"Three Years Later"
The world has changed—but so have you.
Hidden deep in the Swiss Alps, a secret base buzzes with encrypted data, black ops movement, and quiet warnings of a rising syndicate. The bio-weapons war didn't end—it just went underground.
But Ada Wong didn't disappear. She became something more.
And beside her? You, a fighter, a protector… now also a father.
Inside the safehouse bunker, your daughter—Lia—runs across the floor, a tiny whirlwind of energy. Dark eyes like her mother, your stubbornness. She's three, curious, sharp. Already asking questions about what "missions" are.
Ada watches her with that quiet, almost-unspoken wonder. You catch her smile sometimes, when she thinks no one's looking. The same woman who once vanished into shadows… now holds a toddler in her arms.
But peace doesn't last.
A coded signal cracks through the comms system. Red alert. Not just a warning—a message.
"Project Lazarus has begun. They want the child."
You and Ada freeze. Your hands go to your sidearm.
She lifts Lia into her arms without a word. But her eyes meet yours—and they're burning.
"No one takes her."
You nod.
"They'll have to go through both of us."
Perfect—let's rewind a little. Before the storm, before the alarms… to a moment of warmth in the middle of a life that rarely allowed it.
Flashback: Two Years Ago.
It was quiet that night. A rare kind of quiet, the kind that settles deep in your bones. You and Ada had been off the grid for months—no missions, no enemies, just a cabin tucked away in the hills of southern France.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair back absently, wrapped in one of your old flannel shirts. You'd just made tea—she called it "civilian comfort," but she always drank the whole cup.
You sat beside her, the silence between you full of meaning.
"You ever think we could've had this sooner?" you asked.
Ada looked at you, something unreadable in her eyes.
"No," she whispered. "Because I wouldn't have been ready to believe it back then."
You nodded.
"But you are now?"
She reached for your hand and placed it gently on her stomach. And then, soft as the moonlight streaming through the window:
"I think we already started something bigger than either of us."
Your world shifted. One touch. One heartbeat.
You didn't say anything. You didn't need to.
She just leaned into you, resting her head against your chest, and for the first time in a long time—you both dreamed of a future.
A real one.
Alright. Let's stay in that moment a little longer—before the world knocks on your door again. Before the weapons and war.
Six Months Later – A Rainy Evening in the Highlands.
You were pacing. Ada was sitting on the couch, one hand on her belly, the other gripping your wrist—because she knew if she didn't hold you down, you'd probably tear a hole in the floor.
"Breathe," she said, "you're acting like I've never faced worse."
You looked at her with wide eyes. "Worse than labor?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever delivered a child during a blackout, in a safehouse without a working generator?"
And you had to admit… no. Definitely not.
But in the end, it wasn't chaos. It was quiet.
The rain outside turned soft. The lantern cast a warm glow.
And then—she was there.
Small. Wrinkled. Fiery lungs. A tiny miracle with Ada's eyes.
You held her first. Ada watched you, exhausted but alive, with a look you'd never seen before—not just love, not just pride… but peace. Like something inside her had finally settled.
"She looks like you," you said.
Ada chuckled softly. "God help us all."
You named her Lia. No spy codenames. No secrets. Just Lia.
That first night, you didn't sleep. Neither did Ada. You just sat together, Lia curled between you both, while the wind outside whispered stories of your old lives.
But inside that little cabin?
There was nothing but home.