Albert figured his opponent was going to try something and soon as the situation grew more desperate and escape less likely. The knife thrown at his arm Albert avoids easily, shifting to his right. The one in his leg he doesn't bother, taking the blow with a grunt and simply pulling the blade out of the meaty part of his thigh where it had landed, uncaring of the crimson stain that starts to spread over the wound. He'll need his hand to light the firework. His leg not so much. he doesn't have to be mobile when they're already in such tight quarters.

"You've got a good arm," if Albert meant to come out of this alive, he might be worried. Instead he just starts to walk forward slowly, stiffly because of the leg injury. "Not that it'll do you much good. Not now."

Putting the firework between his teeth, Albert strikes the flint against the edge of the knife blade, causing sparks and lighting the long, slow-burning fuse at the end of the explosive. He drops the knife and flint and holds the roman candle so Perry can see. "We're on a much shorter timer now."

There's something freeing about all this, something that makes Albert half want to run scared from himself. But it doesn't matter, or at least it won't matter much longer. He'll avenge his friends and then he'll be done. Neat and tidy. Well, figuratively speaking.