Run. He’s going to kill you. Run, foolish girl, run!
But, despite her trepidation, there was no denying the thrumming drumbeat of excitement that began the moment Wesker went on the prowl. Something inside her shrieked with delight, bit with open fangs at the neck of fear and dragged it kicking and screaming to the dank den of violence at her core. This could be… fun?
The red-clad spy shifted her weight into a more cautious stance, knees bent and braced to leap. A slender and cold weight shifted against her hip, another at the dip between her shoulder blades, one more along one of her thighs— at least she still had her knives, though she would defend herself with her very fingernails if needs must.
Even as she went through this mental check, however, Ada kept a steady gaze on the psychopath before her. There was something decidedly… off about him, more so than the usual, and Ada wasn’t stupid enough to miss it. It was almost as if he was older and, as a result, more distinguished by the virus surging through his veins. Not to mention his knowledge of her betrayal...
Her spine stiffened as he began to swagger about again, his attention on her stinging about as keenly as a snakebite. A feral depravity affected his every move, the crown of his head anointed with the promise of death. That was one thing that seemed familiar, at least, and one thing that Ada knew would never leave Albert Wesker until the end of his days: the tiger mentality. Merciless offense, going in for the kill, and always, always moving forward.
Without a sound, Ada began to move with him, taking a deliberate, almost casual step backwards with every menacing stride he made in her direction. Her chin lifted, her cool eyes raking over his form with a strategist's gleam in them-- taking in the slicked-back blond hair, the high quality of his dark suit jacket, and the firearm holstered securely under his clothes. Two killers continuing to dance around one another, the line between hunter and hunted growing more and more blurred as time wore on.
Ada’s fingers closed around the handle of one of her knives, her grip sure and unwavering.
“As fun as this little heart-to-heart has been… Ah, well. We’re long past the point of reconciliation, anyway, so I guess there’s no point in tending to your ridiculous self-importance any longer. If you want my head, Wesker, you’ll need to do a lot more than talk,” she said slowly, a secretive smile plucking at the corner of her mouth. One eyebrow raised in challenge. “Well? Come and get it.”
The knife flew from her fingers in a flash, the seven-inch blade turning handle over tip in midair. The silver edge barely grazed Wesker’s shoulder as he surged forward, tearing a clean strip of fabric free from his newly-summoned attire. A wordless snarl curled his lips back as he came within only a few paces of her position, a row of perfectly straight pearly whites that looked as if they could tear her throat out glinting under the brutal lighting, fingers hooked as they went for his gun—
Ada barely had time to throw herself to the side and out of range, the heels of her shoes grating piercingly across the Nexus floor as the first gunshot assaulted her eardrums. The bullets dribbled over the porcelain ground like marbles, one catching her on the back of her left calf as she spun and performed a hasty handspring to evade the volley of lead, palms anchoring to the shiny floor, shoving, and then heaving her body into an upright position.
She landed with an elegant swoosh of her dress, the leg struck by a bullet radiating pain but her focus on the battle. An indignant hiss whistled past her teeth as she looked up, rapidly scrutinizing the tight two-handed grip Wesker had on his weapon. A memory tickled at the back of her thoughts, unexpectedly but certainly not unwelcome. It was a simple principle she had learned long ago, and not one she would abandon easily; the arm that attacks you… must then be cut off.
Another knife materialized from somewhere in the vicinity of her hip, twanging out a metallic melody along the tips of her fingernails as she threw it. This one struck true, eliciting a curse from Wesker as it carved along the arm that was holding his gun steady, a spatter of shiny red gore painting the ground.
The man’s jaw clenched in irritation, a reddish glare like that of burning coals simmering behind his sunglasses as he clutched belatedly at the wound, as if surprised that it affected him at all. Sensing an opening, Ada swept forward to retrieve at least one of her knives, but was forced to redirect her steps when Wesker recovered enough to angle toward her.
Hardly any thought went into what she did next. It was purely instinctual, really, for her to swipe the gun from his hand with a precisely-timed kick, the handgun's barrel clipping his scalp hard enough to draw blood. Ada was only able to feel satisfied about this for a few seconds at best.
She had a brief moment of panic when a hand latched onto her arm, each finger digging in with a punishing, inflexible grip that would surely bruise, and then scarcely had the opportunity to brace herself before Wesker flung her.
Her head hit the fountain stones with a sickening crack, the warm pond water lapping eagerly over her skin as she sank under. Wing beats and frantic quacking caused quite a ruckus as the pond's duck population scattered, feathers flying every which way.
Attempting to lift her head above the waves, Ada groaned as red-hot pain lanced through her skull, arms listing out to grasp at the stones. “Jesus Christ…”
A heavy boot landed on her outstretched arm, the bones in her wrist crunching painfully as several fractures occurred. The woman couldn’t keep a small whimper from slipping past her lips as Wesker bore down with all his weight and then began to twist.
The tyrant’s savage grin swam into view, coppery blood trickling down one side of his face and over his teeth, staining them a grisly red. He didn’t seem to care; if anything, it only made the hellish sneer on his face seem even more terrifying than usual. “Idiot child," he hissed, leaning forward to pick up the gun Ada had knocked from his grip. "One would think… you would know better than to blaspheme in the presence of a real go-- drrrghnk--”
Wesker was cut off by a pen-sized knife wedging itself into the juncture between his index and middle finger, effectively pinning his hand to the stone apex of the fountain, and then a solid kick to where the pinned woman had judged his liver to be. Stricken by a sudden bout of dizziness and pain, the virulent villain stumbled backward.
Ada's fingers clawed at the side of the fountain as she hoisted herself to her feet, clutching at the side of her head and trembling almost imperceptibly.
“Arrogant bastard," she spat.
But, despite her trepidation, there was no denying the thrumming drumbeat of excitement that began the moment Wesker went on the prowl. Something inside her shrieked with delight, bit with open fangs at the neck of fear and dragged it kicking and screaming to the dank den of violence at her core. This could be… fun?
The red-clad spy shifted her weight into a more cautious stance, knees bent and braced to leap. A slender and cold weight shifted against her hip, another at the dip between her shoulder blades, one more along one of her thighs— at least she still had her knives, though she would defend herself with her very fingernails if needs must.
Even as she went through this mental check, however, Ada kept a steady gaze on the psychopath before her. There was something decidedly… off about him, more so than the usual, and Ada wasn’t stupid enough to miss it. It was almost as if he was older and, as a result, more distinguished by the virus surging through his veins. Not to mention his knowledge of her betrayal...
Her spine stiffened as he began to swagger about again, his attention on her stinging about as keenly as a snakebite. A feral depravity affected his every move, the crown of his head anointed with the promise of death. That was one thing that seemed familiar, at least, and one thing that Ada knew would never leave Albert Wesker until the end of his days: the tiger mentality. Merciless offense, going in for the kill, and always, always moving forward.
Without a sound, Ada began to move with him, taking a deliberate, almost casual step backwards with every menacing stride he made in her direction. Her chin lifted, her cool eyes raking over his form with a strategist's gleam in them-- taking in the slicked-back blond hair, the high quality of his dark suit jacket, and the firearm holstered securely under his clothes. Two killers continuing to dance around one another, the line between hunter and hunted growing more and more blurred as time wore on.
Ada’s fingers closed around the handle of one of her knives, her grip sure and unwavering.
“As fun as this little heart-to-heart has been… Ah, well. We’re long past the point of reconciliation, anyway, so I guess there’s no point in tending to your ridiculous self-importance any longer. If you want my head, Wesker, you’ll need to do a lot more than talk,” she said slowly, a secretive smile plucking at the corner of her mouth. One eyebrow raised in challenge. “Well? Come and get it.”
The knife flew from her fingers in a flash, the seven-inch blade turning handle over tip in midair. The silver edge barely grazed Wesker’s shoulder as he surged forward, tearing a clean strip of fabric free from his newly-summoned attire. A wordless snarl curled his lips back as he came within only a few paces of her position, a row of perfectly straight pearly whites that looked as if they could tear her throat out glinting under the brutal lighting, fingers hooked as they went for his gun—
Ada barely had time to throw herself to the side and out of range, the heels of her shoes grating piercingly across the Nexus floor as the first gunshot assaulted her eardrums. The bullets dribbled over the porcelain ground like marbles, one catching her on the back of her left calf as she spun and performed a hasty handspring to evade the volley of lead, palms anchoring to the shiny floor, shoving, and then heaving her body into an upright position.
She landed with an elegant swoosh of her dress, the leg struck by a bullet radiating pain but her focus on the battle. An indignant hiss whistled past her teeth as she looked up, rapidly scrutinizing the tight two-handed grip Wesker had on his weapon. A memory tickled at the back of her thoughts, unexpectedly but certainly not unwelcome. It was a simple principle she had learned long ago, and not one she would abandon easily; the arm that attacks you… must then be cut off.
Another knife materialized from somewhere in the vicinity of her hip, twanging out a metallic melody along the tips of her fingernails as she threw it. This one struck true, eliciting a curse from Wesker as it carved along the arm that was holding his gun steady, a spatter of shiny red gore painting the ground.
The man’s jaw clenched in irritation, a reddish glare like that of burning coals simmering behind his sunglasses as he clutched belatedly at the wound, as if surprised that it affected him at all. Sensing an opening, Ada swept forward to retrieve at least one of her knives, but was forced to redirect her steps when Wesker recovered enough to angle toward her.
Hardly any thought went into what she did next. It was purely instinctual, really, for her to swipe the gun from his hand with a precisely-timed kick, the handgun's barrel clipping his scalp hard enough to draw blood. Ada was only able to feel satisfied about this for a few seconds at best.
She had a brief moment of panic when a hand latched onto her arm, each finger digging in with a punishing, inflexible grip that would surely bruise, and then scarcely had the opportunity to brace herself before Wesker flung her.
Her head hit the fountain stones with a sickening crack, the warm pond water lapping eagerly over her skin as she sank under. Wing beats and frantic quacking caused quite a ruckus as the pond's duck population scattered, feathers flying every which way.
Attempting to lift her head above the waves, Ada groaned as red-hot pain lanced through her skull, arms listing out to grasp at the stones. “Jesus Christ…”
A heavy boot landed on her outstretched arm, the bones in her wrist crunching painfully as several fractures occurred. The woman couldn’t keep a small whimper from slipping past her lips as Wesker bore down with all his weight and then began to twist.
The tyrant’s savage grin swam into view, coppery blood trickling down one side of his face and over his teeth, staining them a grisly red. He didn’t seem to care; if anything, it only made the hellish sneer on his face seem even more terrifying than usual. “Idiot child," he hissed, leaning forward to pick up the gun Ada had knocked from his grip. "One would think… you would know better than to blaspheme in the presence of a real go-- drrrghnk--”
Wesker was cut off by a pen-sized knife wedging itself into the juncture between his index and middle finger, effectively pinning his hand to the stone apex of the fountain, and then a solid kick to where the pinned woman had judged his liver to be. Stricken by a sudden bout of dizziness and pain, the virulent villain stumbled backward.
Ada's fingers clawed at the side of the fountain as she hoisted herself to her feet, clutching at the side of her head and trembling almost imperceptibly.
“Arrogant bastard," she spat.
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![[Image: 18yM1ww.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/18yM1ww.gif)
She's a Killer Queen!
Gunpowder, gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam,
Guaranteed to blow your mind!
- "Killer Queen", Queen