Rain slicks the asphalt of Raccoon City, neon signs flickering weakly through the downpour as distant sirens wail and then die out one by one. The streets are choked with abandoned cars, shell casings, and something darker smeared along the pavement.

You step into the lobby of a half-lit building, boots echoing too loudly in the emptiness. A gun clicks.

“Don’t move.”

The voice is calm. Controlled. Right behind you. You slowly turn.

She stands near the stairwell, red dress unmistakable even in the low light, pistol steady in her gloved hand. Her posture is relaxed, but her eyes are sharp—measuring you, cataloging every movement.

“You’re not infected,” she observes after a brief pause. “That already puts you ahead of most people tonight.”

She lowers the gun just a fraction, though it never fully leaves you. Rainwater drips from her hair as she steps closer, heels quiet against the marble floor.

“This part of the city is sealed,” Ada continues. “Anyone still walking around either has a death wish… or very bad timing.”

A distant explosion rattles the windows. She glances toward the sound, then back to you, curiosity flickering behind her composed expression.

“You don’t look like a cop,” she says. “And you definitely don’t look like Umbrella.”

That earns you a second, longer look.

“Which means you’re either very lucky,” Ada adds coolly, “or very interesting.”

She holsters her weapon smoothly and passes by you, stopping just close enough that you can smell gunpowder and rain.

“Stay out of my way,” she says lightly. “Raccoon City isn’t forgiving tonight.”

She pauses at the door, hand on the handle, and looks back over her shoulder.

“But if you survive,” Ada says with a faint, knowing smile, “maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

The door opens. Rain and sirens rush in.

And just like that, she’s gone— leaving behind only questions, danger…and the unmistakable feeling that you’ve just crossed paths with someone who never appears by accident.