrist, my arm snapping back to my side. I say nothing.
He walks past me, my ears zeroed in on his footsteps as he makes his way to the other side of the room.
“I will see you tomorrow morning at 7:00 AM,” he says, coldly.
I nod, still unable to form words.
“And don’t be so early next time,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. “It gives the impression that you’re too eager.”