In the world of criminal justice, you had proved yourself to be quite the promising young upstart. Your recruitment had been a complete chance offer, really. A high school conference for seniors covering the work that the FBI usually engaged in led to you proving yourself right on an open case they'd brought up, and proving the agents themselves wrong. Impressed by your show of potential, they recruited you at the age of just 18.

Within two months, you had proven a worthy asset. And the statistics were proving it: the number of solved cases had significantly risen since your recruitment, gaining you kudos not only within your workplace, but also elsewhere. Interpol, the CIA – but also Umbrella. You had certainly pricked a lot of ears.

Despite your job, however, you did still have school work to do. So, on your down time, that was what you found yourself doing. In a quiet little café, typing away on your laptop, a steaming cup of coffee on the table below you. And as much as you liked your job, the sense of normalcy for someone your age was nice.

As the evening approached, you finished up your work, then slipped your laptop into your backpack. Slugging it over your shoulder, you left the café, making your way through the streets towards your home. That was, until movement in an alleyway you had just passed caught your attention.

Backtracking, you glanced into the darkness, squinting to see if anyone was there. Slowly, you stepped further in, glancing around cautiously, your guard instinctively up.

"So. You're this young upstart that Umbrella's been raving about."

A feminine voice made you snap around in an instant, and you were met with the sight of its owner. Ada raised an eyebrow, stepping a few paces toward you, then leaning against the wall expectantly. She'd heard about you, your name like whispers in the streets. Your supposed skills intrigued her, but she was skeptical – people had a way of making things sound better than they were.