Darkness Arises: Reborn
by Metal Harbinger

Author's Note: Alrighty folks I am back and MUCH faster this time! Fortunately for me this was a chapter where the ideas came down upon me like a tidal wave and I was able to crank it out a whole lot faster than the last time around.

Once again, this is another instance where I am struck with a case of E.C.S. (Epic Chapter Syndrome) and this is also going to be another chapter where I am going to do a mixture of first and third person storytelling. To indicate Jake's first person storytelling, I will be typing entirely in italics just like this so that you know this is being told through the eyes of Jake himself without any form of prompting on the end such as "such and such" said, observed, exclaimed, remarked, etc. Other than that, everything will be typed normally like this so just gotta clear that up right away.

Now that I've explained myself in that regard it is on with the story we go!

Chapter 49: Horrors of the Past

From out of nowhere a wave of pain assailed him from the abyss in which he lay dormant, forcing an involuntary convulsion that tightened his muscles and constricted his breathing. The pain demanded his attention, letting him know it owned his every waking thought and would not stop until it pried him from his slumber.

A final invisible punch rang out and like a shot of adrenaline; Jake Cavanaugh was jolted awake in a cold sweat.

"Wesker!" he shouted aloud, shooting his hands outward into the empty air. "What the hell?" he asked quietly as he listened to his heart pound in the empty space around him.

The last thing he remembered was his confrontation with Albert Wesker, the bastard beating him into a bloody pulp.

Coming to grips he looked around expecting to find himself alone in the forest or locked away in some small cell, but strangely he was in neither location.

"Where the hell am I?" Jake asked quietly, feeling the wet concrete beneath his opened palms and looked over to the weathered brick walls covered in graffiti and long faded posters, and then down to the rusted dumpsters, broken down cardboard boxes, discarded furniture, smashed TV sets and plenty of trashcans overflowing with garbage, their stench reminding him much of the zombies.

The thought of zombies sent him scrambling for his gun, only to find nothing there and no scabbard on his back carrying his trusted katana.

"Did they just drop me off like I'm yesterday's trash? I thought those fuckers were looking to kill me after I rejected Mr. Asshole's 'generous proposal,'" Jake thought to himself, only to suddenly remember the insidious supervisor tossing him about like he was as light as a feather.

Then he remembered the pain which had coursed throughout his body and began feeling around for any cuts or broken bones, but strangely he felt nothing at all, nor could he feel the fresh rivulets of blood streaming down his face. He felt fine.

"What the hell is going on here?" he asked aloud, looking down to his tattered clothes, still caked with the blood and dried mud of his last battle.

Wherever he was, he was still alive and in no pain at all with no signs of danger anywhere. He should have felt relieved, yet there was the lingering pang of dread keeping him in a stranglehold of uncertainty.

"I'm going to find out what's going on," he declared pushing himself back to his feet and making a dominant stride down the narrow alley, only to halt as his leg brushed against a rusted old wheelchair and sent it rolling backwards into an overturned trashcan, a feral shriek coming from within.

"Fuck!" Jake blurted out leaping backwards and reaching for anything he could use as a weapon, only to stop himself when a very much alive stray cat came bolting out of its metallic quarters, visibly angered its search for food had been interrupted.

"You're alive?" the hired gun asked the matted feline, only to find himself feeling stupid a second later. "What the hell are you thinking Jake? It's a cat; it can't sit here and engage you in a heartwarming chat over a few beers. More importantly, it's alive. It's not trying to leap up and gouge your eyes out."

Jake watched passively as the black cat made its exit and then looked back to the discarded wheelchair, finding himself doing a double take.

Resting on the chair was a plain brown teddy bear with a baby blue bowtie wrapped around its neck. For some reason, the sight of the innocent stuffed animal warmed his heart. It reminded him so much of Barry, the teddy bear his grandmother had given him when he was two years old, the best friend who shared his bed every night with, the companion he had after his father beat the shit out of him over the littlest of things.

"No, it can't be. The old drunk ripped him apart after I got in trouble for not paying attention in Mrs. Briars' class," he thought, the warmth ebbing from him as he remembered crying over the shredded remnants of his beloved friend.

The honking of a horn snapped the hired gun out of his reverie and again his attention was drawn towards what awaited him beyond the alley. When he finally entered the open he was stopped dead in his tracks and could only stare silently in awe.

"How the hell did I get back here?" he blurted out staring at the three story Italianate building before him, one he was very familiar with, the lettering above the front entrance identifying the building as 'Somerset City Hall.'

He couldn't believe it, but somehow he had found his way back to his hometown of Somerset, California, exactly as he had left it years ago.

The ringing of a bell snapped him out of his trance and he looked over to find a delivery boy passing him on a bicycle, seemingly unaware of his existence.

"Strange," Jake muttered as he looked over to see a busker playing an acoustic guitar on a street corner, while a woman waited with her Golden Labrador nearby for the light to change colors. A teenager passed him by on a skateboard, an attractive young woman walked by with a shopping bag in one hand and her cell phone in the other, followed by an older man humming a pleasant tune to himself like he had no cares in the world.

"It's almost like I don't exist," he whispered to himself as he walked past a small corner diner filled with people and then a bus stop where several more citizens waited, there was even a police officer who had pulled over to chat with some kids outside the candy store, all of them oblivious to the filthy, war torn man behind them, whose appearance eerily mirrored that of the very zombies he fought. How he could be ignored in his sorry state was beyond him, unless he was dead…

The questions of 'why' and 'how' he ended up back there still lingering in his psyche, yet he couldn't ignore the sense of nostalgia rushing back to him like the floodgates opened, especially when he noticed the ivory building with a steaming cup of coffee atop it called 'Luigi's Latté Love' and the black and gray building next to it resembling a medieval castle with the sliding gate erected over the front door and the elaborate green dragon statue perched above it.

It was a stroll down Memory Lane as he passed the ignorant citizens.

"There's the coffee shop where the guys and I would hang out after school and check out the babes and right next to it, the Dragon's Dungeon comic book store where I blew every allowance I ever made when I was a kid. Then there's Ragetti's, where Old Lady Ragetti used to give me free strombolis all the time, saying I reminded her of her dead son. U Pet with all the dogs I used to check out, wanting one of my own, but my asshole 'father' wouldn't allow it. Old Dewey's, the Uni-Plex, the Red Threads that one hot girl from Atherton used to work at, Record Junkie, Cyberland Arcade, the skating park…damn I could go on forever."

His stroll down the busy street continued until he felt someone bumping into him.

"Heh heh! You gotta watch where you're goin' there sir. Not everybody around these parts is as friendly as I am," a gruff, yet friendly voice called out, "Well good day to ya' sir!"

Jake felt his blood chill in his veins as if he had seen a ghost.

That's because when he turned around he was seeing a ghost.

The hunched over old man walking past him clad in a red and green plaid shirt and worn trousers held up by suspenders, the balding head covered by the old trucker's cap, the limp which caused his right foot to clop hard and loud against the ground to signal he was coming…it all came back to him too fast.

"Uncle Larry?" the hitman asked whirling around on his heel to follow the old man back to his hardware store…until the gunshots rang out.

In the blink of an eye, the lively atmosphere of a nice sunny day had turned into a nighttime street where a frightened crowd gathered outside of Larry's Hardware. A crew of paramedics loaded a covered figure into the back of an ambulance as several patrolmen stood around to keep the crowd back, while a detective took a statement from a witness and a crime scene technician carefully slipped a .38 revolver into a plastic evidence bag.

"Sorry son, you've gotta step back now," an officer said taking him by the shoulder and leading him back to the crowd.

Jake raised his hand to protest, but instead of the muscular gloved hand of an adult, he found the slender hand of a child.

"What the-" he spoke aloud, but instead of his low adult timbre, he spoke with the high pitch of a child. Looking into the window of a nearby parked car he no longer saw the battered, half-dead adult, but the reflection of a frightened ten year old boy.

It suddenly hit him.

"Uncle Larry, at least that's what I called him. He was a close friend of my grandpa's, close enough to be considered a family member. He always looked out for me when no one else was around and let me hide in his shop when the bullies were giving me trouble. He always told me one day he would train me to be a big strong carpenter like he was…

"Then some two-bit junkie robbed him and shot the poor guy dead, all for fifty bucks so he could get his next fix! I remember being the one who found him, after I was going there to hide from Vinnie Rierson and his boys…I still remember the look in his cold, dead eyes, the scared little boy probably being the last thing they ever looked at."

The world rippled around him and he was no longer standing in front of the hardware store, but in front of the one place he hoped he would never see again.

"No…damn it no!" Jake gasped as he looked upon the two-story white house with green shutters and a small rose garden out front, surrounded by a white picket fence.

"My old home," he muttered to himself, "Why here? Why damn it, why?"

With the shatter of glass there was sudden darkness.

"Shh, everybody keep quiet!" a teenaged girl's voice hissed.

The small click of a flashlight sounded in the room and Jake found himself in a bedroom with the walls covered in posters of trashy pop groups, as well as various elaborate butterfly collections and the painting of a bright red rose hanging over the one person bed.

A girl of thirteen years stood in a pink nightgown with her ear against the door, listening to the sounds of people fighting and objects being thrown.

Behind her a dark-haired boy of five years hid behind a chair holding a wailing infant in his arms while a three year old girl lay curled in a fetal position with her hands clamped over hear ears and tears streaming down her face.

"Jakey, quick hide behind my bed! Do it!" the dark-haired girl pleaded.

"But I want you to come with me Rosie or else he's gonna hurt you too," another boy whimpered, tugging hard on his sister's arm.

The boy himself shared her dark hair and her bluish-gray eyes, tears streaming freely down his face as his body trembled. His green pajamas were soiled after having gone a week without being washed, flecks of dried blood decorating the cartoon character on the front of his shirt.

"Rose," Jake muttered, his voice going unheard.

He was standing in the background, invisible to the children. It was as if he were a specter forced to watch as his life replayed before him like an old family movie, a demented highlight reel of misery.

The girl called Rosie opened the door as quietly as she could and with it the muffled screams molded into legible words.

"You'd better be pretty damned proud of yourself you lousy piece of shit!" an older masculine voice boomed, one Jake knew all too well and wished he would never have to hear again. "Didn't you even think about what you were doing? You nearly fucking killed that kid! His parents are going to be suing the pants off of us for what you did! What the hell is wrong with you? You're nothing but a goddamned fucking troublemaker! Have been ever since you were little. I swear to fucking Christ you're going to be the death of me!" the voice faded, one that was often followed by the scent of alcohol.

"Steven, please leave him alone! He's had enough already!" a feminine voice sobbed in the background. The sound of a hand striking a face rang out followed by the woman's pained screams.

"Mom…" Jake muttered to himself, wanting desperately to intervene.

"You shut the hell up Mary, ain't no woman gonna tell me how to discipline my own worthless juvenile delinquent of a kid!" the man screamed with enough force to nearly shake the building from its foundation. "I should be asking what the hell is wrong with you too! You defend that hoodlum like he did something small like egging the principal's car. Hell, you've been defending that no good punk all his life! He nearly fucking killed a kid from his school today! He's probably going to be sent away to a reform school for God knows how many years!"

"Why don't you leave her alone you fucking worthless drunk!" another male voice called out, this one a teenager. The pounding of feet against the wooden floor reverberated, followed by more slaps and then the crash of a coffee table being overturned.

"Ryan!" Jake shouted his older brother's name and tried to move, but he couldn't. He was rooted to the floor and strained himself to move, only to be met by an unbearable pain that made him want to buckle over, but yet he couldn't fall down.

"Don't you backtalk me you good-for-nothing piece of shit! It's you who has brought shame upon our family's name ever since the day you were born!" the older man screamed again followed by more crashing noises and then a long period of silence.

"I…I-Is it over?" the younger boy stammered peeking his head out from behind the chair.

From the corner of his eye Jake could see his younger self trying to peer through the crack. He wanted to scream at him not to do it, but his efforts would have been futile. The adult criminal was nothing more than a voiceless shadow.

A thunderous crack rang out as the door was kicked from its hinges, knocking the teenaged Rose and his younger self backwards and sending the other kids screaming from the room, narrowly avoiding the hulking figure with bloodshot insanity in his cold eyes.

Looking at the man standing before him was almost like looking into a mirror. He had the exact same height and build (although lacking the musculature of the hitman) and had a face looking just like his, except his eyes were an almost black shade of brown and had a thick mustache with beads of alcohol dripping from it.

The man needed to vent his drunken frustrations upon some unfortunate victim and right now the seven year old Jakey was the only person in sight. Grunting angrily, he removed his belt and charged for the small child.

"Dad no!" Rose sobbed reaching out helplessly towards her little brother, only to be knocked backwards by a vicious backhanded shot.

The sight of his hulking father lumbering drunkenly towards him made the child version of Jake begin to scream wildly.

"Daddy no!"

Everything went black and the only thing heard was the hired gun's own labored breathing. From out of the darkness a police car suddenly appeared before Jake and handcuffed in the backseat was his brother Ryan, now a bloodied mess after an altercation with their father. The rest of the world came back into view and he could see his mother on their front doorstep being held closely by his sister, both of them crying their eyes out while his father delivered some bullshit story to a police officer about his brother being the aggressor in the confrontation.

Then he looked over to the corner window, where the seven year old Jacob Cavanaugh stared at the grim spectacle, his face lined with fresh welts after being on the receiving end of his father's leather strap.

"Home sweet home? Yeah fucking right! I remember growing up in that house alright, every day was Hell for me and my siblings. Not a single night went by where that ogre didn't come home in a drunken stupor ready to kill the first thing he saw. Me, my mom, my siblings…nobody was safe from his tirades. I swear, my brother Ryan and I bore the brunt of it just because he thought we were a couple of nobody degenerates who would never amount to anything.

"I still remember that night. My older brother was 16 and had gotten expelled from school because he nearly killed another kid in a scuffle gone too far. Out of all of us, Ryan was the only one who had the guts to stand up to 'Dad' and I swear he must've gotten his ass beaten within an inch of his life that night. When the cops finally did show up, my father claimed Ryan attacked him first and was able to get him arrested just because he tried defending himself. With what went on earlier that day, the poor bastard didn't make a very believable victim either.

"Man, I fucking hated my father. A good feeling to say that about your own father isn't it? Bullshit! Hell, one night my mother was tending to my wounds after one of his rampages and she even admitted that she didn't love him anymore after some of the crap he pulled, but was too frightened to leave him. Heh, quite the great feeling to know your parents don't even love each other, isn't it? Makes you feel like you're nothing more than a mistake.

"My dad fought in Vietnam and my uncle once told me of some of the stuff he endured…watching his best friend blown to bits by a landmine, being covered in the brains of another who was trying to save him from a sniper, seeing his commanding officer cut down by friendly fire after a nighttime ambush, a buddy from Oklahoma being dismembered after he tried giving chocolate to a kid that had been secretly rigged with explosives, a kid fresh out of high school begging him to put him out of his misery after both his legs were blown off…stuff he said no living man should ever have to undergo.

"Those closest to him think he was forever changed by what he experienced over there. Maybe he drank in an attempt to dull the pain, but all the fucker would do was create more, and it wasn't against some Viet Cong guerillas, rather his own flesh and blood.

"Damn it, why couldn't I just have a normal father like all the other kids had? One who would take me to the park and play ball with me rather than spend all his time either passed out on the couch or beating the shit out of his own kids? That bastard would've given two fucks less if his own child was lying out in the gutter freezing to death.

"I must've done something pretty terrible in order to be treated with such disdain. What it is, I'll never know."

In another ripple Jake found himself transported to the backstreets of Somerset, this time near Haggard Park, which he frequented as a child. From around a corner, the child version of himself raced into view on a red mountain bike he called 'Big Red,' a gift from his grandpa for his eighth birthday.

The child peddled the bike hurriedly, caught up in his own imaginary race and outmaneuvering his non-existent competitors. It seemed as if the sky would be the limit, until he was knocked from his ride by a beefy forearm.

"Have a nice fall shithead?" a malicious cackle came from above.

A husky boy of about ten years stood above him, wearing a blue and white football jersey and had a turned around baseball cap covering his short, shaggy red hair, flanked by two more boys.

It was Vinnie Rierson, the school bully and his cohorts, making their daily rounds on their never ending quest to make someone's life a living hell.

"You really oughta' watch where you're going Cavanaugh! Last I heard your kind wasn't welcome around these parts!" Vinnie taunted as Little Jake backpedaled towards his bike, only to hear it being scooped up behind him and turned to find two bigger kids, one of whom was scooping up Big Red and mounting it.

"Hey get off! That's my bike!" Little Jake protested, only to find himself grabbed from behind and thrown back to the ground.

"Well now it's our property!" Vinnie responded driving his foot into his buttocks and forcing his face into the dirt, "Consider it a 'fee' for safe passage."

Little Jake scrambled desperately on his stomach clawing away at the ground before him until his hand gripped a large rock. Rolling over onto his back he tossed it towards the bully, striking him just below his eye.

"Gah!" Vinnie cried in pain clutching the sore area beneath his eye, "Get him!"

Within seconds the five bullies were dog piling the smaller child and pummeling the living crap out of him.

"Vinnie Rierson, God I hated that punk. That asshole had nothing better to do than make my life a living hell, all because he was an insecure piece of shit that needed to terrorize others just to feel good about himself. I can't even remember how many times that punk beat me up for my lunch money or tried taking me down on the playground in front of everybody else, but I sure as hell remember him and his crew stealing Big Red, the very bike given to me by my grandfather!"

The ripple that followed showed Little Jake now a battered mess, eyes blackened, lip split open, face covered in bruises and his clothing tattered and torn. He walked down the street with his head down, ignoring the concerned looks of adults all around him until he turned a corner only to happen across another event he would never forget.

While passing across Uncle Georgie's Deli, he heard another familiar voice and stopped.

"Perhaps I'm not making myself clear enough old man, so let me repeat myself and maybe your old senile ass will comprehend," a tough, but youthful voice called out, "You're on Blitzer territory now! You will do as we say and you will pay us protection money when we demand it! Comprende?"

Little Jake recognized the voice and snuck up towards the opened door and peered inside, finding his older brother Ryan standing at the shop's front counter with four other guys around his age, all of them wearing black hoodies and carrying baseball bats.

"I will not!" the elderly proprietor shouted back defiantly waving his cane at the hooligans, "I did not come to this great country to be bullied by a bunch of lowly piss ant hoodlums like you! Now get lost before I call the cops on your worthless punk asses!"

Ryan only smirked at the old man's boldness and looked back to his four friends, "Alright old man, you wanna do this the hard way, huh? Well we certainly can do just that! Trash this place!" he screamed before taking his bat and smashing open the display counter's glass, covering the tile floor in bloody red meat.

Taking a cue from their leader the four other gang members proceeded to cause whatever mayhem they could: smashing windows and display cases, knocking down displays, tearing down signs, breaking open crates and tossing empty beer bottles at the owner.

Uncle Georgie had tried fleeing into the nearby office, but Ryan quickly leapt over the counter and proceeded to beat him to a bloody pulp. Once the elderly owner had been incapacitated, he snatched the man's keys and looted everything from the store's register.

Ryan stood tall observing his dirty work with an almost ghoulish glee as one of his cohorts pulled out a can of spray paint and marked their territory with a large red 'B.'

"Alright boys, I think Pops should have the message by now!" Ryan called out before smashing the wall-mounted phone to pieces. Looking down to the fallen man he spoke, "Remember Gramps, you're on Blitzer's territory now! You keep this up; this is bound to happen again and again!"

The older Cavanaugh brother was about to tell his boys to pull out when he turned his attention to the front door to find his little brother standing there, looking on in horror at what had just transpired.

"Oh shit, Jake!" Ryan blurted out and looked back to his buddies, who shared similar looks of anxiety now that they had been spotted. Knowing they were dealing with an impressionable child they quickly shook it off.

"C'mon, let's get the hell outta here!" Ryan Cavanaugh said rushing towards the front door and grabbing his brother, leading him to a battered red van his gang had been using.

"Ryan!" Little Jake blurted out, but was silenced by a gloved hand clamping down over his mouth.

"Kid, just shut up and get in," his older brother spoke throwing him into the back and sitting down next to him as one of his fellow Blitzers jumped in and pulled the double doors shut behind them while another climbed into the driver's seat and started the van up.

"Ryan, what have you done?" the younger brother asked, only to have his brother clamp a hand over his mouth again.

"Jake, what has just gone on here is something you were never meant to see!" the older Cavanaugh firmly explained, "Whatever you do, do not tell anybody about this! Got it?"

Little Jake looked up to his older brother in wide-eyed horror, knowing what he was doing was wrong, yet he feared the elder's retribution even more.

"Okay, I won't tell Mom or Dad," he sheepishly replied as the gang members sifted through the money they had just stolen.

"My older brother Ryan, or as his buddies called him 'the Scorpion,' probably the toughest man I ever knew. Dad was right about him being a thug, but yet he was still my family and I still loved him and looked up to him as a hero in the same way any little brother should. To me he was everything a man should be: strong, fearless, independent, aware and overall, unwilling to take crap from anybody who crossed him. He wasn't a cowardly drunk who had to push around those weaker than him like our old man; to me he was something, someone I could admire. I didn't care if he was a criminal or not, he was still my flesh and blood.

"A lot of people would be quick to assume it was him who corrupted me, made me into the 'degenerate thug' my father often spoke of. Heh, maybe they're actually telling the truth instead of spreading shit behind my back. Sure, he might've taught me the fundamentals of pick-pocketing and how to break into someone's house without being noticed, but he taught me a whole lot more than that.

"He would always tell me 'Remember bro', your wits and your fists are the only things you can rely upon in this bullshit world. Its dog eats dog, everybody is out to get you at one point or another and chances are none of them are going to try peacefully reasoning with you. You have to be just as ruthless and cunning as they are to come out on top, that's the only way.'

"My brother spoke those very words to me and I've taken them to heart ever since. If I didn't have him around, I probably would've died years ago."

The scene flashed to an abandoned barn where Little Jake punched away furiously at a weathered punching bag in front of him, his blows echoing through the rickety quarters as punch after punch landed upon the tattered surface.

"That's right Jake, you pretend that's Rierson's face you're pounding in," Ryan shouted next to him, "Hit that fucker hard! Break his fucking nose! Make him pay for taking Big Red!" the elder Cavanaugh sibling called out, his harsh commands pushing his kid brother to greater extremes he didn't even know were possible.

"Alright," Ryan said pushing his brother away from the wobbling bag, "Now I wanna watch you break his fucking ribs!" he shouted before delivering a hard kick to the sack, "Just like that! Once you've broken his ribs, you take out his butt ugly face!" he said showing him how to perform a textbook reverse roundhouse kick, "Now you try it!"

Jake slowly approached the bag and took a deep breath, only to receive a sharp shove from his big brother.

"Don't fucking stand there and look at him! Fuck him up!" he shouted.

Letting out a battle cry Jake launched himself forward and delivered a hard kick of his own, his leg burning as it made contact with the canvas surface. With no time to shrug it off, he spun his body and attempted the reverse roundhouse kick, his foot barely grazing the suspended bag.

"No, no, no, this is how you do it!" Ryan said before taking his place in front of the bag.

"Ryan taught me a lot about fighting too. Mom secretly signed him up for Karate classes when he was little, remembering how the bullies liked to mess around with him too. His sensei kicked him out because he was always getting into fights, but still he learned enough to pass down to me.

"He'd also received some training in boxing from Old Man Epps, the guy who ran a gym in our town. He was supposed to have been a pretty good amateur boxer back in his day, could've reached the big time, but some shady promoter paid an opponent to rough him up pretty bad, never got over it so he dedicated his time to training. He taught Ryan quite a bit that he would pass down to me.

"There was also that Mr. Rostov guy who ran the barber shop that had taken him under his wing and taught him a few of the basics of the Russian martial art Systema. Where he learned it from nobody knows, but there were a lot of rumors flying around that he was a member of the G.R.U. back in the Soviet Union. Needless to say, anything he taught Ryan would soon be passed down to me."

The scene flashed to the front lawn of Somerset High School, another place the young man had experienced much hardship.

Here he was now a teenager sitting on one of the marble benches in the school's 'Brotherhood Square' with his sketchpad in front of him.

In the center of the square stood a granite statue of Cyrus Dutton, the town's founder, but Jake was reimagining the image before him, replacing the man's top hat with a horned helmet, drawing a sword where his cane should have been and then adding a shield with an elaborate dragon's head design and throwing in some spiked shoulder pads as a finishing touch.

Drawing had been a means of therapy for him, allowing him to escape from the struggles of the real world. He often found himself imagining things as they had been in the old comic books his brother gave him, tales of the hero overcoming the bad guy, saving the world and getting the girl. It wasn't uncommon for him to add his own original touches to the things he saw around him, turning a harmless, domesticated Miniature Schnauzer into a powerful wolf, transforming the shy girl who sat across from him in Biology into a buxom femme fatale wielding a battle axe taller than she was, or reimagining the downtown area as a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

"Hmmm, maybe I need to make his eyebrows a little more slanted, give him that 'sadistic eastern European count' look like Vlad the Impaler has," the teenaged Jake thought to himself as he prepared to rework the statue's eyes, only to find himself being shoved hard to the pavement from behind.

"You know, you really need to stop being so clumsy Cavanaugh!" a familiar taunting voice called out from behind.

Jake rolled over onto his back to find Vinnie Rierson again standing tall over him, now older and larger than he was before. He reached down and picked up the sketchpad and leafed through the drawings.

"My you're quite the Picasso, aren't you?" Vinnie asked ripping a page out of the pad and crumpling it into a tiny ball, "Too bad his artwork looked like somebody was on crack when they made it!"

"High school was hell for me. I was the quiet, introverted type who spent most of my time alone, so naturally I had a target painted on my back.

"There were people who knew my father was an alcoholic and that my brother was a criminal, giving them plenty of ammo for hurling insults my way in the lunchroom if they weren't already hurling their lunches at me. Then you had those who picked on me because I wore black most of the time and listened to heavy metal, trying to accuse me of being either a Satanist or a vampire, 'Dracula' being a nickname some asshole in my Music Appreciation class gave me.

"If it wasn't for those reasons, then they invented their own excuses for not liking me. There was that mousy kid in my math class whom I tried opening up to after I learned he liked the 'Robo Man' video game series like I did, but he blew me off thinking I was another bully trying to gain his trust so I could give him a swirly when he least expected it.

"Then there was that girl I saw in the library who wasn't bad looking and I tried talking to, but she thought I was a creep just because I was quiet. Too many people looking for reasons to throw me into the gutter and stomp on me like I was the lowest form of shit.

"Believe me, there were plenty of jocks and other tough guys who came my way looking for a cheap thrill, thinking I was some defenseless Goth kid who would be too chicken shit to fight back."

"Give it back!" Jake Cavanaugh demanded as he pushed himself back to his feet and dusted his clothes off.

Vinnie turned to look at him just as he was about to rip another page out of the sketchbook, "Give it back!" he called back in a mocking tone, "Or you'll what?" he laughed harshly.

"I'll kick your fucking ass!" Jake hissed, his breathing becoming labored and his knuckles clenching.

The bully would only laugh even harder at his victim's threat, "Cavanaugh you lousy wimp! I've been mopping the floor with your sorry ass for years. What makes you think this time around will be any different?" he scoffed punching a beefy fist into his opened palm.

A large group of students began to surround the two would-be combatants. Neither student was particularly popular, so the crowd remained largely indifferent as to whom the victor would be. All they knew is that they were about to see some action that would distract them from their monotonous daily routine.

The teenaged Jake Cavanaugh stared viciously towards the very brute who had tormented him for years, ready for some payback.

"Well what's it gonna be Dracula? You gonna fight me or what?" Vinnie asked shoving him hard enough he went stumbling back into the statue. The bully attempted to follow up with a haymaker, but Jake would pull out a new trick and ducked under the swing, responding with a trifecta of blows to the man's midsection before shooting out his foot and sweeping him from his feet.

"You're gonna regret that!" the burly bully grunted pushing himself back to his feet and attempted to clothesline him like he had seen in countless wrestling matches, but Jake had anticipated his lack of speed and sidestepped to the man's opposite side, delivering a hard kick to his side that sent him buckling over clutching his ribs.

"What the hell?" he heard Vinnie cough, but the bully again pulled himself back to his feet, knowing he had a 'tough guy' image to protect and didn't want to lose face in front of those he had terrorized for so long.

"Who's the bitch now?" Jake asked feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins, driven by the pent up frustration from the years of torment and abuse he suffered at his opponents' hands. For once he was feeling the rush of being the aggressor and he was determined to make the hated bully feel what it was like when the shoe was on the other foot.

"Damn you!" Vinnie screamed lunging towards his smaller opponent, only to be met by a backhand that left a nasty bruise on his jaw. Jake wasn't finished there as he delivered a combo of lightning quick jabs and ended with an uppercut that knocked the big man flat onto his back.

Before the teenager could finish off his opponent he was restrained by two different sets of hands latching onto his arms.

"That's going to be enough out of you Mr. Cavanaugh!" an authoritative voice boomed, that of Principal Ernst.

"He started it!" Jake spat as he was dragged away by the principal and gym teacher Mr. Miller, "I was sticking up for myself!"

"That's still no excuse for violence," the principal replied.

"It's awful funny you couldn't be there every other time he was giving me shit!" the teen spat bitterly.

"I fucked up anybody who messed with me. I had to show them I wasn't as defenseless as they thought. Anybody who gave me grief left a bloody pulp. It surprises me sometimes that I didn't get expelled for what I did, then again I had an aunt who was a defense lawyer. She was able to pull quite a few strings for me, being her favorite nephew and all. She knew about the crap I went through, too bad she couldn't get my dad put behind bars. As powerful as she was an attorney, she was still frightened of my father; after all he had threatened to kill my mom on several occasions if she took any action against him."

"Thank you Jake, he was giving me trouble too," a timid voice spoke up.

Gone was the schoolyard setting and the teenaged Jake now found himself face to face with a short, wiry boy around his age who had ear-length wavy dark brown hair, dark beady eyes and a narrow, rat-like face.

"Milo Hirschberg, my first true best friend. He and I became friends after that fateful day and over time I would gradually learn more about him and connect to him in many ways other than what TV shows or video games we liked. Much like me, he came from a broken home, lost people close to him at an early age and was bullied for being different, in his case it was based upon the path to God his family followed.

"He was more than a best friend; he was a brother to me. We were there for each other when we needed somebody to confide in the most, me when my dad was being his usual drunken self and wanting to smash everything in sight, and him when his parents were either too busy to spend time with him due to their jobs, or were busy screaming at one another when his mother suspected his father of having an affair with his secretary. No matter what the situation was, we were always there for one another whenever we needed each other."

In another blinding flash of light, Jake and Milo were sitting together in Luigi's Latte Love with three more individuals.

The first was a pudgy kid with short chestnut-colored hair and wire-rimmed glasses.

"Vance Chisholm, or as those who picked on him liked to call him 'Porky.' To us he was known simply as 'the Genius.' In spite of his social awkwardness he was truly a brilliant individual whom we often joked that had he gotten anything less than an A it would have signaled the coming of the apocalypse. We often wondered if we would see him around the next year due to the possibility of him being able to graduate early and heading off to any college he pleased.'"

Seated next to Vance was a taller, thinner kid with short curly black hair and wore a bomber jacket.

"Eddie Greenwald, the ladies' man…at least he thought he was. He was always going on little adventures trying to score himself 'a fair lady,' only to be shot down in the end, always provided some laughs for the rest of us. On the bright side, he was always able to find cool things for us to do, so at least we were guaranteed an adventure if we had him by our side."

The last guy in the group had shoulder-length blond hair and a small goatee on his chin, clad in a grubby plaid shirt.

"Jimmy Prentiss was the last member of our little clique. If there were two things he cared about in life they were getting high and rocking out. Whenever he wasn't stuck in school or hanging with us he spent his every waking moment jamming away on his guitar, determined he would one day escape his dreary small town life and become a big rock star. He showed me the basics of learning guitar and for a time had me wanting to start a band with him.

"We did everything together, whether it was hiking through the woods, going for road trips out of town, or just chilling in Jimmy's basement and rocking out. With them around, I finally had a clique I could call my own."

A second later it was back to just Jake and Milo.

"Like they say, all good things must come to an end. Vance left town after his dad accepted a better paying job in Washington State, Eddie got killed in a car accident coming home from a family reunion and Jimmy was arrested and charged as an adult after he shot his stepfather following a heated argument.

"They were my friends, but they didn't share the unbreakable bond I had with Milo.

"Once it was just the two of us I hung out with him whenever I could. Most of the time it was just us sitting on his balcony having a few drinks and looking up to the stars, sitting there pondering topics ranging from the meaning of life to what we would be doing with our lives once we escaped from Somerset."

He was taken back to one of those nights, dusk falling and the earliest stars burning as the two of them relaxed in sun loungers, halfway through a 12 pack of Loco Cola and a bag of Rey Sol's Extra Cheesy nachos.

"I was talking to one of the representatives from Vallerdyne today," Milo said before taking a long swig of his second Loco Cola, "It sounds like they have a pretty good Political Science program there and I think I might look into it. They're cheaper and they're closer to home."

Jake raised an eyebrow to his best friend, "I thought you were planning on getting as far away from this hellhole as possible."

Milo looked at him nervously before replying, "Well…I really don't know, I mean I've never been too far away from home. I know there probably isn't anything left for me here once I'm out of school, but at the same time…well I feel like no matter what happens I'll never be able to leave it all behind. Yeah I know…it sounds strange."

Jake offered a slight nod, "Yeah I know you're nervous man, but you've gotta spread your wings. There's a wide open world out there waiting to be explored and there are plenty of new adventures waiting, plenty of new people whom you're destined to befriend, hell maybe there's even a lonely lady somewhere out there whom you're destined to eventually meet and fall in love with. You're obviously not going to find any of that stuff stuck around here."

"Hey, at least here I have my best friend in the entire world," Milo shot back tossing a crumpled up napkin at him.

Jake smiled at the comment knowing it was true. After everything they had been through, they still had each other and he was intent on keeping in touch with him wherever life would take him.

"So what about you?" Milo asked before scooping up a handful of nachos, "Have you gotten in touch with anybody lately?"

Jake breathed deeply knowing this wouldn't be an easy question for him to answer.

"I have no clue," he replied quietly, "I don't know if there are many possibilities after what I've been through. I reached out to one of the guys at the police academy, but he said my record would play against me, guess that shoots down that option."

"C'mon man, don't be such a downer. There's gotta be something out there for you," Milo replied before biting into another nacho, "Have you tried any art schools? I know you love to draw. What about the media institute over in Bainbridge? Maybe you could get into something involving music production, like what Jimmy said he wanted to do if he couldn't make it as a musician."

"Heh, the only thing that is for certain is once I'm legally able to I'm getting the hell out of my house," Jake said, furrowing his brow at the thought of the building which had never been a 'home' to him, more like a prison.

"Can you believe it? There actually was a point in my life where I wanted to be a cop of all things!

"It was the ultimate irony, but I felt it could have been a good way to help deal with my 'father' once and for all, make him so he could never harm anybody else ever again. Not only that, I could've dealt with those who preyed upon the weak, people like Vinnie Rierson and all the other tough guys who felt they had to be all macho and shit. If I had that badge they would have had to respect me.

"If not that maybe I could have been a teacher or a guidance counselor, do what I could to help those who came from circumstances similar to my own, encourage them to be nice to those less fortunate and help those who need a light at the end of the tunnel."

"Jake! Help me!"

Next thing he knew, Jake Cavanaugh was lying face down in the dirt, struggling to move after he had received a ten on one beating. It hurt like hell for him to lift his arm and stung even more as he flexed his fingers to clasp the handful of grass beneath him, but he knew he had to move. Milo was in trouble and needed his help.

"I'm coming Milo…hold on!" he gasped weakly as he pulled himself along the grass and summoned the strength to push himself to his hands and knees.

"Jake! Help me! I can't hold on much longer!" his friend cried desperately as he struggled to keep his head afloat.

Milo couldn't swim and those bastards had thrown him into the lake. Still, he had to do what he could to save his best friend.

"I'm coming Milo!" Jake cried out as he reached the dock, gripping a nearby wooden railing to pull himself back to his feet. It hurt like hell for him to stand and he wondered if his sprained ankle would be able to support him as he hobbled along, nearly collapsing several times as he tried to reach the end. He could see his friend flapping his arms frantically as he struggled to keep his head above water, stoking his desire to work through the pain.

"Hold on buddy!" he screamed and continued forth until there was a loud crack beneath him and his foot sunk through a weathered board, crying out in pain as the jagged wood embedded into his flesh.

"Jake! Please!" Milo again screamed before his head dipped beneath the surface and he had to flap his arms wildly before he could pop his head up.

The pain was unbearable and Jake could only cry out in agony as he struggled against the broken board, feeling the jagged shards dig deeper with every strain. He couldn't let it slow him down; he had to save his friend.

After a Herculean yank he pried his leg free and staggered towards the end, seeing the life preserver within reach. With a mighty leap he shot his arm out and clasped the rubber ring.

"Milo, catch it-" Jake was about to toss the ring when he found himself frozen in place.

It was too late.

Milo's lifeless body floated in the water and all he could do was stare at it helplessly, numbed by his failure. He had been too slow and his best friend lost his life because of it.

"No…Milo…I'm so…so sorry…" he gasped, his head falling against the weathered wood and his hand hanging limply over the edge. He had failed. He hadn't just failed to save his best friend, he had failed himself. "I always told myself I would do whatever I could to protect him."

The sadness and the guilt he felt some gave way to raw, unbridled anger and he clenched his fists, forgetting the pain as he forced himself to his feet and screamed to the sky for vengeance.

"I remember being there that day like it was yesterday.

"Milo and I had been hanging out by Somerset Lake minding our own business when a bunch of cars pulled up behind us and when I saw the blue and white letterman's jackets with the unmistakable Cobra symbol on the front; I knew right away there was going to be trouble.

"The Somerset Cobras, 'the pride of Somerset, California,' had shown up en masse, led by that pompous prick Ted Beckman, the quarterback and talk of the Daily Chronicle's sports section. There wasn't a time I didn't see him in the halls without a cheerleader on his arm or him shoving someone into the nearest trashcan.

"Those punks thought they were untouchable because of what they did on the athletic field and more importantly, who their families were. They took absolute pleasure in torturing anybody they felt was beneath them, but yet they were treated as heroes just because they tossed around some freaking pigskin ball!

"The sight of Beckman alone was enough to make me sick to my stomach. He could never pass up on the chance to give us trouble, calling Milo a 'filthy kike' at every turn and wondering 'if he would get a reward for staking a vampire?' when it applied to me. He had it out for me ever since that one time I shoved his head into a locker right in front of the cheerleading squad's captain.

"I tried to stand up for Milo when Ted was telling him to go back to where the other Jews were, but every single one of those bastards swarmed me when I dared to touch his precious medals. I did what I could to hold them off, but there were too damn many of them and before I knew it I was on the ground sucking dirt.

"Once I was dealt with, they wanted to see if they could 'clean a filthy kike' and tossed Milo into the lake for a cheap laugh. Well they got their laugh alright and took off like the cowards they truly were when they knew Milo was in trouble.

"They had crossed the line and I was determined to make them pay for murdering my best friend."

With no flashes or ripples this time, Jake found himself outside a sports-themed restaurant called Pigskin Pete's, a joint frequented by the top athletes from his school. He could only watch passively as his younger self was subjected to yet another gang beating.

"You're going down Vamp!" Ted Beckman's voice taunted while assailing him with a flurry of fists and feet.

"A worthless chump, just like your loser friends!" another called out.

"Not so tough now, are you punk?" a third Cobra shouted before spitting on him, this particular player having his nose broken by Jake during the skirmish at the park.

"Damn you bastards! Damn you all to Hell!" Jake roared with his last ounce of strength.

In another flash, young Jake Cavanaugh now lay in a hospital bed, his right arm in a sling, brace around his neck and his face heavily bandaged with his left eye completely wrapped up.

"They fucked me up pretty good: broke my arm, cracked a few of my ribs, sprained my neck, screwed up my left knee, shattered my ankle, broke my nose, dislocated my shoulder, bruised my left eye until it was swollen shut and left me with who knows how many cuts and bruises. To call me a mess was an understatement, I was a disaster. The physical pain was nothing compared to what I learned the day after.

"The Somerset Cobras, each and every one of them, got let off with a slap on the wrist…a slap on the fucking wrist for an incident that caused a man's death!

"Deep down I probably should've expected it 'cause they were all punks from families of wealth and high social status. They had the best lawyers money could buy and could've probably shot a cop dead in the middle of rush hour traffic and still gotten away with it!

"They did whatever they could to paint me as the aggressor, despite the fact that it was me all alone against eleven guys. It was thanks to a lot of string pulling done by my aunt that I was spared jail time and furthermore, wasn't expelled from school for what I did.

"The pain was still there from what had happened. I truly felt alone in the world with my closest friend gone and back home I couldn't be helped much either. My dad being the hardcore drunk he was probably would've beaten my mom and siblings within an inch of their lives if they even tried being there for me. He viewed me as a no good punk and wanted me to feel isolated."

From out of the darkness a beautiful young woman emerged. She stood about five feet seven inches in height and had long, shiny light brown hair falling to the middle of her back, crystal blue eyes of the lightest hue, lips as pink as the flowers growing in his mother's garden, fair, delicate-looking skin and a shapely figure that would make any man swoon. In her arms she held a bouquet of the reddest roses he had ever seen.

It was when she finally smiled to him his heart was instantly melted.

"On that very day a miracle happened, a miracle which brought light to the darkness of my tragedy, one that soothed whatever pain I felt.

"It was the day I met her, my angel.

"Her name was Ashley and she told me she had been one of the Cobras' girlfriends, but left him after she learned what they had pulled. She too had been disgusted and told me she completely understood the grief that must've driven me when I attacked those punks. Hell, even she thought I had given them what they deserved.

"What struck me the most, she told me she would be there for me if I ever needed anything and even offered me her phone number. Aside from Milo, it was the only other time somebody told me they would be there for me and I believed them, and coming from her lips it was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.

"She turned around to leave, but I grabbed her and told her to stay. I didn't want to be left alone and I certainly didn't want this being my only time seeing her. I can still hear that cute giggle of hers as she said 'Okay, maybe I could stay for a few extra minutes, I'm in no hurry.'

"That woman ended up staying with me for hours and within the short amount of time I had known her, I truly opened up to someone other than my best friend about everything that had gone on in my life. It truly takes someone of a special character to sit there and listen to what I had to say and in the end I moved her to tears. She told me she was looking to meet more people like me in the world, people who were unique and different to what surrounded her, those who looked beyond the superficial layers to see what lay beneath.

"She told me how she was from the Conrad Park area, the richest part in all of Somerset, and was getting tired of all the materialistic B.S. that surrounded her. Huh, can you believe it? A popular rich girl from the good part of town is giving me, a social outcast troublemaker the time of day. Sure it would have ruined her standing in the elite social circles, but somehow I don't think she would have cared too much and that alone told me there was something special about her."

A series of images flashed through his mind from all the time he spent with Ashley: their first date at a small Italian restaurant, their first kiss under a starlit sky, walks through the park, trips to the county fair and ending with the eventual consummation of their relationship. They were images of Jake genuinely feeling the happiest he had ever felt in his whole life.

"Once I got out of the hospital I spent all the free time I could with that girl. For the first time in my life, I truly felt alive and I loved every second of it, but I loved her more. She was the first person I told 'I love you' to and actually meant it. Ashley literally saved my life and for once I knew what I was going to do once I got out of Somerset, I was going to marry her and bring some stability to my life.

"Things seemed like they would have been that way until fate decided to piss on me again."

The teenaged Jake Cavanaugh found himself sitting on a park bench with his arms around Ashley as she sobbed hysterically.

"Jake, I'm pregnant!" her anguished voice rang through his mind.

"Those words hit me like a Mack truck. Both of us were barely past 18 and already she was pregnant with my child. We were too frightened to be excited by the news and had no idea what we were going to do about it. We both knew for certain her father would kill her if he found out, but she didn't want to have an abortion either. We were stuck between a rock and a hard place and decided we wouldn't tell anybody until we thought of a better solution.

"I know I was young, but for damn sure I would have been willing to take on the responsibility of helping her raise a child because I loved her more than anything and I would've done whatever I could to make sure I was able to provide for the new life about to enter this world."

A funeral march sounded from out of nowhere and the next thing Jake knew, he was in a black suit standing before the very casket holding his high school sweetheart, the love of his life. Having repressed his emotions for much of his life, this time the tears streamed freely down his face.

"I failed her…the only woman I ever truly loved.

"Four months into her pregnancy, Ashley's father found out and hurt her in the worst way possible. He flew into a frenzy and beat her so severely she lost the baby. According to her mother, she became so despondent at the loss of her own child she ended up overdosing on sleep medication."

The scene of Ashley in her coffin was replaced by a tombstone with her portrait engraved upon the surface and the inscription read:

ASHLEY DIANNE HAWKINSON, JAN. 17, 1974 – MAY 25, 1992

"Beloved daughter, granddaughter, sister, niece and friend. An angel bestowed upon our earth to bring warmth and happiness to those who loved her. May she forever run freely beneath God's golden sun in everlasting peace."

Jake was helpless and collapsed to his knees before his beloved's grave. The floodgates had opened and the years of bottled up emotions bowled him over, reducing him to a sobbing wreck. It was the single most painful experience he had ever endured.

"From what I remember, that's the last time I ever cried."

The tombstone had suddenly vanished and Jake Cavanaugh soon found himself standing face to face with an older man glaring hatefully upon him. Within a blinding flash, the man lay upon the ground a bloody mess with an older brunette-haired woman cradling him in her arms as a ten year old boy stared silently in horror.

"Dwayne Hawkinson, another prick who hated me from day one. Like many others he was far too quick to judge a book by its cover, seeing me as some troublemaking creep who would never be good enough for his baby girl. He never made any attempt to disguise his contempt and every time I set foot in their house he was always in my face, finding the littlest things to criticize me over.

"It wasn't long after Ashley's passing when I finally snapped. The bastard confronted me one day as I was leaving school, blaming me for being the reason his beloved daughter was dead and calling me the biggest mistake she ever made. I just fucking lost it after that and all I remember is a red haze.

"I pounded that bastard into submission until I could hear Mrs. Hawkinson's screams and remember the look of horror in her blue eyes, it was like I was staring into the face of Ashley and it was her begging me to stop. I remember seeing photos of her mother when she was younger and she looked just like Ashley, it was that flash alone that made me stop and before I knew it, ol' Dwayne was near death.

"I had allowed my emotions to get the best of me and I ended up pounding the son of a bitch into a coma. There were plenty of witnesses and I ended up getting arrested right on the spot.

"My luck had finally run out and there were no more strings for my aunt to pull. In addition to facing some serious jail time, I also got expelled just two weeks shy of my high school graduation. There went my future up in smoke."

In a flash of lightning Jake found himself cutting through a neighbor's backyard on a stormy night, nearly falling backwards as he attempted to scale a wet wooden fence in the middle of a downpour.

"The most my aunt could get me was bail. As a condition of my bail, I had to observe a strict curfew and be home every night by 10 p.m. I had been over to Jimmy's house playing what should have been a few rounds of 'World Fighter Omega' with his younger brother Doug, but soon we found ourselves really getting into it and by the time I looked at the clock, it was after midnight and I had no choice but to get home. Knowing my dad, he was probably going to be ready to beat my ass the second I got home…Heh, for some reason I ended up picking that over being sent to a place where I would've at least been free from him. Maybe I should've allowed myself to be arrested in the end…"

Jake held his head low as the torrent of rain pounded against his head, his sweatshirt's hood offering little protection against the elements as he ran through the Bernthal's yard, barely outrunning their tethered pit bull as he pressed forth, having to strain his eyes before he could make out the white picket fence and shoved the back gate open, running up to the backdoor and reaching beneath the novelty rock for the spare key.

"Hopefully they're asleep," he whispered to himself as he quietly worked the door open and tossed his soaked hoodie onto the dryer, only to halt as he noticed the kitchen lights on.

"Damn it," he muttered, mentally steeling himself for the ass chewing that was likely to occur, followed by him being smacked around. His face was still hurting from the other night when his father shoved his head into a cupboard after he thought he had insulted his cooking.

However, there was something unusual he could heard, his father was crying.

Steven Cavanaugh was a big tough guy who barely ever showed any emotion other than anger, if he's suddenly been reduced to tears then that meant something big must have happened and the possibility scared the hell out of Jake.

Feeling his heart beating harder and his breathing quicken, the teenager collapsed against the nearest wall and shut his eyes, scared out of his mind, yet knowing he had to find out what the hell was going on. Swallowing harshly he crept down the hallway and inched his way towards the kitchen.

When he entered the doorway he could only stand frozen in terror.

His mother lay on the floor in a pool of her own blood. Above her prone corpse, his father stood on his knees holding a gun in his hands. A broken whiskey bottle lay inches away.

"M-Mom? Mom!" Jake screamed clamping his hands to the side of his head.

Upon hearing his son's voice Steven Cavanaugh looked up to his middle son, the fires of hell burning from within his tormented soul. These weren't the actions of a drunken lout, but those of a man who had seriously lost it.

"You…"

"D-Dad…what's going on?" asked a frightened Jake.

His father stood up and moved towards him, his prominent brow furrowed in rage.

"It's your entire fault!" he rasped closing the gap between him and his son.

"Dad?" Jake asked backing himself towards the kitchen entrance, "I…I don't understand! What are you talking about?

"You made me do it!" he growled, a flash of lightning making him look more demonic as he inched towards his son, "You fucking made me do it!" he whispered, tightening his grip on the gun. "Your worthless punk ass made me do it!"

"Do what?" Jake blurted out not knowing what else to say to the madman standing before him.

"Your mother liked having a convict for a son!" he shouted viciously, "She must've liked seeing you disgrace the Cavanaugh family name! She was always sticking up for you, defending your criminal actions!" he spoke in a half-feral tone before his tone gradually lowered, "I couldn't take it anymore…I had to show her what happens when she sticks up for a criminal…I had to show you the error of your ways."

Jake's breathing increased rapidly as his focus darted back and forth between his mother's corpse and his gun-toting father.

"I'm going to do something I should've done a long time ago…" the man said aiming the gun at his son's chest.

"Dad, no!" Jake yelled and he lunged forward to grab the gun, but his dad was quicker and tried to shove him off. He had held on and the two of them engaged in a life or death wrestling match. The two of them fell to the floor as they continued struggling for the firearm.

"You made me do it! You piece of shit!" his father growled trying to wrap a hand around his throat.

"Dad, please!" Jake pleaded as he tried latching onto the older man's thick wrist.

"I'm going to kill you if it's the last thing I do!" the man yelled.

The two rolled around on the tile floor before his father was finally forced to relinquish his grip on the gun. What had started as a wrestling match soon descended into a game of 'keep away' as they kept trying to push the gun further along the soiled floor, shards of broken glass cutting into both their bodies. The older man eventually managed to roll himself on top of Jake and grabbed a large shard, slashing downward at his throat. Jake managed to move his hand at the last second and he felt a strong stinging beneath his bottom lip as the glass cut into his chin.

"You goddamned piece of shit! Why won't you fucking die?" Steve Cavanaugh screamed as he tried to choke the life out of him.

Jake gagged violently as he fought for air trying to do whatever he could to break free, but his airway was restricted by the stronger man's larger hand. He let out a strangled cry of pain as his skull was bashed against the tile floor, but he managed to get a hand around his father's throat before he could repeat, shooting his other hand out and feeling the cool steel of the gun.

He looked deep into his father's dark eyes as the man attempted to strangle the life out of him, wide with a bloodshot insanity as he dug his fingernails deeper into his son's throat.

His self-preservation kicking into overdrive, Jake impulsively shot his fist upward out of desperation and finally managed to take the bigger man off of him. Freed from the chokehold, he shot his hand backward and grabbed the pistol and raised it as he noticed his father reaching for a meat cleaver.

Squeezing his eyes shut he pulled the trigger three times, the loud bangs echoing in his ears.

There was nothing after that and he slowly opened his eyes only to be staring into his father's.

"So…cold…" Mr. Cavanaugh whispered as he looked down to the bloody holes in his chest, coughing up a stream of blood before he could register what happened. A sick gurgle escaped the man's lips before he slumped over.

"Dad?" a frightened Jake gasped; shocked by what he had just done when the man's chest didn't rise again.

"Oh god…Jake…no! What have you done?" a new voice gasped and he looked towards the kitchen entrance to see his sister Rose standing before him, her eyes wide as saucers and all the color drained from her face.

"Oh my god Rose! It's not what you think! He tried to kill me! He killed Mom!" Jake hollered back, but there was no reply, only a catatonic stare as she looked forward into nothing.

Distraught by what he had done, Jake dropped the gun and scooped up his father's car keys before storming out the front door and got the hell out of Somerset never to look back.

"My own father, the first person I ever killed.

"I always knew there would be a boiling point one day, but I had no idea it would end like this. Despite everything he had done to me and my family I still wonder if even he deserved such a fate.

"After that was done I knew I had to get the hell out of Somerset and there was only one person I could think of to turn to…Ryan."

"Jake, get down!" a voice screamed next to him and before he knew it, his older brother was pulling him to the floor just in time to avoid the cluster of automatic fire ripping apart the wall behind them.

"I found my brother alright and so did some guys who wanted him dead."

Ryan raised his Micro Uzi and fired blindly over the couch, yet there were no screams of pain to indicate he had hit anybody.

"What the hell did you do to piss these guys off?" Jake hollered over the rattle of automatic fire.

"Joey killed one of their boys!" the elder Cavanaugh replied before reaching up to fire another burst. The gang member called Joey lay in the entranceway of the kitchen, having taken a volley of rounds to the chest. Their rivals hadn't been satisfied with his death and were looking to kill everybody in the house.

"Ryan c'mon, we gotta fucking move!" cried out a man in a green hoodie named Harley, firing repeated blasts from his Ithaca Model 37 shotgun at their unseen attackers from the foyer's entranceway.

The elder Cavanaugh fired another burst from his machine pistol and was rewarded with the screams of a rival gangster.

"You're fucking dead!" a voice called out followed by the shatter of glass and the roar of flames, which could only mean one thing.

"Shit," Ryan muttered to himself as he slammed a fresh clip into his Micro Uzi and then reached into his pocket to hand his brother a Glock 19, "Time to nut up or shut up!"

The fire from the Molotov was rapidly spreading and Jake knew there was no other choice left. He accepted the gun and then followed his brother into the foyer, where a rival gangster kicked in the front door.

"Payback motherfucker!" the Hispanic man screamed before raising his TEC-9, only to be cut down by a shotgun blast from Harley.

"C'mon, get to the back door!" the gang member said shoving Jake towards the other kitchen entranceway.

By the time the duo had caught up to Ryan he was in the midst of gunning down two rival gang members that had crept into the townhouse's backyard and then pushing his way through a loose board in the nearby fence.

"C'mon! This way!" he shouted back.

Both Jake and Harley did as they were told and pushed their way through the loose board and chased the elder Cavanaugh brother through the alley behind them.

"Where are we going?" Jake blurted out as he struggled to keep up.

"Willow Street, we've got some guys there who can help out," Harley shouted back, "It's not far from here."

The screech of tires caught their attention and they turned to find a restored '64 Dodge 880 racing towards them, all of its passengers pointing machine pistols in their direction.

"Oh fuck," Harley shouted pumping his shotgun and managing to hit the front passenger, but the others had cut him down in a flurry of high-powered bullets.

"Jake, c'mon goddamn it!" Ryan shouted returning fire upon the rival gang's car.

The younger Cavanaugh huffed and puffed as he chased after his older brother, throwing his hands over his head while at the same time trying to keep his grip on the Glock while the rival gangsters fired at them.

"You ain't escaping Los Cazadores so easy putas!" a rival gangster called out.

"Jake just keep running!" Ryan shouted back until there was another screech of tires and the younger Cavanaugh arrived in time to see a Chevrolet Monte Carlo pulling into view with four more Cazadores and he raised his gun to let loose four shots, one of which had managed to strike a gang member sticking a MAC-10 out his window.

"Bro', I told you to keep-Gahhh!" Ryan called out just as a bullet struck his shoulder.

"Ryan!" Jake screamed running over to catch his wounded brother and trying to drag him to the safety of a nearby alley, but the elder brother was determined to get some payback for them spilling his blood.

"Save your strength," the younger Cavanaugh shouted back, "Just tell me where I can get you to safety!" he asked failing to hide his desperation.

"We're not far-Ahhh!" Ryan yelped as three bullets struck him in the side and two more tore into his leg.

"Ryan!" Jake screamed as he struggled to keep a grip on his brother, but he was unable to stand.

"Jake…you'll have to leave me!" the elder brother gasped coughing up blood.

"No! I'm not leaving you!" Jake shouted back, remembering his failures to save Milo, Ashley and their mother.

"Do it!" his brother growled, "I'm only gonna slow you down…please…I'd rather one of us made it out alive than no one at all…"

"No way," Jake protested as he made an abrupt right turn, "You're my brother and you've always looked out for me!"

"Just shut up and save yourself!" Ryan Cavanaugh gasped, using his remaining strength to shove his little brother away.

"There they are!" a voice called out from behind and Jake looked up to see the four Cazadores stepping into view. Immediately the four men raised their guns and he raised his Glock to return fire.

A firestorm of carnage erupted in the back alley as gunfire was exchanged on both sides and when the smoke cleared the four Cazadores lay in a bloody cluster and Ryan Cavanaugh lay on his back look into the nighttime sky, having thrown himself in front of his brother.

Somehow he was still alive and coughing up blood. Hearing his brother's weak gasps for air, Jake knelt down to hold his hand and looked into his dark eyes.

"Oh god…Ryan, I'm so sorry…" the teenager gasped as he could feel the life slipping from his brother.

The elder brother tried to say "No," but his final word came out a bloody gurgle when his mouth gorged. He looked into his sibling's eyes one final time before his head rolled limply to the side.

"He told me to save myself, but I couldn't leave him behind after everything he had done for me.

"Damn it! I was too slow…again. I failed to save my best friend, my girlfriend, my mother and now my brother, all because I was too fucking slow to act. Somebody up there sure must have loved watching me suffer to put me through all this bullshit."

"Cesar," he heard a weak voice calling out.

Jake looked up from his brother to find one of the gunned down figures beginning to stir, a kid around his age with his abdominal area colored a deep crimson. He was reaching over for another one of the guys, a young man who was clad in a blue button up shirt with his face obscured by a matching bandana.

"Cesar," the wounded man repeated crawling towards the lifeless figure, unable to move his legs, "Bro…oh shit!"

The wounded man rolled onto his side to face Jake, "You fucking bastard! You killed my brother!"

Jake said nothing and only glared hatefully at the crippled man, who by now had started crawling towards the Colt M1911 resting on the pavement in front of him. Before the man could grab it he stepped forth and brought his foot down on top of it, pointing the Glock in his face.

"You should be one to talk," he spat training his gun on the man's forehead, "Your brother murdered my brother. What's your excuse for me not killing you?"

The gangster didn't respond, his dark eyes wide in fright and his breaths slow and ragged.

"What are you waiting for? He helped kill your brother. Blow his fucking head off!" a dark, malicious voice called out in Jake's head.

"Don't do it. There's been enough bloodshed for one night. You've left him a cripple and he will have to live with it for the rest of his life, that's bad enough for him," a calmer, rational voice called out.

"He needs to suffer just like his murdering brother! Send a message to those Cazadores!" the evil voice cried out.

"No, it will make you no better than him. You'll just have more blood on your hands," the calm voice spoke.

"Do it! Avenge your brother!"

"No, you don't need anybody else hunting you down after what you've been through."

"He's a murdering scumbag. Kill him and end it all!"

"You would only be bringing more misery upon yourself. Leave him be, he'll never be able to hurt anybody else ever again."

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Jake screamed through gritted teeth and finally squeezed the trigger, only for the gun to click.

The Glock had jammed, yet the wounded man screamed as if the bullet had been fired, gasping loudly and feeling all over his upper body when he felt no stinging sensation. He looked up to Jake, his eyes still wide in trepidation as the tears began streaming down his face.

"Oh god no…please don't! Please don't!" he cried in terror.

Sudden pangs of humanity struck the teen as he looked down into the man's eyes and began questioning himself if he would have been doing.

Would two wrongs have made a right?

There was no time to ponder as the pounding bass of Latin hip-hop grew closer and he knew it would only be a matter of time before the other Cazadores showed up. He turned on his heel and ran away into the night leaving the crippled man behind.

"I still remember the look of horror in that guy's eyes and in hindsight I'm reminded we weren't so much different. He was around my age and he too was a scared kid who had lost his brother to a cruel fate.

"He got lucky that night, but I still wonder sometimes if I had made the right decision in letting him live, or should I have ended his suffering that was likely to follow?

"Heh, guess I didn't learn much from it if I ended up becoming a hitman.

"It wasn't long before I found Ryan's buddies and they did what they could to help, giving me a car, money, clothes and anything else I needed to get the hell outta California.

"I drifted on until that night in eastern Arizona when I stopped by that dive bar hoping I could lose that cop who thought I looked familiar, only to run into a snake pit filled with some bikers looking to start trouble.

"In my sorry state I was the perfect target for them and if it wouldn't have been for Viper and the other O'Bannon boys I would have died that night. Goddamn it, I can't believe I've gotta thank that two-faced bastard for something…"

Great warmth suddenly washed over him and Jake opened his eyes, finding himself lying face down in the grass, yet he felt no pain and rose to his feet stretching his limbs out.

He felt very nice as the bright sunlight beamed down upon him and he looked up into the cloudless sky before him, taking a deep breath to inhale the natural aroma of the pine trees around him and with it, the smell of barbecued food wafting over from nearby.

"I don't know where I am, but I like it," Jake muttered to himself as he saw the nearby lake and walked over to it. Looking down at his reflection he saw he was still wearing the same filthy tattered clothes he wore when he was knocked out. He knelt down to splash some fresh cool water onto his face and began scrubbing his grimy hands, wanting to take advantage while he had it.

The laughter of children and the barking of a dog distracted the hired gun from his current task.

"Kids, the burgers are ready! You'd better come and get them while they're hot!" a woman called out.

"That voice!" Jake said rising to his feet and running towards the direction it came.

He scaled a hill and looked down towards a picnic area only to stand in stunned silence. Before him was something that should not have been there.

Passing out plates on a spread out blanket was his beloved Ashley and she looked like she had aged slightly. Next to her an adorable infant girl crawled on the blanket and she lovingly scooped her up to give her a kiss on the head.

"We're coming Mom!" a young boy called back.

Rushing towards the picnic area was a dark-haired boy of roughly ten years followed by two more children, one a slightly younger boy who was also dark-haired and the other a girl with hair and eyes matching those of Ashley. What stood out to him the most was that both of the boys looked like exactly like him and his younger brother Jason did when they were little. One by one the kids sat down around the blanket and were handed platefuls of food.

Having given each of the kids their lunch Ashley called over her shoulder, "Oh Jake, sweetie! You'd better get over here and get yourself a nice juicy burger before your little hellions eat them all up on you!"

"I'm coming honey!" a masculine voice responded.

For Jake Cavanaugh it was like he was looking in the mirror. The man approaching was a mirror image of himself, but yet it was also dramatically different at the same time.

This alternate version of Jake Cavanaugh was clean-shaven and properly groomed, had no tattoos, was dressed in nice clothing and overall, appeared much happier.

"It's me," the hitman muttered as he watched the alternate reality version of himself leading a German Shepherd, the kind of dog he had always wanted growing up, over to the picnic area and taking a seat between Ashley and the oldest boy.

"Daddy!" the older girl called out running over to his alternate reality self and throwing her arms around him.

"There's my sweet little princess," the alternate Jake spoke, hugging his daughter back and kissing her on the forehead.

Jake could only watch from a distance as the family dined happily before him without a care in the world. He couldn't help but feel a sense of envy as this had always been the perfect loving family he yearned for growing up. Yet he also couldn't help but feel great warmth at what he saw before him.

"Maybe this is what was supposed to have been. Maybe this is what my life would have been like had Ashley lived. Maybe I would've never gone off and become a hitman if she had survived. God my life could've been so much better if she was still around and we'd gotten married. Looks like I was destined to have kids after all and furthermore, given them the happy childhood I never had growing up. To think how one woman could have changed my life so much…"

He could only watch as his alternate self leaned over to kiss Ashley, but before their lips could meet there was a sudden flash and Jake cried out as he felt his arms yanked backwards and his legs being pulled in opposite directions before he was hoisted off the ground in one swift motion.

"What gives?" he shouted trying to free his limbs, only to experience great pain as he did. Waving his arms in front of him he saw the strings tied around them. "What the hell is going on now?"

An icy laugh answered his inquiry and he flew into a furious rage when he recognized the voice.

"Wesker!" he hollered looking up to see the treacherous former S.T.A.R.S. captain towering over him with a control bar which the strings were attached to.

"Yes Jake, now you see yourself for what you truly have been all along. You were nothing more than my personal puppet, mine to use and abuse at my own convenience," he snickered playfully, "You should've accepted my offer Mr. Cavanaugh, because like any true puppet master…" the madman pulled out a pair of scissors, "…I can cut your strings at any time!"

With a snip of the scissors, Jake was cut free and found himself falling further into the void of nothingness, until the mutated William Birkin appeared with claws ready.

"No!" the hitman screamed as the bubbling monster drew its massive arm back and took a swing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Okay at this point it's probably debatable if some of you are still with me at this point, some of you probably having thrown yourself out the nearest window by now for having 48 hours of your life taken away from you! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I really wanted to do what I could to help all of you get inside Jake's head and really get to understand a lot of the bullshit he's gone through in his life and I had a lot of ground to cover, so I hope this helps!

As always read and review (If you still can't by this point). This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/