Armageddon

A - V.I: Log 001

Early Retirement
Tuesday, September 8, 1998

He hadn’t been paying attention to anything. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he first sat down. Not like that even mattered, considering how busy his mind seemed to be running in the first place. It was starting to drive him mad.

The young brunette pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep himself awake. If he hadn’t been injured, then maybe he could’ve actually been useful during the Arklay Incident a couple of weeks ago.

Sure, Wesker was a helluva lot stronger than he could ever hoped to be, since apparently for all this time his commanding officer had never been human, but no one could even hope to match his skill when it came to firearms.

That whole incident was just one massive fuck-up.

From the start Jason had his suspicions about that pharmaceutical giant, Umbrella, but never once did he actually think he’d ever be right in the fact that they were up to something horrendous.

No, that was a lie. It was more like he hoped he would never be right.

Jason groaned, bringing the bottle back up to his lips. The music and the voices had all blended together in a stream of nonsensical white noise. Not too distracting, but not too silent. The perfect thinking atmosphere for a young man like him.

Jason had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t realised someone had been trying to get his attention until he felt a hand rest upon his shoulder. Jason went still, the feeling of physical touch activating his fight or flight.

With all the training the young, former S.T.A.R.S. member had received, flight was no longer an option he considered.

In one fluid motion, Jason flipped around, pulling out his Deagle that he kept strapped to his thigh, placing the barrel of the gun up against the jaw of whoever had the gaul to be so touchy with him.

The atmosphere of the small roadside shack Jason found himself in grew tense as the patrons all turned to look over at the sound of the gun cocking. The regulars soon went back to what they were doing, having grown used to Jason’s paranoia.

“Jason…” the deep voice of one Chris Redfield spoke up, raising his hands to show Jason that he meant the nineteen-year-old no harm.

“Kennedy! What did I tell ya ’bout attackin’ strangers?” The barkeep, a man Jason had grown to know quite well over the years, scolded in his strong western accent.

Jason sighed, lowering his Deagle. “I know this stranger, Johnson.” Jason said to the barkeep, swivelling back around in his bar stool, shoving the handgun back into its holster.

The barkeep shook his head, soon going back to whatever he had been doing. It didn’t take long for the lively atmosphere to return, the roadshack returning to its natural muse.

Chris took a seat next to Jason. “Sorry,” he apologised, “I forgot about your… no touching rule… thing.”

Jason shrugged, taking another swing from his beer. “Ain’t an issue, mate. You’re probably one of the few who could actually get away with it.”

“Yeah…”

It went silent between the two, save for the other noises of the roadshack. At this time of night, around two in the morning, meant that mostly the only people present were the regulars, along with a few newbies. The roadshack was out in the middle of nowhere, being a good six hour drive from any city or town.