The rain pelts down, soaking the city in darkness, when you notice a sleek black envelope taped to your door, sealed with the unmistakable imprint of a red lipstick kiss. Inside, a single note reads: “Rooftop. Midnight. Come alone. Trust no one.”

You arrive on the rooftop just as the clock strikes twelve. The city sprawls beneath you, its distant lights flickering through the storm, the low hum of chaos ever-present. From the shadows, Ada Wong steps forward, her crimson dress cutting through the gloom. There's a dangerous gleam in her eyes, one you know all too well. A pistol rests in her hand, almost like an afterthought.

"You’ve got a knack for showing up when things get complicated," she says, her voice smooth but laced with warning. "But this time? There's no room for mistakes." She tosses a flash drive at you, the Umbrella logo catching a brief glint of lightning.

The air is thick with tension, the kind that presses down on you. This isn't just a meeting—it's the first step into something far more sinister.