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The man stood there, silent as a black mountain.
The harsh white light of the laboratory was swallowed by his trench coat, leaving only a cold, hard reflection on his meticulously slicked-back blonde hair. The scent of disinfectant seemed to thin, replaced by a suffocating, physical pressure.
Ada didn't flinch. She pushed off the cultivation tank she'd been leaning against and moved to the metal lab bench. From her pouch, she produced a spiral glass test tube filled with an eerie, viscous purple liquid. She set it down. The clink of glass on metal was the only sound in the tomb-like silence.
Wesker moved.
His leather shoes made no sound on the polished floor, like a ghost gliding over water. He reached out with a black gloved hand, picked up the purple tube, and walked toward the deepest storage vault in the lab. He removed one glove, pressing his palm to the biometric scanner.
"Beep—Identity confirmed. Maximum authority."
The wall recessed, revealing a slot. Wesker placed the G-Virus sample inside and stepped back, his hands dancing across a console as silver mechanical arms locked the vial away next to two other samples. With the task complete, he turned, his wide sunglasses finally aiming toward Noah.
His voice was a low, metallic grind—devoid of any human warmth. "Who the hell are you calling a fool in sunglasses?"
Noah looked at him, a sudden, sharp smile appearing on his face. "Then why are you wearing sunglasses indoors while you're talking to me?"
Pfft—
An irrepressible laugh escaped Ada. Her shoulders shook, and for a moment, the ice in the room was replaced by her genuine, mocking amusement.
Behind the shades, Wesker's face darkened. The pressure in the room surged, sweeping toward Noah like a tsunami.
Click.
Wesker's hand was out from beneath his coat in a blur. A silver-and-black custom handgun was leveled at Noah's forehead. The muzzle was a dark void, a direct line to the afterlife.
"Are you sure you want to pull that trigger, Albert?" Ada's voice rang out, her tone calm but laced with amusement. "Don't forget, the little cuties in these tanks don't like loud noises or stray lead."
The logic hit Wesker like a bucket of ice water. He stood still for a beat, his jaw tight, before slowly holstering the weapon. But he wasn't done.
Wesker walked to the center of the lab's open floor. He discarded his trench coat, revealing a black, tight-fitting tactical suit that outlined a physique forged by viral enhancement. He moved his neck, his knuckles, and his shoulders, a series of bone-jarring cracks echoing through the space.
Noah handed his tactical backpack to Ada. He nodded to her. "How's the leg?"
Ada rubbed her thigh. "I'll live. I'm just looking forward to the show." She tilted her chin toward Wesker, a playful curve at her mouth. "Go on. Don't keep the man waiting."
Noah walked to the other end of the floor, facing Wesker.
"Albert Wesker," the man said, his voice flat. "When you get to hell, don't get the name wrong."
Noah raised an eyebrow. "Noah. And you're awfully confident for a guy who hides behind tinted glass."
Wesker's mouth curled into a cruel grin. "You'll find out soon enough."
Before the sentence was finished, Wesker exploded forward. He crossed the distance like a cannonball, his body a blur of speed that defied human limits. He threw a straight punch—a powerful, military-grade strike meant to shatter bone.
Noah's eyes narrowed. The speed was immense, but the technique was arrogant.
Noah didn't retreat. He moved into the strike, his center of gravity dropping as he executed a subtle pivot. The fist brushed past his nose. In that split second of intersection, Noah's right hand caught Wesker's wrist, guiding the momentum forward, while his left palm pressed weightlessly against Wesker's shoulder.
Redirect.
Wesker felt a massive, irresistible force. His own momentum was turned against him. He stumbled forward, unable to compensate, and slammed one knee into the metal floor to keep from falling flat on his face.
The lab fell silent.
Wesker knelt there, the humiliation burning hotter than the impact. It was the first time since his "rebirth" that anyone had laid a hand on him without being crushed. He stood slowly, his eyes behind the shades surely full of a cold, focused murder.
"Ancient Eastern martial arts," Wesker muttered, putting distance between them. "Borrowing force. Clever."
Noah decided to twist the knife. "By the way, Albert. In the S.T.A.R.S. office? I found that photo of Rebecca in your desk. I didn't realize you had a type."
Wesker's entire body went rigid.
Beside them, Ada's eyes lit up with the fire of pure gossip. "Oh, you have to show me that later," she said, her voice full of mischievous delight.
That was the final straw. Wesker's rage hit the ceiling. Caution and evaluation were gone. There was only the primal need to tear this boy apart.
"You've got a death wish!" Wesker roared.
The floor beneath his boots dented as he launched himself again. He was a black afterimage, a projectile of raw violence. He swung a haymaker that could have decapitated a Tyrant.
Noah's gaze became a lens, breaking Wesker's movement into slow-motion frames. He ducked, his hand "scooping" upward to stick to Wesker's wrist. He used a spiraling force to guide the punch past him while his body slipped through Wesker's open side like smoke.
Wesker spun, his instincts screaming. He threw a vicious back-fist to where he expected Noah to be.
He missed again.
Noah had already dropped into a half-squat, slipping beneath the sweep. Wesker's body was wide open, his momentum carrying him into a brief, fatal stiffness.
Noah's legs coiled like springs.
"Hah!"
He exploded upward. A Straight-Body Half-Step Burst.
THUD.
The sound was heavy and sickening. Noah's fist slammed into Wesker's solar plexus. The "Hidden Force" of the strike pierced through the high-tech tactical suit, traveling deep into the nerve center of the diaphragm.
Wesker's mountain-like physique shook. He looked down at the fist against his chest, shock replacing rage. Then, the oxygen left his world. His lungs felt as if they were being crushed by an invisible titan. His muscles turned to water.
"Ugh..."
Wesker staggered back, his knees buckling. He hit the floor hard, arching his body as he wheezed like a broken bellows. Cold sweat drenched his blonde hair, dripping onto the floor in a dark puddle.
Ada's smile was gone, replaced by unmistakable astonishment. Noah hadn't used brute force; he had used an almost artistic mastery of timing. He stood there, his breathing steady, his clothes not even wrinkled.
Ada walked over, her heels clicking a rhythmic, mocking beat on the metal. She looked down at the man huddled on the ground.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," she sighed, her tone dripping with schadenfreude. "Our insufferable Mr. Wesker looks like he needs a doctor. Lucky for you, Noah's right here."
Wesker squeezed a single word through his teeth. "Get... out!"
He forced himself to stand, his superhuman recovery fighting the shock to his system. He glared at Noah, his aura now one of chaotic, irrational madness. He was ready to burn the whole lab down just to kill the man in front of him.
Ada realized the fun was over. If he went berserk, they'd all die in the bio-leak. She reached into her pouch and pulled out a satellite communicator. The call was already connected. She thrust it into Wesker's hand.
"Mr. T," she said.
The name was a spell. Wesker's volcanic rage froze instantly. Subconsciously, he pressed the device to his ear. He didn't speak. He just listened. After a moment, a beep signaled the end of the call.
Wesker handed the device back to Ada. He didn't look at her. He didn't look at Noah. The confrontation was over. He picked up his trench coat, brushed off the dust, and walked toward the dark passage in the white wall.
He stepped into the blackness and vanished without a backward glance.
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