Jason Duval stood in his room in the Zephyr HQ, his eyes fixated on the American flag he received during his service in the U.S. Army. He did a tour in Germany where he first experienced the sight of death, on the enemy side and among his battalion. Some made the ultimate sacrifice and others, like Jason, were able to make it out alive. Though the lucky ones to escape death made it out, many of their minds were still stuck in the battlefield. He could still hear the gunshots ringing out in the air as he and his comrades ducked for cover. The bullets were like yellow jackets, looking for a victim's skin to pierce. 

While the flashbacks made a permanent home in his mind, he knew he had a great support systems between his veteran's group and his Mafia family. He looked down at an invitation to the Stars and Stripes Bar in Chicago. His group was hosting a shindig to reminisce on the good times and remember those they lost.

Driving up to the the bar in South Side, Chicago, he stepped out of his black sedan. As he closed his door, he felt the brisk Chicago wind and closed his coat tighter, holding his hat from blowing away with his right hand. He walked up to the bar and was welcomed in by the building's warmth and cheers from the patrons.

"Hey, there's Duval!" yelled one inebriated man who raised his shot glass. A few others came to welcome Jason, more affectionately with the indulgence of booze.

"Guys!" Jason shouted, leaving the stooges in anticipation of Jason's next words, "Where's my drink?"

One man handed Jason a shot of whiskey and another handed him a pint of ale.

"That's more like it," he said, "But seriously, here's to all of you for your service. It's because of all of you that Americans can enjoy the freedoms we are privileged to enjoy. Not to mention will did kick some ass in the process!"

The crowd cheered.

"I propose a toast, to the brotherhood that we've created. The brotherhood that was forged when shit got real," Jason said.

He raised his glass and everyone took a swig.