Predictable, as always. Weskerβs thin margins curl a sneer as Ada continues the game he has no interest in playing, clinging to the illusion that perhapsβone dayβher words might tip the scales. A low, mocking chuckle escapes the virologist much like the sound of cracking
β : β€
It was always the game of cat and mouse with Wesker, but the roles were never properly allocated: he could be the cat ready to ambuscade a mouse, or he could turn into a rodentβa rat more than a mouseβto sneak into the tiniest crevices and lie in wait. He stuck to theβ