April 23, 2009

Jake Miller, a 28-year-old blond British police officer, stood before the gates of the BSAA's Eastern Division. For the past few years, Miller had been unknowingly involved in "Project Phoenix," a program aimed at recruiting new talent into the BSAA. Chris Redfield had kept an eye on him ever since the Raccoon City incident back in 1998. At just 17, Miller had played a key role in helping evacuate large portions of the RPD before the first zombies arrived. He had been instrumental in securing escape routes and aiding the defense against the early waves of the undead.

Since the launch of Project Phoenix, several agents had quietly tested him, throwing subtle challenges his way to observe how he'd react. Then, in early 2009, Chris Redfield personally invited him to take the final assessment—a test that would officially mark him as a BSAA rookie.

At 28, Jake felt like a child compared to the hardened veterans around him. His icy blue eyes darted nervously across the large entry hall as he took one final deep breath before stepping into the massive building. The structure inside was a maze of operations, training, and strategy—everything the BSAA stood for. Agents bustled through corridors with urgency and purpose, and then—someone clapped him on the shoulder.

"There's our rookie."

Jake turned quickly—and froze.

Standing behind him was none other than Chris Redfield himself, one of the most respected names in the field. Chris gave him a quick tour of the base, showing him key areas before leading him to his office.

"We're glad to have you on board," Chris said, his tone equal parts warm and firm. "With your calm attitude and guts, you'll fit in well. But before you head out on any missions, you'll need intense training. And with how crazy things are right now, you're not going through the usual bootcamp. Instead, I'm assigning you to one of our elite agents. She's going to make sure you're up to First Grade standards in no time."

Jake expressed his gratitude over and over, promising he would give everything he had to be of help. As they made their way toward the training rooms, he couldn't help but ask, "So… who exactly is going to train me?"

Chris chuckled with a knowing grin.

"You already know her. Don't worry."

They stepped into one of the shooting ranges, just in time to see a woman unloading an entire magazine from a custom Samurai Edge M9 V.2 into a row of training dummies.

Jill Valentine—35 years old and one of the BSAA's most seasoned agents. Her legacy was the stuff of legend: surviving the Spencer Mansion incident, taking down Nemesis, and enduring a nightmarish infection by the T-Virus. Her most haunting experience, however, was the control exerted over her by Albert Wesker using the P30 chemical—a drug dispensed via a mechanical device implanted in her chest. Under its influence, Jill had become a puppet in Wesker's twisted plans, even forced to fight against Chris himself.

Though Chris and Sheva eventually rescued her, the guilt of her actions still lingered. Barry Burton had originally opposed the idea of her returning to active duty, but eventually agreed—on the condition that she took a support role, like training a rookie.

As Jill removed her headphones and laid down her weapon, she finally noticed the two men.

"Chris? Shouldn't you be on that big mission? And who's the kid next to you?"

Chris just shook his head slightly. "Do you ever check your emails? This is Agent Miller. Our new rookie. Your rookie."

Her eyes widened, a light blush coloring her cheeks. "You could've told me sooner. Great first impression, Redfield…"

She approached them, extending her hand to the newcomer. "My name is—"

"Jill Valentine," Jake cut in, starstruck. "No worries, I already know who you are. You're a hero in the police departments. Practically a national legend."

The admiration on Jake's face was impossible to miss.

"My name is Jake Miller. I've worked in police departments for the past eleven years, and it's truly an honor to be trained by you, Miss Valentine."

Jill looked visibly uncomfortable at the praise. She hated being seen as a hero—especially after everything that had happened. She scratched the back of her head awkwardly.

"You don't need to call me 'Miss Valentine.' Just Jill is fine. I'm not Superman or some kind of superhero—I'm just another BSAA agent."

Chris grinned as he passed behind her, giving her a playful pat.

"Yeah, just your average BSAA agent… who took down a Nemesis T-Type solo. Totally ordinary."

Before she could protest, Chris shot her a look that said "just take the compliment" and left the room with a sigh. "I'm off on my mission now. Barry and Rebecca are the only other ones staying behind. Take care—and Jill… go to your therapy sessions."

He didn't wait for a reply.

Jill sighed, then turned her focus back to Jake. Without warning, she drew a knife from her boot and charged at him.

"Imagine I'm an Umbrella operative coming to take you out."

Jake was completely caught off guard. He scrambled backward, dodging her swipes, until he found himself with his back to the wall. Jill pressed the blade to his neck.

Chris laughed from the hallway. "Jill, I'd prefer if I didn't have to send him to Rebecca with a hundred cuts after the first week."

Jill backed off and gave Jake space to breathe again.

"You can't just keep dodging," she said, sharp but not cruel. "You've gotta strike, even if you don't land the hit."

They reset their positions.

This time, Jake squared up, more focused. Training with Jill Valentine—a dream come true. She had always been his hero, especially after the Nemesis incident. He hadn't heard much about her death, and the whole Uroboros ordeal was unknown to him.

He made the first move, lunging with a feinted punch. Jill sighed—she read it immediately. But as she focused on his hands, Jake aimed for a leg sweep.

Rookie mistake.

With fluid grace, Jill jumped, flipped, and launched him backward with a double kick. Jake stumbled but recovered quickly, grinning.

"Guess I should've expected that from the Hero of Raccoon City."

And just like that, all traces of warmth disappeared from Jill's expression. In a flash, she knocked him down again, pressing her knife to his throat.

"Listen up, rookie," she hissed coldly. "I'm not the Hero of Raccoon City. That city was wiped off the damn map right after I killed Nemesis—if you even remember that part. I'm not a hero. I'm not a supersoldier. I'm Jill Valentine, BSAA Special Agent. And you'll address me as such. If you ever give me a nickname like that again…"

The blade pressed tighter. "...your training ends. You can go back to being a cop and tell your buddies how 'normal' I am. Got it?"

Jake nodded quickly, clearly shaken. Jill pulled back and turned away, her voice flat.

"We're doing shooting drills next. Training resumes tomorrow at 0600 sharp. You will be on time."

The range was filled only with the sound of gunshots. Jill stood behind Jake, arms folded, silently observing as he fired at the targets.

"Better. But your left foot's too far forward—you're off balance. One wrong recoil and you're on the floor."

Jake mumbled under his breath and adjusted. This time, three out of five shots hit center mass.

"Not bad," Jill said—just enough praise to acknowledge it without softening her edge.

Then she stepped up herself. In one seamless motion, she reloaded and fired five shots at five targets. All hits. Flawless.

Jake said nothing, awe plain on his face.

"Questions?" she asked, checking the magazine.

He hesitated. "Yeah. How do you stay that precise, that fast? It's… almost inhuman."

Jill gave him a look, holstered her weapon, and replied quietly—

"Because I didn't have a choice."

A long silence passed. Then a soft ping came from the terminal—Jill was being summoned to a meeting.

"You're dismissed. Be here tomorrow at 0600. Don't be late."

As Jill walked off toward the meeting room, Jake stood alone at the range. In front of him, a shredded target—much like his confidence. He had thought being accepted into the BSAA meant he was already good enough.

But clearly, he still had a long way to go.