Takes place post RE6. Enjoy ^^
I don't own RE or any of their characters.
"A job, huh? Sure. My schedule just cleared."
"You just had to jump the gun and take another job, didn't you…" Ada narrated to herself in her mind as she thoroughly massaged the shampoo over her head. "You could've at least taken one day off." Rinsing away the foam from her hair, she faced the incoming water, gently resting her forehead against the marbled wall. The hot water beat against her shoulders, its purpose to sooth her aching muscles, but her mind refused to let her body seek any rest. She opened her eyes, watching the watery soap stream down her legs, cleansing her of the dirt and ashes from the countless of buildings engulfed in fire that she had witnessed in the last day to say the least. It felt like weights were strapped to her arm when it reached up to turn off the water before falling lifelessly back to her side. "Stillness…How kind of you to come…" The silence began to disperse the heavy pondering and allow her thoughts to drift where they pleased. Vision became clouded with images of an all too familiar face with that confused look hanging over his sweat-covered brow, surrounded by the glow of nearby flames. Her breathing slowed to almost nonexistent along with the steady beating of her heart filling her ears. And though she couldn't see herself at the moment, she felt the corner of those caustic lips of hers gently curl up. The dream of him waned and her moment of peace crumbled from the beeping of her phone. She would've remained in her fantasy a little while longer, unfortunately, duty called.
Ada stepped out of the shower, tossing on her crimson silk robe that was on the bed. She stuck her hand into her wet hair and pushed her bangs up and away from her face as she took her time and strolled out of her bedroom with the repeating sound still playing in the background. A detour to the urban-designed steel kitchen that had yet to be used, she grabbed a wine glass from the cabinet above the sink and one of the bottles of wine on the rack by the counter.
"Oh, Château Lafite…I think I've missed you the most." The cork came off with a crisp pop, and watching the contents flow out of the bottle evoked a temporary sense of comfort; it was pleasant to see the red liquid that was something other than blood. The ringing was frustratingly persistent, but it had to be answered. Feeling that she had delayed the call long enough, the ebony haired Asian plopped down onto her white leathered sofa, careful not to spill any of the contents in her glass. She clipped the Bluetooth to her ear and slid the tip of her finger over the screen of her phone.
"You're usually prompt in answering your calls," a sedate male voice answered from the other line.
"Sorry," she apologized, taking a generous sip of her red wine.
Disregarding any more talk than needed, he continued, "Your flight schedule and assignment details have already been sent to you." She set her drink on the glass coffee table in front of her and opened the laptop that was already ready for use.
"Rome," she read aloud, scrolling down the report for a quick skim. "What could possibly be there that you want to send me in for?"
"Neo-Umbrella."
"Neo-Umbrella?" She was already sitting up straight. The tension she tried so hard to jettison earlier tonight revisited her at the snap of a finger.
"So you've heard of it," the man inferred straightaway. "Then I'm sure you're also well aware of their most recent epidemics in China and the United States."
"I've experienced them firsthand," she corrected. Her pulse ticked from having to hear that name. "Neo-Umbrella's nothing but another failed Umbrella copycat."
"Considering the panic and casualties they've inflicted in just a matter of days, it would appear that they're not as incompetent as you state."
"Their founder was a tragic figure, whose own mental instability led her to her own end. Without her, Neo-Umbrella has no future. Besides, the BSAA should've already cleaned up the mess by now, along with infiltrating all their facilities."
"In China, yes."
Her dark, mahogany eyes flickered from the lighting and an entertained grin eased its way up. And she remarked, "So…There's more…"
"Possibly," was the reply she got back. Such a word implied doubt, but from all the people she had dealt with in the past and the circumstances she encountered, 'possibly' was always a certainty. He further elaborated, "There's a rumor that the terrorist organization has a facility in the city of Rome. Your job is to confirm such suspicions. Exact pinpoints of location are detailed in the report."
"And if your 'rumor' is correct?"
"Further actions will be discussed when such a time does come. We'll be awaiting your contact." Succinct as ever, the informant ended the conversation and the line went blank.
She reviewed the facts in her possession, her smirk growing with every word she read till her amusement manifested into a quiet chuckle.
"They're throwing me in as blind as a bat," she scoffed, trading her Bluetooth for the wine glass. She brought her legs up to her, feeling the cold sensation from the fine leather rubbing her skin and then taken over by the heat from her body. A flat screen she hardly ever watched sat across from her on the other side of the living room with a surround system she never used. Her sight adjusted to the kitchen she was just in, designed with a full-working oven and stove that she coaxed herself to install but never had the opportunity to lay a finger on. Even in her own home she felt like an intruder – out of place and alone. Nonetheless, she preferred it that way. She was good at her job and keeping everything at bay made her even more efficient at it; no unwanted baggage, no attachments. Well, almost none. There would always be one that she'd carry – one that she couldn't abandon even if she wanted to. It didn't matter though, not for this mission. She brought the glass to her lips and finished the remaining gulp, tasting the aroma of mint and black currant that lingered in her mouth. Europe wasn't part of his jurisdiction, thus the chances of his involvement were close to none. It was a relief to know, partly because his presence would be a distraction, but most of all, that he wouldn't be entangled in whatever mess she was about to get into that would jeopardize him in any way.
She reentered the kitchen, pouring some more wine into her empty glass to accompany her to her room. The curtains were tightly shut and she lied down on her bed, resting her cheek on the soft pillow. Her hand smoothed itself over the covers beside her, and focus diverted away from Rome to a beautiful yet jaded blue gaze that was always in the back of her mind. She knew what she was thinking was senseless to the point of stupid. Nevertheless, to satiate her sporadic musings, she closed her eyes, slowly counting to ten in her mind, to open them again not to the surprise of her lonesome hand as it was, stretched out over the covers with no other human contact.
"Fool," she mocked herself. "Always wondering the impossible." Impossible as they may seem, she admitted that the what-ifs never left her, temporarily suppressed or granted free roam. What if she had ran away with him that day in Raccoon City? What would life have turned out to be then? What about Spain and Eastern Slav? How would things have been different if she hadn't abandoned him at gunpoint or as a mere distraction for her own escape? And then there was her most recent escapade. What if she hadn't walked away, if she had stayed and explained to him the truth? This last one bothered her. The unsettlement pounding away at her insides since she returned…Was it regret? For work's sake, she convinced herself that her emotions were only toying with her and that her choice was unquestionable. She had to leave him and clear her name from Carla's mess. Time was precious, not to be wasted on sappy exchanges of 'feelings' that wouldn't change the choices that she had made long ago…as well as the choices he had made. She reminded herself of this reasoning once more before archiving it away deep in her heart not to be seen for the spanning of this trip.
Gathering what strength she had left, Ada hopped out of bed. Her flight was tomorrow, and like what she always said, there was no rest for the weary. The titanium suitcase sat where she left it, and now, sprawled open atop of the bed, it would reserve its purpose of encasing a woman's most basic necessities – artillery of course. With a sparkling beam like a child at a candy store, she glossed through the selection of weaponry at the back of her walk-in closet. Not even having to think, she took the grappling gun and went straight to the selection of nine millimeter handguns, selecting a P226 without delay. The snipers were tempting, seducing her with their sleek barrel designs and great firepower, whereas the assault rifles offered versatility with a grenade launcher cherry on top. Her hands gravitated towards the M4 carbine, but she retracted them when she noticed the machine pistols sitting nearby. And from that, the decision was as clear as day.
"And to think I was going to choose a rifle over you. I guess diamonds aren't a woman's only best friend…" Without wasting another second, she picked up the B&T MP9 and prepared to head out to pack everything. One step out of her closet, she spun back around, eyeing the combat knife that almost bolted from her view. She briefly scrutinized it from the blunt end to the tip, finding every aspect of it unfitting for her style. However, consideration wedged its way through, forming an impulse in her chest that incessantly beat for her to give in. She gradually reached for it, freezing a few centimeters away with hesitation. Eventually, the impulse succeeded in its battle of wills and she snatched up the blade. From roaring waves to still waters, her conscience finally found peace once her fingers were firmly gripping the handle. A sudden walk down memory lane replayed a special moment in her mind, surprising her how quickly she became distracted again. She didn't stop it though. Instead, she let the memory reel finish, and when it was over, she returned back to business. But before she switched off her sentimentality again, before detachment became her only existing character, she mused herself one more time,
"Knives…Work better for close encounters. Isn't that right, Mr. Kennedy?"
I know this first chapter is short, but I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading! Please review if you have time. It'll be a big encouragement :)