Chapter 1

Ada panted lightly, a thin glaze of sweat forming on her forehead. The small cut above her plucked eyebrow wasn't draining any blood into her eye, at least not yet. Instead, it trickled down the side of her face like a crimson tear; she could feel it slowly creeping closer to her eye with each passing moment. Her bruising throat was making it difficult to breathe. The swelling had crept into her trachea; any more and she would be wheezing. Time seemed to be moving at a snail's pace.

Calm down...calm down...stay calm and collected at all times...you stupid bitch, don't let this happen again...

Her mind repeated this over and over again, but she couldn't. No matter how hard she tried, her pulse was rising and more adrenaline was pumping into her body. Just like it did in the bowels of the underground Raccoon lab, the last time a situation this dire occurred. The least she could do was keep her outward appearance set; it would put up the illusion that she was still in control. But that wouldn't do her any good. Sometimes, appearances weren't everything. If she wasn't calm and collected on the inside, things would begin to spiral out of control.

The Beretta PX4 in her right hand felt like a lead brick, safety off. Her arm was outstretched full length, motionless, but aching with fatigue. Her left was draped to her side, sorer than all hell from the fight. The gun had a 17 round magazine. She had used 5 shots in the previous fight. Plenty of ammo left. But plenty of ammo for what? Did the man at the end of the sights deserve the cold 9mm round waiting in the chamber, or the other 11 in the magazine?

Hardly.

Why had he come in the first place? Was it his orders, or was it his personal interests? Did he follow her because it was his job, or for who she was to him? It had all happened so fast. The assassin had turned and aimed as soon as he burst through the door. Then, chaos.

Ada's usually rock solid concentration began to deteriorate further. Her blinking increased, the perfect curve of her lashes dancing wildly over her almond shaped eyes. She wanted to look to her left, to hope that the wall of automatic rifles and submachine guns weren't pointed at her. But even looking in her position would only cast more suspicion to the growing heap already on her. She forced her eyes into his instead, knowing very well that she herself was at gunpoint. The shoulder harness wrapped around her body felt three sizes too small suddenly. Why had she fastened it so tight? It wasn't so bad an hour ago. Her aching left hand wanted to creep up and undo the fastening.

The floating dust in the room would reveal partial beams of the dozen or so laser sights positioned like cobwebs. The red dots they cast were mainly focused on the man, but Ada caught a flash of red on her chest; several were pointed at her.

Think...think dammit! Stop wasting time!

Every second her chances were slimming. If she was going to act, the time was now. Which choice was she going to make?

"Can you really throw it all away?" asked the cool, calculating agent in Ada Wong. "The objective that you've fought tooth and nail for?"

Her conscience presented the logical choice to the question: no, of course not. The last 6 years could not be wasted at any cost. Especially for something as fickle as an emotion. For all that work to go to waste would not only be stupid, it would be insane.

"But what is it you want more?" retorted the woman in Ada Wong.

She wanted him. Desperately. Damn her objectives, damn the organization. It was bad luck that things had played out the way they did, plain and simple bad luck. They were on opposite sides. She did everything to keep him away, but fate always seemed to draw them together again.

"No, it's not fate," said the woman. "It's you. You're the reason why. Are you really going to let him die because of that?"

The two sides of Ada's mind clashed back and forth. The calculating agent had the upper hand, but the woman was strong. Ada still stood frozen with the gun outstretched in her hand. It gave a small shake, then steadied, still hovering on his breast, directly over his heart.

"Wong, what are you waiting for?" asked a distant voice, coming from the mass of guns to her left.

There was a soft set of clicks and the creaking sound of fabric as positions in the gunmen changed. The only reason they would be moving would be if they were acquiring a new target. The only other people in the room was the dead body to her right, and the man in front of her. Some of the red dots speckled on him disappeared. Ada didn't have to guess where they went; she was the new target.

How many are there? What about their positions? If they're clustered right, I might have a chance.

"I don't think so, sweetheart," the agent sneered, "The surroundings are bad. You might have cover, but you can't see them all at once. Your outgunned and outnumbered. They'll be all over you."

She was right, of course. The room was stacked with various boxes and other bits of clutter. Perfect for cover from bullets, but the gunmen had strength in numbers. If she tried anything, she would get blown away.

"She's wrong," snapped the woman, referring to the agent. "You have the skill to pull it off."

Yet another counterexample. Her mind demanded an answer.

The agent: "A simple squeeze of the trigger, and you're on your way to your goal. Just a minor inconvenience."

True. Why should she care? All that mattered was her end goal. All the time she had spent working to achieve it would go down the drain, all because of him. She would be doing herself a favor; one less distraction to worry about in the future. With him out of the way, life would be so much easier.

The woman: "A simple squeeze of the trigger, and you destroy one of the very few things that kept you going this whole time. Could you really live with yourself afterwards? May as well put the gun to your own head, you cold hearted bitch."

Also true. He was what kept her human all this time. But so what if the woman was right? Then they would both die anyway. As soon as she acted, he would be gunned down. If he was lucky, they would all turn to her first, but even that wouldn't matter; he was unarmed.

"But he would die knowing what you had was real," the woman said softly in her head.

Ada swallowed hard, already dreading the decision she made. It wasn't going to be easy for her.

So this is it...Maybe, just maybe, there's an angel on my shoulder.

Ada breathed deeply, letting the cool air fill her lungs. The dust floating in it tickled her throat, but she maintained herself. She closed her eyes and felt her skin cool. Her heart was still beating quickly, but controllably. The gun gave one final tiny twitch, then was steady again. Ada opened her eyes, back in control. Time resumed its normal flow.

Her hand gripped tighter on the gun, and she released her breath, cocking the hammer back with her thumb...