Chapter Text
Barely able to contain his irritation, Jack walked with heavy steps through the headquarters, the sound of his boots echoing down the quiet corridor. He was summoned for a conversation by a delegation of bigwigs from Washington. Even at night, he was on a military plane, counting the losses of the detachment after the mission with the usual pain in his heart for so many years. I dreamed of getting enough sleep, chatting with other instructors, having a drink and going to bed. It was also planned to get acquainted with the personal files of the newcomers who entered the training during his absence. He was in the field for a month. He glanced out the window — on the training ground, fresh meat was puffing, sweating and trying hard under the shouts of the instructors. Half of them will last a year or two. Natural selection worked inexorably.
He turned around along the corridor towards the office and put his hand on the iron and cold door handle, thinking about the reason for the call to the instance, when suddenly the door opened by itself and some newcomer bumped into him, bumping his forehead into his shoulder.
Jack decided that a bad mood needed to be released, and having fun with brats was his favorite pastime.
"What the hell?" he pushed the recruit into his thin shoulder and slammed him into the wall. He looked at his victim, the boy. Pale face, too long blond hair, bruises under the eyes. Confused blue eyes.
A pretty face.
Too pretty.
Tired.
Weak.
Inappropriate.
"Excuse me, please..." the white-haired boy lowered his head in fright, hiding behind his disheveled bangs.
"Sorry, sir!" growled Jack, pinning the newcomer to the wall, squeezing his shoulder with his fingers—knowing that he was hurting.
"You're in the army, not in kindergarten, recruit."
The boy jerked in an attempt to escape.
He clearly wasn't going to apologize properly. Mistake, boy.
Jack was about to trample the child into the shit when he suddenly heard from the office:
"Major Krauser, we're waiting
for you." Okay, later.
Jack loosened his grip, and the boy walked briskly down the corridor, head down. Jack watched the recruit go, assessing him at the same time.
Good physical characteristics. But.
There is no army bearing — it is someone else's.
Too thin.
It's too cute a face.
Too inappropriate.
Everything about this boy was too much.
And something was missing.
Self-confidence. Forces. Anger.
Jack didn't see the rookie as a soldier.
"I didn't know that garbage was being recruited into the army."
Jack could see perfectly well that the newcomer had heard him. And the reaction to the words was too sharp. The army is no stranger to insults — you can say it's a tradition. Education of the character of a real military man. But this boy is clearly a stranger — Jack saw how his hasty step faltered, how the blond head sank lower, how his shoulders trembled.
"Glad to meet the famous Silverdax," Asshole No. 1 said.
"We have an important conversation, Major Krauser," Asshole No. 2 said.
Further, Jack learned that his "invaluable experience" — both combat and teaching, is required by the US government.
"I understand that you have already managed to get to know each other a little," the colorless face opposite smiled wryly.
"We are not satisfied with mediocre results. You are given the green light for any action."
Jack has rarely seen a nastier grin than the man opposite.
"Derek, maybe you shouldn't..."—the second jacket was about to object, but...
"The end justifies the means, Adam. What do you think, Major Krauser? The object is extremely important to us. I think you're a total scum, Derek, whoever you are."
But Jack suddenly remembered the pale face of the boy, the desperate hunted look of tired blue eyes. The trembling of the body under the thin army T-shirt.
It will be interesting. And I agreed with the asshole.
"A personal matter. And the details.
Most of the details turned out to be state secrets."
"We can provide you with access to a psychoprophile," is another nasty smile. Jack knew perfectly well that these personal data were forbidden for instructors, but ... Asshole No. 2 twitched again and seemed to be about to say something against and did not have time.
"If... the 'object' complains?" — Jack didn't want to spoil his perfect track record for the sake of Washington's wishes.
"It's not going to happen," the man named Derek said confidently. And something in those indifferent eyes told the major that he was not lying.
"Great. I'm waiting for information from you," Jack stood up, not waiting for an answer from the officials.
Jack closed the file with the information on the object. Leon S. Kennedy. He took a couple of good sips of strong whiskey and finally allowed himself to stretch out in his chair. He did not regret his agreement. A young face stood before my eyes, tired and gloomy. A depressed look and a mournful curve of the eyebrows. I wonder what the boy looked like before. However, it doesn't matter anymore — there are things that can't be fixed. It's just that the boy was lucky in one thing, and unlucky in another. Life is an ironic bitch.
He spent the next couple of days looking around.
An uncommunicative, taciturn, but kind boy.
Jack saw how a beginner, himself lagging behind the general group on the obstacle course, suddenly brakes and gives a hand to an outsider like him, helping to get to his feet from the viscous mud.
Walking through the territory on a quiet evening, I saw the lonely figure of a novice — he usually sat on a concrete block near the perimeter and just looked somewhere into the distance, beyond the wall, at the distant wooded mountains in the evening haze. The boy seemed detached from the hustle and bustle, soft and dreamy. Peaceful. It was as if he was taking a break from reality at these moments. And from myself. For some reason, Major Krauser wanted to sit down next to him and just keep quiet for the company. But I couldn't afford it.
I saw early one morning how a novice was feeding a kitten that had come from nowhere in the dining room. Animals were banned at the military base, but every six months the shift on duty caught another cunning furry creature throughout the territory and took it to the city, handing it over to a shelter. Although at the time of the beginning of Jack's service, the fate of the cat would have been sadder.
And now we have an era of humanism towards animals. But not to "objects"
Jack stood for a minute, looking at his tousled blond hair in the morning, and tried to read on his lips what the newcomer was telling the kitten. He noted that the animal heard more words from the newcomer than the surrounding people in a week.
After three days of observation, he came up, barked the usual "Get up!" and noticed how Kennedy took a step forward, blocking the kitten crouching on the ground. The instinctive movement of protection.
The major looked into wide-open bright eyes, stretched out his hand to the radio and kindly informed his colleagues that they were going on safari in the evening. He did not take his eyes off the newcomer and saw how the cheekbones sharpened. As the softness and openness go away, the look becomes gloomy and dark.
"Don't get used to the good stuff, rookie. It will hurt more to lose. I'm free."
And suddenly realized, looking at my back with my shoulder blades sticking out, that this very young boy knows about it himself. I just haven't accepted it yet.
Jack saw how, despite the fact that Kennedy is an outsider to the army, other recruits, older and more experienced than him, treat him evenly, without unnecessary aggression. They feel this gentleness and kindness. I saw a rookie sitting on a bench in the gym, seemingly alone — but fellow students try to draw him into a conversation, make fun of him — quite gently by army standards. Almost friendly.
I saw how Kennedy reacted—with a barely noticeable embarrassed and very charming smile. And then he looks down, frowns, as if punishing himself for it.
I saw how a beginner tries and makes mistakes in introductory classes - not because he is bad, but because they demand a lot from him in too short a time. And the people around him try to cheer him up, but he shrugs helplessly, lowering his eyes to the floor. As if he considers himself unworthy of a few words of support. And then he smiles faintly, looks grateful and confused.
The major decided that these weak smiles were unnecessary.
As well as communication with others.
It just gets in the way.
And it interferes with Major Krauser.
After a week of observation, Major Krauser came to the conclusion that Kennedy's intern would be worth his efforts and public money. However, it will not be easy for a beginner. It is difficult and unbearably painful.
Kennedy's intern simply lacked motivation and the right atmosphere for professional growth.
The major called the senior squad, which Kennedy was assigned to, over the intercom.
He knew this soldier perfectly well — basic training, two advanced training courses under his command. They won't refuse him.
He saw pity for the newcomer in the eyes opposite. But it passed quickly. The major chuckled to himself. He knew well what people were like. No matter how sweet this boy is, no one needs problems with Major Jack Krauser.
For the next couple of months, the situation unfolded predictably for the major.
The beginner's results went down.
Now Jack could see Kennedy huddled in the farthest corner. He tries to hide away. The major had forgotten what his eyes looked like—now the novice was looking straight down. He came to lunch or dinner very late, in the end, in an attempt to avoid sidelong glances. And sometimes he skipped feeding altogether. In the evenings, he saw the newcomer sitting in his favorite place, but no longer looking into the distance with a dreamy gaze. Now the detached blue eyes rested on the gray concrete wall of the base perimeter.
Jack could see mixed emotions in his face, as if the boy was relieved. It was as if he was sure that he deserved contempt and indifference from others. He doesn't try to fix the situation in any way, he just drowns alone. Hiding the pain somewhere deep inside.
It closes.
He snaps back.
He's silent.
It breaks down.
The major understood that until recently Leon Kennedy was teetering on the edge. And he probably had a chance to get better.
To become normal.
But Major Jack Krauser robbed him of that chance.
Major Krauser didn't need normality. Normality is boring and predictable. Mediocre.
They needed the highest results.
He needed an ideal.
Major Krauser, maybe we misunderstood each other," the voice of an asshole from Washington sounded on the phone. Information about bad results reached the authorities.
"I understand you perfectly. Patience. Your "object" is in good hands. The end justifies the means, doesn't it?"
There was a satisfied chuckle on the phone. Major already knew who Derek was and once again came to a simple conclusion — the higher the rank, the more the stink.
"I like your approach, Major. We'll work together."
The voice inside the major said only one thing: very unlikely, cocksucker.
Although such connections will be useful in the future. Jack Krauser had his own plans for life besides the army. He replied:
"I don't doubt it."