Wesker's head snapped up, his mouth dropping open as he watched the webbing track across the walls. The icy veins bulging, the cavern hissing.

He turned, chin dropping, moving as only he could - but it wasn't enough.

The walls came down in roaring, glittering wave. Something struck him, there was a burst of pain, blood in the back of his mouth, and pressure and weight, so very much-

-and then nothing.

Neither alive, nor dead, he rested in the arms of the virus. An ancient place. Primal. Grey and amniotic.

It was safe. Warm.

He slept and dreamed of waking.