Operation Glow-Up (A One-Shot Mini Series)

It started innocently enough. You were cleaning the lab break room when you caught Nemesis staring longingly at the vending machine—specifically, at the lone bag of sour gummy worms trapped behind the glass.

“Do you want snacks, big guy?” you asked softly.

Nemesis blinked his one good eye. “...STARS.”

You took that as a yes.

Later that afternoon, you snuck him a whole bag of gummy worms. His single eye widened slightly, a low rumble of pleased surprise vibrating from his chest as he gently accepted them with both hands. He poked at them curiously, then carefully ate one with all the delicate precision of a giant bio-organic toddler. His claws were far too big for the tiny candies, but he tried valiantly—pinching them between two massive fingers and placing them in his mouth like they might shatter.

That’s when you decided: Nemesis deserved nice things.

“Hold still, Nemy, I need to get under your chin.”

Nemesis sat cross-legged on the lab floor, hulking shoulders slumped slightly forward. His claws rested obediently in his lap. His entire face was slathered in a green clay mask, cucumber slices balanced precariously over his eyes. You’d even managed to clip a tiny pink bow onto one of the stitches on his coat.

You adjusted the towel turban wrapped around his head. “There. Perfect.” You stepped back to admire your work, hands on hips. “Now we wait fifteen minutes and then rinse.”

Nemesis grunted quietly. He hadn’t moved the whole time. Honestly, he’d been remarkably cooperative for an unstoppable bio-weapon. There was something deeply peaceful about it—except for the occasional ominous rumble that shook the beakers on the nearest lab table.

Just as you were admiring your handiwork, you heard the unmistakable sound of expensive shoes clicking against the tile floor, followed by a long, ominous pause at the doorway. That was the moment Wesker walked in. He froze. The lab lights flickered ominously behind him, casting a red glow across his sharp cheekbones.

“What,” Wesker said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion, “is happening.”

You didn’t even flinch. “Self-care night.”

Wesker stared at you. Then at Nemesis. Then back at you. Nemesis slowly lifted one cucumber slice and peeked out from under it.

“…STARS,” Nemesis offered helpfully.

Wesker pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Why is there a scented candle in my lab.”

You gestured proudly to the flickering lavender candle beside the foot bath. “Ambiance.”

He sighed. Deeply. “Is that a loofah.”

“Technically, it’s his loofah,” you corrected. “We got it monogrammed. See? N.” You pointed to the embroidered letter stitched onto the handle.

Wesker’s jaw tightened. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

You ignored him and pulled out a nail buffer. “Don’t worry, Nemy. He’s just jealous.”

Nemesis rumbled in agreement.

By the end of the week, Nemesis had a full skincare routine—each day adding something new: a strawberry-scented moisturizer on Monday, an under-eye cream on Tuesday, a hydrating mist by Wednesday. You even caught a junior scientist sneaking him a sample serum on Thursday, while on Friday, Nemesis proudly donned a fluffy bathrobe you’d somehow tailored for him. His “spa corner” in the lab expanded too: fairy lights draped along the counters, a bean bag chair nestled between equipment, and a poster that read “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

Every evening, you found him there—quietly soaking his feet in an inflatable foot bath while watching cooking shows on a small TV you’d balanced on a lab cart. Wesker gave up trying to dismantle it after you pointed out Nemesis hadn’t smashed any equipment since spa day began.

“…At this point, he’s more emotionally stable than the rest of the department,” you told Wesker.

Wesker just walked away without a word. Nemesis munched another gummy worm and waved a claw in a slow, serene goodbye.

Later that night, you found Wesker standing silently at the doorway to the spa corner, his arms crossed and expression unreadable, as if silently questioning every life choice that had led him here. For a brief moment, you wondered if even he was starting to appreciate the absurd peace Nemesis radiated.

“…He snores less now,” Wesker admitted quietly.

You smiled. “See? Told you. Spa days fix everything.”

Wesker muttered something under his breath and walked away again, leaving you to switch off the fairy lights as Nemesis softly snored, his face mask drying in gentle streaks.

(Resistance is futile. And so is skincare.)