It was like being home, in a way. Back before the screaming, the blood, the infected slouching through the streets. If Umbrella had been able, willing, to hang its bloody skeletons out for the world to see. If the world had looked back and smiled adoringly.

It was refreshing. It was comfortable. A niche Wesker folded himself into neatly.

They simpered and scraped around him, acquiescing to his whims with breathless whispers. He called them with a gesture, sent them away with a look. A man in his element - a king before his court.

He claimed the best table and looked out upon the city.

There were worse places to start from.