Fours years ago if you told Ethan that'd he been drinking in some shit ass bar in Germany drinking whiskey like water, he would have probably thought it was some weird healing vacation with his loss of Mia. If you told him it was because of work he'd probably think his middle-management job at his marketing firm had expanded to an international venue and he'd be enjoying the change of scenery with a laptop nearby with his work files on it. Four years ago Ethan would have had some questions about the pistol attached to his hip and the cigarette in his mouth, but here he was.
"Another?" the greasy bartender asked.
"Leave the bottle" he growled.
Four years ago Ethan would have barely recognized himself aside from his looks. This was his life now though. If it wasn't for one reason he'd have never gone to Louisiana if he could have seen how it would have gone. One horrible night had changed his life forever. Gone was the mild-mannered Ethan Winters who would have never even thought of what true horror was. Instead, as he looked in his distorted reflection in the newly delivered bottle of whiskey he couldn't remember a night that the sadistic Bakers hadn't entered his dreams. That's what the bottles were for.
On that day everything had changed. When he'd gotten onto that helicopter cover in the Bakers blood with Mia he'd thought everything would be ok. Within a few months though his life was a mess. He couldn't get any sleep and he kept getting into fights with Mia.
He'd thought that his wife was a sales associate that traveled a bit much. Instead, she was some kind of operative for a shadowy organization that made death squads look like a convent of nuns. The woman he'd pulled out of the hellish swamps of Louisiana hadn't been the same woman he'd known. The arguments started from there. She absolutely refused to tell him anything real about her life, she'd just gone about their lives as if nothing had happened. Needless to say, they divorced within a year.
Work hadn't been any better. He could never get any sleep at home. His will to care about some pissed-off manager was absolutely zero. So when he'd fell asleep at his desk and was shaken from a horrible dream he'd decked his boss in the jaw. Needless to say, he was looking for a new job after that.
Shooting helped. It wasn't long before he'd be at the range pretty much every couple of days. Then he'd taken up boxing. Then pretty much any martial arts that he could. All to keep his fear of seeing Jack around the next corner at bay, that and the alcohol.
At the end of the year during his divorce, Chris had visited him and Mia with some bad news. It turned out The Connections were looking for them. Chris had talked about relocation and a new start for the two of them but he just couldn't take it anymore. He'd asked to join the BSAA.
Chris promptly shot that down. He was still just some civilian, and the BSAA was the best of the best. Whether through pity or something else Chris had set him up with some old army buddies that ran a private military company. Within a week of signing the divorce papers he'd been run through a quick tactical crash course and in three weeks was on a 50 driving through Kabul.
From there it'd been two years as a mercenary, shit hole countries filled with people shooting at him for reasons he cared little for. The thing about paranoia was that it was just common sense when people really wanted to kill you every day. It was a weird change of pace. The nightmares were there but his screams just matched his bunkmates. Jack Baker still hid behind every alleyway but now when he turned it was a foreigner with an AK to be shot down.
Mia called once after, a few weeks after his training she'd call to tell him one of their drunken pity hate-fueled fucks had produced a child. They talked it over in somber tones. At the end of the call, Mia had decided that it'd be the thing to put her life into and Ethan asked that the child thought him dead. He knew he was on that way anyhow.
So here he was, waiting on the next contract in a week, downing the memories. He was in a dingy hotel but most of his time was spent in this bar, growing roots into his barstool it seemed.
Poring another shot the eyes he'd seemed to grow on on the back of his head sensed someone approach.
Turning he saw a large bald man standing in front of him "Amerikaner Bewegen."
"Don't speak German" he growled.
"Move American" the hulking figure growled back in broken English.
With a sideways glance, he noticed iron crosses and swastika tattoos adorning the man. "Sorry I don't move Americans, big guy."
Reaching forward the skinhead grabbed his shot and poured it on Ethan's head.
"Spam"
Pouring another shot Ethan downed it before the giant grabbed it. "It's scram. Which I recommend for you."
Anger forming on the man's face he stepped closer reaching for a knife on his belt.
"Bartender, another bottle," Ethan commanded.
"You spam or I gut you.' the man threatened. Holding his knife in a threatening manner. "My blade will-:
The whiskey bottle shattered across the guy's ugly mug, a jab bent him over and a right hook had him splayed across the floor of the bar before he could finish his sentence.
The bartender and the few patrons stood frozen in fear as Ethan took the unconscious man's wallet and threw it on the bar.
"I asked for another bottle," he spoke nonchalantly
"Right away herr." the bartender squeaked before hurrying away to grab the order.
Taking his seat again Ethan lit his cigarette and took a drag as he waited for his next bottle to fill his day.
Been a hell of few years. Ethan thought to himself.
"Ethan Winters" an annoying voice reverberated through the smoke-filled bar.
Turning quickly Ethan smelled the speaker before he saw him. Oil and the smell of blood permeated the bar as a man dressed in a worn duster and a beat-up cowboy hat stepped into the bar. "Random asshole." Ethan challenged. He sensed the danger the man posed and his hand gripped his iron.
Looking down at the bleeding unconscious man on the floor the stranger let out a long laugh. "Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Winter."
"Yours doesn't. So get on with it or let me keep drinking." he snarled his hand not leaving his weapon and his body coiled to strike.
"I've got a job for you Mr. Winter." the man said with a greasy smile with eyes hidden behind rounded glasses.
His whiskey bottle finally was put next to him. "I'm good. Currently taking my job as drink inspector very seriously. Apparently, there might be a deficiency at the bottom of every bottle so I gotta make it to the bottom of each." He said taking a long swig before putting it down.
The stranger walked up and took a seat beside him. "I think you'll take this one." Taking his bottle the man took a swig. "That is if you wanna see Mia or your kid alive."
At that moment his handgun was pressed upon the stranger crotch. "Start talking" he managed through gritted teeth.
"Hahahaha, you'll do just fine Mr. Winters." suddenly the gun flew up into the man's hand before it seemed to crumple into itself, falling onto the floor in a pile of broken metal. "Now relax and listen," he said extending the bottle to Ethan.
Putting aside the shock of his gun being destroyed he grabbed his bottle back. "You're not human." he stated.
"Mabye." the stranger let out another annoying laugh. "Maybe not. Now, are you ready to play this game?"
'Looks like I don't have a choice.' his scowl deepened "Now where the fuck are Mia and Rose."
"Kidnapped. They are being held by a Mother Maranda in a village a day's drive east." Reaching into his duster he tossed a piece of paper with an address on it.
"How do you know this." he demanded.
"That's my business. Now you'll go and kill Meranda. Rescue your kid and ex and be the hero again." The man sat up and started towards the exit " I'd hurry if I were you, Mr. Winters."
Ethan stood up to follow but stopped as the skinhead's knife flew up to rest on his throat, held in thin air as if by magic. "And by the way, if you mention this meeting to anyone," the knife bit into his flesh, a bright red bloody line starting to drip "You're a dead man.' the man chuckled as he opened the door's exit.
"Hey asshole!" he shouted, barely unchained fury in his voice.
The stranger stopped and turned, a look of amused curiosity on his face.
"The big guy on the floor thought I was an easy victim, the insurgents overseas thought I was too, and worse than you thought I was their prey." His piercing eyes boring right into what was left of the stranger's soul. "You and whoever is waiting for me would do well to not make that same mistake."
Chucking the man pressed forward out the door. "We'll see Mr. Winters."
A few seconds later the knife fell to the ground and Ethan let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Turning back towards the bar he eyed the terrified bartender and patron.
"This hallucination is on him," he said pointing to the skinhead. "Cash out my tab on him and forget this."
As he waited on his card he took the knife and attached its sheath to his belt, his sidearm a broken mess on the floor. Shooting an unanswered text to Mia he called a cab and grabbed his card.
Stepping outside and not seeing his mysterious employer he let out a long sigh.
"Fuck. Here we go again."
Hello readers, thanks for checking this out. I just finished RE village and thought it was pretty great. However a couldn't help but feel like Ethan was kinda a piece of wet bread; trading lame insults, acting like a random ass smuck, and really not having intelligent reactions for a guy who has kinda done this before, and supposedly he's been training due to his constant paronia. I'm hoping to explore the story with a more grizzled smart-ass Ethan. Also, Ethan/Big vampire lady cause I feel like a realistic romance would be hilarious and why not. So here's hoping you enjoy it, and feel free to drop a comment to tell me how you feel like it's going or where you want this to go.