One, two, uppercut.
One, two, uppercut.
One, two, hook.
He was working the bag well, slamming it at every angle with his clenched fists.
One, two, uppercut.
He knew Claire would worry, try to stop him. She'd tell him he was killing himself.
One, two, hook.
One, two, uppercut.
She'd never truly understand. He'd died years ago.
One, two, uppercut.
One, two, hook.
When Jill... she took that fall... for him...
One, two, hook.
Hook, hook.
Hook, hook.
Because they had found Wesker...
Hook, hook, hook.
The bag flung itself against the wall, before settling in its regular position. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily.
He'd find Wesker, he knew it. And when he did... all bets would be off.