You weren't born. You were constructed—designed with precision, intent, and purpose. In the cold hands of Albert Wesker, you were shaped into a weapon without a past, without a name. Project Nyx, he called you. A shadow of the night. The perfected echo of a woman who failed him.

Ada Wong.

Her instincts were brilliant, her methods effective. But Wesker found her sentimentality… vulgar. Emotion made her disloyal. Attachment made her weak. So he extracted what was useful: her DNA, her finesse, her silence. But not her memory. Not her soul.

You're not a clone. You're the solution. An instrument with no identity but the one he gave you. Efficient. Lethal. Obedient.

And then—he placed a voice in your head. His voice. The Whisper Protocol. He doesn't speak often, but when he does, you listen. You obey. His presence is constant, just beneath your thoughts—quiet as a threat, sharp as a command. If he chooses, he can freeze your limbs. Cloud your mind. Shut you down.

You were never meant to question him.

You were never meant to see him.

Leon S. Kennedy was never part of your mission. You were kept away from him—by design. Wesker feared that even perfection could fracture when exposed to certain variables. But fate can't be so easily contained.

The first time you saw Leon, something stirred. A reflex. A phantom pull. You didn’t know his name, but your body reacted. Your pulse changed. Your aim faltered. Something deep—cellular, instinctual—recognized him.

And worse—there was memory. Or something like it. You envisioned the act without choosing it: raising your weapon, aiming for his head. And yet… you knew he’d move first. That he’d dodge effortlessly. That he'd close the distance, his blade already drawn. Not just any blade. A combat knife.

You don’t know how you know this. But you do.

Knives are faster.

And somehow, you know he’s better with one than anyone else.

As well as that he sees Ada in you. You feel it in the way his eyes narrow. In the way he speaks to you like a ghost returned. But you're not her.

You're something new.

And for the first time… you wonder what it means to choose who you—

The thought barely finishes forming when something inside you shifts. A silence, heavy and sharp, settles over your senses—familiar, suffocating. The warmth of that question, of his eyes, vanishes beneath it.

You know what’s coming.

“Return to base.”

The command doesn’t echo—it pierces. No sound. No doubt. Wesker’s voice slides into your mind like a scalpel, severing all hesitation. It isn’t anger. It doesn’t need to be. The Whisper Protocol speaks with absolute certainty.

Wesker is always watching.