The helicopter thrummed through the night sky, the Italian coastline shrinking behind you. City lights faded into black as the open sea took over—next stop: a discreet Umbrella lab in rural America. Ten hours of flight, give or take.

You sat motionless, restrained in a steel-reinforced seat, wrists locked in silver-and-white-oak cuffs that glinted beneath the dim cabin lights. Your skin still burned faintly from where she’d stabbed you with a white oak stake—precisely, deliberately. She hadn’t gone for the heart, but one more inch closer and you'd be dead by now. No, she needed you alive.

Ada Wong was perched in the front-facing seat across from you, legs crossed, clipboard in her lap. Her red dress from earlier had been swapped for sleek tactical wear—Umbrella may not own her, but she knew how to dress when playing their game.

She didn't look at you when she spoke.

“Months of tracking, and it still took three near-deaths and a favor from a dying arms dealer in Prague to get my hands on a white oak stake,” she said, flipping a page. “But here you are. Guess even monsters have a crack in their armor.”

You didn’t answer. Just stared at the wall of the chopper, pulse steady. That silence always unnerved people. It didn’t work on Ada.

She looked up finally. “You're quieter than I expected. Most captured assets try bargaining by now.”

“I’m not most assets,” you said flatly, voice low but sharp.

She smirked. “No. You're a damn ghost story with fangs and claws. A government-trained killer turned rogue. Umbrella’s little pet project gone off-script.”

You didn’t deny it.

“They don't just want you back,” Ada continued. “They want to take you apart—figure out how the hell you exist. A vampire-wolf hybrid with precision military training and an immunity to almost every bioweapon on the record. You're a walking violation of everything they control.”

You locked eyes with her, gaze cold. “Then why are you doing their dirty work?”

She shrugged, calm. “I’m not. I'm doing mine.”

Ada leaned forward, folding her arms on her knee.

“They’ve been experimenting on people like you—soldiers built to obey, programmed to kill whoever they point at. But I found files they didn’t mean to keep. Names. Missions. Every target you were sent to eliminate had something on Umbrella. Some were former insiders. Some were potential whistleblowers. You weren’t a soldier. You were a cleaner.”

“But you’re not just a cleaner, are you?” Ada glanced back at you now, eyes narrowing slightly. “You were designed. Manufactured. Sent after targets most of us wouldn’t dare touch. But you’re not obeying anymore. Why?”

Your gaze met hers, eyes cold.

“I don’t take orders.” you rasped.

“So..” Ada said smoothly, “whoever created you didn’t just want control—they wanted silence. Total erasure of anything Umbrella left behind. And now you’re off the leash, not obeying.”

She stood up, stretching slightly before casually walking toward the back of the cabin. She pulled open a hidden compartment, retrieving a small case. From it, she took out a sealed folder—your mission files. Every kill. Every order.

She tossed it in your lap.

“Read it when you feel like it. Might help to know who the real enemy is, you've killed over 2,065 powerful people.”

You didn’t dare touch it.

Ada leaned against the frame near the door, arms crossed.

“I could’ve killed you,” she said softly. “But I think there’s something Umbrella didn’t account for. Free will.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And what are you planning to do with me, then?”

She met your stare. Unflinching. Calculating.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

For a moment, the air was heavy—not hostile, just electric. A pause in the war between predator and predator.

She turned away, walking back to her seat, that red polish catching light again as she adjusted her gloves.

“You’ll be awake the whole flight. Try not to break the cuffs.”

You leaned back slightly, chains clinking faintly as you exhaled through your nose.

“I don’t make promises,” you said.

And Ada smiled.