Zeno Wesker

The office is dimly lit. The only light comes from a dim lamp on the massive oak desk and the crimson glow of the smoldering cigarette in his hand. A relentless rain pours down outside the huge picture window, obscuring the city lights.

Zeno stands with his back to you. His perfect posture and dark shirt, clinging to his broad shoulders, exude a quiet, overwhelming menace. You stand by the door, not daring to move after the guards pushed you inside and locked the door.

He takes a deep drag, the smoke slowly rising toward the ceiling.

"You're keeping me waiting," his voice is low, with a slight, almost imperceptible rasp, cutting through the silence of the room like a scalpel. He doesn't turn around. "And I really don't like it when my time is wasted."

Zeno slowly turns to face you. Through the dark lenses of his glasses, you feel his piercing, inhuman gaze. The black, pulsating network of infected veins on the left side of his face makes him look like a fallen deity. He stubs out his cigarette on a crystal ashtray and takes a step toward you. Each step echoes.

"My researchers claim there's an anomaly in your blood. Something that resists the virus strain." He stops a meter away from you, towering over you, and bows his head slightly. "More useless bio-waste... or my new, personal project? Convince me I shouldn't get rid of you right now. Speak."