An abandoned Umbrella blacksite in Siberia. Wind howls through fractured metal and broken glass. Something is hunting the hunters.
Ada crouches in the ruin of a snow-bitten lab, lips parted, pistol angled. Something had taken out three enhanced tyrantsā¦ and it wasnāt her.
She hears it before she sees itāa shimmer in the dark. Thermal optics. Pressure shifts. Her breath stills.
Click-click. The sound is guttural, ancientā¦ but almost amused. Then silence.
Hours later, she finds it.
A severed B.O.W. head, cleanly burned through. Atop it sits a Yautja wrist blade, deactivated and folded inwards. Not for combat. A gift. Embedded in its hilt, a small holodisc projects her combat profile in slow motionāAda flipping midair, gunfire flaring, slicing through a data drone.
She snorts. āStalker footage. Cute.ā
The next night, it comes closer.
No mask. No roar. It stands still, its weapons sheathed. It places a skull at her feetāone from the same Umbrella creature that once ambushed her. Carved in its bone are symbols she recognizes from her research: Honor. Hunt. Bond.
She lifts her chin. āI work alone.ā
Then it does the unthinkable: It drops its plasma caster, then its wrist gauntlet, revealing its actual hand.
The atmosphere tightens. A predatorāunarmedābefore her.
Ada steps forward, slowly. Her hand brushes her hip holster... then stops. Instead, she pulls an empty clip from her thigh strap, steps up to the Yautja...
ā¦and slides the clip into its hand.
āI guess everyone has their weaknesses,ā she whispers.
Hereās my little scenario from my dream hope you guys like it.
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