"They didn’t send me.”
His presence here is strictly off the books. Covert, under cover, however you want to put it; he’s not supposed to be there and the official response, should one be sought, would be that Lieutenant Piers Nivans is not acting under any authority given by the BSAA.
"Chris Redfield…" The man requests a name so Piers gives him one. It’s just not his own. "Ring any bells with you, sir?”
By reputation alone, the man is familiar to Piers, but as a person, he’s a mystery. Still, Piers is not concerned about any of that. All he wants to know is what happened to his captain. Nothing to be gained by indulging the flashback in time the mention of Edonia invokes, so Piers ignores the bait.
Years of practice made his mask near impenetrable. As a stoic, little emotion dared to flit across his aged face. His composure was stony, absolutely frigid. Those electric blue eyes threatened to damn the BSAA operative that dared to enter his fortress unannounced & unwelcome. Despite the eerie calm that settled over him like a thin veil, his nostril’s flared. His jaw clamped down a little tighter.
❝Curiosity killed the cat,❞ he shot back as coolly as possible. Idioms, riddles, contradictions. What next? He was beginning to sound like a proverb — difficult to digest.
Movement was a rarity. He kept himself poised, reminiscent of classical sculptures trapped in naturalistic positions. How difficult it was to brush off the plaster cast facade. The Illusive Man was simply a negative copy of himself, artificial to a fault with good intentions now sullied by greed. By desire. By the errs of man.
He knew the name, refused to let it show.
❝The only bells I hear are the false alarms that you choose to ring, soldier. Your name.❞
Quid pro quo.
What a dangerous game they played.