Two days since the extraction.
Two days since the helicopter, the crater, the heat licking at the windows of a patchwork ER on the coast. Two days of white ceilings, needle bruises, and the steady beeping of a monitor that thought it knew his heart.
Jack Hale sat cuffed to a steel ring bolted into the table. One wrist chained. One ankle shackled. Dressed in a thin hospital gown, a rough wool blanket thrown over him. Fluorescent lights made everything look like it was already dead.
A camera's red dot stared from the corner like a bored sniper.
The one-way mirror gave him back a stranger: stubble, a fresh line of stitches across his forehead just under the hairline, and purple bruises. Eyes blue but ringed with sleepless shadows; they used to look bright. Now they looked dead tired of the world.
He tried on a smile. It didn't fit.
The door clicked. Two men walked in.
CID badge for the Army man—neat part, tight jaw, folder already thick enough to bruise. A second chair for the civilian in a navy suit with a state department pin and the kind of polite smile people use before they take your dog.
(A/N: CID stands for Criminal Investigation Division; they primarily investigate other military members, like the Army or the Marines.)
The CID agent sat. "PFC Hale. I'm Special Agent Collins. This is Mr. Winters, Federal Liaison. You know why you're here?"
Jack rolled his shoulder against the chain. "Hospitality?"
Winters smiled like a dentist. "Debrief."
"Must've run out of fruit baskets," Jack joked with a dry laugh.
Collins didn't look up from the folder. "Let's start simple. Location of deployment?"
"Congo Basin. 1997. Peacekeeping." Jack rubbed the heel of his palm into the tender spot on his forearm where the IV had lived too long. "Didn't find much peace."
"Commanding NCO?"
"Sgt. Miguel Ortiz," Jack answered.
"Status?"
Jack's jaw worked. "KIA."
A pen scratched. Paper whispered.
"Corporal Ramirez. Corporal Walker. Corporal Ross. PFC Klein. PFC Okafor. PFC Chu. PFC Gallagher."
Collins didn't change tone. "Status?"
When Jack heard those names, they felt like sandbags being stacked in his throat. "KIA."
Winters laced his fingers. "Interesting phrasing. All of them. Killed… in… action."
Jack stared at the mirror until he could see movement on the far side of the glass—blurred shadows, a third person maybe, or just his guilt pacing.
"Agent," Winters continued, eyes still on Jack, "would you read the preliminary?"
Collins flipped a tab. "Satellite hits an old Umbrella facility. Your squad goes dark a day later. Forty-eight hours of silence. Then the place lights up like the Fourth of July. Shortly after, a civilian helicopter evacuates one survivor: you."
Jack tilted his head. "Lucky me."
"Eyewitness at the coastal ER mentions a 'woman in red' dropping you at the door and leaving. No ID. No statement."
Jack breathed once, slowly. The memory slid in anyway—perfume, the way that hellhole didn't affect her one bit, the kiss that made him forget the weight he was carrying, and the manipulation she had used on him.
He shook his head, trying to push it away. Jack knew he couldn't blame Ada for the things he went through at the Umbrella facility. He just wished she had told him the truth. Now it was too late—
"Here's my problem," Winters said, voice warm like bathwater going cold. "Our independent contacts say there was no organized enemy presence inside that complex. Just… medical research on a new drug. Which suggests the only trained, armed personnel inside the facility was you."
Jack's laugh was small and mean. "That's where you're driving? I killed my squad? Alone? With what—harsh language and my bare ass running around the facility?"
"Then what did kill them?" Agent Collins asked.
Silence reached into the room and shut the door gently.
Jack stared at the table. At the padlock glint. At his own hands—steady now, bandaged knuckles. When the words came, they were flat, like he'd set them out to dry and someone had stolen all the color.
"Umbrella," he said. "Gas. Needles. This… thing they called the Aegis Virus." The name tasted like copper. "They cut us up and wrote in their little notepads while we screamed in pain."
A hush, the kind people put on when a church door opens.
Winters didn't blink. "You're alleging non-consensual human experimentation by a pharmaceutical company we do business with."
"I'm alleging murder," Jack said. "And I'm alleging you already know."
Collins watched him in the way you watch a hungry dog—half pity, half readiness to get bit. "You were found with Umbrella weapons. Mixed ammunition. Breaching charges. You carried yourself like you were about to go to war."
"You know me, trying to exercise my Second Amendment rights," Jack joked hollowly.
Winters steepled his fingers. "And the woman in red?"
Jack shrugged and let the chain clink. "My imaginary friend who happens to help me out through tough times."
Winters' smile finally cooled. "We will get a name. Everyone does."
All of a sudden, Jack heard a familiar whisper in his skull. The Virus.
…Let them talk. Let them name you what they want. Then show them…
Jack flinched before the words were even finished.
He stared off into the distance, checking his VSS, ignoring the people trying to squeeze information out of his mouth.
[VIRAL SURVIVAL SYSTEM]
Subject: Jack Hale
Strain: Aegis Virus
Health Status: Good
Sync Rate: 46%
Viral Infection: 5.6%
Adaptation Skills
Branch – Soldier's Path
• Enhanced Recovery (Tier 1): Heals faster from minor wounds (cuts, bites, bruises).
• Reflex Response (Tier 1): Slightly improved reaction time, allowing better accuracy with pistols.
• Stamina Boost (Tier 1): Minor stamina boost. Slightly reduces recovery time when fatigued.
• Muscle Density (Tier 1): Strength increased slightly. Recoil control improved. Heavy weapons feel lighter in your hands. Melee strikes hit with more force.
Branch – Shield's Path
• Viral Resistance (Tier 1): Passive. Slows infection rate after bites/scratches. (Also works against viral pathogens in the air.)
Branch – Viral's Path
• Viral Instincts (Bullet Time) – Active Skill
Effect: Temporarily slows perception of time.
Cost: +0.10% viral infection per second.
Risk: Prolonged use may result in loss of control.
Branch – Bonds Path
Ada Wong: Calculated Touch
Health Status: Fair (minor wound on thigh)
• Viral Ability Resistance (Passive): When Ada Wong is present, Viral Path abilities consume 50% less infection growth.
• Cautious Instincts (Passive): Passive awareness buff. Jack Hale gains a heightened sense of danger when partnered with Ada (+5% chance to detect ambushes or traps).
Status: Deactivated – Ada Wong not present.
Jack shut his eyes. The system light faded away. With it, the whispers.
Winters cocked his head. "PFC Hale, are you with us?"
Jack shook his head before focusing back on the conversation. "Sorry about that. Just a bit of daydreaming. What was the question again?"
Agent Collins glanced at the mirror, got a nod from the shadows beyond it. "Run me through the last twelve hours inside."
Jack swallowed. The room tilted—the way a deck does when you've been at sea too long and the land pretends it doesn't move. He licked his lips, dry as paper.
"The armory first," he said. "Okafor was in there. Half-turned. He asked me to kill him. I… did."
As if they'd just struck gold, both men scribbled furiously in their notebooks.
"Shot Corporal Ramirez… ended his suffering."
They wrote more, their pens hungry for blood in ink.
"Killed more bad guys to save a damsel in distress… being a hero is hard work," Jack muttered, giving up trying to explain himself.
"Then the elevator up-shaft. Sgt. Ortiz dropped on the platform like a meteor. Gallagher too… that fast bastard." Jack heard his own heartbeat in the room. Heard the old groan of the platform. "They both went down the hole. I put them there."
"And at the helipad?" Collins asked.
"Corporal Ross. Standing next to the mad scientist like it was picture day," Jack forced a smile that had too much tooth in it. "He injected himself. Turned in front of me."
"And this Tyrant you were talking about before?" Winters asked, ignorant on purpose, watching Jack's eyes for a flinch or tremor.
Jack stared past him—through him—into a rain he could still feel on his face.
"It followed me…" he said softly. "Could've killed me a dozen times. Didn't. Kept… clearing paths, almost."
"What are you implying?" Winters asked.
"I said it wasn't hunting me," Jack said. His blue eyes shot daggers at Winters. "It was protecting me."
Agent Collins' pen paused.
"From whom?" Winters asked.
Jack's mind flashed back to the hellhole—how the Tyrant cut down zombies in his path, how it pushed him clear of Umbrella guards, how it forced him away from the fight to sacrifice itself.
"From Umbrella," Jack finished.
A beat. Winters relaxed by degrees. "You were found at a civilian hospital. That is a concern."
"How is that my problem?" Jack asked.
"Chain of custody," Winters said. "And your bloodwork is… irregular."
Jack laughed again; it fell apart halfway through. "You should see my nightmares."
Collins folded his hands. "We'll get to the lab anomalies. For now, I need to know about the civilian assets who assisted you. The woman in red—who is she?"
Jack smirked like he'd just heard a bad joke. "Her? She told me NATO… maybe. All I know is I needed her, same as she needed me. I was the battering ram."
Winter's brows pinched like something sour. "Used each other. That's the phrase you want entered?"
Jack looked back at the mirror—the stranger's blue eyes looking back. "That's the truth you'll allow."
The whisper rose again, sweeter this time, like a song from a worse life.
…You don't need them. You don't need anyone. Choose the virus. Choose us…
Jack shook his head, trying to silence the voices.
The room narrowed. The mirror rippled. For a blink he saw the testing chambers—the tube—Weiss's crazed smile. The pain that tore through his body when the virus was injected.
"You boys ever been waterboarded?" he asked, scratching at his temple. "You should try it sometime. Might make you see the world differently."
Agent Collins let it pass. "You understand why your account strains credulity."
"I understand you shook the hand that fed you, and now your palm smells like bleach," Jack said crudely.
Winters' eyes hardened. "Watch your tone, PFC Hale."
"Hard to do. Chains and all." Jack rattled his cuff.
The door opened. A nurse slipped in—soft shoes, soft voice. "Time for meds." She set a paper cup by his elbow. "For pain."
Jack stared at the pills. "Names."
She blinked, then looked to Collins. Agent Collins nodded. "Acetaminophen and an antibiotic."
The whispers smiled without a mouth.
…Take them. Go to sleep. We will drive…
"No thanks," Jack said, pushing the cup back with a fingertip. "I'd rather be focused than drugged up in this conversation."
The nurse darted out, a bird escaping a room that felt like a trap.
Winters gathered his papers without really stacking them. "Here is where we are, PFC Hale. You're the only live witness to an incident that, as filed, never happened. Our friends in certain offices will decide what gets entered into the records. In the meantime, you are under medical observation and military advisement."
Agent Collins closed his notes. "Rest up. We'll talk again in the morning."
They stood. The chain tugged as Jack shifted. "Agent Collins," Jack called out.
Collins paused in the doorway.
"If you ever put down a friend because it was mercy," Jack said softly, "don't let a man with a clean shirt tell you what happened there."
The CID agent nodded once, but didn't take Jack's words to heart. He left without a word.
The door closed shut. Leaving Jack with the camera, the red dot watching him breathe.