Jasen stood by the open garage door in the cold December air, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. Leon Kennedy faced him, the faint light catching the emotions in the 20-year-old's eyes. Leon held out a small object wrapped in cloth. "I, uh, got you something," Leon said quietly, voice uneven. Jasen unfolded the cloth to find a black combat knife in a leather sheath. The blade's handle was engraved with two words: Semper Fi. Jasen's throat tightened at the Marine motto carved into the steel – a message of brotherhood and loyalty. He realized Leon must have spent weeks planning this. "You've been like family, Jasen," Leon murmured. "I wanted you to have something to remember… and to keep you safe out there."
Jasen blinked hard, fighting the sting in his eyes. He gripped the knife, feeling the weight of the teen's heartfelt gift, and then pulled Leon into a quick, fierce hug. "Thank you, kid," he said softly. Despite Leon now being a grown young man, Jasen still called him "kid" warmly. "I'll carry it with me. Always." Leon stepped back and managed a smile. In two years, Jasen had watched Leon grow from a reckless teenager into a determined young adult. The bond they'd formed was deeper than Jasen ever expected when he first found himself in this world. Seeing Leon's expression now, Jasen realized his presence truly made a difference in the boy's life. It was a brief, emotional moment – two years of camaraderie and mentorship distilled into a silent understanding between them.
From the side, Leo cleared his throat to announce himself. The older man – a grizzled man – approached carrying a heavy olive-green duffel bag. He set it down at Jasen's feet with a metallic clink of contents inside. "This should have everything you'll need," Leo said in his gravelly baritone. He was doing his best to maintain a stoic demeanor, but his tight grip on Jasen's shoulder betrayed his true feelings. He handed over a manila folder next. Inside, Jasen found a new passport, driver's license, a couple of credit cards, even a birth certificate. A whole new identity, expertly forged. Jasen nodded, marveling at the thoroughness. Finally, Leo pressed a thick white envelope into Jasen's hand.
Jasen opened it and his eyes widened at the stack of hundred-dollar bills. "That's $100,000," Leo stated matter-of-factly before Jasen could protest. "Your cut from the last two years of jobs. You earned every penny." Jasen was momentarily speechless. He glanced from the cash to Leo, shaking his head slightly. "Leo… I don't know what to say. This is too much." Leo waved off the gratitude gruffly. "Just use it wisely. Set yourself up in Raccoon City with what we didn't give you already. Consider it an investment in your mission." Despite his hardened persona, Leo's eyes were intense with concern – he genuinely cared that Jasen would be alright on his own. Jasen realized that in Leo's own way, this was a heartfelt farewell too: the truck, the gear, the identity, and a small fortune. It was Leo ensuring Jasen had a fighting chance out there.
Jasen straightened and offered his hand to Leo. The older man clasped it firmly, then surprised Jasen by pulling him into a brief hug, slapping his back. "You take care of yourself," Leo muttered near his ear. For a moment, Jasen felt like he was back with his old unit, saying goodbye to a mentor. He stepped back and gave a sharp nod. "Thank you, for everything. I won't forget it." Jasen's voice was earnest. He then turned to include Leon, who hovered by the truck trying to look composed. "Both of you."
Leon mustered a lopsided grin. "You better write or call or something. Let us know you're alive once in a while." Jasen chuckled under his breath. "I will. And don't worry, I'm not dropping off the face of the earth." He ruffled Leon's brown hair, and Leon ducked away with an embarrassed laugh, wiping at his eyes quickly.
Before climbing into the pickup truck's driver seat, Jasen paused and looked at Leo with a serious gaze. "One more thing," he said, voice firm. "Leo… Leon's got a dream. He will become a police officer someday." Jasen glanced at Leon, who bit his lip and looked down, clearly having had this argument with his father before. Jasen continued, resolute. "He'd be a damn good one. You know it as much as I do. So promise me you'll support him in that, instead of trying to hold him back." There was a heavy silence. Leo's jaw tightened; he was a man who had imagined a different life for his son, far from law enforcement and its dangers – and far from opposing the criminal underworld Leo himself dealt in.
The older man let out a slow breath, looking between his son and his friend. Leon met his father's gaze, hopeful and anxious. Finally, Leo gave a grudging nod. "I can't say I like it," he admitted. His tone was gruff, but softening. "But… I won't stand in his way. Hell, the kid's as stubborn as his old man. I suppose he'll do it whether I agree or not." A faint smirk touched Leo's scarred face, and Leon's eyes lit up in relief. Jasen smiled, feeling a weight lift. He reached out and clasped Leo's shoulder once more, a silent thank-you passing between them.
With that, Jasen climbed into the pickup – an old but well-maintained Ford with a fresh coat of dark green paint, one of Leo's spare vehicles. The engine rumbled to life. Leon stepped forward and handed him a folded road map of the region and a small handheld radio. "In case you need to reach us," Leon said. Jasen took them, tucking the radio in his jacket. "Stay safe, both of you," Jasen said through the open window. Leon stepped back to stand by his father. Under the garage light, they looked like a family seeing off one of their own. Jasen burned the image into his memory – Leo's arm around Leon's shoulders as they watched him go. It gave him comfort, and sorrow, all at once.
He pulled out of the driveway slowly, giving a final wave. Leon lifted his hand high in farewell. Leo gave a brief salute-like gesture. Then they were receding in the mirror, two figures in the winter night, until Jasen turned onto the main road and they vanished from sight. A pang of loneliness struck him – in two years he had found something like a family here, and now he was on his own again. Jasen tightened his grip on the steering wheel, feeling the engraved knife strapped now to his belt. Leon's parting gift was reassuring, a reminder that someone cared whether he lived or died.
As the miles rolled by under the truck's tires, Jasen focused on the road ahead. It was a long drive to Raccoon City, giving him plenty of time to think. Snow flurries ticked against the windshield. To occupy his mind, he flicked on the radio. The AM band crackled before tuning in to a late-night talk show. "…bizarre string of deaths in the Arklay Mountains," a host was saying. Jasen's ears perked up; Arklay Mountains bordered Raccoon City to the north. "Some folks are even saying it's vampires or other occult nonsense," the radio host chuckled. A caller's voice came through next, tinged with nervous excitement. "I'm telling you, something strange is happening out there. People disappearing, bodies found mauled… The cops won't talk, and that Umbrella company – you know, the pharmaceutical giant – they practically own this town. Who knows what they're hiding?"
Jasen felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter air seeping through the window. Vampires. That's what rumors called the creatures in the woods – an almost laughable notion if he didn't already know the truth. He knew it wasn't vampires lurking in the Arklay Mountains, but biological horrors of Umbrella's making. The fact that a random radio show was airing these theories meant the situation in Raccoon City was already percolating. The disappearances had begun. It's starting, he thought grimly, heart rate picking up. The host wrapped up the segment with a dismissive laugh, moving on to the next caller. Jasen clicked off the radio, the truck falling silent except for the hum of the engine. Staring at the dark road, he tightened his jaw. The clock on the dash read 11:47 PM. By the time he'd reach the city limits, it'd be well past midnight.
A few hours later, Jasen passed a green road sign on the highway: "Now Entering Raccoon City – Population 93,000". He slowed the truck, feeling a strange mix of deja vu and foreboding. The city lights were sparse at this late hour, an orange glow on the horizon beyond thick pine forests. Even at night, Raccoon City looked ordinary – just another Midwestern town with quiet streets and slumbering neighborhoods. But Jasen knew beneath that facade lay Umbrella's shadow. Somewhere in those city limits were laboratories and secrets, and people who would be unwittingly caught up in a nightmare in the coming months. He vowed, silently, that he would do everything in his power to be ready and to protect those he could.
Navigating with the help of Leon's folded map and a few scribbled directions from Leo's contacts, Jasen found the address of his new apartment. It was on the outskirts of town, a nondescript two-story brick apartment building on a quiet side street. Leo had said it was already rented and paid up for the next two months. The area was modest – working-class homes and a couple of small businesses, the kind of place someone could blend in without drawing attention. Jasen parked the pickup in the lot out front and killed the engine. For a moment, he sat there in the dark, gathering himself. The journey had ended, but the real work was about to begin.
He grabbed the keys Leo had given him and headed up the external stairs to the second floor. Apartment 2B. The key turned easily in the lock. Inside, the apartment was clean and sparsely furnished: a couch and small TV in the main room, a kitchenette with basic appliances, a hallway leading to a bedroom and bath. Jasen flicked on a lamp, casting a warm yellow glow on beige walls. It smelled faintly of fresh paint, as if it had been cleaned recently. He set his duffel bag down on the couch and took a deep breath. For the first time since leaving, he allowed himself a smile. Leo was too good to him – truly. The man had thought of everything. Jasen had essentially walked into a ready-made safehouse. It was more than he ever expected.
Fatigue pulled at him, but Jasen's habits and training demanded he secure the place. He walked the perimeter of the apartment, checking windows, locks, and the views. The front window overlooked the quiet street and the truck below. The back window in the bedroom showed a narrow alley and a chain-link fence beyond which lay more dark woods. The stillness of the night and the unfamiliar surroundings pressed in on him. He felt both the paranoia of a soldier in new territory and a strange peace – this small apartment was his, at least for now. After years of living under someone else's roof, running jobs, always on the move, he finally had a personal base of operations.
Jasen returned to the couch and unzipped the hefty duffel bag Leo had given him. It was time to take inventory. One by one, he pulled out the contents, laying each item on the coffee table and couch cushions in an orderly array. First came the firearms: a 9mm handgun – a Beretta 92FS with custom tritium sights, similar to what RPD cops carry, and a .45 caliber Colt M1911 that felt reassuringly heavy in his hand. Jasen checked each pistol, noting they were immaculately maintained. Next was a compact pump-action shotgun, its barrel sawn shorter for easy handling; likely a Remington model. He racked it once and listened to the mechanical chack-chack echo softly in the room, then set it aside. From the bottom of the bag he lifted out a collapsible AR-15 carbine, fitted with a telescopic sight and a suppressor tucked alongside it. This was a serious piece of hardware – something to be used only in dire circumstances. Along with the guns came boxes of ammunition: 9mm rounds, .45 ACP, 12-gauge shells, and 5.56 rifle cartridges, neatly packed.
Jasen continued unpacking. Knives: besides Leon's gifted combat knife on his belt, there was another sheathed blade in the bag – a sturdy survival knife to serve as backup. Body armor: a Kevlar vest, still relatively light and thin, capable of stopping small-arms fire. Jasen ran a hand over the black kevlar weave, thinking back to how Leo insisted he take it. In this line of work, complacency gets you killed – better to sweat under armor than bleed out without it, Leo had said. Jasen draped the vest over the arm of the couch. Next, communications gear: a portable radio scanner for monitoring police frequencies, and a set of compact two-way radios with earpieces – useful if he found trustworthy allies to coordinate with. There was also a flashlight, high-powered and durable, and a pair of night-vision goggles – older model, but functional, for any covert night reconnaissance.
Finally, Jasen picked up a small black notebook that had been tucked along the side of the duffel. Flipping it open, he found a list of contacts scrawled in Leo's handwriting. Some names he recognized from conversations: "Robert K." with a phone number – that would be Robert Kendo, the local gun shop owner Leo mentioned who could provide supplies or custom weapons if needed. Another line: "Phillip - mechanic, (555) 0121" – likely a friend of Leo's in town who could fix vehicles or arrange things no questions asked. There were a few other names with brief notes: a bar owner, a former Marine buddy of Leo's who lived two towns over, and even a "B. Bertolucci – freelance reporter" with a pager number. Jasen raised his eyebrows at that one; Leo really had cast a wide net. It made Jasen feel an unexpected swell of emotion. Leo had not only given him material support, but also a network to lean on. It was like a father making sure his son had a safety net before going off on his own.
With everything laid out, Jasen sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, surveying the small arsenal and equipment. It struck him how surreal this was – two years ago he was an aimless man suddenly dropped into a world he recognized from fiction and nightmares. Leo and Leon had given him purpose and trust when he could have easily lost himself. Now he had a new identity, an apartment in Raccoon City, enough weapons and gear to outfit a small squad, and knowledge of horrors soon to come. He felt a heavy responsibility settle on his shoulders. He couldn't let Leo's efforts go to waste – or let this city fall without doing something to help.
Jasen carefully began stowing the gear securely around the apartment. He hid the larger weapons in a lockable trunk that Leo had left in the bedroom closet, and put a padlock on it. Handguns and a knife, he kept closer – the Beretta would be his everyday carry under his jacket, and Leon's engraved knife was already at his side. Ammo went into a locked drawer. He staged the radio scanner by the window and quickly tested it, scanning through channels; a burst of static and distant dispatcher chatter confirmed it worked. He turned it off for now, satisfied.
Finally, Jasen sank down on the couch once more, exhaustion catching up to him. Outside, the first hints of dawn were coloring the sky a deep navy blue. He hadn't realized how long he'd been methodically unpacking and preparing. Rubbing a hand over his face, he allowed himself a moment to just reflect.
He ran through what he knew of Raccoon City's key players in his head. The Raccoon City Police Department's Special Tactics And Rescue Service – STARS – would soon be at the center of everything. He could almost see their faces as if from memory: Chris Redfield, the skilled marksman with a stubborn sense of justice; Jill Valentine, the resourceful ex-thief turned cop; Barry Burton, the veteran with a family he'd do anything to protect; Rebecca Chambers, the young medic in over her head; and the others on the teams. They were brave, capable people – and they had no idea what was coming for them. Not yet. Jasen also recalled the figure at the heart of their team, the one nobody would suspect until it was too late: Captain Albert Wesker, who was secretly working for Umbrella and orchestrating the nightmare to come. Jasen felt his lip curl in anger at the thought of Wesker's eventual betrayal. Knowing that one of the "good guys" was anything but weighed on him. It was a secret he would have to be extremely careful with – if he tipped Wesker off that he knew, it could ruin any chance to mitigate the disaster and put a target on his own back.
And then there was Umbrella Corporation itself – the pharmaceutical giant whose presence loomed large in this city. Umbrella had a huge facility on the outskirts of town and deep connections with local officials. Jasen knew their benign public image was a lie. Beneath the city, literally underground, Umbrella conducted its bioweapons research. They were responsible for the viruses that would unleash living nightmares. They had the police chief, Brian Irons, in their pocket, and almost certainly eyes and ears everywhere. Operating in Raccoon City would mean staying under Umbrella's radar as much as possible.
Jasen leaned back and exhaled slowly. He estimated he had about six to seven months before the chaos truly began – the mansion incident at the Spencer estate in the Arklay Mountains was likely to occur around the summer of 1998, if his memory of the timeline was correct. Half a year to prepare, to position himself to make a difference. It wasn't much time, but it would have to be enough. He started formulating a plan, as he had done countless nights before in Leo's garage, going over scenarios in his mind.
First, he needed to integrate into Raccoon City quietly. That meant establishing a routine and a cover story for his new identity. The documents said ,"Jasen Smith a normal citizen. Perhaps he would take a low-key job – maybe at a hardware store or as a security guard – something to pay the bills after his cash ran low and to give him an ear to the ground. He made a mental note to scour the local newspaper's classifieds later for any employment that wouldn't draw too much scrutiny.
Second, he would get to know the city's layout intimately. He'd spend the coming weeks driving around, memorizing important locations: the RPD station, the hospital, the Umbrella offices, STARS' favorite hangouts, the back roads into the Arklay Mountains. Knowledge of the terrain could save his life and others' when things went south. He'd also discreetly scout the forest roads that led up to the old Spencer Mansion estate – he wanted alternate ways in and out of that area when the time came.
Third, Jasen planned to connect with a few key people using Leo's contacts. Robert Kendo's gun shop would be a priority stop – not only to introduce himself and maybe purchase some additional legitimate supplies, but because Kendo was known to be friends with STARS members, having customized their samurai-edge Beretta pistols. If Jasen could earn Kendo's trust, it might indirectly open a door to meeting Chris or Jill in a casual context before everything went haywire. He wouldn't reveal much – certainly not his foreknowledge – but even a friendly acquaintance could make cooperation easier later. Likewise, he considered reaching out to the reporter, Ben Bertolucci. The note by Ben's name suggested he was already sniffing around Umbrella's secrets. Perhaps Jasen could quietly trade info or at least keep tabs on what the press might expose. It would pay to know what Umbrella might be worried about.
Finally, and most importantly, Jasen needed to train and stay sharp. Every morning, he'd continue the rigorous workouts and weapons drills he'd done under Leo's tutelage. He'd find a secluded spot or a shooting range to practice with his firearms regularly so as not to lose his edge. He also intended to keep improving his close-quarters combat skills and survival techniques – everything that might be required when facing the bio-organic weapons Umbrella would inevitably unleash. Six months of steady preparation, intelligence gathering, and positioning himself… it was a daunting task, but having a solid plan calmed him.
As the pale light of dawn crept through the cracks of the blinds, Jasen stood and began packing away the last of the gear. He carefully placed Leon's farewell gift – the engraved knife – on the small nightstand by his bed, within arm's reach. The engraved words glinted once in the weak morning light. It was a promise of loyalty – one he intended to uphold. To Leon. To Leo. To this city that didn't even know it needed saving.
Jasen took one last look at the array of weapons and equipment before him, then closed his eyes for a moment. He pictured Leon's earnest face telling him goodbye, Leo's firm nod of trust, and the dark road leading him here. This was it – the beginning of a new chapter in a story he already half-knew. But this time, maybe he could write the ending a little differently.
"Six months," Jasen whispered to himself, steeling his resolve. In about six months, the horrors of the Spencer Mansion would likely unfold, and not long after that, Raccoon City's fate would hang in the balance. He was just one man in the shadows, but he had training, foresight, and the will to act. Sometimes, that could tip the scales.
Jasen holstered the Beretta at his side and straightened up, feeling the weight of duty settle comfortably on his shoulders. The road to Raccoon City had been long and hard. Now that he was here, the real journey – and the real fight – was about to begin. With dawn breaking and a plan forming, Jasen Smith was as ready as he could be. And he would be ready – when the darkness came to Raccoon City, he'd be there waiting.