Ada Wong: Femme Fatale's Gambit by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Ada-Wong-Femme-Fatale-s-Gambit-1045801695

The rain in Shanghai fell like a heavy curtain, a monsoon that blurred the neon lights of the bustling city into a kaleidoscope of color. Streets that were once alive with people had fallen silent, now abandoned and forgotten in the chaos that had consumed them. All that remained was the sound of the downpour, the flicker of malfunctioning signs, and the distant groaning of something far worse than the rainstorm.

Ada Wong moved through the shadows, her crimson dress clinging to her form, soaked from the relentless rain. She was a ghost in this city of death, a figure both striking and lethal. Her heels clicked softly on the slick pavement as she approached the center of the outbreak—the place where it had all started.

Shanghai, a city of millions, now reduced to a graveyard. The outbreak had spread faster than anyone could have anticipated. What had once been rumors of a deadly new bioweapon had turned into a nightmare beyond imagination. Zombies, the reanimated dead, now roamed the streets, their moans carrying over the drowned city like a symphony of decay.

Ada’s mission was clear. Find the source of the outbreak and extract the sample. Simple in theory, but in execution, it was a task that promised nothing but bloodshed and peril. She had seen these horrors before, been through the hell of bio-terrorism more times than she cared to admit. But Shanghai felt different. There was something more sinister in the air, a palpable malevolence that seeped into her bones.

As she turned a corner, Ada’s sharp eyes scanned the scene ahead. The street, once lined with vendors and crowds, was now a desolate expanse of overturned cars, broken glass, and the shambling forms of the infected. The zombies moved sluggishly, their decayed bodies barely able to keep up with their own weight. Their skin was a mottled gray, their eyes vacant, and their mouths smeared with the blood of the living they had torn apart.

Ada ducked into an alleyway, pressing herself against the cold stone wall, waiting for an opening to slip past the creatures. Her heart beat steadily in her chest—years of training kept her calm, composed, even in the face of such horrors. She pulled out her silenced pistol, her grip firm as she prepared for the inevitable confrontation.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a scream—a high-pitched, panicked cry for help. Ada’s eyes snapped in the direction of the sound, her instincts kicking in. Through the sheets of rain, she saw a figure stumbling out of a nearby building, a woman, soaked and terrified. Behind her, the door exploded open, and a horde of zombies rushed out like a flood.

Ada cursed under her breath. The woman wouldn’t survive unless someone intervened, but saving her would attract the attention of the undead. For a moment, she hesitated. Her mission came first. The woman was collateral, part of the world’s cruel equation.

But then, Ada remembered something—something buried deep in the cold, compartmentalized part of her heart. Leon’s voice, his unwavering morality. She could almost hear him telling her to help, to not abandon her humanity.

With a sigh, Ada made her decision.

She moved swiftly, her legs carrying her toward the screaming woman with calculated precision. In a matter of seconds, she had closed the distance, her pistol raised and ready. The first shot rang out, barely a whisper in the cacophony of rain, but it hit its mark. One of the zombies dropped, a clean hole between its rotting eyes. Ada fired again, then again, each shot finding a target, dropping the advancing horde one by one.

The woman stumbled backward, collapsing onto the wet pavement, her wide eyes locking onto Ada in disbelief.

“Run!” Ada snapped, her voice cold, sharp. “Get out of here, now!”

The woman didn’t need to be told twice. She scrambled to her feet and bolted down the alleyway, her figure quickly disappearing into the downpour. Ada watched her go for a brief moment, then turned back to the remaining zombies. There were more of them, too many to take out quietly. She had to move.

With a practiced flip, Ada holstered her pistol and pulled out her grapple gun. Aiming at the top of a nearby building, she fired, the hook catching onto the ledge. In one fluid motion, she was airborne, pulling herself up to the rooftop with effortless grace. Below, the zombies growled in frustration, their heads lolling as they searched for her.

Safely on the roof, Ada crouched low, her breathing steady. From this vant
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