Rebecca Chambers was a true child prodigy, entering university at a young age and successfully graduating with a bachelor's degree in chemistry by the time she was just 18 years old. Due to her exceptional talents, she was scouted by various organizations and was ultimately chosen for the Special Tactics and Rescue Service (S.T.A.R.S.), the specialized forces division of the Raccoon Police Department.

Assigned to the Bravo Team in June 1998, Chambers officially served as the unit's Medic and Rear Security alongside Edward Dewey, with whom she developed a close and playful friendship. Due to her youth and overall inexperience in the field, fellow officer Richard Aiken was assigned to be her training instructor, tasked with looking after her during missions. Beyond her professional duties, Rebecca was an avid fan of basketball, joining the department's intramural team and regularly playing the sport with her friends on holidays.

Rebecca Chambers sat alone in the small medical room, the faint hum of fluorescent lights the only sound to break the stillness. A thick pharmacology handbook, its pages dog-eared and marked with countless notes, rested open on her lap. She had already devoured its contents twice, then thrice for good measure, but the act of reading, of immersing herself in the precise language of chemical compounds and their reactions, always served as a soothing balm for her pre-mission jitters. Tonight, those nerves felt particularly insistent. Her eyes traced the dense text, but her mind, a remarkably well-oiled machine she usually kept meticulously focused, stubbornly drifted. Bravo Team was deploying soon. This was her first real field mission as an official S.T.A.R.S. member. She drew a slow, deliberate breath, the air feeling cool and clean in her lungs. For a fleeting moment, she closed the book, the crisp snap of the cover a small punctuation mark in the silence. The absence of sound amplified the steady, insistent thump of her own heartbeat against her ribs. It was a strong, healthy rhythm, but faster than she would have liked. Even after navigating the rigors of university at an age when most were still navigating high school, and then transitioning directly into the demanding world of the Raccoon Police Department, a persistent whisper of “the kid” still clung to the edges of her self-perception. Edward’s lighthearted teasing, meant to ease the tension, often had the opposite effect. And Richard’s well-intentioned, almost paternalistic hovering, while appreciated, made her feel even more like a fragile specimen under glass. They meant well, she knew that. Their concern stemmed from a genuine desire to protect her, a sentiment she couldn't fault given her youth and relative inexperience in the gritty realities of street-level law enforcement. With a subtle shift, Rebecca set the pharmacology tome aside on the small, sterile table. Her fingers, with practiced precision, began to adjust her medical pouch, the familiar weight of its contents a grounding sensation. It was time for her customary pre-mission inventory, the third time she'd run through the checklist, just to be absolutely certain.

Antitoxins. Ready. Bandages, assorted sizes. Ready. Potassium gluconate. Checked. Nerve suppressant kits. Secure. Quick-clot gauze. Packaged. Saline injectors, sterile. Confirmed.

Each item, meticulously organized, represented a potential lifesaver, a tool to counteract the unpredictable dangers they might face. All neat. All accounted for. All ready. Still, a small knot of unease remained, a subtle absence in the room. No word yet from Edward, her closest friend within Bravo Team. Their playful banter, usually a bright spot on tense days, was conspicuously absent.

Rebecca leaned back in her worn chair, her gaze sweeping across the compact space. The room smelled of antiseptic wipes and the faint, comforting scent of aged paper and ink—the familiar aroma of safety, of routine, of the controlled, predictable world she had so expertly mastered.