Disclaimer: Resident Evil is owned by Capcom.

Author's Note: I've been thinking about the tragic past and childhood of what Jake would have had and so decided to write about his inner demons and struggles. Davo means demon in Serbian language and so here is the voice that haunted him and what made him become the way he is. Also, in the beginning of my fic my intention was for Jake's mother to be alive because I started writing this months before RE6 came out. So trying to keep in line with the game, I had to devise a storyline for her and that's what tied it up to his chapter. Thanks for all the support!

Chapter 13 – Realization

He spat a mouthful of blood and watched it swirl down the white porcelain sink as the water washed it down. He ran his tongue on the inside of his mouth checking to see if he lost any teeth in the process. Thankfully they were all still intact. Glancing at the small rectangular shaped mirror he stared at the reflection of himself.

His cheek was swollen and bruised. It would turn blue later on. Bruises lined the skin around his right eye, nearly swollen shut from the beating he received from the guards. His lip was split and was running blood down his chin before but it seemed to have clotted and stopped bleeding. His body was covered in bruises and cuts. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned away from his awful reflection. He felt his head spinning from all that he's gone through as well as the physical "examination" he just experienced.

This is so fucked up, he thought to himself. In the space of six months he'd learn things about himself, his lineage, background and father than he ever did in the twenty years of his life. And fuck it, it was quite a lot to grasp. He thought of the lady who captured him and kept him in this facility. He doesn't know exactly where he is but hell he knows he's not in the US. He could tell he's in China from the Cantonese dialect spoken. Due to his travels as a mercenary, he had become proficient in numerous languages. He thought back at the events that occurred as he was prodded and tested like an animal in the lab.

The woman approached him slowly and stopped before him. His arms and legs were held down by metal cuffs securing him to a lab bed that's positioned upright making him face her. Her eyes travelled the length of his body as she studied him from head to toe.

He scoffed. "Do you like what you see? I bet you want to take it for a test drive, huh?"

Her eyes went back to his face, eyes cold. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not as great as you think you are."

He laughed harshly. "And bitches aren't my type either. So now that we're clear that we don't like each other, how about you let me go so I can go on my merry way and find someone else worth of my time?"

Her eyes narrowed a fraction. "I'm afraid that's not going to happen. As much as I don't like seeing you, I have to monitor your progress. We need your blood to accomplish our goals."

"Here we go again," he muttered under his breath. "Still singing the same old shit I keep hearing. Can't you come up with something more original?"

"You should learn to hold your tongue. May I remind you that you're the one restrained. I can do whatever I want to you."

He gave her a smirk. "You're like a bitch in heat, aren't you? Just can't get enough of me."

He felt a sharp sting on his cheek where she gave him a hard slap. It caused his head to turn sideways and the back of his head hit the cold metal of the lab bed. He turned back to her and sneered. "Guess that's a yes, then."

She ignored his comment and walked towards a large metal table in the middle of the testing lab. She picked up a folder and looked through the pages. "Genome pattern analysis has been completed. Blood type is confirmed to be compatible with strengthening the effects of the C-virus. We are one step closer to developing the world's most powerful virus. With the C-virus completely developed, just imagine how much control we can take on this world."

"Like hell that's gonna happen."

She turned back to him and gave him a half smile. "It will happen. You can count on that. Thanks to you and your blood. It's a great thing you inherited your father's antibodies. After all the things he has done, I guess we can thank Wesker for this one thing he passed on to you."

"How the hell do you know my father anyway?" he demanded.

She walked slowly towards him. "You poor little boy. Abandoned by your father. How sad that must be for you. If you must know, Albert Wesker is one of the top virologists Umbrella's ever had. A brilliant scientist and biologist, his knowledge and skills are second to none. Well, William Birkin did give him a run for his money. The two of them are responsible for developing the world's deadliest viruses. He started it with the T-virus years ago. Birkin developed a more advanced stage of the G-virus. But those will be nothing compared to the C-virus the world will experience very soon.

His ears perked up by the mention of his partner's surname. Didn't she mention before that her father was a scientist? "William Birkin? You don't mean –"

"Yes, that's right. Sherry Birkin's father. He and your father were partners in the past. A brilliant duo but too foolish enough to succumb to their research and power," she replied coldly.

"What do you know? Small world. Where is she?"

"She is not your concern. I would worry about yourself if I were you. We have a lot of work to do."

"What happened to my father?" he asked suddenly. He didn't know why but all of a sudden he wanted to know about him. He never really dwelled on that dead beat until now. This moment all the unanswered questions from his past are flooding him.

"Dead. Three years ago. He was developing a new kind of virus called Uroboros in West Africa. He collaborated with the CEO of Tricell, Excella Gionne. Those two were out of their minds thinking they could use that virus to control and brainwash people. I guess their quest for power eventually got the better of them in the end. Wesker was brilliant but at the same time a very foolish and deluded man. He wanted to play God and rule the world. He had experimented on himself in the past and developed antibodies for any kind of virus possible. He was resistant to the effects of the Uroboros. The right dose of that virus strengthens him and makes him nearly invincible. Luckily he was stopped by a couple of agents. They had injected him with more of the virus causing the effects to do the opposite. In the end, the virus he created was his own demise. A shame really," she answered as she examined a manicured fingernail.

"Who were the ones that killed him?"

"I'm sorry. Enough chit chat. Let's begin more analysis," she called to a scientist wearing a lab coat to begin the examination. He approached him and grabbed his arm forcefully.

"Get the fuck off me if you know what's good for you," he snarled at him. The scientist ignored him and stuck a needle in his arm drawing his blood in a test tube. A guard wearing a colourful mask approached them and threw a savage punch on his gut causing him to groan in pain. He would have doubled over if it weren't for the metal cuffs holding him. He felt another punch on his face and tasted the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He turned his face sideways and spat it out.

"Is that the only thing you've got?" he asked as he glared at the guard. "Pussy."

"This asshole's asking for it. Let's give it to him," the guard said in his native Cantonese dialect to the other guards in the room. Two more approached him as they took out their batons.

"Careful boys. Do what you want with him but don't kill him," the woman called out to them.

He was no stranger to violence and physical pain and throughout the whole time he was detained, he never experienced it more than ever.

He looked like shit. He felt even worse. He turned back towards the mirror and examined his jawline where a Javo had struck him. A large bruise is now forming, the skin turning a purplish hue. He rubbed it tenderly and winced at the pain that ran through his face.

The circular door of his white walled cell opened and the woman came in followed by a couple of Javos. Speak of the devil…

He signed as he turned to face her. "The hell do you want now?"

"Nice to see you too. Looks like the guards had been having some fun with you," she regarded him with a cool stare as she folded her arms.

He scoffed and turned back to the mirror. Turning the tap water on, he scooped some water up and splashed it in his face. "Listen, lady. I'm not in the mood right now for your games. So if you don't mind getting the fuck out of my cell, I'd love to get some sleep."

"I'm not here to play games, Muller," she said as she took out a small cardboard box from her bag and dropped it on the floor. "I'm here to tell you about your mother."

His head snapped up, water still dripping from his face. "Where is she? What have you done to her?" He clenched his jaw feeling the pain shooting up again up his face but he didn't care. He felt his chest tightened thinking what could have happened to her.

She raised her hands. "Settle down. I haven't done anything to her. I don't have to. She's dead," she said not a hint of remorse or sympathy in her voice.

"Liar!" he made a move towards her, rage filling his every core.

One of the guards moved in to protect the woman and fired a shot at his direction missing him by inches as he dodged the bullet. The other guard ran towards him and held his arms back preventing him from getting to the woman. She took out an injection from a little metallic brief case and held it in front of him. "Do you want to know what happened to her or should I sedate you?"

He remained silent as he breathed heavily. He shrugged off the guard, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Good. Behave yourself and I'll let you know," she continued calmly as she lowered the injection. "She was killed by one of the BOW's."

He felt every breath leave his body. "No…" his voice just a whisper. He closed his eyes tightly wishing he heard wrong. It can't be. She couldn't.

"It seems like she refused to leave your apartment. She was waiting for you to come back from your mission. She wouldn't leave, not even after the Edonian rescue workers begged her to go to the safe houses. Sources told me that a BOW went in a rampage and destroyed a city block. Your apartment was one of those. The contents in that box are the things that were gathered from your apartment. What a pity. That's all I wanted to tell you," she said curtly. Turning around, she made her way out of his cell, the soft clicking of her heels growing faint as she moved away. The metal door shut with a clang and his cell is silent once more.

He sank to the cold floor, grief overcoming his body. He rammed a fist on the ground, cracking the white tiles. He hardly felt the pain. He bit his lip hard opening his split lip drawing blood. Not his mother, his only family left. He was planning on returning to her once he's gotten his fifty million from the US government. His job is to support her and care of her. Now it doesn't look like he's ever going to see her again or get his money. Crawling towards the box he slowly opened it and took out the contents. They weren't much of value but to anyone but for him, the sentimental value it holds could not compare to any amount in the world.

He fingered the soft peach silk scarf his mother always wore. It was her favorite and her sweet jasmine scent lingering on the fabric stung his heart. He nearly missed the small glinting object at the bottom. He reached down and took out a small plain golden band. His mother's ring. It was passed down to her from his grandmother's and the only jewellery she's ever worn. He turned the ring in his palm and read the inscription "Much Love" in his native European dialect. He closed it around his palm and held it tight as if willing his mother to come back.

He closed his eyes once more as he felt the tears sting his eyes. Pain, loneliness and suffering were the only constant thing in his life and his mother was the only good thing he has. Now she's ripped away from him, he had never felt so hopeless.

He stared at the white washed ceiling of his cell for what seemed like an eternity. Minutes, hours or days it doesn't matter anymore. He spent his time grieving for the only family he has. He looked within himself and found nothing worthwhile. He felt empty and broken.

It's all your fault.

He snapped his head. That familiar voice in his head was creeping in, like a spider to its prey. He could feel his demons stir within the dark.

You couldn't save her. There's no way you can save yourself.

"Shut up," he hissed to himself. Great, now he's talking to himself. He sat up and let his legs dangle at the edge of the bed, head bowed in deep thought. About his mother. About his life.

He remembered his childhood and his early days happily spent with his mother. He remembered her sitting in her favorite rocking chair placed in their tight spaced living room. She'd always make him toasted cheese sandwiches and then he'd crawl up to her and listen to the numerous fairy tales of heroes and villains fighting for good and evil. As a kid, he'd always picture himself as the hero, glorious and valiant, full of hope and promise. He would rescue people and he'd be celebrated with cheers. He would lay his head against the curve of her neck, the faint smell of jasmine a comfort to him. Her voice was soft and sweet like a lullaby always making him feel home and safe. She would always talk about them having a better life and seeking peace their country could not offer.

She never much talked about his father. He never bothered to ask. Their days were spent barely managing to survive. When she looked him in the eyes, she apologized for not being able to give him a better life. That formed his resolve to support her and provide as best as he could. It looks like he never got the chance.

Entering adulthood was the toughest moments of his life. He remembered making his first kill at a tender age of seventeen when he first joined his mercenary
faction. Situated in a vast jungle in South America, his team was ordered to hunt down a rival group after information on his country's President. They were unprepared and inexperienced and before long their enemies had them surrounded. They were manhandled and soon guns were emptied out on his troops. He was the youngest member at the time and was at the back of the group. He had lost his gun before in their attempt to run and lose them. He found himself standing alone among the dead bodies of his comrades. He saw his enemies eyeing him. One of them advanced on him, his machete drawn. He probably thought he's just a waste of bullet. He swung the machete at him and he dodged but it was a little too late on his part. He felt a sharp pain on his left cheek where the sharp tip grazed it. He felt something warm trickling down his cheek. He raised a hand and wiped it and came out red when he glanced down at it. His opponent raised it again and brought it down towards his chest. In a quick reflex, he ducked and using this momentum, he grabbed its wrist and turned the machete facing it and drove it hard in his chest. He saw the pain and shock from his eyes as he crumpled to the ground. Feeling sick to his stomach, he turned around and fled away from them.

That's when the voice appeared.

The davo boy. That's what he calls it. And he has plenty of skeletons in his closet.

He came like a whisper in his mind. Voice soft and mild like a gentle caress on his skin. It's like a shadow in the dark, shades and form enveloping his ears and eventually his mind. The davo boy never screamed or yells at him. It never thought about his father or his aging mother. It fascinated and terrified him at the same time. It was that whisper of voice in his head, low and frightening in his brain. Some nights it was soothing and calming. Always in the shadows the davo boy waited. The davo boy was never afraid of anything. Unlike him, the davo boy was not a weakling.

The davo boy hated his father. Hated the waste of breath that abandoned his family. Hated how his father never once attempted to contact his mother or him and see how they're doing. He hated every kid who had both parents that love them. He hated everyone and everything but most of all, he hated Jake.

You're nothing but a failure.

You're worthless that's why he abandoned you.

You'll never be anything but a bastard.

You can't save anyone.

One thing the davo boy taught him was anger. And it was an expert in teaching him that.

He spent the next couple of years of his life as a mercenary. The davo boy only fuelled his anger. Every strike, every punch, kick and bones he broke on his enemies was like an achievement of joy for the davo boy. There are times when he just wanted to give up, to curl away and die. But that's not what the davo boy wanted. It wanted everyone to notice him. It wanted everyone to see him fight and do the only thing he's ever been good at. Killing. When he looks at the mirror, he could almost see the smiling face of the davo boy and it terrified him shitless at times.

The davo boy is never scared of anyone. It never worried about the repercussions of his actions. It loved seeing death and destruction. Loved the way his enemy's eyes widen when he's about to strike the final blow. Loved the way his enemies begged for mercy not to kill them or the way their pupils contract when they realize they're about to die. It was like a drug for him, a never ending high that he could not resist.

His mother was unaffected by the davo boy. She was sweet, kind and gentle. Anger and violence was never part of her and eventually the shadowy figure of a ghost in his mind retreated back in the darkness. But still, when his mother's not around, the davo boy always appears.

Jake found out that his career requires endless supply for adrenaline and energy. And the davo boy ran on hate and anger. So he ran himself on it. He hated the members of his troop. They probably all had both parents who loved and missed them. He hated his commander for being a prick. He hated the people around his mother for never bothering to show compassion and kindness to his family when they were suffering. He hated that his father abandoned his family and he was no one's son.

He hated it when his troops talk about their fathers. Hated how their fathers will be waiting for them once they got home from a battle worn mission. When one of his comrades died, he hated them even more. Hated them because they had good fathers who care for them and missed them.

He didn't have a father and his father never thought about him or missed him.

He hated everything he broke and everything that broke him. He wanted to break everything and everyone. Even with that, it was never enough. And so he continued to be angry. With a lot of struggle he forced the davo boy at the back of his mind. Every once in a while he could still hear the tiny whispers enticing his brain.

You need to leave this place.

You need to save your mother.

You don't want to be just like your father, don't you?

And so, the davo boy eventually retreated in the shadows. But he never really left him.

He leaned back against the mattress and laid his head on the back of his arm. He laced his fingers around his short hair curling at his scalp. He stared at the ceiling once more feeling caged by the traces of his pained past and the demons of today. He felt them prowling against the ceiling meeting his conflicted eyes. He recalled every soldier whose life he took. Every scream, every cry echoed in his brain.

He's no longer a child. No longer anyone's son. And he was never the great hero he'd always dreamed of as a kid. In regards to everything else, he hasn't really been a man.

He shut his eyes tightly and prayed for peace just once in his life. He looked within himself and found nothing, just an empty shell voided and worth as shit. He thought about what the woman said about his father before and putting things together, he began to realize why he is the way he is.

Bad blood.

He carries the same blood as his father who wreaked havoc and chaos in the world. No wonder everything he touched and everything he came across was tainted by him. Maybe the davo boy was part of his father too and passed down to him along with everything else.

I'm all alone now, he thought silently. Now that his mother's gone, what else should he fight for? There is nothing left for him anymore.

In the small white cell, a broken man searched for his purpose and identity and found nothing.