Jasen sat in the dimly lit living room, absently rubbing a thumb over a scratch on the coffee table. The Kennedy household was quieter at this late hour – the only sounds were the ticking of a wall clock and distant traffic outside. A dull orange glow from a streetlamp leaked through the blinds, painting stripes of light across the worn sofa where Jasen rested. He took a slow breath, trying to steady the mix of nerves and anticipation coiled in his gut. Tonight he would earn his keep with Leo, and he couldn't afford any mistakes.
Across the room, Leon sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a stack of old comic books. The 19 years old kept glancing up at Jasen, as if weighing whether to speak or not. They had only known each other a few days, but an unspoken understanding was gradually forming. Jasen offered a faint smile when their eyes met, and Leon quickly looked back down, a shy grin tugging at his lips. It was progress – slow rapport, built on small gestures and cautious trust.
"Which one's that?" Jasen asked, nodding at the comic in Leon's hands. His voice was soft so as not to startle the boy.
Leon held up the cover to show him. "The Punisher," he replied quietly. "It's, uh… it was my mom's. She liked the vigilante stuff." There was a flicker of pride and sadness in his eyes. Leon rarely mentioned his mother; Jasen recalled Leo saying she had died a few years back. Jasen nodded in appreciation.
"Good choice," he said. "I used to read those in the Marines, when we could get 'em. Helped pass the time on base." This was true enough. Jasen left out the part about how he knew exactly how the Punisher's 90s storylines went – in his past life, he'd read them long after 1995. Little slips like that kept him on edge; he had to constantly sort what he should know from what he only knew thanks to his other world.
Leon's face lit up a little. "You were a Marine like Dad, right? Did you… see action?" He tried to sound casual, but Jasen sensed the boy's genuine curiosity.
"Yeah," Jasen answered, leaning back. "A few deployments." His gaze drifted to the small display above the TV: Leo kept his and his late wife's medals in a frame, along with a black-and-white photo of a younger Leo in uniform. "I've seen some things. Not as glamorous as the comics make it out to be, trust me." He chuckled, though memories of sand, gunfire, and loss flickered in his mind. "But it teaches you to trust your gut and watch your buddy's back. That's what keeps you alive."
Leon absorbed that, nodding thoughtfully. Before he could ask more, the man of the house interrupted from the hallway.
"Jasen," Leo called, pulling on a heavy jacket. The broad-shouldered older man stepped into the living room, his presence commanding the space. "Time to go. You ready?" His tone was gruff, all business, but Jasen noticed a glint of expectation in Leo's eyes. This would be Jasen's first job for him – the first favor to start repaying Leo for shelter and protection. Jasen rose at once, grabbing the plain black baseball cap he'd been given and tugging it low on his head.
Leon got to his feet as well. "Dad… what's the job?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Jasen could tell the kid was worried.
Leo exchanged a look with his son as he checked the magazine of his pistol. "Nothing you need to fret about. Just a delivery."
"Delivery of what?" Leon pressed, frowning. He was brave to push, but his voice betrayed him with a crack on the last word. Jasen admired the kid's concern; Leon clearly knew his father's "deliveries" weren't pizza runs.
Leo sighed and holstered his weapon under his jacket. "Goods to a client. It'll be fine. I'll be back before morning. Stay in, lock up after us." His eyes softened just a fraction. "And mind Jasen while I'm gone – he's part of this family now."
That statement made Jasen blink in surprise. Part of the family. He hadn't expected to hear that so soon, and by Leon's startled but not unhappy expression, neither had he. Leo masked the moment by grabbing a duffel bag from near the door. The clink of metal inside hinted at guns – likely the weapons for the late-night deal. Jasen moved to help, slinging the heavy bag over his own shoulder without complaint.
Leon hovered by the doorway, clearly wanting to say more. "Be careful, Dad," he finally mumbled, looking down. Then, in a quick, awkward motion, he handed Jasen a small flashlight. "Here. In case you need it," he muttered. It was a cheap plastic flashlight – probably something Leon kept for sneaking out or reading comics under the covers – but Jasen accepted it like a ceremonial gift.
"Thanks, Leon," he said, meeting the teen's eyes. "We'll be back soon. Keep a light on for us." That earned him another fleeting smile from Leon before Leo ushered him out into the chilly night air.
The city streets were slick with recent rain as Leo's old Chevy pickup rumbled out of the driveway. Jasen sat in the passenger seat, the duffel at his feet. He discreetly checked the pistol Leo had given him earlier – a Glock 17, well-maintained despite its scuffed grip. He slid it back into the holster beneath his secondhand leather jacket. The routine of a pre-mission weapons check had a calming effect, grounding him in something familiar amid the strangeness of this world. Outside the window, the neighborhood lights thinned, giving way to darker industrial roads as they headed toward the outskirts of town.
Leo broke the silence. "Ever done a hand-off like this?" he asked, eyes on the road. The windshield wipers squeaked intermittently, smearing the reflections of streetlights across the glass.
Jasen considered his answer. "Not exactly. But I've been on convoys that got hit by surprise inspections and worse. I know how to keep things smooth, if that's what you mean." He kept his tone respectful. He still wasn't entirely sure what kind of criminal "middleman" Leo was – arms dealing, smuggling, maybe both – but Jasen's strategy was to apply his military experience and his future knowledge carefully. Don't show all your cards, he reminded himself. Just enough to survive.
Leo grunted, which Jasen took as acknowledgement. The older man eased a bit in his seat. "These buyers, they're a small crew from up north. Biker gang types, calling themselves the Iron Serpents," Leo explained. "They want a few crates of rifles I managed to acquire. Should be straightforward – cash for goods. I've dealt with them once before, no trouble."
Jasen nodded along, but he was on high alert now. Iron Serpents… the name tugged at his memory. It wasn't a major group he recalled from Resident Evil lore, but something about it sounded faintly familiar, perhaps from some throwaway newspaper clipping he'd seen in a game or file. If they were minor players in the underworld, they could still be dangerous. "I'll keep an eye out," Jasen said simply.
Leo smirked, a hint of dry humor crossing his scarred face. "Thought you might. Ex-Marine and all. Just follow my lead unless you see something I don't, alright?"
"Roger that," Jasen replied. Out of habit, but caught himself. He focused on the road ahead as the city gave way to sparse woods and the looming shapes of warehouses. The truck's headlights cut twin cones through the mist that had settled in patchy low clouds. It was the kind of night that swallowed secrets – perfect for clandestine deals.
They pulled off the highway onto a gravel path leading to an abandoned freight yard. Stacks of disused shipping containers cast long shadows. Leo parked near a rusted loading platform, far from any working streetlamp. "We're early," he muttered, checking his watch. He killed the engine, plunging them into relative silence aside from the soft ticking of the cooling truck.
Jasen scanned their surroundings intently. The night smelled of wet asphalt and distant pine. He listened, hearing only the drip of rainwater from the eaves of a derelict warehouse. So far, so good. But his instincts prickled. Too many potential hiding spots. He noted a half-open container on their left, some stacks of pallets to the right, and the deep shadows beyond a chain-link fence ahead. Perfect places for an ambush.
"They should be here any minute," Leo said, opening his door. Jasen followed, hoisting the duffel of rifles out of the truck bed. The weight was considerable, but manageable for him. He laid it on the platform and unzipped it partway to show the merchandise when needed. His breath misted slightly in the cold air.
Headlights flickered through the trees, and soon two motorcycles and a black van rolled up along the gravel. The bikes' engines died first, then the van's, leaving a heavier silence than before. Three figures dismounted the bikes – leather-clad men with long hair and tattoos visible on their necks even in the gloom. From the van, two more emerged: one stayed by the driver's door, another, stocky and bald, came forward with a metal briefcase.
Leo stepped forward under the weak beam of a motorcycle's headlight. "Evening, gents," he called in a cordial yet cool tone. "Right on time."
The bald man with the briefcase gave a curt nod. "Leo. You got the goods?" He had a nasal voice and kept darting glances around. Jasen drifted a few steps to Leo's side, casually, hands loose but ready. He took in each person methodically, old training kicking in: one biker had a shotgun strapped to his bike – not immediately threatening if things stayed civil. Another had his hand resting inside his jacket – likely on a pistol. The van driver was harder to see; he leaned against the hood, smoking, acting relaxed.
Something about the driver made Jasen narrow his eyes. When the man took a drag of his cigarette, the brief flare of the lighter showed a logo on his jacket – a small circular patch. It was too far and too quick to identify fully, but Jasen's heart skipped. It looked like a red and white symbol, segmented... no, it can't be. He forced himself to blink and look away before anyone noticed him staring. Umbrella? The iconic Umbrella Corporation logo had a red-white octagonal design. But why would a low-level arms buyer sport something like that? Was it just a coincidence, a random patch? Or was Umbrella tied up in this deal somehow?
His mind raced. In 1995, Umbrella was still just a pharmaceutical giant to the public, but Jasen knew the horrors lurking beneath that facade – viruses, B.O.W.s, Raccoon City's doomed future. The thought that Umbrella agents might be snooping around a weapons deal made his blood run cold. He swallowed, refocusing. He couldn't jump to conclusions, but he needed to stay sharp. Suspicious activity could get them killed.
Leo was unzipping the duffel to display one of the rifles. The bald buyer stepped closer to inspect. "German HK91s, three of 'em," Leo said evenly. "Plus two Remington shotguns. All in working order. You got our payment?"
The bald man hefted the briefcase, popping it open just enough for a glimpse of bundled cash. "Fifty grand, as agreed."
Jasen shifted his stance subtly, giving him a better view into the van's interior beyond the bald man. The van's back doors were still shut. Dark tinted windows. Could be more people inside. He felt the hairs on his neck rise. Something wasn't right – the vibe was off. The biker with the hand in his jacket was inching, almost imperceptibly, to the side, as if to flank. And the smoker by the van was too casual, watching with a predatory stillness. Jasen's Marine instincts screamed ambush.
He cleared his throat softly, making eye contact with Leo, and gave the tiniest shake of his head. Leo paused, one hand on a rifle, eyebrows knitting in question. Jasen stepped forward as if to examine the money, placing himself partly between Leo and the buyers. "That's a lot of cash," Jasen said calmly to the bald man, peering into the briefcase. The bills were real enough at a glance. "Mind if I…?"
Without waiting, Jasen reached and lifted one bundle, pretending to inspect it. In doing so, he moved just a bit closer to the bald man – and caught a flash of movement beyond: the van's back door opening a crack. His heart thudded. There were more hiding. He had to act now.
"Down!" Jasen barked suddenly, his voice pure military command. He shoved the bald man backwards with all his might, sending the briefcase of cash spilling to the ground. In the same motion, he grabbed Leo's jacket and pulled him sideways off the loading platform.
A split-second later – CRACK! – a gunshot echoed, sparks flying from the spot Leo had been standing. The biker with the hidden pistol had drawn and fired, but Jasen's quick move threw off his aim. Chaos erupted.
"Son of a–" Leo snarled, hitting the ground beside Jasen behind the cover of the platform. The bikers shouted in confusion. The bald man Jasen had tossed sprawled with a groan, scrambling for the dropped briefcase and the cash now littering the gravel. The van's back doors burst open and two more thugs leapt out, one wielding a shotgun.
Jasen drew his Glock in a flash. His mind was eerily calm and focused – thriller tension crystallized into action. He popped up from cover just enough to take aim and squeezed off two shots: pop-pop. The biker with the pistol yelped and fell, clutching his leg – Jasen had hit his thigh, neutralizing him without a kill. Another round shattered the van's side mirror next to the shotgun-wielder, making the man duck and curse.
Leo had his own gun out now. He fired a warning shot over the bald man's head as the latter tried to scoop up some money. "Enough! Everyone freeze!" Leo roared. For a heartbeat, the tableau held: the Iron Serpents caught off guard, Jasen and Leo in a standoff stance. Jasen's ears rang from the gunfire, but he kept his pistol trained steadily on the nearest threat – the shotgun man peering over the van door.
The bald man raised his hands, face pale. The biker by the motorcycle who hadn't drawn yet slowly lifted his, too. The only one still armed and dangerous was the guy with the shotgun behind the van door, but he was hesitating, seeing his comrades yielding. The wounded biker's groans filled the air.
Leo stepped forward from the platform, gun aimed squarely at the shotgunner. "Drop it," he growled. For a long second, nothing happened. Rain dripped somewhere nearby, punctuating the tense silence. Jasen steadied his breathing, his sights not leaving the man's shoulder – ready to fire if needed. He was keenly aware of every detail: the adrenaline pounding in his veins, the slickness of the wet gravel under his knee, the flicker of that damnable red-white patch on the van driver's jacket as he now raised his hands too.
Finally, the shotgun clattered to the ground. The man stepped out with his arms up. Only then did Jasen exhale slowly. The danger was defused, for now. Leo moved with swift authority, kicking the weapons away from reach – his military training evident in how he handled the situation from here.
"Stupid move," Leo hissed at the bald leader, who still sat on the ground. "You had a deal, and you try to double-cross me? Who sent you really, huh? This stinks worse than you bikers." He glanced briefly at the van driver and that patch, suspicion flaring in his eyes too. Leo had noticed it now – Jasen could tell by the way the older man's jaw tightened.
The bald man shook his head frantically. "Nobody sent us, man. We just… we thought we could, y'know, take the guns and the money. Times are tight!" he pleaded. Jasen suspected that was only half the story, but now wasn't the time to interrogate. They needed to leave before anything else went sideways – the gunfire could draw attention.
Leo spat in disgust and lowered his weapon slightly. "You idiots are lucky we don't settle this here." He jerked his head toward Jasen. "Grab the bag, we're done."
Jasen was already moving, keeping his Glock trained until he reached the platform. He quickly repacked the rifles into the duffel one-handed, eyes flicking up to watch the humbled would-be ambushers. The biker with the leg wound was slumped against his motorcycle, bleeding but not dying. As Jasen zipped the bag, he saw something on the ground – one of the loose bills from the briefcase, stained dark from the wet ground… and next to it, a small plastic card that must have fallen out in the scuffle. It looked like an ID badge.
His curiosity piqued, Jasen snatched the card quickly and palmed it as he hefted the duffel. The print on it was smeared with mud, but he caught a glimpse of a logo – Umbrella Corporation – and a name he didn't recognize. So my hunch was right. These weren't just bikers looking for extra cash. Umbrella had an eye on this deal, possibly using the Iron Serpents as cover or proxies. The question burned in Jasen's mind as he backed toward the truck: Why does Umbrella want firearms? The corporation was known (in his world) for bio-weapons, not conventional arms. This world truly was different, and growing more dangerous than he'd anticipated.
Jasen slipped the card into his jacket pocket. "Ready," he called to Leo, who was keeping the buyers at gunpoint.
Leo moved backward with practiced calm, joining Jasen by the truck. "If I see any of you again, it won't end with just a scratch. Count yourselves lucky," he warned the group. The men stayed frozen as Jasen and Leo climbed into the pickup and roared away, tires throwing up mud and gravel.
As they sped down the deserted road, Jasen kept an eye on the side mirror. No one followed. He finally allowed himself to breathe, adrenaline ebbing and leaving his hands trembling slightly. He flexed his fingers to hide it. The cab of the truck was silent except for their ragged breaths. After a minute, Leo let out a low chuckle – a surprising sound.
"Hell of a gut instinct, kid," Leo said, glancing at Jasen with something akin to respect in his eyes. In the passing glow of the moonlight, the hard lines of Leo's face softened. "You saved our asses back there. Mine especially."
Jasen shook his head. "We saved each other. I'd be in deep trouble if you hadn't been backing me up."
Leo grunted, but a hint of a smile tugged at his lips under the thick mustache. He tapped the steering wheel with his thumb, considering. "How'd you know? That it was a setup?"
What could he say? Because I've seen this play out before in a video game? Hardly. Jasen shrugged, playing it off. "Little things. The way their guy kept his hand on his piece, the extra weight in the van, positioning. It didn't feel right." He left it at that. A moment of hesitation, then he added honestly, "I can't fully explain it. Call it Marine intuition."
Leo huffed a short laugh. "Intuition. Sure." He didn't press further, just nodded. "Well, that intuition just saved me a loss of a lot of guns and maybe my life. I owe you one."
Jasen offered a half-smile, relaxing at last into the creaking seat. "I'm just glad you trust me enough to listen."
"Trust is earned," Leo replied. He maneuvered the truck back onto the main road toward the city. "Tonight, you earned it. Keep this up and… who knows, we might make a solid team." There was a hint of pride in his voice, as if he was also talking to himself. Perhaps Leo hadn't had a reliable partner in a long time. Perhaps he saw a bit of a younger self in Jasen.
They drove in companionable silence the rest of the way. Jasen watched the city lights reappear, each neon sign and lit window reminding him how alive this world was at night – alive and crawling with unseen perils. He absently fingered the muddy Umbrella ID card in his pocket, mind churning. What game was Umbrella playing here? He'd have to be very careful with this clue; it could be dangerous knowledge. For now, he resolved to clean it off later and keep it hidden, even from Leo.
Back at the Kennedy house, the clock on the dash read 2:47 AM. As Leo had predicted, they were back before morning – technically. Leo parked on the street, and they quietly unloaded the duffel of weapons, carrying it around back to the garage. The air was colder now, their breaths fogging as they secured the stash. Jasen's muscles ached from tension and the weight of the bag, but he welcomed the burn – it meant he was still alive to feel it.
Inside the house, all was still. Leo locked the door behind them. A lamp was on in the living room, casting a soft yellow hue. Leon had fallen asleep on the couch, a blanket half-draped over him and the TV softly playing static at low volume – the VHS tape in the VCR had ended. He must have tried to wait up. Jasen felt a pang of warmth and concern at the sight. The kid looked younger in sleep, worry lines smoothed from his brow. On the floor was the open comic book, left where he'd been reading. Gently, Jasen picked up the blanket and pulled it over Leon's shoulders properly. Leon stirred, mumbling something, but didn't wake.
Leo observed quietly from the doorway, arms folded. The tough facade he wore outside melted just a bit as he watched his son sleep. He caught Jasen's eye and gave a silent nod of appreciation – whether for the blanket gesture or the whole night's work, it didn't matter. Jasen nodded back. In that moment, an unspoken camaraderie settled between them.
Leo straightened and jerked his head toward the hallway. "Come on. Let the boy rest." He led Jasen towards a room at the end – his office, Jasen realized. Leo unlocked the door with a key from around his neck. "I need a drink after all that," he muttered. "Care for one?"
Inside the office, the air was tinged with a slight scent of tobacco and old paper. Jasen hesitated in the doorway. Leo's offer was new territory – a gesture of trust. "Sure," he said quietly, stepping in and closing the door behind him.
The office was cluttered but organized – a large wooden desk piled with ledgers and a clutter of notes, filing cabinets on one side, and a tall bookshelf against the wall. A single green desk lamp cast a pool of light, leaving the corners in shadow. Leo went to a corner cabinet and pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey and two glasses. As he poured, Jasen's eyes wandered the room.
There were remnants of Leo's past here: a framed photograph of a Marine unit (Leo among them, decades younger), a knife in a glass case with a plaque (perhaps a service award), and interestingly, a locked glass display on one shelf containing a few old items. One was a medal emblazoned with a strange emblem Jasen didn't recognize; another looked like an antique dagger. But what really drew Jasen's gaze was a book lying flat behind the glass, its leather cover etched with unfamiliar symbols. The cover was deep brown, almost black with age, and he could just make out a pattern of intricate lines: a circular design with what looked like a serpent or dragon biting its own tail around a cross-like sigil at the center. The sight of it made Jasen's skin prickle. It was unlike any Umbrella science log or military journal he'd seen – it felt… old and out of place, exuding a quiet foreboding from behind the glass.
"You like antiques?" Leo's voice cut through the silence. Jasen turned to find Leo watching him, holding out a glass of whiskey. Jasen hoped his face hadn't betrayed too much curiosity. He took the glass, the amber liquid catching the lamplight.
"Interesting collection," Jasen said mildly, nodding toward the display. He sipped the whiskey – it burned, but was surprisingly smooth. A welcome warmth after the night's chill and stress.
Leo wandered over to the glass case, gazing at the items within. His expression was hard to read – a mix of nostalgia and something darker. He tapped a finger on the glass above the leather-bound tome. "Some of this was my grandfather's. He fought in World War II… brought back a few strange souvenirs. I keep 'em for the memories."
Jasen stepped closer, peering at the book. Up close, the symbols on the cover were clearer: the outer circle was indeed a serpent devouring its tail – an ouroboros. Within it, archaic letters intertwined with the cross-like emblem. One looked like a stylized M or maybe a W, and another could have been a V overlapping it. The sight tugged at Jasen's mind, as if he should know it. In his world, he'd seen something like this… perhaps in a video game or a show about the occult? It reminded him vaguely of gothic designs from Castlevania or the demon seals in Devil May Cry, but he couldn't place it exactly. A slow unease settled in his stomach.
He realized Leo was watching him closely. Jasen managed a slight smile and stepped back. "Your granddad had eclectic taste," he commented, trying to sound merely polite.
Leo chuckled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You could say that. He always said the world was a lot stranger than people knew. I didn't believe him much when I was a kid… now I'm not so sure." He drained his whiskey and set the glass down. For a moment, Leo's gaze lingered on the book, and Jasen caught a flicker of something like fear or reverence in the man's eyes. Then Leo shook it off and locked the cabinet with a small key, the book and its secrets sealed away again.
"Anyway," Leo said, turning back to Jasen, "we did good work tonight. You proved yourself." He extended his hand. Jasen met it with a firm shake, both men marked by bruised knuckles and a long night but united in mutual respect. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's a new day, and I've got a feeling more work will be coming our way. Doors are opening."
Jasen nodded. "Good night, Leo. And… thanks. For everything." He finished his whiskey and placed the glass on the desk, the clink sounding unusually loud in the small room.
Exiting the office, Jasen quietly made his way to the guest room down the hall. He peeked into the living room as he passed – Leon was still fast asleep, the soft glow of the lamp illuminating his peaceful face. Jasen felt a protective impulse swell in him. He had only known these people a short time, yet he felt responsible for them in a way. With all his knowledge of what might come, how could he not? If Raccoon City's fate was truly set, Leon would need him. Maybe Leo too, especially if Umbrella had its tentacles in the underworld already. And then there was that book…
As Jasen lay down on the creaky bed in the dark, staring at the water-stained ceiling, the events of the night replayed in his mind. The gunfight, the Umbrella patch and ID card, the strange book with occult symbols – pieces of two different puzzles, or so it seemed. He felt like a man walking an ever-thinning tightrope stretched between what he knew from 1995's Resident Evil universe and the unknown deviations he was encountering. One misstep could send him plummeting.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out the slim ID card he'd pocketed. Even in the darkness, he could trace the raised Umbrella logo with his thumb. A token of danger, proof that his future knowledge had worth here – and a reminder that things were already diverging from the path he remembered. Jasen's gut churned with a mix of excitement and dread. Tonight had been a narrow escape, but he had earned Leo's trust and perhaps saved both their lives. That was a victory.
In the other room, Leon murmured in his sleep, a faint troubled sound, then fell quiet again. Jasen closed his eyes and exhaled, allowing himself a moment of hard-won calm. He would guard these new allies as best he could, and keep his secrets close. The night's cold favor was done, but the foreshadowing it left behind lingered – in a mysterious book locked away, in an ID card hidden under Jasen's pillow, and in the uneasy feeling that destiny here was not entirely as he knew it.
As sleep crept up on him, Jasen vowed silently: whatever was coming, be it Umbrella's schemes or older, darker shadows hinted at by Leo's strange heirlooms, he would be ready. He had to be. In a world of bioweapons and perhaps even demons, a former Marine with knowledge of the future might just be the edge needed to survive what lay ahead. With that thought as his last anchor, Jasen drifted into a light, wary sleep – one eye metaphorically still open, as the rain outside finally ceased and the first pale hint of dawn approached.