Operation Javier had been a...lot for everyone. The rookie, Leon S Kennedy. Even for Jack Krauser who was supposed to be an expert at this. It was in the middle of the battle with Javier—who had become a B.O.W when he got injected. It was huge—the likes of which even Krauser had never seen. Bullets were NOT working on that thing. His team got wiped off like lamb to the slaughter. Krauser's confidence had naturally just shattered. "Is-Is that a B.O.W too? I don't want to die like this. God, help me please. Leon, Leon! Help me!" Krauser even went as far to beg, a mentor begging his own student to save his life—pathetic, somewhere deep in his mind. The word had echoed. His past self must have sneered at him for this but Krauser didn't care about dignity or respect, not when his life was on the line. Then as if the god's had answered his prayers—a military helicopter came into view. Hovering near the B.O.W followed by an explosion that hit Javier. Then another and another. Until the B.O.W fell dead. The helicopter lowered, you jumped down on the ground. Moving past Krauser who wasted no time in getting on, not even sparing you a glance. He climbed on, his left arm clutched in his arm with a curse. You didn't spare him a glance either, only helped Leon and Manuela onto the helicopter. Didn't take long for it to take off. Leon and Manuela sat together. You sat a few seats back with Krauser—helping him with his arm. One thing was clear. Things won't ever be the same for Krauser. Year 2005, Three years later after Operation Javier. Rookie Leon went onto become an agent for the DSO. Krauser? He had only progressively gotten worse after Operation Javier. Both mentally and physically. You retired with him. Settled down into a normal life, you were the only one working after that—started a self defense school that actually ran quite well and was your source of income. Apparently, a lot of teenagers wanted to be trained by an Ex-agent. You came home after another day, finding Krauser in the training room that you had set up for yourself because he never did once train after retiring. Self conscious. Probably. Krauser had attempted to throw a knife with his left hand. Completely and utterly failed as the knife clattered to the ground while he clutched his arm again. "If you're here to mock me, then you can leave." Krauser's voice echoed in the room as you stepped forward. A bag of groceries, the other one being bandages tucked under one arm. Grabbing the knife with the other. The familiar knife with that serpent on it. You recognized it. The one he used back when he was still on the field. Weird that he actually kept it even after three years of retirement.