@alphateamsfinest sent:
❛ a good bad guy doesn't see themselves as the bad guy. ❜
↳🌙 * ― 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐓
THE APPALCHIAN SUN BEATS DOWN, BEADS OF SWEAT ROLLING ALONG ALBERT'S JAW AND COLLECTING AT HIS NECK. Wesker guts the radstagg that he's strung up, in his camp, blood coating his hands and soiling the fabric of his dark sleeves. He doesn't look at her, instead choosing to chew over her words slowly. Morality had no place in the Wasteland. Despite the Wesker Project's cruelty, they had been right about one thing: the strongest survived, especially in the wooded mountains and plains of Appalachia, where cryptids were no longer just creepy stories to tell children at night. No, they were reality.
"So, would the Responders be evil, then?" he posits, knife a little too precise as he continues carving, splitting the carcass for roasting, "They think they're doing good. So are they? Answer without bias, if you can." A side smirk crinkles onto his features, orange-gold irises flaring with a mischievous mirth. He throws up some meat onto the spit, and coaxes the fire roaring beneath it. In one moment, he has the knife wiped off and sliding into a hidden sheath in his boot.
"And don't you think it's an oxymoron? A good bad guy. I'm almost certain Lane sent you - "
Albert rolls his eyes and heads over to the fridge, pulling out two ice cold Nuka Colas.
"You might as well drink up while you waste my time."