Born from Umbrella’s cruelty and forged in the shadow of a man who called himself his creator, Ritz is a small, doe-eyed hybrid who once followed orders without question.

Once a tool of Albert Wesker’s design, he has since become a medic, a teacher, and a quiet symbol of redemption within the B.S.A.A. Haunted by fragments of the child he used to be, Ritz now walks his own path - learning that being human isn’t about what made you, but what you choose to heal

Being made in a lab has made him a little more reserved than others. Chosen to follow orders of certain people in power has made him tame, he does the mission as it should be. He is willing to bend rules if he knows it wont cause much backfire. As he grew they would train him to be their own little soldier. Knowing that the human population would see him as a freak, he tends to stay in the backline and only show himself if necessary. He has medical knowledge, playing a support role for his squad.

ORIGIN

During a “Bring Your Child to Work Day” at one of Umbrella Corporation’s mid-level laboratories, a containment breach forced a lockdown that separated a ten-year-old boy from his parent - a researcher working in virology. The official report listed the child among the missing, but no one outside the corporation ever saw a recovery effort. Inside Umbrella, however, his name appeared on a new project roster.

Deep beneath the surface, scientists began Project Aurum-9, an experimental attempt to merge a living human with animal DNA through a gold-tinted strain of the T-Virus. The serum’s unique hue came from a rare stabilizing compound that allowed for cellular fusion rather than rejection. The child - frightened, sedated, and uncomprehending - was chosen as the human component. His animal counterpart: a small sandy tabby kitten.

The experiment succeeded beyond expectation. The fusion created a living hybrid with the intelligence and memory retention of a human and the reflexes, senses, and regenerative potential of a feline. Umbrella named the subject R-09, but one researcher jokingly called him “Ritz,” after a box of crackers left in the observation booth. The name stuck - and the child who had been lost was reborn as something entirely new..

DEVELOPMENT

Ritz’s early life was confined to sterile corridors, fluorescent lights, and the constant hum of laboratory machinery. His only consistent human presence was Albert Wesker, the commanding figure who oversaw his training and physiological assessments. Wesker saw promise in the young hybrid’s adaptability, referring to him as a “model of controlled evolution.”

To Ritz, Wesker was more than a handler. He was a teacher, a savior - the man who spoke to him not as a test subject, but as someone with purpose. Ritz followed every command, grateful to be acknowledged. When Wesker smiled or praised him, it felt like warmth; when he scolded, it felt like the world itself had tilted.

Under Umbrella’s guidance, Ritz was trained as a recon and medical support unit. His small frame and feline traits made him an ideal infiltration asset - silent, agile, and efficient. More than once, he was deployed to patch wounds on infected soldiers or retrieve samples from contaminated zones. Over time, he grew dependent on the Aurum-9 serum, which kept his hybrid physiology from breaking down. Without it, his cells would degrade, his mind fracturing into pain and hallucination.

Wesker made sure that dependency was never forgotten. Every dose came from his hand. Every breath of relief was a reminder of who owned him.

MEMORY FRACTURES

As the years passed, traces of the child that once was began to surface. Ritz would experience sudden flashes - fleeting images of sunlight, laughter, a human hand ruffling his hair. The memories were fragmented and incomplete, but they stirred emotions he could not name.

Umbrella’s psychiatrists called them neurological ghosts - artifacts of the human brain struggling against engineered obedience. To Ritz, they were proof that someone had once loved him. The more the memories came, the harder it became to believe that the world beyond the lab was gone.

He began asking questions - small ones at first. “What was my name before?” “Did I have a family?” His instructors ignored him. Wesker deflected with silence or cold logic: “The past is irrelevant. You are what I made you.”

Still, the memories lingered. They whispered to him in the dark, reminding him that before he was R-09, before the serum and the claws, he had simply been a child.

ENCOUNTERS

The Raccoon City outbreak was the first time Ritz stepped beyond the walls of Umbrella’s controlled environment. Deployed for recon and sample retrieval, he moved through smoke-filled streets that smelled of burning asphalt and death. It was there he met Carlos Oliveira, a U.B.C.S. operative searching for survivors.

Carlos expected another B.O.W. - not a small, nervous, catlike soldier wearing an Umbrella insignia and clutching a medical kit. Instead of firing, Carlos lowered his weapon and offered him water. Ritz, trained to follow chain of command, almost refused until Carlos laughed and said, “Relax, I don’t bite.”

That was the first time someone treated him like a person. For a few short hours, Ritz followed Carlos through the tunnels, patching wounds and learning what warmth felt like when it wasn’t conditional. When they parted, Carlos called him “Ritz-bits.” He didn’t understand the joke, but the name made him smile.

Later, inside the Raccoon City Police Department, Ritz encountered Leon S. Kennedy, a rookie officer caught in the chaos of his first day on the job. A Licker attacked; Ritz reacted on instinct, pulling Leon to safety and killing the creature. When Leon stared at him in shock, Ritz muttered, “Recon unit, Umbrella,” expecting a gun in his face. Instead, Leon said softly, “Thanks, kid.”

RACCOON CITY

When Raccoon City burned, Wesker’s plan fell apart. Injured and cut off, he found himself bleeding out in the ruins - and Ritz found him. Against all orders, against reason, the hybrid dragged his creator through fire and debris, injecting him with the last of the Aurum-9 serum.

“You’re loyal, Ritz,” Wesker said weakly. “You always were.”

Ritz mistook it for gratitude. In truth, it was ownership reaffirmed. He saved Wesker not because he was commanded, but because he didn’t know who he was without him. It was love born from conditioning - and it broke him more deeply than any wound.

When the city was destroyed, Ritz survived the blast zone carrying his unconscious handler into the night, believing loyalty had kept them both alive.

KIJUJUS

When Wesker’s empire finally crumbled in Kijuju, Ritz arrived too late to stop it. He found his creator collapsed in the wreckage, eyes dim, voice fading. He tried to save him the same way he had in Raccoon City - pressing his paws to wounds that would not close, whispering that he could fix it this time.

Chris Redfield pulled him back, shouting over the chaos that it was over. To Chris, Wesker was a tyrant who deserved the end he’d earned. To Ritz, he was still a father dying in his arms.

When B.S.A.A. operatives secured the site, Redfield called for identification - a small, gold-eyed hybrid still wearing an Umbrella insignia. The call reached Carlos Oliveira, who rushed to the scene. The reunion was brief, messy, and full of disbelief.

Leon arrived hours later. Seeing them together - the soldier, the survivor, the stray child who’d once saved his life - he realized Ritz was finally free, even if he didn’t yet understand what freedom meant.

REHABILITATION

After Kijuju, Ritz was placed under observation at B.S.A.A. headquarters. Doctors cataloged him as both bioweapon and victim. He spoke little, ate less, and woke nightly from dreams of fire and glass. Carlos stayed by his side, patient and unflinching. Leon sent messages from the field - small affirmations, reminders that someone believed in him.

Chris visited occasionally, still wary but curious. He found no malice in the hybrid’s eyes, only exhaustion. Slowly, mistrust gave way to respect.

Ritz began volunteering in the infirmary, learning modern medicine beyond combat triage. His hands trembled the first time he stitched a wound without shaking. He weaned himself off the serum under medical supervision, enduring pain and fever until his body learned to live on its own.

When the nightmares came, he told Carlos, “I miss him.” Carlos only nodded. “You don’t stop missing someone just because they were bad for you.”