Evil in REsidence

[Albert Wesker]

"CHRIIIIIIISSSS!"

A single word, mangled and screamed with the last breath in lungs scorched and burning under an onslaught of molten rock and rampant mutation. A single word, full of so much hate and wrath directed at a single point, a single person, the laser-guided fury drowned out the unbearable pain of the bath of liquefied earth he rested in.

"If I go down...I'm taking the two of you with me!"

His grip on the helicoper tightened further. A groaning of metal in protest, and the entire thing lurched crazily, listing wildly and unsteadily in the air. Every tug sent a new wave of wobbling and swaying to it, the slimy tendrils of virus-born mutation not giving an inch.

Wesker's vision was fading. Clouded in equal parts by a red haze of anger, the shimmering heat of lava bubbling around him, and the darkening of the world as his life bled away. Only one thing remained clear: the aircraft bearing his most hated nemesis. The one man who had ruined everything he had worked for, for SO LONG! Wesker was going to die. He had accepted it, but he wasn't going to go down alone. He was going to...

His plans hit an immediate end, without his approval. A rocket tore through his head, the explosive payload detonating in the magma behind him and throwing him forward. The searing heat ripped through the tentacles borne from his arm, engulfing him in a wave of liquid rock. He disappeared in the fireball and wave of lava, finally gone for good.

...but he didn't cease to think, or to exist. He suspected it at first, as all he could see was blackness. A black void, and nothing else. Then he saw something else. A white shadow, a spot of light in the blackness. Inverse of the usual, strange and surreal. And it spoke to him.

"My name is Omni. This is not the world you know."

He knew, then. Albert Wesker knew, then. He had made it. He had overcome, and gone to his rightful place. Chris had thought it was finally over...but it was just getting started.

[Albert Wesker]

"That’s all you need to know right now. You’ll figure out the rest soon enough. I’ll be watching...and waiting."

The black void started to shimmer and ripple. Lack of light gave way to shadow. Shadow gave way to an omnipresent glow of pale white. Gravity surged forward to re=assert itself, dragging him down toward earth. He hit with a harsh, echoing thud. In a way he couldn't really describe, he just...hurt. Every inch of his body ached. On top of it all, there was a heavy feeling of weight on his body, a bone-deep sense of exhaustion that permeated absolutely every fiber of his being. Like going days upon days without so much as a wink of rest, during his old days as a scientist for Umbrella.

A shudder ran through his body, as a feeling beyond the suffocating exhaustion and pain reached his mind. Hands twitched, fingers curling inward like claws toward his palms. Splayed, loose hands became clenched fists, arms dragging slowly in toward his body. "Hng...nrgh..." Teeth ground together, grating with an unnatural volume in his ears as he slowly brought his arms up, forearms planting themselves on the ground. Slowly he pushed up, legs drawing in with minuscule, agonizing jerks of movement and he drew himself up off of the ground.

As his head left the ground, everything spun crazily. The world felt as if it pitched sideways, and he lurched with it, his body tumbling over to land sprawled out on his back. Deep, pained breaths through clenched teeth hissed in and out. Eyes finally cracked open, gold-orange orbs glimmering in the perpetual glare of white coming from all around. "What...what is this place?!" he snarled, voice rough and hoarse. And he immediately regretted his decision to speak, a fit of coughing and spluttering chasing his words. This was not what he had expected of wherever he would end up after his life ran its course. It had been so long since he'd felt such complete, genuine pain, even when alive that he'd almost forgotten what it was like. To be reminded of it here, in such a fashion, when he should have been stronger than ever and free of even minor pain...

Unacceptable.

His eyes blinked once, clearing the haze and squinting through the blinding glare out of his vision. With a hissing breath of agony, he planted his hands on the ground and pushed, drawing himself up into a sitting posture. Just a few paces away, there was a fountain. A large spire ran up the center, from which the water poured out and splashed down into the surrounding pool. Octagonal, and alternating in shades of red and white, the design of it was immediately apparent to him. "Umbrella..." he growled under his breath. He could just never escape it.

Less immediately apparent, however, was on the edge of the fountain. Neatly folded and sitting there, was a pair of sunglasses, gleaming softly in the directionless glare and illumination of whatever this place was.

This place was entirely too bizarre.

[Albert Wesker]

From his sitting posture, Wesker slowly brought himself up to stand. A long, arduous, painful process, and when he was finally standing it was on unsteady, wobbling legs. He sucked in a deep breath, hissing it out through clenched teeth as he paced slowly forward, to the edge of the fountain. He leaned forward, hands resting on the rim. Leaning out over it, he stared down into the water, to see his reflection staring back at him.

Terribly disheveled hair, hanging in a lank and unkempt mop. Horribly bloodshot eyes, gleaming red in the distorted reflection. His veins, standing out starkly against sickly, discolored skin. He was barely clothed, only covered from the waist down. And even that was scorched and burned to shreds. "What a mess," he said quietly. It just wouldn't do. His appearance couldn't be left in this sorry state. What was it the strange presence that had met him just before had said...? Omni. And this Omnilium substance he'd been given by the odd creature.

"Anything I desire, is it..."

It was a simply first attempt. He knew exactly what he was after. And as he put his mind toward wondering how to acquire it, thoughts dawned in his head. Just an idea, at first: focus on it. As his focus bent toward it, the single idea blossomed and spread into knowledge and information. Just as if he'd always known it, he knew how. Summoning things with this Omnilium substance. It came to him naturally, as easily as breathing. It took time, of course — several minutes of time, in fact — but it was easy.

Several minutes later, Wesker stood there at the edge of the fountain, using his reflection as a gauge to judge his efforts. Limbs still heavy and slightly numb, overcome with pain, made it hard to judge otherwise. Fumbling, unsteady fingers worked at buttoning up the shirt of his freshly-summoned suit. The tails of it were tucked slowly, carefully into the waist of his pants, belt drawn around and secured. His tie went on next, the act of tying it taking far too long and eliciting more than a few muttered curses. Finally, he secured it, reaching for his jacket. Over his shoulders, arms sliding gingerly into the sleeves, and the few buttons being fastened with movements ever so slowly growing more and more steady.

Gloves were pulled on next, fingers flexing slowly and working snugly into them. Virtually skin-tight, custom tailored. They wouldn't hamper him in the slightest. He reached down to retrieve his next article, the harness that would hold his long-used, personal sidearm. He fumbled it on, sliding his suited arms through the straps and securing it into place. He retrieved the pistol next. Hefting the gun in his hand, he looked it over. The Samurai Edge. Virtually a relic, but a reliable one, and one he had personally customized into a unique tool. Just like any of his other works, he wouldn't leave it behind. One of the magazines for it was picked up, and slid into place. A light twirl of the loaded weapon about one finger, snapping it up and into a ready position, taking quick aim down the sights. Just as sharp as ever. Into the shoulder holster it went.

The long, flowing coat, reaching to his ankles, was slowly pulled on next. He tugged it into place, adjusting its fall about his shoulders. Hands came up, pulling and tugging at the high collar to set it to properly frame his face. Spare magazines for his Samurai Edge were retrieved, placed in unobtrusive internal pockets of the long coat. Gloved hands dipped into the water of the fountain, reaching up to smooth and slick back his hair. Fingers ran through it, working out the biggest and messiest of the knots and tangles, wrestling it into some semblance of order and neatness.

Finally, he retrieved the sunglasses sitting on the edge of the fountain. A flick of the wrist snapped them open, and with a well-practiced movement he brought them up, sliding them onto his face. Immediately, the harsh glare of this strange place was cut sharply, and the stinging it delivered to his eyes was made bearable. He tilted his head this way and that, first one way then the other, cracking his neck. Fully clothed and presentable again.

"Now, then..." He turned from the fountain, already feeling much more steady and in his element with his proper attire restored, to survey where he'd ended up. A blank, white void, stretching on for miles. Distantly, on the horizon, he could see the faint indicators of...of something. It was hard to tell much from this distance, but as he turned to give the place a thorough once-over, he could count eight of them. The same general size and shape, he thought, though far from identical. "It seems I've got some...exploration to do..."

The only question was...which way to go first?

[Ada Wong]

The anchored docks, waves crashing against the island like ripples of angry gunfire, Saddler’s Plaga-infested carcass smeared across the asphalt… and one Leon Scott Kennedy, as rugged-looking and adorable as ever. It was almost shameful to have to pull a gun on his undefended, glorious behind, but needs must when the devil drives.
 
His back and shoulders tensed at the first click of the hammer being cocked back, every muscle visible through the skin-tight shirt he was wearing; she could almost see his heart rate spiking despite the bone-deep fatigue his battle with Saddler had almost certainly left him with. Poor, tired little Leon, so exhausted and without any nifty defenses in reserve… Sigh.
 
“Sorry, Leon,” Ada simpered, her words smoothing into a playful, relaxing timbre, and she almost meant it. In a blink her eyes narrowed as her voice sharpened into a command. “Hand it over.”
 
“Ada… You do know what this is…” Leon reluctantly passed the vial to her and raised his hands in the air, worried blue eyes searching her face. He always did remind her of a golden retriever puppy, even when she had a gun to his head.
 
Holding the Plaga sample in one hand, gun still trained squarely at Leon’s cute little forehead, Ada hmph-ed. A smirk pulled one corner of her mouth up as her fingers tightened around the beaker gently, couldn’t have that damn thing breaking and turning her into some disgusting abomination, and she only hesitated for a second when Leon did a quick check over his shoulder.
 
It was all the time she needed— really, having such a handsome face surely couldn’t have deprived Leon of all his brain cells, but sometimes she… suspected this may have been the case. The woman paced backwards, the scarlet fabric of her dress slipping smoothly against her bare legs. One step, two steps, and then she was dashing off at a run towards where she knew her escape was lying in wait, the heels of her shoes striking sharply against the blacktop.
 
For a moment she could hear Leon’s boots scratching against the ground as he began his pursuit, thrumming like a metronome at the base of her skull that urged her feet to continue forward. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t catch her. Ada could already taste the burning triumph that came from completing a mission, honey-sweet as a peach at the height of summer; that was enough to turn her into a regular speed demon. Her feet flew from the platform as she dived over the edge, arms spread outward to better guide her descent, the ocean waves beating against the concrete island with crushing force below, hard enough to grind her bones to dust were she to fall short of her goal.
 
She landed inside the helicopter with a thump like a kitten plopping onto a pillow. Ada only had a moment to shift into her seat before the aircraft began to rise, salty spray puttering around the spinning blades with a muted hush, the sting of metal and oil feeling rather ripe over the delicate skin of her nose. Still, a small smile curved her lips as she gazed out over the grey, dull, and most of all dead complex, the neutral expression on her face carved from marble but a definite twinkle in her eye.
 
“Don’t worry; I’ll take good care of it.” Ada crooned, the encased parasite specimen dancing as she waved her trophy at him. It was a hypnotic purple behind the glass and felt uncomfortably damp beneath the pads of her fingers, like touching the wrist of a dying man. She shuddered to think just what Wesker intended to do with it, and was privately glad she had betrayed him already to The 3rd Organization. The man was mad… if he was even still a man, that is.
 
“Ada!” Leon bellowed over the roar of the chopper, though Ada knew the sound for the devastated yelp it was. All she could think about was the sweat between her shoulder blades and how good it would feel to rinse it all off— and perhaps think back on this moment then, and how it might have gone differently, when there wasn’t a floppy-haired federal agent looking at her like she’d just ripped the world out from under his feet.
 
It was a sickness, these feelings of attachment. She needed to leave (fight or flight, and she’d always picked the former until now,) before it got to her.
 
Poor, tired little Leon…

...

“Gotta go… If I were you, I’d get off this island, too,” The detonator felt light and innocuous in her hand, and continued to feel just as harmless after she pressed the button that would blow the entire place to kingdom come. Pulling the jet-ski key out from the tactical wear under her dress, the teddy bear keychain dangling against her wrist, Ada tossed it to Leon with a flick of her fingers. “Here, catch!”
 
He caught it. She ignored the way his bangs flopped over his eyes when he did. What a ridiculous man, she thought savagely, and what a ridiculous mop of hair.
 
Shaking herself, Ada waved as the chopper began to change course, the stuttering jilt of the craft reminding her that this was no time to daydream what could have been. “Better get a move on,” she said, urging him on with the slight quirk of an eyebrow. “See you around.”
 
The deafening crashes of the waves dulled the further the helicopter pulled away from the island. Ada hooked one leg over the other, the first light of day casting a purplish glow over the rolling sea. She would need to contact her employer in a moment, the P.D.A. on her person felt particularly heavy with foreboding already, but for a time she remained still, the hounds of the coming day already snapping at nighttime’s heels.
 
Until, all of a sudden, night once again overpowered day and Ada felt herself be dropped into a chasm of complete darkness, as if she were a doll cast off by an uncharmed child. And… there was the child, grinning from ear to ear, with white skin that almost appeared to glow against the backdrop of impenetrable black.
 
“My name is Omni,” the grinning figure said, and Ada listened. “This is not the world you know.”

[Ada Wong]

As the last echoes of Omni’s words died away, so, too, did the venue of their meeting begin to fade.
 
The curtain was pulled away, dark space folding in on itself with a sigh, curling and furling upward in a sweep of dense velvet. A sheen of light bobbed on the periphery of her vision, twinkling and just out of reach, and she quickly became aware that she was slipping, slipping, slipping… slipping sideways, lungs compressed into a painful knot behind her ribs and the pinpricks of light growing nearer every second.

For a moment, she was suspended amid nothing but empty sky. No wind, no clouds, not even her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. This serenity wasn't made to last.
 
Screeching winds returned to whip past her ears and remind her to prepare to hit the ground. Despite her best efforts, the landing wasn’t so easy to anticipate. She landed with a jolt, dropping onto one knee as soon as her feet touched something solid, arms sweeping out in an effort to realign her stance into a crouch. Her movements were still executed with all the usual grace she possessed, spine dipping inward as the fabric of her dress slithered like crimson wings beside her legs, every inch comprised of fluid grace and silk.
 
Or, it would have been like that, if she hadn’t been too busy smashing through the surface of a shallow pond.
 
She gagged around a mouthful of water and pond scum, splashing into a sitting position with damp black hair plastered across her forehead and dripping into her eyes. One hand flew up to feel across her collar bone for a reassuring pulse, body shaking and shivering as it was wracked by coughs. Her heartbeat pulsed hotly in her ears as she wrestled for control over her own body. Being transported to a new universe and then promptly dropped from the sky would do that to a girl, she supposed, but it didn’t explain why it felt like the world was collapsing all around her.
 
"Quack! Quack quack quack!" The sound of flapping wings tore through her coughing fit, ripples of disturbed air fanning over her face. Ada's fingers slid over the knife holster strapped to her hip and the various hidden compartments in her clothing, searching for a weapon, first aid spray, anything; she was running on autopilot, utilizing every scrap of stored knowledge seared onto her hard drive.

The familiar motions soothed her and, gradually, after determining that she was not under attack, a bit of blessed clarity slowly crept back into her brain, apprising her of how still and quiet the water was. Only a watery burbling somewhere close to her ear continued under the riot of quacking. The gritty sound of her back molars clicking at the base of her skull mostly overran that awareness, but she was at last able to swallow down the urge to vomit.

Ada’s head lolled back, a muffled groan on her lips. The quacking simmered down somewhat, but definitely did not cease.
 
The faint trickling of water only registered after a few droplets sprinkled over her skin, giving away the location of the fountain behind her. Rocking forward so that she could settle onto the balls of her feet, the red-clad spy cursed whatever idiot had decided to place a pond in that exact spot.

Still, it was rather pretty. A mess of lily pads was scattered over the water's surface and gave off a shiny green glimmer, the ripples set off by her movements stirring their filament-like roots and causing them to bob gently. Exquisite orange flowers bloomed in places, too, flush with clear dew and light, but this wasn't what occupied Ada's attention the most. No, definitely not. A brood of fuzzy yellow ducklings was scattered beside the pond's rounded stone edge, feet dabbling in the fountain and soft peep-peep-peeps echoing out. Larger ducks with brown plumage and brightly-colored crests flapped their wings at her in a display meant to ward her off, chests puffed out in challenge.

The woman blinked slowly at the irate fowl, then at the soaked folds of her dress floating around her knees.
 
Shaking her head, Ada raked one hand through her hair as she stood, nails scraping dully at her scalp and droplets shivering off from her form. Flicking a slimy scrap of water lettuce from her fingers, she glanced around, intending to learn just where she was. Pure, untouched white spread out beyond the pond-fountain's reach, caught somewhere between the artificial shine of linoleum flooring and the grainy, slow drag of marble that reminded her of a museum’s floor. Everything felt steadier, but her mind hurriedly revolted at the idea that she could be… safe … for even a moment.
 
This was alien ground, after all. Alien ground filled with unfamiliar, unseen enemies no doubt lying in wait (aside from the ducks); it was just like every other infernal, disease-ridden hellhole she was hired to investigate. She could not rest. Monsters were nearby, even if they were mostly theoretical.
 
A flash of heat followed by a creeping chill swept over her, the fine hairs on the back of her neck rising in anticipation. Ada's fingers twitched. She wasn't alone.

"Well, well, well...if it isn't miss Ada Wong. Or...what was it your friend Krauser called you? 'The Bitch in the Red Dress?'"

It was a touch... difficult to discern over the confused quacking, but she would know that condescending tone of voice anywhere. Albert Wesker. Damn. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Out of the corner of her eye she could make out a dark figure moving in a slow, almost casual arc towards her, like a cat lazily stalking its prey. A sense of being both hunter and hunted swept over her from head to foot, but any fear she might have felt did not manifest physically. She was too well-trained for that.

Ada turned, arms smoothly tucked behind her and a faint smile curving her lips. "Oh? Am I that famous among dead men, Albert?"

[Albert Wesker]

Wesker's surveying of the distant horizon swiftly proved fruitless. His vision was still swimming, his head still aching and pounding. One hand gently massaged his temples, gloved fingertips softly kneading at the sickly, pallid flesh. His teeth were clenched firmly behind a tight, grim scowl. But...he had an idea. Anything he could desire. His free hand held up at his side, palm up, as his mental focus turned to a simple task.

Minutes later, the summoning process was complete. The glow of the rainbow substance diminished, fading away and leaving behind a pair of binoculars in his upheld hand. "How convenient." The hand at his temple came down, pulling his sunglasses off, and the binoculars were raised to his eyes. Peering through the magnification devices, he again scanned the distant horizon. It was still hard to make out much detail, even with this level of aid. The featureless distance made it difficult to judge, but it looked like several miles at the least, to whatever they were. Some kind of archways, perhaps? Markers of some kind of passageway. From this distance, details couldn't be made out, but they were landmarks, which gave him something to aim for when he set out to explore more closely.

"Quack!"

His focus was interrupted, and drawn back to the area immediately near him. The binoculars lowered, as he turned to look back over his shoulder. "Ducks?" There was the faintest note of confusion in his voice, as his eyes flicked over the scene at hand. The fountain there...was it different? His brow furrowed, eyes squinting in consternation at this sudden change. The binoculars in his hand were stored away in an interior pocket of his coat. "What is the meaning of this..." He took his sunglasses in both hands, gently sliding them back into place over his eyes. There was no sign of life in this fountain just minutes before. Plant and waterfowl, it had been empty of both. It as incredibly bizarre, to say the least.

......

Slowly, Wesker paced around the fountain. A dozen paces away from it, sweeping around it in a lazy arc. "Still the same charming personality as ever, I see," he commented. There was a faint smirk plastered on his face, overriding the grim, pained scowl. As awful as he felt, the chance to finally get his revenge on the likes of Ada Wong was enough to soothe every lingering ache and pain, even if it was only temporarily. "I didn't believe it, at first...when I was told that I could have anything I desired upon my arrival here." His arms shifted, one hand coming up and lightly tapping at the edge of his temple with one finger. "But even thoughts in the back of my mind, that I'd given up on...seem to find an answer, without even actively thinking about them." He continued his slow, lazy circuit of the fountain, shaded eyes watching the woman as she slowly clambered out of the fountain.

Ada's expression was as hard to read, as ever. Say what you would about her, but she was skilled about keeping her thoughts masked. She remained unperturbed as she touched down on the smooth, featureless white 'ground' of this place. "You'll have to be a little more specific. I've got no idea what you're talking about."

"Playing dumb doesn't become you, miss Wong." Wesker's posture had shifted, arms hanging loosely at his sides. One hand was held limp, at ease and relaxed. The other, however...on the far side, away from the object of his frustrations, was curled into an ugly, clawed fashion, fingertips drawn up and nearly facing his palm. Ready to lash out, like a wild animal. "Your little betrayal during the incident in Spain set me back quite a long while. I was still able to get my hands on the sample of Las Plagas I needed...and the one you provided was not without its uses. But the delays you and your little organization caused..." His expression shifted, with an alarming suddenness to an icy-cold scowl, any trace of amusement or geniality gone in an instant. "...was extremely bothersome."

There was only the barest flicker of recognition and surprise on the woman's face before her neutral mask of indifference return. "You've got quite an imagination, Albert..."

Wesker let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Didn't I just tell you not to play dumb? Your little antics cost me far more resources and time than you could know. Five years...time that could have been better spent analyzing and perfecting the composition of Uroburos!" His teeth bared in a snarl now. Dark, black veins pulsed on his face, his pale, graying skin suddenly seeming even more pale. Behind his sunglasses, a dim glow of red glimmered. "Forced to compromise, and begin my work with an inferior sample...not the master plaga I required. Forced ot splice and manipulate later, working backwards to make the already completed work compatible with the sample of the master plaga when I finally acquired it, lest we lose all our work and have to start from scratch."

"Even the intervention of that damnable B.S.A.A.!" There was venom in his voice now, and both hands had curled into fists, clenching so hard the leather of his gloves strained and groaned in protest. "The delays in my plan lead to its complete failure! Lead to my..." His voice faltered, and there was a stagger in his posture. A wordless grunt, as of his breath catching, or of extreme pain, and he fell back half a pace, a hand lifting to clutch at his heart, the other going to his head. Damn it all...he was still too weak for this. Too weak to fully exploit his powers and demolish this miserable, wretched little creature.

Ada's expression remained uneffected by the sudden onslaught of information. If she had had any reaction to it at all, she didn't show it. "Your what, Albert?"

"My death!" he snarled in response. "Do you have any idea of the agony...of being bested at every turn by someone who has been a thorn in your side for YEARS, miss Wong? To have your plans dismantled by a pair of bumbling fools with more luck than actual sense?" His breathing was calming and his posture corrected, more by sheer force of will than anything. "To have your entire ambition and life's work amount to naught, and be burned to nothing in the fires of the earth itself?" He finally stopped pacing, turning to face Ada directly. "It has left me extremely...irritated. And as I said, this place has a habit of giving me exactly what I desire. One of the key aspects of all of my troubles and all of my failings, here to be broken and made to pay for her interference." A smirk returned to his face, as his eyes lifted to the sky. "I suppose I should thank you after all, Omni."

[Ada Wong]

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.

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[Albert Wesker]

The feeling of blood running down his hand as he clutched at it was as if liquid fire was pouring out of the wound. More than the actual blow from the knife, more than from having it wrenched out as he was kicked away and staggered back. It wasn't just the pain that was having such a profound effect on him. It was that he was feeling pain at all. The indignation of it all, the sudden realization that he could bleed again from being struck by a worthless human made the sanguine liquid oozing and spurting from his already accumulating wounds feel molten hot, burning at him and searing him straight to the core of where he was most vulnerable: his pride.

His wounded hand trembled, blood dripping to the ground of the nexus below. Already there was a spattering of droplets, quickly forming into a small puddle.

His uninjured hand dropped from clutching at the one bearing one of the sources of his indignation. "You say...that I am 'arrogant'." His voice was once again calm, the boiling venom and anger from moments before gone. "It is not arrogance that plagues me, miss Wong...no. My confidence is very well-founded."

He struck before the words had even finished leaving his lips. Like a cobra, he dashed forward, dropping into a low stance as he came. Ada reacted smoothly, sidestepping and bolting out of the way of the madman. He didn't slow his pace. He reached out with his blood-free hand, grasped the edge of the fountain and vaulted over it. He sailed over the water, flipping forward to plant his feet against the central spire. He slipped briefly on the slick stone, his feet sliding unsteadily before finding a solid purchase, and kicking off. On a rough, oblique angle, he sailed out back over the fountain, his momentum giving him enough reach to grasp the fountain's edge with both hands again and flip himself forward. He hit the ground of the nexus in a roll, and as he came back up he rested on one knee, his mangled hand clutching his ever-trusty firearm.

Ada, still in the midst of her dodge of his initial charge, turned about in bewilderment to see what had transpired, ducking into a ready stance, like a cat ready to spring. Her eyes immediately locked onto the barrel of the pistol staring her down. Samurai Edge barked once, twice, thrice, and she hastily scrambled out of the way. The three rounds missed by a fair margin, the injured hand doing the aiming not able to remain steady enough for true accuracy.

"You must be slipping, Albert...I'd heard you were a much better shot than that," the insufferable spy commented, standing back up straight.

"Do you always pay attention only to the obvious?" Wesker's tone had a trace of the former venom, his initial spike of ice-cold rage and indignation beginning to temper off and wither. It was an obstacle, now. It had only taken one instant, one series of injuries, to confirm his suspicious. He was weakened, quite dramatically so. Something Chris had done, perhaps the grievous overdose of the serum to balance his powers...perhaps the lingering effects of attempting to assimilate Uroburos. Perhaps it was just exhaustion, still recovering from his ordeals. Whatever it was, it left him with but one conclusion. He could not afford to let the snarling beast that he had become during his final encounter with Redfield out of the box. He was too weak, and that wild and savage strength could not overcome that simple fact. He would need to fall back on decades-old training. Cunning. Strategy. He would have to fight like a human.

A glimmer of steel shone between the fingers of his injury-free hand, and before Ada could register what it was, he had whipped his arm up and hurled it. It spun through the air, end over end, gleaming and sparkling in the sourceless light of the nexus. The secret agent only had time to dodge it thanks to sheer reflex, diving out of the way. She came up again in a crouch, quickly rising back up to prepare for anything else, and—

Bang.

A lance of searing, red-hot pain tore open her side, and a wet splattering of bright red blood painted the ground at her side and back. Her eyes went wide as she staggered unsteadily, one hand clutching at a sudden wound just above her hip. Her eyes darted over her shoulder, looking at what had been thrown at her. Embedded point-first in the ground of the nexus, still quivering from its impact, was one of her own knives. "You...when...?" An answer only came in the thundering clatter if boots crashing over the nexus toward her, and what felt like a hammer colliding with her head. She was knocked back, rolling over onto her back and over and over, sprawling out on her front. Coughing, she made to scramble back up, trying desperately to avoid any other such surprise attacks, but something heavy came down on the fresh gunshot wound in her side. It came down hard.

"Did you think I leaped over the fountain merely to show off?" Wesker's voice drifted down from somewhere above. The squeak and grind of leather as something twisted, grinding against the bullet-shaped rupture in her flesh confirmed he had stamped down on her again. "You should be careful about where you leave your knives lying around. They can be..." He applied more pressure, eliciting a wordless groan of agony from the prone spy. "...just as useful to your enemies as they are to you."

There was a sharp, sudden shing and a wet squelch and it felt as if a piece of white-hot steel had been jammed into his leg. "A-AGH!" He reacted instinctively, drawing back and delivering a kick to the red-clad woman, but it was clumsy. Poorly aimed. It only clipped her, sending her rolling along the ground with her own attempt to get away, and leaving Wesker to stumble and stagger back, dropping to one knee. Jammed clean through his leg, just below the knee, was another gleaming, silvery knife.

Behind his glasses, Wesker's eyes blazed red. His teeth ground against each other, bared for all the world to see, and his breaths sucked in slow and deeply through them. Again...he had been stabbed and made a fool of again, in less than a minute. "You continue...to prove yourself a most persistent thorn in my side..." he hissed, turning to spit a mouthful of blood upon the blank canvas he knelt upon.

"There's that arrogance...barely able to keep up, and you still think you're so superior." It was a front, Wesker knew. The calm, cool, collected tone and visage Ada wore. It was all a front, an act, designed to get under his skin and aggravate him. He knew that. But it was working.

His gloved fist smashed against the floor of the nexus. "I'll see you dead!" he snarled, forcing himself back upright. Blood spurted worryingly past the knife lodged in his leg, and he let out a rasping hiss of pain, but remained standing. "You say I'm barely able to keep up...but I say I'm just getting started."

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[Ada Wong]

Ada shifted, attempting to curtail the pained grimace trying to worm its way onto her face. One hand clutched at the gash over her hip, applying pressure to stem the flow. Warm blood swelled out from between her fingers. While she hoped Wesker hadn’t managed to hit an artery, he was enough of an anatomically-knowledgeable bastard to do just that. It would be just plain embarrassing to go down from something as simple as exsanguination …

“That’s a little substandard,” Ada taunted, lifting one eyebrow. “Do I need to give you some time to find your walker, old man?” her voice abruptly lowered to a stage whisper, eyes widening in faux naivety. “Viagra?”

The tick of his jaw and the silent hiss of vacated air was all the warning she received before Wesker was upon her. Leopard-like ferocity powered the flurry of strikes he threw her way. She sidestepped a wicked haymaker and, sensing an opportunity, stepped into her opponent's guard to deliver a vicious uppercut to the bottom of his jaw.

It was like getting into a boxing match with a cement wall. Ada shook out her fingers, cringing when her knuckles crunched in protest. Her free hand caught the blade that emerged from her clothing in a whisper of fabric, deft fingers poised to throw－

A jab too swift for her eyes to track struck her exposed shoulder, a bolt of pain drilling into the tightly-coiled nerves. The force of the impact loosened her grip and the stiletto blade struck the ground with a metallic ping! Four strong fingers wrapped around her throat before she could recover with Wesker’s thumb dug into her rabbit-quick pulse point. Ada clawed at his arm as her feet were wrenched from the floor, her legs dangling so that she was brought to standing on her tiptoes to avoid certain strangulation.

“You would do well to keep your tongue in check, Miss Wong, unless you are overeager to have it ripped out,” Wesker said, face morphing into a contemptuous sneer. His lips twitched upward, the barest hints of amusement in his voice, and Ada grimaced at the cold steel edge of the handgun tapping against her cheek. “Surely you understand… that the measure of regard I hold for your life is of a despicably low calibre.”

Ada blinked, trying to breathe around the goddamn velociraptor claws tightening around her neck. Was that a fucking pun?

No, no— that was unimportant. She could think about whatever he was saying later, because right now, in that moment, his gloating was buying her time. The entry wound over her hip, lacerated flesh stretching and shearing with every breath, throbbed in reminder of that.

Ada’s hands slipped from where they were scratching at Wesker’s arm, but almost immediately returned to trail up his chest. Perfectly-manicured fingernails traced warm pathways over every subtle groove of his clothing, pausing just over his collarbone. Sighing airily, she draped her arms over his shoulders in what would have seemed to be the beginning of a waltz to an outside observer, letting her body fall limp in his clutches.

As she had hoped, surprise became noticeable in the sudden tenseness of his shoulders and the brief slackening of his hold around her throat. The woman looked up into his face, eyelashes dusting dark shadows over her cheeks, her pink lips parting as if to speak. Her own clever eyes winked back at her in the reflection of his sunglasses, twinkling with veiled delight.

Mouth crooking into a smile, Ada sighed, “Oh, Albert, you’re so good at dirty talk.”

Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a manic grin, palms pressing down hard on his shoulders and shoving. It was enough to dislodge his fingers from around her neck, though she could already feel punishing bruises blooming beneath her skin. In an instant she was flipping up into the air, body twisting into a vertically inverted position with gravity threatening to send her toppling over. She crumpled downward in a plume of vibrant red, angling her body in midair so she could lock her legs in a vice-grip around his head.

An inhuman sound of rage came from the man below her, vibrating against the insides of her thighs, but the point of listening to her sense of self-preservation was long past. Unlike the other horrors Umbrella had created, Wesker’s virus was… about as dangerous as a kitten, but only in that it hopefully lacked the pathogen necessary to trigger mutation in others. Essentially, he could bite her all he wanted to little effect and Ada could strangle him to her heart’s content.

Pain and sweat clouded her vision and stung like vinegar in her eyes, a forest fire of desperation snarling in her breast. Her fingernails and knuckles tore at his head, shoulders, and face, anywhere she could reach. The woman did her best to resist Wesker’s attempts to rip her off, her back arching with fluid grace to avoid his grasping hands. Blood and skin collected under her fingernails, trails of ripped skin slicing across his countenance, the clusters of muscle over his arms resistant to her touch. The dead pulse at his neck leapt like a rabid dog straining against its chains. It was satisfying and sickening in equal measure.

Tiring of this little game, Wesker grasped the secret agent’s legs firmly and pitched towards the ground, dragging Ada along for the ride.

They crashed to the pristine Nexus floor, though it wasn’t so pristine anymore. Syrupy-black blood streaked across the hospital-white ground, a landscape of violence spiking in long, thin veins around the fountain’s perimeter. Small droplets freckled the ground like an afterthought, congealing in the large, lethargic puddle of red beginning to pool under their tangled bodies.

Cruel fingers dug further still into the bleeding bullet-slice on her leg, pressing and sending shockwaves of numbing pain straight down to the bone.  A raw twinge came from her hip and a trickle of warmth trailed down her side, the wound rupturing and spitting out gouts of blood. Crushed under the superhuman's full weight, all Ada could do was wring out one of her knives and swipe it in a sawing motion in the direction of the offending arm, bucking her hips in the hopes of throwing him off.

Ada’s heart stuttered in her chest as Wesker’s elbow slammed backwards into her solar plexus, tears blurring her vision and her lungs hiccupping around a choked gasp. The explosive report of Samurai Edge shattered her eardrums, but her struggling had knocked his aim somewhat off-kilter, the bullet shooting into the fountain-pond's surface with a suction-y fwhorp and sending up a silvery splash like a fallen comet.

Wesker disentangled himself from their pile-up of murderous intent, chest heaving in triumph. He turned just in time to see Ada dash backward and sink into a half-crouch, shifting onto the balls of her feet so as not to slip in the wash of gore covering the ground.

She sucked in a sharp, shallow breath when she realized the ever-present sunglasses had been dislodged. Long, red welts were scored across the ridges of nose and cheeks from where she had raked her fingernails over his face, his ordinarily perfectly-styled hair reduced to utter disarray, blonde strands spiking out in wild directions. Most startling of all, however, were the fiery orange eyes glaring back at her, the reptilian pupils sending a paralyzing shudder down her spine. No, Wesker wasn’t human... Not at all.

Sensing her unease, Wesker’s teeth bared in a frightening grin. “Getting cold feet already?”

A short click! and the unfolding of a bulky crossbow in Ada’s hands served as answer enough. “Fat chance, old man.”

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[Albert Wesker]

A haze drifted across his vision. Bloody red, filtering over everything. Equal parts rage and actual life blood, slowly oozing from the countless scratches and gouges now adorning his face. A dull film of grimy black cast further shadow over his eyes, lopsided sunglasses only covering one eye fully. Bent and mangled beyond easy wear, he slowly raised an arm, grasping them in a clawed hand and tugging them free of his face as the impertinent bitch prepared her crossbow.

Though he was absolutely loathe to admit it...he was in dire straits. Beaten and battered, still confused and out of sorts. Agony still crawled through his very bones, from a source not born of this fight. But above all, the problem stared at him, from the hands of the damn spy. Razor-sharp, deadly, and aimed directly at him. He was familiar with the weapon, knew exactly what kind of punch it could pack. Exactly how grievous of a wound it could make. He could have just opened fire, the ever-reliable handgun still clutched in his hand sure to score true at this range. The complication with that, though... He'd been keeping track of his shots, as well as the weapon's weight. Down to just two more before needing to reload. Two shots wouldn't be enough.

Behind his snarling expression, all those thoughts and more raced through his mind in the span of a second. He had little time to think, and so...

He acted instead.

He dropped forward, halfway into a sprinter's stance. He favored his non-knifed leg, using it to push off and launch himself forward into a charge. The reaction was immediate. A bolt from the crossbow covered the distance between them in the blink of an eye, the deadly-razor point glinting in the split-second he had to observe it. He dropped flat. Leaning heavily on his injured leg, letting the pain and reflex to buckle help him down, he collapsed in a heap. The bolt struck him in the shoulder, rather than full in the chest as it would have, sending him spinning further in his toppling motion.

Sprawling out on the ground, onto his back, he let out a wheezing rattle of breath. Blood spurted from between his teeth as he coughed, clouding over the pain with rage, and sheer determination. The arm his handgun came up, over his head, swaying and trembling as he zeroed in on Ada's form. She was moving again, not presenting an easy target. The gun flashed and spat once, twice...then clicked empty, and she was out of sight behind the fountain. For the moment.

His momentum was slowed, as he slowly rolled himself over. Bracing himself with his good arm -- if 'good' was still a qualifier, in his current condition -- he gingerly pushed up. First he slowly worked one leg under himself. Then the other, much more slowly with the knife still lodged in his knee. Finally, he was on his feet again, staggering and unsteady. "Running away from a fight and hiding..." he hissed, lurching into a heavy stride toward the fountain. "I suppose...I shouldn't be surprised..."

The only response he got was a deadly one, in the form of the sharp tink of metal hitting stone, and a small spattering of sparks. He had time to register it: a crossbow bolt, hitting the rim of the fountain just in front of him, and then his vision was filled with fire.

The explosive bolt sent him stumbling blindly. Hands dropped what they held, ruined glasses and handgun alike, to clatter on the smeared canvas he slipped over. Several paces he made it, before he he pitched over, and hit the rim of the fountain. Pain spiderwebbed out across his back from the point of impact, and his body went rigid, as he slowly slid down, under the water. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

He had already been enraged beyond measure. Now he was just confused. He hadn't heard a thing, hadn't seen a thing. How had she gotten behind him like that, managed to fire from that angle? A surprise attack, catching him so completely off-guard. It was her forte, of course... Direct engagement and confrontation was not how she operated. Should have been something he saw coming. Some trick, some means of just sneaking out of sight, hiding in plain view. Besides this damn fountain there was nothing else she could have hidden behind, used for cover to scamper off and earn a chance to fire from that angle.

Above the water, he could see her. Just like all the others always did, approaching the site where he fell. Like her precious Leon. Like Chris, and his partner had done. Always walking right up, checking to make sure their latest kill was actually dead. That it wasn't going to just jump back up and continue the fight, like so many of Umbrella's horrors had done before. Staring down into the water, at Wesker's shrouded and blurred form, covered as much by the shimmering water as by a dense layer of bubbles and thick, black sludge oozing from his veins. She peered intently down, weapon still at the ready, not about to be fooled that easily.

Wesker clenched his teeth, holding in what breath he had left. Willing himself to calm down. Go quiet, lower his racing heart and stem the tide of rage in his mind. Quell the bloodfloow. Dim the glow of his eyes. He let his head drift back, resting on the bottom. The signs of his struggling ceased. The water grew calm again, only stained by the disgusting, viral-laced blood which had already poured from his injuries. For several seconds they both waited, silently baiting each other out. Wesker fighting a desperate battle to keep his composure, hold his breath just a little longer. Ada, crossbow still at the ready, observing from above the water, not willing to fall for another trick or something as simple as playing dead.

...but eventually she relaxed. Her posture sagged ever so slightly, crossbow dipping just a few inches from its ready to fire stance. "All that fire, put out by a little water..." she mused.

The only warning she got was a blaze of red from under the water, Wesker's eyes glowing brightly, and he was leaping upward. Ignoring the pain in his limbs, the muscle-deadening blood loss already incurred, and the resistance of the water. He pushed up, surging through the murky liquid. Breaking the surface in a spray of water and blood, he hurled himself up, over, and out of the fountain, crashing into the spy in scarlet. A savage, wordless snarl, and he was on her. The crossbow bolt in his shoulder dug and tore further, scraping in the wound, and only pushed him further in his manic state. The hand at the end of that arm lashed out and struck, over and over and over... A crazed, out of rhythm motion, hammering against her with all the force his exhausted body could put behind it. His other arm grappled with her, hand closed around her crossbow and fighting to rip it from her grasp.

Every blow, every jerk and spasm in their struggle earned a pained wheeze from one and a sickening gasp from the other. "This...ends...now!" Wesker growled through clenched teeth, blood staining and marring the otherwise 'perfect' grin.

It was all interrupted as his left knee was set aflame. One of her heels struck the knife, still lodged into his flesh, and broke his concentration, just for one moment. He pitched to one side, his grasp weakening, and she ripped her crossbow free of his hand. Staggering back, she struggled to bring it up to aim, even as he pounced.

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[Ada Wong]

Ada hesitated for too long. It was a beginner’s mistake, and one that she likely wouldn’t forget long afterwards.

The impending danger registered instantly, Wesker’s blurred movements appearing to sharpen and swerve into focus despite the weariness Ada could feel building in her limbs. Her attempts to fire another bolt from her crossbow were feeble at best, her fingers fumbling over the smooth metal and her only functional wrist moving far slower than her mind demanded. It was too late for her to dodge, too late for another one of her clever explosive arrows, and yet—

Teeth clenched in frustration, Ada gave up all hope of using the crossbow for its intended purpose, let it fall into the grip of her strongest arm, and swung it with all her might at Wesker’s face.

There was a nastily wet shredding noise as the bulky metal armament struck true, the familiar sound of skin and muscle splitting setting all the hairs of her body on end. The crossbow hit the ground with a loud clatter, and yet Ada didn’t have the time to feel satisfied— the strike didn’t appear to have fazed Wesker at all. He hadn’t deviated one centimeter from his original path of destruction, that same crazed demonic fire blazing in his eyes, and it was all she could do to raise her arms in a pathetic barrier as they crashed into each other.

Ada grunted, her nails raking futilely across his cheek as the heel of his palm smashed into her windpipe. She fell back, pain erupting in her lungs and a suffocating dizziness taking over, her arms helplessly drawn inward in a reflexive effort to protect her injured side. A ragged noise, somewhere between a wheeze and a sob, hissed past her teeth. Bleeding severely, the alabaster floor streaked with viscous crimson, Ada’s spirited efforts to stay alive at last seemed to be exhausted.

She stumbled drunkenly backward, attempting to go on the retreat, and was surprised by the cool rush of the fountain’s water lapping just above her ankles. She glanced down. The small pool was still seething and sizzling with the oily black substance that Wesker bled. A disgusted look appeared on the woman’s face as the necrotic fluid appeared to churn and billow beneath the tepid surface, the stuff dragging along the satiny red of her dress. Then, as her adversary stalked forward with all the confined savagery of a tiger’s tread, Ada felt inspired.

After a moment of grasping at the holster strapped to her leg, a gun-like gadget appeared in Ada’s hand. It shone like silver under the glow of the Nexus, whirring oddly as the spy inspected it.

Wesker, predictably, recognized the hookshot gun at once, but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what the little pest intended to do with it. The only suitable structure that she might propel herself towards would be the fountain, yet someone with Miss Wong’s skillset surely recognized the futility of trying to escape him using such miserable means. The woman was plainly grasping at straws; her eyes skittered around as she continued to back away from him, stirring deeper into the water, knuckles whitening as her grip tightened around the ‘weapon’.

Sssshfnk! The hook shrieked forward, the rope extending with a shiver of repeated mechanical clinks. Wesker dodged the metal trappings easily, whirling on Ada with the intent to crush her under his boot once and for all.

Striking the white ground with a grating screech, the hook jerked and fell slack once it failed to latch onto anything, razor-thin barbs glinting, and it was only then that the device began to reel the cable back in with exceptional speed. The hook whistled without a sound through the air, jolting violently as it sank into the meat at the bend of the man’s knee. Wesker hissed, leg jerking as he reached down to forcibly rip it out from his flesh.

Feeling impatient, Ada gave the damn thing a final tug to throw him off balance— a ploy which barely worked, only succeeding in returning his full attention to her— before darting through the shallow water to bowl him over with her full weight. This was met with mixed results, chiefly because of the difference in mass between the two, but with the hookshot’s help Ada was able to pull his leg out from under him, the pair crashing into the shallows in a rupture of roiling, splashing pondwater.

There was no need to speak, no last words Ada was particularly interested in hearing. Her broken fingers scrabbled at the man’s throat, thumbs digging into his adam’s apple as powerfully as she could muster, all the sensitive points that she had learned to exploit throughout the years. Pain lanced through her side as Wesker clawed at her, attempting to dislodge the woman from where she had him pinned to the ground, and still Ada held firm, boring down with all her weight onto her arms, trapping his head under the water and baring her teeth in a fierce grin as the lack of oxygen added to his frenetic rage. Spumes of lathery bubbles rose to the boiling surface, stained scarlet and inky black from the mixture of their blood.

To Ada, this struggle seemed to go on for years. In reality, it only lasted a few minutes at best. All the fight slowly leeched out of Wesker’s body, his angrily hooked fingers dropping from where they had dug into the wounds already inflicted, the fiery red light of his eyes waning as his eyelids fell shut.

For a long moment, all Ada could do was crouch there, her hands still in place to confirm this wasn’t another fake-out. Blood and tears brought on solely by pain dripped from her face, harsh pants ringing in her ears as she attempted to compose herself. Her shoulders heaved, her head ached, and almost every part of her was battered and bruised, her pale skin tinted all over with blooms of raw hurt.

A morbid compulsion prompted her to drag his body out of the water and roll him onto the white floor, her eyes alight like a fisherman inspecting a harpooned shark. He was heavier than she might have guessed from watching him fight, all corded muscle converted to deadweight, and she huffed as she dumped him onto the ground, stooping over to clutch at her wounded hip.

“Even in death you’re a pain in my side,” Ada said wryly, but froze when she noted the weak rise and fall of his chest. “Or… not.”

So, he wasn’t dead. Ada rocked back on her heels, taking a moment to consider the apparently unconscious man before her. It figured it would take more than a little dip in a pond to off Albert Wesker. A knife was soon clutched between her fingers, her grip tightening as she prepared to plunge it straight through his eye socket.

But, something gave her pause. The knife lowered, returning to a hidden cache inside one of her stiletto heels. Catching sight of her reflection in the water, Ada studied the dark bruises covering her bare arms, her face, and the wash of gore soaking through the fabric of her dress.

She ground her teeth together in irritation, marveling at her reluctance to end this all now. He certainly wouldn’t have hesitated. But the question remained… would it really end here? That mysterious figure, Omni, had advised her not to fear death. Not that she had ever truly feared it anyway, not in her line of work. Wesker had undoubtedly received the same spiel.

Ada was not an idiot. She understood that leaving him alive would likely serve as a greater insult than killing Wesker outright, and that he would not think twice about destroying her if she was unlucky enough to run into him again. That idea held some appeal, for sure, but again, priorities.

The knife returned and shifted in her grip, glinting dangerously. Again, she hesitated.

Killing him would sow permanent seeds of discord. The strategist in her turned it over in her mind, examining past experiences and times where Wesker had given away an entirely self-serving sense of mercy, but mercy nonetheless. And if there was one thing she held above all else, Ada mused with a soft smirk, it was returning favors.

It was decided. She would leave him here, insensible and heavily injured, but certainly alive. She needed to move quickly, now— there was no telling when the ‘beast’ would awaken. The blank vista around her was appearing more and more hellish by the second to her aching body, and yet she was not so keen to explore whatever further suffering her former employer might inflict upon her should he wake up. But, before she would leave…

Ada remembered the radiant, pulsing sphere given to her by Omni, and the pale being’s baffling words. If you desire it enough, you will find it. You will find that using it comes naturally. Just think of what you desire most…

The woman closed her eyes, feeling incredibly stupid as she pictured what she desired most in that moment. A cozy feeling spread from her chest down to her fingertips, spreading warmth like mild liquor down her throat. Her eyebrows knit together as she fixated on this idea for several long moments, only the sound of the fountain’s waters breaking her concentration. When she felt the warmth gradually beginning to recede, Ada opened her eyes.

A small note appeared in her hand with a glimmer of rainbow light, four words already written across it. Smiling faintly, Ada stuck it to Albert’s face with entirely too much satisfaction, patting his cheek lightly to ensure it stayed. There.

Don’t be a stranger. ;-)

Turning and with one last glance around, Ada chose a direction at random and limped westward.

SPARED THE ANGERY SUNGLASSES. GREAT FIGHT, FRIEND.