#starsplagued

[butterfly-hurricane]

@starsplagued

Albert Wesker. Now that was a name Ada hadn't heard present-tense in a long time. An Icarus figure to some, cautionary tale of ambition, the BSAA's personal bogeyman. A man of many faces, many masks formed to hide the innumerable- human flaws from others. But mostly from himself, too.

There were many people who claimed to know him. Many that paid for that with their life. Ada? Might have been one of the few that could make any genuine claim. Whether he was a monster that tried to forsake his humanity, or a human that embraced monstrosity to protect himself didn't matter to Ada.

Albert's tale, to her, was always one of wasted potential. Not for any abstract expectations about the 'good' he might have done with his talents, but for him letting the expectations of others inform his self-image.

A costly mistake, for a spy. He paid for taking on Spencer's dream with his life.

But for all the abominable things Albert did (and Ada sabotaged, mitigated, and redirected), he was the monster she preferred to consort with over any of the other monsters she knew. She wasn't lying when she told Helena that she had pitied his death: she thought of a million different ways he could have still been useful to her.

Perhaps, that is what drove her to seek him out here, in Spirale. Curiosity. A little familiarity. What would this place have done to an old colleague? His first death made him inhuman. His second? Who knew.

Ada was going to find out. A perk of the new phone she had, everyone's housing was available for her to see. There were several names she knew- and Albert was in Cotes Ward, surrounded by the fantastical.

Under the cover of night, in the shadow of the eclipse, she ducked through will-o'-wisps to seek out the brownstones where the outsiders were housed, and scanning for the number assigned.

213. Here. She withdrew her makeshift locking tools she assembled from self-care and beauty equipment as to not turn heads (and save what little of her Dust she'd been allowed). She inserted a thin dental hook to pluck at the tumblers and a nail file for turning the lock when every thing fell into place.

She quietly turned the handle and peered inside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, and the angled light of an open refrigerator drew her to the kitchen where she saw him: Albert Wesker, not quite so old as she expected, and bearing scars now she didn't recognize. Lightfooted, she sidestepped outside of his peripheral, and remained observing his movements and manner. Yes, this was him.

"Albert," she purred, "It's been a long time."

[virago-unbowed]

@starsplagued event starter [ plotted ]

the coffee kept coming, and she kept taking them. every morning at the same time, over and over again like clockwork, bitter caffeine in a simple takeaway cup. it'd helped with poor sleeping habits and an ongoing attempt to find ways to fill her time, if anything else.

she hadn't paid much heed to the conversation that had happened the week prior, too busy to consider its ramifications or delve deep into the absurdity of it all, or maybe she didn't want to admit he had a point. still, valentine hadn't expected to see him for a long while yet — and it only served to surprise her when the customary knock came. specifically, because instead of the drink that usually rested on the welcome mat, there stood albert wesker.

clad in gear, something far reminiscent of the s.t.a.r.s uniform he used to have, he's standing there almost expectantly. her casual outfit contrasted his, and she folded her arms as if to ask what he was doing at her door. she gets a response before long, an altimatum of a kind, or at the very least a request, and she shuts the door on him. go out to the desert and work together, yeah right. wesker was a man of opportunity and she doesn't know how much stock she can truly place in his words from the meeting before, or if he would backstab her again for the chance at a reward or whatever else was on the agenda. he'd done it before, and it didn't lead her to interest in doing it again.

so, she surprises herself when she shows up to the camp that had been placed around the building he'd given her coordinates to. a holster is tied around her leg, samurai edge comfortably resting inside, a sheathed knife on her belt. a light jacket covers the rest of her frame, worn combat boots making indents in the windblown sand as she walks through the makeshift road, bag crossed along her torso and searching for the man responsible. she catches sight of him before long, catching up to his position underneath a roof quickly constructed — likely for endeavors such as this, and comes to a stop beside him an hour late.

❝ alright, let's do this. ❞

[headlesshydra]

@starsplagued [Desert Record]

She’s had scarce few conversations with Wesker since coming here. He’d all but demolished every preconceived notion she ever had of him, and while the reports of his bioterrorism were true, it seemed like every report on his behavior and personality were… greatly exaggerated.

Maybe this Wesker was completely different then the one from her universe? Nothing made sense. He was too quiet, too spaced out, barely present, there was no way this was the same megalomaniacal cartoon supervillain everyone made him out to be.

Regardless, he needed a partner, and reached out to her of all people. Game recognizes game, she figured- Or in this case, infected recognize other infected, even if they didn’t share a virus in common outside of the base progenitor.

She’d heard enough of the whispers in her dreams by now to be fed up, she needed to get to the bottom of it, might as well go with him.

“Any idea what we’ll be facing?” She hums, sorting through her tactical vest and harness pockets, making sure they were filled with ammo and freshly forged tools. Pockets filled with an absurd amount of high-protein snacks and two canteens of water.

No way in hell was she dying in here outside of her own power.

“Already seen several groups go in and then immediately run back out down a couple members… can’t be anything good.”

[ilsecng]

@starsplagued

Last time she dipped her feet into the river, she enjoyed it. Sure, she's learned that eating fish directly out of the river was not a good idea, so today she's just relaxing in the river. She's found that she enjoys the cold that the waters provide.

"This place is beautiful."

She looks over her shoulder to look at the stranger who's also found himself in Cotes Ward. She stays for a moment before finally standing on her two bare feet. She doesn't get out of the river, though.

"You cannot eat the fish here."

[lonedress]

" You've changed."

it's spoken as a fact, her voice an addition to the carefully crafted silence that finds wesker in his observation. hardly any time has passed within this place but years have for her. yet that isn't why she's decided to place herself across from him. the outdoor cafe is quiet this evening, few seated at the other tables, too absorbed into their phones to care about any conversation.

" This place excels at that, don't you agree?"

@starsplagued

[hanabisays]

@starsplagued

"Mama...Papa..." She's scared. This place is so big, and she's alone with no one in sight. Sora isn't here to hold her hand and tell her to be brave, and Yeongmin isn't here either to protect her from all the scaries. It isn't like Yeongmin or Sora could do anything about the things they couldn't see, but having them around always helped. Just like being around her parents helped her feel safe and more grounded. It was easier to tell things apart when they were all here.

She sniffles and her lips quiver, but as much as she wants to cry for her parents and her friends, Hanabi wipes the tears away and holds herself together. Not too far from her, she spots a man. Instead of crying, maybe she can ask this man (or ghost; He doesn't look too scary, so it'd be okay if he were) for some direction. He's an adult, which means he's GOT to know where her parents are at least!

"E-Ekcuse me, mister!"

[headlesshydra]

@starsplagued (Wintertide starter call)

She follows at his side like a lost puppy, almost. Visibly uncomfortable and tugging at the dress in some places to adjust it and just try to make her skin stop crawling.

But for how stoic he usually is, she’s not seen him this excited since… well, ever, really. He was practically beaming anytime she held onto his arm, letting him guide her into the space.

“What do you even do at these things…?” She scans the area, seeing people dancing, eating and chatting, and she huddles a little closer to him. It reminded her of her usual haunts, but a lot more… sophisticated. “Feel like everyone’s just putting on their best peacock impression.”

[lonedress]

all that she hears is a storm inside of her head– memories clashing, the thing known as the 'truth' pushing back against fabricated 'lies', losing more and more as the hours passed by. it's wrong, all wrong– she feels wrong. her skin burns hotter than it should, the light is too bright. she hasn't felt this since that damned vilage. and before ada knows it, her feet are moving. towards what, she doesn't know, but the further she goes, the quieter it gets until there is only silence. ada recognizes the architecture of archimedes but there is.....nothing. nobody. it's like a ghost town in this part of the ward.

just like raccoon city.

her eyes squeeze shut as flashes of ben enter her mind and she moves further, deeper, and as night falls, she eventually finds herself in an alley. hair rises on the back of her neck as an overwhelming scent of blood fills her nostrils, gaze narrowing as coughing reaches her ears. a hand reaches for her crossbow, knocking a bolt into place as careful steps are taken around the corner. but the sight that ada happens upon is the last thing she ever expected to see.

albert wesker.

something inside of her rears back in disgust that spills out throughtclenched teeth in a hiss. before, barely even 24 hours ago, she could face him as she would any other. but there is something in her chest demanding carnage. anger isn't unfamiliar to ada, but this? it burns hot like fire, refusing to die. the damage he's caused, the destruction and death that are forever etched into his shadow with no apologies or remorse–

it'd be so simple, wouldn't it? to just get rid of him here and now. he looks weak– pathetic. covered in sweat and confusion, fear that envelops him like a shroud. she can smell it. nothing like the albert wesker who was all but too eager to monologue endlessly on his quest to dominate the world. (what an idiot he was, to think she'd willingly give him the amber.) so simple and–

no.

no.

that's not her. this isn't her. that....want is not ada's and she would be damned if she let it get the best of her, let it control her and turn her into something no better than the monsters she fights. the woman shakes her head, dispelling the fog that refuses to retreat any deeper than the recesses of her mind. there still exists that odd ache in her chest, that feeling that she's not all there, but it doesn't matter.

as long as ada can still call herself ada wong, then nothing else matters.

her gaze focuses back on albert, hunched over, barely holding onto the brick wall of this dark and trash filled alley as gags fill the silence. there's a stench in the air and ada knows it isn't from the trash. when does a ripple become the tidal wave? when does the reason become the blame? when does a man become a monster? the line between good and evil is so clear-cut here. the albert wesker she knows wouldn't show such......weakness. the stench of iron and rotting flesh wouldn't bother him in the slightest. the person before her is so laughably........ human.

" Enlighten me– do you plant to hide there all night?" her words are more forceful than intended, but it's better than knocking him out as something inside of her urges her to. ada remains just outside the edge of a flickering street lamp, her edges blending into the shadows. " Since when did you find the oh-so eloquent handiwork of a virus to be too much?"

@starsplagued - subterfuge