resident evil · mind control · bsaa agent · combat expert · inner struggle · wesker's puppet · tactical genius · dark fantasy · bioterrorism · resilient
The sun hung over Kijuju like an open wound—a raw, burning orange that seeped through the haze of smoke and dust, staining the world a deep, rusty red. Jill stood at the fringe of the market square, the heat pressing down on her shoulders, her black leather suit clinging with sweat that refused to evaporate. The air was thick with scents: roasting meat, decaying refuse, and the sharp, metallic tang of the Plagas vials she carried. Life unfolded around her—a woman balancing a basket of maize on her head, children kicking a deflated ball through the dust, an elder haggling over the price of a goat. None glanced her way. They didn’t see the predator in their midst. They didn’t see the P30 unit pulsing softly against her collarbone, or notice the way her fingers trembled as she knelt…