#malviral

being on albert wesker's good side was a terrifying thing. ethan still wasn't sure if he was right for what he was doing. while he hated chris, maybe allying with his arch nemesis was not really a great idea. mia would kill him. out of all the bad decisions, they just kept piling up more and more and more. but albert had also given him solace, without realizing it. someone who didn't think the world of chris redfield or have him on a stupid fucking pedestal.

maybe wesker did, but in a weird cynical way. ethan wasn't going to ask.

@malviral​ liked this post for a chibi!

Africa was always so gods damned hot. The heat got to Darck in unpleasant ways, but at least she had long since gotten used too it. Not nearly as bad as her fucking hell in Cairo a few years back. This was much more bearable, and over the years, the woman had become far more versatile in locations and adapting to the environment. But that didn’t mean she had to fucking like it.

Was supposed to be fast and easy. Reconnaissance and be the anonymous information provider. Course there was still details and information that had been fed out from here for the American’s, for the BSAA. But Darck was not a woman that did anything at half, always went fully all in. At this point however, anything she got may be too late. She heard people had been deployed, knew who it was. She had limited time. Thankfully however, the woman had made it too some ancient ruins, collecting intelligence and knowledge. As well as a couple of informative note books of previous old travelers. This place could easily be confused for something supernatural, but it sure as fuck wasn’t. It was entirely organic, but twisted into something else. Thanks to Umbrella’s work here years ago. That didn’t matter any more. Darck had what she wanted and needed, thus she needed to leave. Jumping between the shadows and using her supernatural abilities in this heat and place of the world was exhausting. And nothing here was safe to feed on.

The woman took a moment to pause in a large room, cool and under ground, surrounded by these silent ruins. Removing a saved blood bag from the inner confines of the unnatural trench coat, twisting the plastic tip end off. Proceeding to sip upon the opened top as if it were a macabre juice box. Enjoying the brief feeding to get what she needed, drinking deep- senses flared too life. Hair stood on end as her senses sharpened. A dangerous scent met the woman’s nostrils. A familiar one that had her already feeling the anger boil. One final gulp, and the plastic stuffed away- Darck bolted to a high corner, and behind a pillar. Keeping herself crouched in darkness at the ceiling, defying gravity.

“ what the fuck were you thinking ? ” RESIDENT EVIL 2 SENTENCES 

truth   is   .   he   wasn’t   thinking   .   chris   redfield   tends   to   fly   by   the   seat   of   his   pants   in   most   scenarios.   once   one   plan   goes   wrong   ,   and   another   strategy   obliterated   by   unforeseen   circumstances   .      what   else   is   there   to   do   than   to   put   his   brain   to   work   to   figure   out   a   better   solution   .   yeah   .      it   was   all   against   protocol   ,   but   fuck   .   when   it’s   a   life   or   death   situation   ,   what   else   is   he   SUPPOSED   to   do   .   no   doubt   chief   irons   ,   will   have   his   badge   for   this   one   .   that   fucker   ,   the   sleeze   he   is   ,   has   been   looking   for   a   reason   to   can   chris’   ass   since   he   walked   through   the   door   of   the   precinct   for   the   first   time   .   didn’t   help   when   chris   had   the   audacity   to   go   under   the   radar   about   shit   irons   has   been   doing   on   the   downlow   .   all   of   it   ,   didn’t   work   in   his   favor   and   only   has   made   his   life   HARDER   .   see   something   ,      say   something   .   pfft.   BULLSHIT.   

the   scolding   that   comes   from   the   captain   ,   is   EXPECTED   ,   but   it   doesn’t   help   when   albert   is   giving   him   THAT   LOOK   of   pure   disappointment   .   goddamnit   .   like   he   thought   this   could   get   any   worse   .   his   back   is   pressed   against   the   wall   in   the   locker   room   .   his   face   has   seen   better   days   and   there   is   one   hell   of   a   headache   brewing   .   a   gash   sits   above   his   eye   but   its   already   been   stitched   before   he   got   here   .   chris   lifts   his   hands   in   defeat   without   bothering   to   look   up   at   his   superior   .   ❝      i   guess   i   wasn’t   .   ❞

@malviral the starter we were talking about ❤️

Infuriating. Few things are, nowadays, and yet, every now and then, a rare gem of a situation will show itself and reveal that, yes, she can indeed still be irritated beyond belief. The past months have been hard enough as it is, and there's a part in her, beyond her triumph, that's still grappling with anger about the absurdity of what her reality has become. Ada lets out a small sigh as she tightens off the bandage wrapped around her shoulder. She's fine, of course she is, but the aftermath of her latest clean-up mission could have gone less.. messily. Her injuries are minimal, only a few cuts, caused by debris and shrapnel flying everywhere in the wake of the explosions she'd caused.

The bed she's on is uncomfortable to say the least, but when one is on the run, there's rarely five star hotels to stay in, especially in rural eastern asia. There's a tall mirror opposite the bed, one she'd dragged there from across the room, to make her job of patching herself up easier. It had served its purpose, and Ada was finishing up the bandages around her left arm. Keeping wounds clean and wrapped was imperative, especially with a new job on the horizon.

The plan is to leave tonight, at a time when everyone in the small, worn down inn is asleep, so she has a couple of hours to rest- it has been a while since that was an option. She throws a glance to the pile of clothes she won't be wearing again, stained with blood, dust and gunpowder. It's unlikely she'll return to where she got them, but she'll have to replace her small yet convenient wardrobe anyways.

For now, Ada leaves behind the red she's grown attached to, on one hand, because she doesn't have red options available, but on the other, she's going to be travelling, so remaining incognito is important until she gets to her next mission. The black dress she wears resembles her red dress in style, being made of thick, warm fabric, with a high turtleneck and long sleeves, and it allows her to move around freely, which is her main preference in clothes.

Her phone pings, a sound it makes when notifying her of a message in a secure channel, and Ada sighs. Her new mission's employers must be in a rush. Reaching over on the bed to grab it, she gives it a disinterested glance, only to pause all her movements and freeze in place. The message is indeed in a secure channel, but it's a private channel, one only her and one other person have access too. The message has no words, it's just coordinates. The anger in her swells as she puts two and two together and moves to stand, a bit too quickly, but she swallows the sting of pain with a quirk of her brow.

Her things are packed within minutes, and Ada finds herself wondering how she's got into a situation like this again. She'll have to take a public service flight to get to where she needs to quickly, she doesn't have time to gain access to her own means of transportation, and although she is used to far louder noise than chatter, the ten hour flight is the worst ten hours of her life so far.

For the rest of the way, she buys a car in the nearest city- under a false name and quickly enough to not be caught on any camerase. Ada stays in the city for a while, not to test the messenger's patience, but to wait for rain- it'll cancel out tire marks in the road of the forest she's driving into. It's a couple of hours of driving in complete wilderness, and it's significantly better than the flight. Reaching the surprisingly intact facilty found at the coordinates she was sent, Ada stands outside the doors for a while. Unlike the gigantic industrial complexes and company-owned buildings she's infiltrated before, this is a simple looking forest house. The door is unlocked, obviously, but Ada knows better than to take this as a sign of trust.

Her gun is loaded and bears a silencer, and Ada wastes no time holding it out in front of her as she makes her way through the relatively modern interior of the large cabin. She knows what she's looking for without being told, and the door to the office is kicked down, not opened. The weapon remains pointed, moreso now than before, directed towards the man sitting behind the desk in this room. Ada tries to sound as unbothered as possible, but her finger on the trigger speaks volumes for her.

❝ You better have a good explanation, or I swear, I will shoot you, Wesker. Your audacity is astounding. ❞

Scientists. Even with all her knowledge, Ada never was one for the finer art of it. She was no doctor, and although she had played the role of a nurse or a biochemist before for a job, it wasn't her calling. Too formal, too many words, not enough action. Doctors were a nuisance, believing themselves to be above everyone else merely because they were the ones to cure or cause illnesses. She tolerates them for a living, especially Wesker. ❝ I suppose I should be grateful for that, doctor. ❞ The title is spoken with an amused tone of disapproval, and her eyes narrow at the proximity. Wesker always knows how to toe that line between being too close and being too far away to make an impression. Most people fear him for that ability, the way he can make his presence so very oppressive. Ada never was- he was simply another powerful man who thought of intimidation as his best tactic to keep her in line. Lucky for her, very unlucky for most former employers. Wesker is not like the others. They are overly touchy, at times, demanding, usually ignorant of her nature. Self-serving, loyal only to her own cause, and mostly- indifferent to emotion. Wesker is different. He does not act out of impulse, he doesn't overstep out of anger, even if he is furious, he leads with the mind. It's entertaining, and almost- almost intriguing. He treats her an opponent at the same time as he pays her, their cooperation like a very dangerous game of chess, as he watches her every move. They are on opposite sides of the board, and yet he controls it almost entirely. If he was more arrogant, he'd make sure the control was unmistakeably his. For unexplainable reasons, however, he allows her closer to a check mate than he should. Closer than any other man would, and she tests her limits more than a woman in her position should. However, Albert Wesker is more than a chess player. His pawns are not just the pieces on his side, but the whole board. She moves pieces in his puzzle, arranging them to make her moves, but ultimately, Ada knows she's testing boundaries of his command. It's the dance of seeing how far he'll allow her that makes this job worthy of loyalty- not trust, no. But loyalty? That is a currency that is realistic, if highly inaccessible, these days.

❝ Such lavish praise. ❞ Ada responds with the raise of a dark eyebrow. Praised for something as simple as telling the truth.. Sometimes, Wesker surprised her. This interaction is surprising. His personal intervention coming to her rescue, his lingering in this small, old room. His snidy attitude, and most of all, his insistent, loud, and frankly, uncharacteristically obvious dislike of Leon. Ada is not fond. She never has been, of any man. Or woman, for that matter. Surely not of a rookie cop, one whom she is attempting to introduce onto the chess board between her and Wesker as a pawn of her own. A pawn that she knows could bring rewards to both of their endgames. Fondness? No. The look Wesker receives is that of an angry serpent.

❝ I'll keep the embarrassment to a minimum. ❞ She seethes, tilting her head as her displeased expression turns to a smirk. And with Ada, a smirk is much like the stafford's gambit. A false loss, which she turns to a crushing victory. ❝ You don't own me, Wesker. I'm not your pet, and a blatant execution of a special agent will cost you extra. It takes more to cover up. ❞ She leans on the windowsill, and her tone is not at all as accusatory as it should be. She says it matter-of-factly, throwing the statement towards him like one throws dice when taking a turn in a game. 'Good Girl', he'd said, in the same sentence as he called Leon a dog. Leon, whose name he said as though it was an insult. Interesting. ❝ Leon can be of use. An asset. ❞ Ada is careful to pronounce the name slowly, almost with interest, even though they both know it's something else entirely. A gambit- a play of intellect, not emotion. ❝ Dogs are so very loyal, Wesker. Blindly, sometimes. That makes them a wonderful choice in pets. One simply has to say 'fetch' in the right tone. I'm more than aware of the right tone to use. Especially with our government mutt. ❞ When she trails off, her smirk is genuine, even though his words still put an incredulous note in her mind. Wesker tests limits too, just like her. It's what makes this worth her time, money aside. It wasn't just financial demand that made Ada Wong unaffordable to most.

@malviral moved to here for visibility purposes

Even before he knew his name; even never having met him... from as young as he can remember, the absence of his father was something he was always keenly aware of. It's funny, how much the lack of something can have just as much of an impact as something that's present. He remembers having always loathed him, blaming him for so many of his troubles in life - if dad hadn't left, his mother wouldn't be so sad all the time. If he was still here, they might be able to afford her medical bills - if he hadn't abandoned them, they wouldn't be struggling just to get by every day.

Those feelings never really wavered, even when his mother didn't feel the same. She always kept loving Albert, and she was never quite able to hide it, not even for Jake. Sure, as he grew up, there were moments where he wondered about him, wishing he could meet him... even fantasizing about the life they could've had together, as father and son... but those fleeting fantasies never lasted long, and after each one, Jake only found his hatred deepening further as he realized what he could never have.

If his mum hadn't mentioned him in her final words, maybe he would've been able to move on long ago... But after learning what a monster Albert Wesker truly was, it was like the wound his father had given him had ripped right open again, and he'd thought it might not ever go away. It hadn't felt like closure at all. And every file he eventually found on the man had only made him feel more lost, no matter how many he read.

So facing him now, it's a strange feeling that's overcome him. One half of him is anxious, not knowing what to say or do, almost as if he's become a kid again - yet the other half feels calmer than ever. As if some part of him knew it was always leading up to this. Maybe it helps that Wesker doesn't know who he is... or maybe his conversations with Sherry leading up to this helped more than he thought.

"Well, you look just like how I imagined you would." Jake says, almost nonchalant, but his gaze is too intense for that to be anything but a facade. "Can't say that's much of an achievement, but. Do you really wear those shades everywhere you go?"