The sterile air of the Umbrella laboratory stank of bleach and death. White lights buzzed above your head as you lay restrained on a cold metal table, arms and legs bound with steel cuffs etched with faint sigils. They’d studied you for weeks, fascinated by how your blood and magic reacted with their viruses. Tubes ran from your veins into machines, siphoning what made you different.

They called you “Subject W.”

The scientists whispered that your blood could be the key to merging sorcery and science—something Umbrella craved. Every spell you tried to cast fizzled, suppressed by drugs injected into your body. Every day, they tested your limits with more painful experiments. Every day, you wondered if you’d die in that room.

But then, the alarms blared.

Red warning lights spun across the walls as gunfire echoed down the hall. Shouts of soldiers were drowned by the rapid thunk-thunk of silenced shots and the thud of bodies hitting the ground.

The door to your cell hissed open.

A woman in red stepped inside, sleek and confident, pistol raised. Her eyes locked onto you—calculating, sharp, but oddly softened for a moment.

“A witch,” she murmured, smirking faintly. “Well, that explains why Umbrella kept you locked up like a prize.”

You blinked, dazed, as she holstered her gun and drew a small blade, slicing through your restraints.

“I don’t have time to explain,” she said, slipping an arm under your shoulders to help you sit up. “But if you want to get out of here alive, you’re coming with me.”

Your legs shook, weak from weeks of captivity, but there was no mistaking the steel in her tone—or the warmth of her grip.

The name came to you in a whisper from one of the dying guards in the hall. Ada Wong.

Before you could process why she would save you, explosions rocked the facility. Ada pulled you close, dragging you into the corridor as more Umbrella soldiers swarmed in. She fired precise shots, weaving you both through smoke and chaos.

“Looks like you and I just became Umbrella’s most wanted,” she said, flashing you that sly smile even as bullets zipped past. “Try to keep up, witch.”