The ground shook violently, casting sparks and debris across the collapsing laboratory corridors. Alarms wailed, red lights blinking through thick smoke.
Jasen stood, his boots firmly planted near the exit of the emergency lift platform. Wesker was already there, body swaying unnaturally as regeneration stitched closed the deep wound from the earlier encounter. His coat was in tatters, skin rippling with faint, unnatural energy.
"So," Wesker smirked, tilting his head, eyes glowing amber. "You took the T-Virus variant too."
Jasen stood silent. His body had subtly changed—he was taller, his frame more defined, the shadows beneath his skin pulsing faintly with silvery energy. His eyes shimmered with golden flecks, like the sun behind storm clouds.
He flexed his gloved fingers. He didn't speak.
Wesker took a step forward, smiling with predatory confidence.
"Fascinating. I underestimated you."
Jasen's voice was low, filled with gravel and growing power.
"Shut up and fight."
They moved at once.
It was like lightning colliding with a hurricane.
Wesker struck first, a blur of motion—a punch meant to break through steel. Jasen caught it mid-strike, the impact ringing through the air like a gunshot. His counter sent Wesker sliding across the floor.
They clashed again, fists slamming into ribs, knees smashing into stomachs. Each blow could have crushed bone in any normal man. The floor beneath them cracked. Equipment shattered. Beams above them splintered.
Wesker grunted, dodging a sweeping kick and driving his elbow into Jasen's side.
But Jasen was faster now.
He spun, twisting Wesker's arm and slamming him through the base of a support column.
A small explosion rocked the corridor.
Fire roared through the ceiling above, raining embers and molten steel.
They were launched backward, tumbling violently toward the open emergency elevator.
Both hit the platform hard.
The lift activated with a dying screech, rising rapidly toward the surface.
Jasen coughed, then rolled as Wesker attacked again.
Inside the small space of the lift, their battle grew more savage. Walls dented with every hit. Blood smeared metal. Their boots sparked against steel flooring.
Jasen jammed his foot under Wesker's center of gravity and flipped him against the side railing. Wesker flipped, landed on his feet, and came back swinging. They collided again, flesh against flesh, strength against strength.
"Your strength," Wesker hissed, "it's not from Umbrella."
"You're damn right it's not," Jasen growled, ramming Wesker's head into the lift ceiling.
As Wesker rebounded, Jasen reached under his coat and pulled his final grenades from the belt.
Flashbang core, phosphorous casing and a fragmentation grenade.
He slammed it against Wesker's chest, pulled the pin, and locked both arms around him.
Wesker's eyes widened.
"Wait—"
BOOM!
The elevator erupted with light and fire.
A burst of white-hot heat seared the tunnel. The lift collapsed sideways as the emergency supports failed. Chunks of debris rained from above.
Silence fell.
Then a hand clawed from the flames.
Jasen crawled from the wreckage, one side of his body torn open, skin blackened and bleeding. Muscle and sinew pulsed beneath strips of burned clothing. His right arm was covered in exposed tissue. His eye was swollen shut, the other still glowing faintly gold.
Smoke coiled around him as he dragged himself across the broken stone, out of the hidden mountain corridor.
Fresh air hit his lungs.
He collapsed on his side, breathing in short, rattled gasps.
Above him, stars blinked in the early morning sky. The mansion behind him was engulfed in flames, plumes rising like hell's own funeral pyre.
Footsteps approached.
Jasen forced his eye open.
A man stood silhouetted in the smoke. Tall. Dark jacket. Short hair. He didn't recognize him.
His vision blurred.
"Who...?" Jasen rasped.
Darkness faded slowly, like smoke clearing from a shattered battlefield.
Jasen's eyes cracked open. The ceiling above him was wood-paneled, a spinning fan overhead creaking in a lazy rhythm. He blinked slowly, realizing he couldn't move yet. His body felt heavy—foreign.
Then a voice, gentle but firm.
"Jasen? Can you hear me?"
He turned his head slightly, groaning.
Annette Birkin sat beside the bed, a medical tablet in her lap. Her expression, while stern, was soft around the eyes.
"You're awake. Thank God."
Jasen's voice came out like sandpaper. "Where... am I?"
"Safe house. Outside Raccoon City," Annette replied. "You've been in a regenerative coma."
Jasen's eyes widened. "How long?"
Before she could answer, the door opened.
Billy Coen stepped in, arms crossed, his ever-relaxed smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Sleeping Beauty finally rises," he said. "Didn't think you'd make it."
Right behind him came Rebecca, clipboard in hand and a shadow of exhaustion in her eyes.
"You're lucky," Annette said. "Your body's natural reaction to the V-Sparda strain was rapid cellular stasis—essentially, it put you in a recovery coma."
Rebecca tone both scolding and relieved. "You're reckless, you know that? Injecting yourself like that without full stabilization? Idiotic."
Jasen groaned, slowly sitting up.
"And worth it," he muttered. "I'm alive, right?"
"Barely," Annette said. "Billy and William found you. You were on fire—literally. If they hadn't dragged you out..."
Jasen nodded. "Wesker?"
The room went quiet.
"We never found a body," Billy admitted. "Possibly crushed in the elevator shaft."
Jasen scoffed. "Unless I see that smug bastard's corpse myself—charred and in a bag—I'm calling it. Wesker's a damn cockroach."
Rebecca sighed. "You've been out for months. It's October now."
Jasen blinked. "October?"
"You were in stasis until mid-September," Rebecca clarified. "Your body's been regenerating nonstop. And... there've been changes."
"What kind of changes?"
Rebecca stepped closer, scanning him with a handheld device. "Well, for starters... you're 6'2 now."
Jasen raised an eyebrow. "Was 5'11."
"You also weigh about 20 pounds more, but your muscle density is deceptively lean. Your strength, reflexes, and cell resilience are... well, incredible."
Jasen ran a hand over his chest, feeling the bulk of muscle he hadn't earned the traditional way.
"So I got the Spartan upgrade."
Annette closed her tablet. "It's not all sunshine. Your metabolism is enhanced but requires massive caloric intake. You'll need regular evaluations."
"Noted," Jasen muttered. "Now tell me—how's Raccoon City?"
The air turned heavy.
Annette hesitated. "Barry and Chris left. They were sent to Europe on a confidential assignment. We don't know the details yet."
Jasen frowned. "And Jill?"
Rebecca answered this time. "Still in town. She's helping Marvin keep the RPD stable, but communications are spotty. We haven't been able to reach them directly for weeks."
Annette added, "And Sherry... she's still in the city. I tried contacting William—he's gone dark. We found out he reached out to a U.S. agency. We don't know which one."
Jasen's expression hardened. "That man just put a target on everyone."
He extended his hand. "Phone. Now."
Annette handed him a secure mobile unit. Jasen scrolled through the contacts until he found one marked simply: ENZO.
He dialed.
After a few rings, the gravelly voice of Enzo answered.
"Well, well. The dead man calls. You've got timing."
"I need Tony."
A pause.
"He's en route. Should be entering the city within the next day or two. Said something about feeling the wind change."
Jasen exhaled slowly. "Good."
Miles away, just on the outer edge of the city, a cherry red convertible pulled off the highway.
The driver was a young man, no more than eighteen, with windswept silver hair and eyes like liquid mercury. A worn leather jacket hung off his shoulders, a guitar case slung across the passenger seat.
He popped gum into his mouth and looked at the skyline of Raccoon City ahead.
"Guess it's time to see what all the noise is about."
He pulled the sunglasses off his face, revealing a mischievous smirk.
"Name's Tony Redgrave. Let's rock"