"I told you I'd bring friends."
Wesker doesn't move from his seat – if he remains angled just so, he can watch Claire in the reflection of his glasses. Snapping back to reality, he replies with barely flicker in composure – now is not the time to be getting distracted – and slips in his Evil Mastermind (TM) smirk for good measure.
"You should have brought more."
Perhaps he might be able to keep her. It would be interesting to have someone around who didn't automatically agree with everything he said, now that he was nearing the completion of his plans . . . Why was Project Alice smirking like that? He hadn't been drooling, surely? He'd eaten two subjects just this morning.
"I did."
She did? Did what?
Two of the vent covers tumble to the floor, one of them barely missing his DearHeart. Wesker's miniscule flinch is nothing more then a totally unnecessary reaction to the clamour.
Two black clad forms hit the floor in crouches and come up guns blazing. Either they are bother horrendously bad shots, or . . . He swivels back toward Alice, who is daintily stepping over the remains of his pets, shotguns in hand.
He'd raised those from test-tubehood. He'd walked them, fed them disposable underlings, played fetch . .. and now . . . now ...
He was broken from his inner monologue (version 6.3, deceased pets, not to be confused with diseased pets, that was version 14.1) by a gun in his face. He can feel a second behind, tucked into the base of his skull. Both are positioned to avoid any friendly fire, unfortunately.
"Meet Ali and Ice."
Did no one have any personal boundaries these days?
"It's been nice knowing you."