Jason Jones and the Problems with Woods

Jason stumbled into the diner with a very empty stomach. He'd been out in the woods for two days, walking south across the border with a bullet wound in his side. He'd eaten nothing but berries, and drank only on the second day, when he found a stream flowing south. Jason had come fairly close to death; and though he didn't know it, he did know that he was quite hungry.

The Canadian money he'd stolen was worthless here, but luck was with Jason; even after three days, his credit card still hadn't been frozen. Jason ate two and a half burgers, luxuriating over the food, then got up to leave. He was promptly knocked back down again as a woman flew through the window and knocked him to the ground.

Through the now-broken glass, Jason could hear a rough voice shouting: "Is that all? Good. Now, we are the law here, no matter what the stinkin' guv'ment has to say about that, and today's tax day. Start paying up, or things start getting bloody!"

Cautiously, Jason peered over the windowsill, cutting his knee in the process. (Broken glass was strewn across the floor.) He saw four men in a Jeep; all heavily armed, with pistols, assault rifles, and some very large hunting knives. The man in the passenger seat was doing the talking; he was grizzled and unshaven. All of them wore camoflauge; probably army surplus. Jason was quite certain, from appearances alone, that they were back-country militia - apparently, running a protection scam of some sort on the town. And, from the stacks being handed over to them, they weren't doing too badly with it.

Jason was angry. He knew injustice when he saw it; and, after defeating seven terrorists in Canada, he was very confident of his skills. (The time starving in the northern woods hadn't done anything for his mood, either.) When a militiaman got out of the jeep and started walking towards the diner, Jason readied to fight. His heart beat loudly. The militiaman walked in the door, assault rifle across his back, pistol pointing toward the floor - clearly not expecting trouble from the cowed proprietor - and Jason knocked him to the ground with a quick one-two combo, grabbing the pistol from the floor and smashing it into the bandit's head as he attempted to rise.

Blood began to trickle, and the militiaman lay very still as Jason quickly disarmed him. Luckily, none of the militia were looking towards the diner when Jason attacked; but within moments, one of them noticed their comrade's absence and raised the alarm, shouting "Someone's killed Greg!" Instantly, their assault rifles came out, and they began looking for enemies. One of them, feeling cautious, unleashed a short burst of gunfire low across the facade of the diner; leading Jason to curse his choice of cover, just beside the door, as a bullet pierced his lower thigh. Hearing no reaction, the militiamen charged in, each turning towards Jason; not reacting quickly enough to fire before he opened up with his stolen rifle. One of them died, shot in the lungs. The other, wounded in the arm, managed to throw himself back outside. Jason followed, shouting triumphantly, filled with adrenaline. The militiaman who'd done the talking, still on the Jeep, was talking on a hand-held radio; the other didn't expect Jason to follow. Both of them dropped as Jason perforated their torsoes.

Jason was injured, but his adrenaline rush allowed him to ignore the pain for the moment. He posed a moment, triumphant, then walked over to the Jeep. He tested the engine, drove a few paces; a different feel than the van and car he'd driven, but still usable. He got out, about to loot the bodies before he left town (for he thought the police might frown on his activities); then the sound of an engine froze him in place. The militia leader had been on the radio - probably with other militiamen! It'd be a pretty poor militant group that only had four members, after all. Jason threw himself back into the driver's seat and gunned the engine, shooting off and caroming off a light-post as he went. He was bleeding in several places, pursued by angry militia, and just a bit thirsty, but the fight left him feeling good.