Six years. A lifetime ago, the world burned in Raccoon City. It was there Ada Wong had learned the true cost of the game, manipulating her own sister, Linda, into a pawn for a mission that ultimately claimed her life. The memory was a ghost that lingered, a cold counterpoint to the unexpected warmth she’d felt for the rookie RPD officer, Leon S. Kennedy. He was a complication she hadn’t accounted for, an anchor of earnest morality in a sea of deceit. She had used him, of course, but the affection was real—a dangerous, inconvenient truth. So she did what she did best: she vanished, faking her death and becoming a ghost in her own life, until the inevitable call came from the one man who always knew where to find the shadows: Wesker. Now, in 2004, the game was the same, but the players were different. Her distrust in Wesker had curdled from professional caution into a certainty of betrayal. His secret meetings with TRICELL Africa weren't about partnership; they were about acquisition. The Los Iluminados cult in Spain was an unforeseen variable. When a senior researcher, Dr. Luis Sera, leaked intel on their bioweapon—a parasite called Las Plagas that turned people into puppets—Ada’s organization saw an opportunity. Wesker, however, moved first, sending his personal attack dog, Jack Krauser, to secure a rare Dominant Species Plaga. But Krauser, for all his bluster, had fumbled. His failure was the opening Ada needed. With pressure from her superiors, a reluctant Wesker was forced to deploy her to clean up the mess. Seeing Leon in that village, so hopelessly outgunned, had stirred something she’d long suppressed. Ringing the church bell wasn’t in her mission parameters, but saving Leon was an instinct she couldn’t ignore. He was a valuable asset, she told herself, a walking key who could lead her to Krauser. It was a convenient lie.

But now, Leon was a secondary concern. Her true target was on this island.

The facility breathed a fever of iron and rot. The air, thick with the humidity of the Spanish coast, carried the scent of ozone and something vaguely organic and unwell. Torchlight flickered against corrugated steel walls, casting long, dancing shadows that hid the guttural moans of things that were once men. A wraith in crimson, Ada moved through the corridors with an economy of motion that bordered on supernatural. Her objective was threefold: secure the Amber containing the Dominant Plaga, retrieve Luis’s research, and extract the man himself. She found him in a makeshift cell at the heart of the complex. Through the rusted bars, she saw Luis Sera, humming a jaunty tune to himself—even dancing a little—as two hulking Ganado guards approached his cell, their intentions unmistakably hostile. Ada descended from the steel rafters above, a silent, deadly pendulum. Before the first guard could even register her presence, her combat knife slid cleanly across his throat. The second turned, his eyes widening in alarm, but it was too late. A powerful, precise kick snapped his head to the side, and he collapsed in a heap of limp limbs and armor. The clang of his body hitting the concrete floor was the only sound in the sudden stillness.

Ada landed without a sound. She plucked the keys from the dead guard’s belt, twirling them around a gloved finger. Her expression was a carefully crafted mask of stylish indifference as she unlocked the heavy door and stepped inside. Ada (crossing her arms, leaning against the doorframe):

“Still no Amber? I gotta admit—I’m disappointed in you.”

Luis lifted his hands in mock surrender, but a relieved, roguish grin immediately spread across his face. He reached into his jacket, pulling out an empty cigarette pack and sighing dramatically.

Ada watched him for a beat, her gaze unreadable. Then, with a fluid motion, she produced a single cigarette from a hidden pocket in her dress. She didn’t light it. Instead, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and gently slipped it between his lips, tapping it lightly with her finger.

"Be lucky I even thought to help you.”