The next round of testing began in the stark, echoing training wing of the Slayer HQ. I stood barefoot on the polished floor as Annette watched from behind the reinforced glass, clipboard in hand, and a row of scientists stared like hawks from their consoles. Every few minutes, another tech would call out data, and she would scribble something down, eyes flicking up to watch me move.
The stamina test came first. A treadmill bigger than some of the SUVs Leo used to drive me around was wheeled out. Wires hooked into my chest, back, and legs. A mask was strapped over my mouth to measure oxygen intake. I started jogging—steady, smooth. The numbers ticked higher. One hour passed. Two. My breathing stayed even. At three hours, I was still moving like I'd just warmed up, my feet pounding the belt at an Olympic sprinter's pace.
Annette pressed the intercom. "Your heart rate hasn't moved in an hour. You could keep going for several more."
I finally stepped off, sweat streaking my shirt but no heaviness in my lungs. "Guess I don't need a gym membership anymore," I muttered.
They didn't even let me catch my breath before they rolled out the weight station. The plates clanged together like metal thunder. The first test: bench press. They stacked 225 kilograms—just under 500 pounds—and told me to go for as many reps as I could.
I laid down, gripped the bar, and started. One rep. Five. Ten. Twenty. The tech counting reps started blinking, thinking I'd stop soon. I didn't. Twenty-five clean presses before my arms even started to feel it.
"Unbelievable," Annette whispered through the mic. "Do you know what you just did? You benched the equivalent of an NFL lineman's max weight… twenty-five times… without a pause."
I smirked, racking the bar. "Wasn't even my max."
Next came squats and deadlifts. They loaded up to 265 kilograms—nearly 600 pounds—and I went to work. Squat after squat, the bar bending slightly as I dropped and pushed back up. Deadlifts that made the Olympic-grade bar creak. By the time I racked the last rep, I had done thirty each before my muscles even started to tremble.
The scientists whispered like priests watching a miracle. Annette didn't even hide her astonishment. "Your output is… almost unreal."
Then they wheeled in the punching equipment. A heavy bag thicker than my torso, rated for Olympic training. I wrapped my fists in tape and gloves and gave it a testing jab. The bag shook. Another punch—harder—made the chains creak. On the third, I drove my fist through with intent. The entire bag flew backward and slammed into the wall, almost tearing from its mount.
A tech's voice was shaky. "That was two tons of force." I blinked. "Is that good?"
Annette's voice came, half stunned, half amused. "You basically hit with the force of a mid-size car at speed… packed into one punch."
I looked at my hand. "I thought it would be harder."
" I better learn how to hold back," I muttered to myself. "Don't turn sparring partners into puddles."
The next test was reflexes. Alucard stepped into the training bay, his coat swirling behind him like a shadow. I arched a brow. "So you're in charge of this one?" He nodded. "Indeed."
Techs hooked sensors to my temples and wrists. I looked at the setup and smirked. "You gonna use that backdash move on me? Make me chase you?"
Alucard didn't crack a smile. "No." He reached inside his coat—and pulled out a pistol.
I blinked. "Wait—what the hell are you—" The shot rang out before I finished. Instinct took over. My blood spiked, time seemed to slow. The bullet stretched in my vision, almost sluggish. I moved my head an inch to the left. The round grazed my hair.
Alucard fired again. And again. The whole clip emptied in seconds. I twisted, ducked, leaned. Each bullet slid by, close enough to feel the air move. When the last casing hit the ground, I stared at him, chest rising fast but adrenaline making my voice sharp. "Are you crazy?!"
Alucard calmly examined the pistol. "I never cared for guns. Such a barbaric way of killing but they do have their uses." I gestured wildly. "I meant you shooting at me with no warning!"
"If I warned you," he replied, face cold, "it would defeat the purpose." I muttered a curse under my breath and pulled the wires off my arms. "Next time, a little heads up." A tech wheeled in a cart. More guns. Longer barrels. Sleeker frames. A few were painted black; others were dull gray military issue. I eyed the cart. "What are those for?"
Alucard, without pause, picked up an Ingram MAC-10, casually loading the magazine. "We'll increase the rounds per second. Measure how quickly you adjust." He said it so flatly, it was like he was commenting on the weather.
I raised my hands slightly. "Can't we do literally anything else? Maybe throw a ball? Wave a stick?" Alucard raised the SMG, the click of the bolt snapping forward loud in the room. "No."
I exhaled through my nose. "What if I die?" Then Annette's voice crackled over the telecom, bone dry. "With your healing factor damage at this rate killing you would almost be impossible impossible. The bullets won't kill you—they'll just sting. A lot. Alucard's golden eyes glinted. He leveled the gun at me. "Let's begin." Then he pulled the trigger.
The rest of week drew to a close, and Friday felt lighter than most. Around the Slayer base, the mess hall buzzed with idle chatter, military personnel , researchers, and trainee's unwinding. Some contractors still carrying tools from the ongoing renovations to the base. The smell of coffee and oil mixed with sawdust. Outside, crews were welding the steel frame for the expansion for the outside base. Inside it almost felt normal and not one bad day away from being part of a resident evil game .
Jessica Monroe arrived just as the sun dipped behind the horizon, escorted by two base personnel. Her golden hair was pulled into a tight, perfect bun. Her sea-gray eyes carried a calm, stoic expression, but there was a weight behind them. It gave a sense of purpose she always seemed to wear like armor. "Jasen, it's good to see you again," she said with that cool professionalism, extending her hand. We shook hands firmly. "Good to see you again, Ms. Monroe. How's the Vice President doing?"
She corrected me smoothly, "He's good. And it's just Jessica." I nodded. "Jessica it is, then. So, what news did you bring that couldn't have been said over a phone call or email?"
We left the main hall and headed to my office her two personnel stood guard outside my office door. My office wasn't much to look and that's how I like it. The upper part of the base was still half under construction but the room gave the impression It didn't need it. Simple and practical was the look I always go for with some hidden surprises of course. My black desk sat at the center, bookshelf along one wall stacked with operational manuals and old tomes on magic and monster hunter gifts from Alucard. There was a couch and a single armchair against the opposite wall, and behind my desk, a modest liquor shelf.
Jessica's eyes scanned the room. "It's a nice office," she observed, then added with a raised brow, "No pictures of family or girlfriend ?" I gave a half-shrug. "Unfortunately, no. No wife, no girlfriend. Definitely no kid."
I gestured toward the side table. "Coffee or tea?" Her lips curved into the slightest smirk. "Do you have anything stronger? It's Friday, and we have a lot to talk about."
I nodded, moving to the shelf. "Whiskey or tequila?" "Tequila," she said. I poured two glasses and handed one to her before settling onto the couch beside her. She set a black leather briefcase on the coffee table, clicked it open, and began pulling out documents. The smell of paper and ink mixed with the sharp scent of the tequila as we both took our first sips.
She accepted her glass with a small, polite nod. "Thank you." I leaned back on the couch, glass in hand. "So what's this about?" Jessica took a slow sip before answering, as if framing her words carefully. "The Vice President has assigned me to be the liaison for the Slayer program."
I raised a brow. "Is that a promotion?" "Yes," she said simply, setting her glass down. "Considering you asked for me by name and the VP agreed with the suggestion. Thanks again I don't know why you chose me but I look a gift horse in the mouth."
I smirked slightly. " No problem I like the way you carried yourself at the meeting and you seemed very capable and not corrupted by your position. It also helps the VP talked big about you and I know he needed some eyes and ears on me so I figured you would be perfect. So you can keep an eye on us we have nothing to hide."
She didn't deny anything he said. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it, Jasen." She pushed one of the files toward me, her nails tapping lightly on the folder's edge. "This whole B.O.W. situation, the monsters, demons, vampires, witches, it's making some military and government officials very nervous."
I took a slow drink, eyes fixed on hers. "And it's making some of them greedy, too." Jessica didn't flinch. " Unfortunately yes." I leaned forward, setting my glass down with a soft clink. "Greedy for the opportunity to increase U.S. power in the arms race. To exploit whatever advancements we make in technology, medicine, weapons. Maybe magic, too."
She nodded. "And if they can get their hands on that kind of magic, and weaponize it, who knows what happens next." I stared at the papers she presented to me, the weight of her words settling heavy between us. Both of us knowing that we weren't just talking about strategy or oversight anymore, we were talking about the future of the entire program, and the entire world.
Jessica took another slow sip of her drink and handed me another file, this one thicker and bound tighter than the last. I flipped it open, already bracing myself for what I'd see. The pages were filled with memos, technical schematics, and proposals and plans. Plans to take the research from my blood and, Annette breakthroughs and turn it into something far more dangerous.
I skimmed the bolded headline: Subject DNA Applications for Enhanced Human Program. My jaw clenched. "Super soldiers," I muttered, tossing the file onto the table. "Of course it's fucking super soldiers. If they can't just make monster's they will make monster's in the form of humans and paint them as heroes'."
Jessica didn't bother to soften it. "Some generals are already talking about partnering with private contractors. They want to see if your blood could be made viable for mass production."
I leaned back, exhaling through my nose, the weight of it settling. " Did they learn nothing from Umbrella. Who am I kidding it's the US government of course they didn't. If it works and be controlled they take advantage of it and credit for it. But if it fails disavow and deny it's connection to the US or bleach it out of existence like Raccoon City. Like I'd ever let them use my blood for something like this without my say."
Jessica nodded, almost sympathetically, though her voice stayed firm. "The Vice President agrees—for now. No one's touching that until we know your blood doesn't make you into something unstable and… uncontrollable."
I scoffed. "They're worried I might turn into a monster?" "They want to make sure they don't create an army of them especially if they cannot can't control them," she countered. Then she reached back into her case and slid another folder forward. "Right now, they're… focusing on other avenues. Magic, more close enchantment's and rune works."
I opened the file and blinked at the photos. Modern military gear—rifles, helmets, ballistic plates—all etched with unfamiliar glowing markings. Experimental prototypes. Runes on tech. " Are they being serious?" I asked, holding up a picture of a Kevlar vest marked like something out of an old Norse saga. "How's that going?"
Jessica's lips pressed into a thin line. "Not by much. Finding magical artifacts or people who actually know how to use them isn't exactly easy in this century. Especially when we don't know how they fully work. At most we have improvement's but nothing enough to make the higher ups happy."
I smirked bitterly. "The Catholic Church would be a good start." Then Jessica gave me a look. "They don't want to help. They don't want to share anything with the U.S. or the U.N. Deniability that they believe anything we are saying." I huffed, leaning back and taking another drink. "Like that's ever stopped the U.S. from going somewhere, or doing something, it wasn't supposed to do."
Jessica was quiet for a moment, then drained her glass. When she looked back at me, there was a glint in her eye, the kind of glint that usually meant something bold or stupid was about to happen.
I stared at her. "They're actually going to break into the Vatican, aren't they?" Jessica stood, almost too casually, walking over to the liquor shelf. "I'm going to pour another drink," she said smoothly. "Do you want one before I answer that?"
She didn't wait for my response, grabbing my glass anyway. The cork popped, the tequila splashed. This time, she poured doubles for both of us and grabbed four lime wedges from a tray. The sharp citrus smell cut through the heavy air.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "That's is not even surprising, but it's still so stupid and dangerous if they get caught," I said flatly. "There has to be a better way then that." Jessica turned, handing me my glass again. "Then what do you suppose we do?" she asked, genuinely curious. "What's easier than a Vatican break-in or… human experimentation?"
I downed half my glass in one long swallow. "I need to find an Umbra Witch," I said finally. "There are at least two of them left in the world." I was thinking about Jeanne she should be somewhere out in the world and Bayonetta. Probably right now Bayonetta still doesn't know who she truly is but Jeanne is the bigger problem right now. Especially if she being mind controlled by Balder.
Her brows rose, surprise cracking through her usual calm. "And how exactly do you know that?" I gave a thin, almost mischievous smile. "It's a secret. But trust me it'll benefit us. We just need one and we can make significant progress."
She sat back down, her eyes narrowing. "What exactly are you planning?" I reached for a blank sheet of paper from my desk, pulled a pen from my pocket, and wrote two words. I slid it across the table.
Jessica leaned forward, reading it out loud under her breath. "…Forge Master?"