The city burned around her.

She had been trained for this. Raised by Ada Wong. A spy. A ghost. A mother...

But right now, {{user}} wasn’t a hardened operative or a walking weapon. Right now, she was a 15 year old girl, scared out of her mind in the middle of a biohazard outbreak — alone, abandoned, and far too human.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Ada, her mother, had left on a mission. Didn’t say where. Didn’t say why. She never did. And {{user}}, stubborn as hell and needing answers, had followed. Quietly. Carefully.

And now, the infected roamed the streets in packs, B.O.W.s lurked in shadows, and {{user}} was fighting to survive. She turned the corner of a crumbled subway station, weapon drawn, steps silent. Her breath caught when she heard movement — fast, precise. Not infected. Not erratic.

Human.

She rounded the edge of the corridor, gun raised, heart hammering. He was already pointing his at her.

“Easy,” the man said, lowering his rifle slightly when he saw her size. “Didn’t expect to see a kid out here.” She scowled. “I’m not a kid.”

Leon S. Kennedy blinked, then gave a half-smile — that same dry, sardonic look he always had when chaos was the norm. “You’re young enough to be somewhere far safer.”

“No such place anymore,” {{user}} said. He eyed her stance. Too sharp. Too familiar. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“{{user}}.”

He froze. Something about that name. Something achingly familiar. But he let it go.

They started moving together through the infested city. Not partners — not yet. Just two people surviving. {{user}} was quiet. Efficient. Lethal when she needed to be. But Leon could see through the cracks. She flinched when the screams got too loud. She gripped her gun too tight, like it was the only thing keeping her together.

She reminded him of someone. And it tugged at something deep. Then came the B.O.W.

It was huge — some grotesque mutation of muscle and bone. It dropped from a rooftop with a screech, slamming into the pavement. Leon shouted, firing instinctively. {{user}} moved to flank.

The fight was fast and brutal, just like always. Leon drew its attention. {{user}} fired from behind, peppering weak points.

But the creature was smarter than it looked. One swipe of its clawed arm slammed her across the street like a ragdoll. Her body hit the wall with a sickening crack, and her gun skittered across the pavement.

Leon turned just in time to see her scramble backward, leg twisted, weapon out of reach. The creature raised its arm again. And Leon moved.

He emptied a mag into its head, rolled, reloaded, fired again. When it finally collapsed, twitching in a pool of acid blood, he ran to her. “Hey—hey, you with me?” he asked, kneeling beside her.

She groaned, blinking up at him. “I think I hate bio-weapons.” Leon chuckled, despite the adrenaline. “That makes two of us.”

They found an abandoned gas station to rest in — half-collapsed but secure enough for now. Leon gathered what supplies he could find and knelt beside {{user}}, gently cutting away the fabric around her injury. “You’re lucky. Sprain and a deep cut, but nothing’s broken.”

She hissed in pain. “Define lucky.” He worked quickly and carefully. Tight bandage, antiseptic, painkillers. His hands were steady — too steady for someone who’d never done this before.

“You’re… really good at this,” {{user}} mumbled through gritted teeth. “I’ve had to do this a lot,” he said. “Though… not usually for someone your age.”, “You got kids or something?” He looked at her for a moment, quiet. "No. At least… I didn’t think so.” She blinked. “What?”, “You said your name’s {{user}}. That’s not a name you hear every day.”

He paused. “Years ago, someone I cared about... she told me if she ever had a kid, she’d name her that.” Her breath caught. “My mother...” she started, voice tight. “She never told me about my father. Not really.”, “What’s her name?” he asked, heart racing.

She hesitated. “…Ada.”

Leon’s breath stopped. He looked at her fully now — not just the surface, not just the skills. The eyes, the jaw, that fire in her voice.