A/N: So here's my own little Aunt Tess' OC nephew fic. Honestly, I thought I was being original at first with the idea when I had it while in the middle of playing the game, but then I checked out the fanfictions, and, well... You get the point. This didn't deter me from writing the idea I had, as you can see.

This fic will include music being played from the OC's Walkman, so when you see the song being marked like this, for example:

[Song name - Band name]

Just search it up on YouTube, if you want to listen. Otherwise, just ignore them.

Knock, knock, knock

He jerked awake with wide, startled eyes as he was ripped from his dreamless sleep by a knocking on the door. A frustrated sigh of air flared out his nostrils, his eyes closing in anger as he hid himself under the sheets in an attempt to block any further noises. I swear to god, every fucking morning something has to give me a goddamn headache!

There was another series of knocks and his tired eyes parted ever so slightly to take in their surroundings, peeking through a small opening from between the sheets. The boarded up windows allowed a few wisps of light to beam past the covering darkness and pierce the dreary atmosphere that seemed so native in the dark and grey apartment.

He heard yet another trio of knocks and the other occupant in the room called out, "I'm coming!"

Joel was as annoyed as he was, apparently, if his voice was to be taken as a clue. His own, young voice called out shortly after, muffled from beneath the blanket, "Or better yet, fuck off!"

He felt a soft slap against his shoulder and the gruff texan drawl of Joel followed shortly after, "Be quiet, Jacket."

"You be quiet," he responded childishly, half-joking, half-serious, and swept the sheet off himself once he heard the door open.

Jacket. That's what everyone who knew him called him (Even he usually referred to himself as such), on account of his all-black leather jacket with a dark-blue satin inside trimmed red that had become his trademark over the years, among others. It was fine leather and quality cloth, and survived many years with little revealing its true age. The back was adorned by a stylized blood-red skeletal hand-mark , cracks running along the bone of the index finger, and small shattered shards of bones were all that connected the hand and the ring finger. The center of the hand boasted a black scythe with a chipped blade. The hand was placed on top of the shelf of four big red crooked words that said, "I COME FOR ALL".

Talk about edgy, was the first thought he had when he saw it adorned on dead smuggler's body. It looked like something a cliché biker villain would wear. Doesn't make it any less awesome, though. And he decided to nab it for himself, and thus was the nickname Jacket born. He got it when he was twelve, and by that time it was too large for him, humorously so. His aunt had giggled in a girly way that was extremely unbecoming of her the first time she saw him wearing it. Now, it still remained so, but only by a little bit. Back then, he thought it clever to call himself Jacket, the Vigliante of Boston! And just for the record, he still thinks it's clever. 'Cause, y'know, Jack and Jacket. 'Cause they're similar. Get it? Yeah.

Associates and 'business' partners called him by his nickname. But most didn't even know his real name. Strangers. He never really was social.

There were few in this world close enough to know him by his real name, Jack, and only a single one who called him Jackie. Well, the single one alive, anyway.

Jacket's tired eyes snapped open when a familiar, feminine voice reached his ears awoke his energy a little bit, "Wakey, wakey, Jackie-boy.."

"Aunt Tess," he greeted with a faint, yet genuine smile, before rubbing the crusted sleep from his eyes and sitting up. He got up from the couch and saw his aunt pour herself whiskey. He moved towards her, arms open for embrace when suddenly she flicked his ear. "Ow! The fuck was that for?!" He gripped his ear as it throbbed gently with a sharp pain.

"Language, young man," she chided sternly. "That was for telling me to fuck off."

"I didn't know it was you. You know that."

"Doesn't matter, I taught you better."

Jacket sighed, "Sorry, Aunt Tess. I mean, you tried teaching me better. But you know me. I'm stubborn."

"No you're not," she said casually as if it was common sense. "You just like swearing." It was true.

He shrugged in accordance without missing a beat, "Yeah, you're right."

She always tried teaching her nephew to be better a person than she was in every way, but she never thought to change herself. Maybe she thought she was a lost cause? Didn't matter. She was perfect in Jacket's eyes and that was enough for him.

Joel interjected from behind them in an impatient tone, "Sorry to interrupt your small talk, but just where the hell were you, Tess?" Jacket and Tess both looked towards him, and the former suddenly glanced at his aunt, staring expectantly, also curious of her previous whereabouts. Only then did he realize the cut on her cheek. A scowl quickly overcame his face.

Joel unknowingly interrupted his inquiry before it began, "Actually, forget that. What the hell are you even doing in my apartment, Jacket? I said I wanted to be left alone. How'd you even get in here?"

Jacket faced him with faked confusion, "Huh?"

There was a short pause, followed by a question spoken with anger, "Did you lockpick your way in again?"

"Uh… no?"

Joel growled in annoyance, "I thought I told you to stop doing that."

"Hey, the fucking military-"

"Language," Jacket heard behind him. He glanced back and saw her dabbing a piece of cloth on her cut.

"Sorry, Aunt Tess. The cursed military decided that because I was visiting to calm your tantrum-throwing ass down, they thought it to be a perfect time for ordering a curfew."

Joel approached him abruptly, but Jacket didn't flinch. "Don't blame the curfew, it's always the same time, and you know it. Besides, you're more than capable of sneakin' past some goddamn guards. If you can handle half a score of runners and clickers, you can handle the military."

"Half-score doesn't make sense, a score is eleven. One of them would have to be cut in half."

"Jacket, I'm not in the mood for this right now, ya hear?!"

A simple shrug was Jacket's response, having given up on trying to come up with excuses. To be honest, he never tried from the start. Joel seemed to have given up on berating him as well, knowing it wouldn't make a single difference with the seventeen-year old. He pushed past him and faced Tess, snatching the handkerchief out of her hand, "Gimme that."

Jacket watched as he gripped her chin gently and stroked the cloth along the wound, "Where were you?" He asked the question softly this time.

"West End District," was the curt response. Suddenly, the soft motion of the cloth froze and Joel backed away from her with a look of exasperation. "Hey, we had a drop to make."

"We. We had a drop to make."

"Well… you said it yourself, you wanted to be left alone. Remember?"

He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms, locking eyes with her, speaking in an almost patronising tone, "So I'll take one guess. The, uh, whole deal went south and the client made off with our pills. Does that sound about right?"

Tess only chuckled in response, and Jacket pulled himself up to sit on the kitchen counter right next to him, "Come on, put a little more faith in Aunt Tess, J." Joel allowed a short grunt out at his nickname. He liked pretending he hated it, but Jacket overheard him admitting to his aunt that he's grown to… not mind it, as he put it. Basically, it meant he liked it in his own Joel-like fashion. "Only way that'd happen is if her hands were tied behind her back. I bet the dumb son of a-" He suddenly and realized his aunt was yet in the room with him, shooting him a wide-eyed, stern look, "...Son of a horse… that tried to swindle my oh-so beautiful and badass aunt out of the pills didn't even get to blink before she put a bullet between his eyes."

A wry smile found its way on her beautiful face, "Maybe you're the one that's in need of a lil' more faith in me, Jackie." She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a bushel of turquoise ration cards, displaying it in her hands for their surprised regarding, "Had no need for bullets. Deal went off without a hitch. Enough ration cards to last us a couple months, easy." She slapped them down against the table where Jacket laid his Walkman.

"Huh..." he said, admittedly surprised and confused by the revelation. Suddenly, the emotions turned to anger as he jumped off the counter and on his feet. He walked over and cupped her wounded cheek, rubbing his thumb against it gingerly, "And just who the fuck was this?"

"Jackie..." she said admonishingly.

"Goddammit, Aunt Tess, I'm sorry, okay? Just… who the fuck did this?"

She but sighed and gently removed his hand before returning the gesture and cupping his cheek, not having it in her to be mad at her loving and concerned nephew. "Look, Jackie, I was on my way back when I got jumped by these two assholes, alright?" Jacket's hands curled into fists as he began pacing around the room. "Yeah, they got a few good hits in. But…"

Joel walked up and gripped her chin again to inspect the cut once more, offhandedly muttering, "Calm down, will you?" It was clear he was referring to Jacket. He always got way too worked up when something happened to his aunt. Couldn't blame the kid, though, she was everything he had.

"Look, I managed," Tess said suddenly to Jacket insistently, and, not as gently as with her nephew, removed Joel's hand.

Joel backed off a step, nodding slowly in acceptance of her answer, "Are these assholes still with us?"

"Pssh, yeah right." He nearly rolled his eyes at Jacket's distant comment.

Tess chuckled and looked at Joel, "I think that's answer enough for you."

Joel grew impatient again and asked, "Did you at least find out who they were?"

She straightened, "Yeah, look, they were a couple of nobodies; they don't matter. What matters… is that Robert fucking sent them."

A silence took over the air in the room as even Jacket's angered pacing stopped when he turned around to look at the pair with a raised eyebrow.

"What, your pet? Oh, sorry. 'partner'?" he asked mockingly while sarcastically gesturing quotation marks with his fingers.

Joel glanced at him before quickly asking her in a disbelieving voice, "Our Robert?"

"He knows that we're after him. He figures he's gonna get us first?"

He walked slowly back to the kitchen, muttering to himself, "That son of a bitch, he's smart."

"No." Tess walked to his side, "He's not smart enough." She leaned in as Jacket plopped down on the couch behind her, covering his eyes with his arm as he laid on his back. "I know where he's hiding."

Surprise was evident on Joel's face, as was the disbelief in his voice. "Like hell you do."

"Little more faith, J..." Jacket reminded in a mumble.

Tess seemed smug, almost roguish as she sauntered to the middle of the room, "Old warehouse in Area 5. Can't say for how long, though."

"Well, I'm ready now."

"I'm not," Jacket said, suddenly jumping up from his seat and running to the bathroom.

"Wha- is he...?" He froze when seeing Tess' expression upon his glance toward her. "Do you mean to tell me he's coming with us?"

"Oh, don't act so shocked, Joel," said Tess. "He's been working with us since he was fourteen."

"This ain't work."

"You know what I mean. He's your partner as much as I am." When he remained silent, she continued with a sigh and a low voice, "Look, Jackie respects you, Joel. He sees you as a goddamn friend. The only one besides me. That's a friendship that is not a walk in the park to earn, let me tell you."

"Don't I know it," he mumbled. He still could barely believe it. The shy, quiet kid hiding behind his aunt in fear of the big, scary bearded Joel was now an eccentric delinquent without a care in the world for anyone other than his only family. He'd grown to be fearless in the face of adversity, and not even Joel intimidated him any more. He got his books' smarts and his aunt's courage. Unfortunately, he had no one's social skills, or any social skills for that matter. At all. His shyness and silence towards strangers bordered on debilitating. The kid could barely look 'em in the eyes. Talking to people was no problem, but when it came to friendship Jacket was at a complete loss. His own development as a person was drastic enough, but the work needed for him to warm up to Joel took one hell of an effort. He never trusted strangers, and for good reason. It's what got the poor kid's parents killed.

"The least you could do is appreciate respect he has for you."

With the help of her words, he realized he was musing and broke out of it. "I do, Tess. Hell, you think I'd tolerate him as much as I am if I didn't? He makes a couple of jokes and I play along as the annoyed, grumpy old punching bag."

"Yeah, play along. Right." Joel frowned at that, but Tess couldn't care less and resumed, "I mean as a partner. He can do more than hold his own in a fight. Sure, his aiming could use some work, but his skill in close quarters more than make up for it. He knows how to stay quiet and move quickly. And in every deal we've ever had with him at our side, he's been nothing but helpful. He always listens, and he never complains no matter what."

"Well ain't that just dandy? He does what he's supposed to, to earn his keep and I'm supposed to coddle him for it? I respect him as a partner. But this is between us and Robert, and that kid ain't got nothing to do with this."

"Robert just fucked with the only friends that poor boy has in his life, and you're gonna look me in the eyes and tell me he has nothing against him? Look, Joel, he's saved both our lives and we've saved his. We might not need him but it sure as shit wouldn't hurt to have another helping hand. 'Sides, he might grow to respect you more openly, after."

There was a lengthy conflict that showed on Joel's face, but in end he finally relented, "Fine. But if anything happens to him, it's on you. I won't be holdin' his hand."

Tess allowed her lips to form a smile, "Wise choice, Texas."

Jacket stared at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. He wiped the water from his face before his hand grazed over the crest of black hair that reached his neck and always seemed unkempt, though not in a messy way; rather, in a wild, almost feral way. He personally liked it, though the same could not be said for his aunt. She always kept pestering him to take care of it at least a little bit.

His eyes only added to the ferocious look he had when fighting as they were a pale-blue, a trait that, according to Tess, came from his grandfather's side. His mother's father, that is (Tess herself inherited her brown eyes from her mother). Most of his features, however, came from his own father, and he'd even been said to have mirrored him. Aunt Tess always did call him handsome, but then again, all aunts did that to their nephews. His cheekbones could, as she once stated, "Cut through a bloater's plating." But he knew she was just exaggerating to help his self-esteem and confidence. Admittedly, it didn't look bad, if he was to flatter himself, but he wouldn't call it anything special. His jawline, however, was just like his father's, sharp and chiseled.

In contrast, his nose and mouth were rather plain in that they were normal. Not like a pouty little bitch or a small-mouthed fish. Rather, a normal balance. His lips sported a scar on the left side of his mouth, like a bolt of lightning. Not the Harry Potter kind either, but a real lightning-strike shaped scar.

He wore jeans and a red shirt, and underneath his clothes, his body was of a well-built stature, broad-shouldered, broad-chested. and muscled with minimal fat. Rations rarely afforded the luxury, after all. His muscles were strong and hardy, far more than most his age, and it was all thanks to the underground fighting he started in since he was thirteen. It had mostly been training at that time, and his aunt refused to budge about allowing him to go fighting until he reminded her that he had to survive one way or another, and he couldn't keep leeching off of her hard work. She asked around and found someone that was something of a coach. Cross was his name, fifty-two years old. And he was the one who'd taught Jacket how to fight hand-to-hand, and not simple brawling either. It was an old martial arts Cross was taught before the outbreak.

Kickboxing, he called it. Admittedly, he didn't recognize it, but the name did help him guess. More specifically, it had been a predecessor to kickboxing, a foreignly named ancestor called Muay Thai. He had been training constantly for four years; every single day that he didn't make drops or deliveries or smuggle anything along with his aunt and Joel, he would fight or spar. Fighting was his life's job, his way to make a living. Those four years were littered with actual fights in between. Initially, he'd get his ass kicked. There weren't many thirteen-year olds around for him to fight, so he settled for fighting with adults. Originally, he never bet anything since he knew he wasn't winning shit, and it was mostly to build up his resistance to pain. This was done with him being turned into a ragdoll being thrown around by the adults who laughed at his pain and misery. Fucking assholes. They're not laughing anymore, though, now that they're missing their teeth. As angry as he was at them, he did build up a greater tolerance to pain than most.

It wasn't until he was just starting in his fifteenth year that he finally got into a real match, the first one he bet in and the first time he used his own ring-persona. He lost, yes, and the match after that. But third time's the charm, as they say. This time, it was a normal-built guy with the exception of a beer gut. Didn't even stand a chance, and ended up with about half a dozen bruises on his torso, arms, and legs, a cut lip and bruised cheek, a single broken rib and two missing teeth thanks to an elbow strike. He couldn't remember, but he might have broken the fucker's jaw, too. The finishing kick was brutal, after all.

That day, he finally came home to his and Aunt Tess' apartment, holding three month's worth of ration cards and carrying nothing more than a cut above his eye. He was thankful everyone had bet against him, and he never blamed them for it even before winning. He'd lost his first and only two matches. The following matches after his victory had half betting for his victory, and after a year, almost no one bet against him, so he had to rely on the winner's prize, unless fighting someone of equal, if not greater renown.

He had more than a few scars to show for his years of constant training and fighting. Unfortunately, his skills with guns had come out… less than ideal. He wasn't the worst shot in the world (despite probably being close) but he'd much sooner use his fists and legs rather than his gun. Not to mention he couldn't even compare to most people, much less Tess and Joel.

He shook his head with a smile as he heard the two's 'subtle' argument, before abruptly ending it when he decided to join them. He walked past his aunt and snatched up his Walkman cassette player and headphones off the table. He stared at it with loving eyes. "I felt oh so lonely without your voice, baby," he said affectionately, stroking the glass gently. "Don't worry, I'm here."

Joel shot him a disgusted look, "First the knife, now you're gonna start kissing your Walkman?"

Jacket mock-gasped before hugging the Walkman against his cheek, though it ended up with him rubbing his face against it, "It's okay, he didn't mean it, my love."

He shook his head at the sight while Tess gave up keeping her laughter in, and let past her lips the merry sound. "Let's just get on with it."

Suddenly, when Joel was out of the apartment and down the stairs, his aunt pulled him back, causing a comical, muffled yelp to escape him. He saw her frown and mirrored her expression. "What's wrong?"

"Just what the hell was that back there, Jackie?"

"What?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"When you were talking about me killing the client? You acting all proud when you thought I killed him? Ringing any bells?"

Jacket sighed, "Look, I didn't-"

"This is a fucked up world, kid," she stated heatedly. "And I won't have you becoming like me or Joel. How long 'till you find yourself luring other survivors into thinkin' you're injured? What's it gonna take for you to finally snap and become a Hunter? I promised… I promised them I'd take care of you, and that means more than just having you survive. That means that you have to live, and live happy. Listen, kiddo, you can kill someone without caring, even I can't blame you for that. You'll probably end up having to kill so many it won't even matter anymore. But you never enjoy killing and you sure as shit don't take pride in it. Never. Understand? It's not right."

He scoffed, "After what those pieces of shits did… I'm insulted you even think I'd consider becoming like them."

"All it takes is the smallest similarity, Jackie, then it's only a matter of time before you become one of them. And you wanna know the most fucked up part? You won't even realize it. Trust me, I'd know."

Jacket chuckled with no humor, realizing the truth her statement held. "Listen, I didn't mean it like that. I was just fuck- Uh, joking around, with you. You know, with all the flattering? I wasn't actually proud of the fact that you killed someone, was just trying to lighten the mood."

She had a look that basically screamed the words 'Yeah, right'. "What for?"

"What for?" he parroted incredulously. "What do you think? I could basically smell the grumpiness coming off of J."

"What?" she asked, confused. "I thought he just hadn't calmed down completely from yesterday."

"No, I'm telling you. Something else was off about him."

Before her querying could continue, they heard Joel's voice from down below, "Pick up the pace, we ain't got all day!"

They made their way outside, but not before Jacket placed the Walkman previously hidden underneath his namesake around the waist of his black-blue pants. He wrapped the headphones around his neck and they exited the apartments, his finger pressing play on the cassette already inside and the headphones started playing '[Tick of the Clock - Chromatics]', the music reaching his ears faintly and the ears of adjacent passerbys.

They passed a man and a woman, the latter discussing her recent draft for outside work.

"Wait, are you serious?"

"I got served the damn papers this morning. I've been selected for outside work duty."

The man malcontentedly groaned, "It's such crap. The soldiers are supposed to handle the outside."

"I'll make sure to tell them that." The woman seemed almost amused, but one could tell by her underlying tone that she agreed on his statement.

Jacket placed the headphone on his ears as they exited the alleyway, turning a right to pass the ration line. "Ration lines haven't opened yet," said Tess. "Must be running low again."

Jacket only spared it a glance before continuing on behind the other two. The warm breeze of summer helped ease him out of his sleepiness. The sight of the urban houses was as familiar as the back of his hand, brick houses of beige and grey and white and maroon made up his surroundings. Soon, they passed four people being detained by the military right outside a tall building, one Jacket recognized as being off-limits. After a few seconds of spectating, the scanner bleeped warningly, indicating the third person of the lot was infected. It took little effort to restrain and euthanize her.

"More people are getting infected," his aunt said.

Joel stated in response, "That just means more people are sneaking out."

"Poor bastards. Dumb as hell, though, so it ain't exactly a surprise," stated Jacket quietly, not wanting his aunt to hear him

Joel shot him a glance, "Why's that?"

"They're sneaking out, that's why."

He slowed down to Jacket's pace, walking beside him and whispering, "Aren't we about to the very same thing?"

"Yeah, but the difference between us and the dumb fucks back there is we can take care of ourselves. They obviously couldn't, seeing how they got infected."

Before long, they arrived at the gate and stopped after approaching the guard. His aunt showed the soldier his papers and the gate opened. As soon as they moved to go through, however, the truck that had exited the QZ suddenly went up like a great ball of fire, and for a moment the entire sky seemed to have caught fire. It was a vision of hell, but hell did not have guns, and bullets hailed down on the military guards, snapping Jacket out of his disbelieving stupor. "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed in surprise, holding his whistling ears. First his aunt flicks his ear, now it had to suffer a fucking explosion!?

"RUN!" she shouted, pulling him by the arm. They soon rushed into a building not far away.

Jacket closed the door behind him before rubbing his ear. "Mother of fuck," he muttered to himself, silently. He quickly paused the song from his Walkman

"So much for the easy route," she commented. Her concerned eyes were on her nephew when she asked, "You all right?"

He nodded, "Yeah, but… goddamn! That hurt!"

Joel looked at him with the ghost of a smile, "Never seen an explosion before?"

"Not really."

"Well, there's a first time for everything."

"Great. Now I can go to my gang of rowdy, alpha male friends and brag about how I popped my explosion cherry with a redhead."

Joel arched an eyebrow at him, "A redhead?"

"Yeah, man. Didn't you see that fiery bombshell?"

Tess laughed at that and even Joel had trouble suppressing the smile that nearly found its way on his face. The chuckle came out as an indifferent sigh and the smile turned into faint tugs at the corners of his mouth. When their amusement died down, he asked, "That's a bit dark, isn't it? Those guards might all be dead right now."

"Against the fireflies?" There was no retort to that. "Besides, if they died, they died for some good banter."

The two adults exchanged confused looks before they both turned to him again, "The hell's a banter?"

"Like a… like a light-hearted conversation. It's a bit hard to describe, actually."

"Never in my forty-eight years have I ever heard the word 'banter'."

"Well, I wouldn't expect you to, it's british."

"How the hell would you know about british words?"

"I read books, remember?" he replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which it might well have been. Jacket read through books like copying machines. Whenever he would recover from a fight, have time over from the day, rest from training, or wait during their drops or smuggling, he would read a book. He always had one nearby, never failing to be within reach. His aunt had spent more than a little ration cards on getting him comic books when he was younger, (one of the main reasons he liked pretending he was a vigilante) and, later as he grew up, on educational books. She could proudly claim that Jackie was smarter and more knowledgeable than anyone else his age, probably more than most who had an education before the outbreak.

"Guess your nephew didn't turn out to be a full-blooded american."

"Hey, he can be whatever he wants." She turned to smile at him, "He's my nephew, no matter what."

Jacket returned the smile and chuckled when Joel made a sound of disgust, "Anymore of this mushy crap and I'm done. Robert can live for all I care."

Something suddenly caught Jacket's attention, "Hey, J?"

"Hm?"

His eyes stared at his arm, "Check it out. Your forearm."

Joel looked down and saw the now-red, lightly burned skin. The adrenaline gave way to the following pain a bit ago, but he'd suffered worse before. Nothing to worry about, "'Is nothing."

"My ass, it's nothing. You're hurt." Rifling through his pockets, Jacket groaned, "Shit, I forgot the roll of bandage back at your apartment."

Tess smirked before pulling out said roll of bandage, "I didn't. Here, patch yourself up." She handed it to him and Joel began wrapping his forearm like he had done so many times before. She asked Jacket if he'd poured alcohol on it, and he confirmed it with a nod.

He let out a lengthy, quiet sigh, "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say they're planning to close all the checkpoints?"

"Yeah," his aunt responded as they made their way up the stairs.

"And I'm guessing we're also gonna have to go around the outside?"

"Yeah."

"Outside the wall?" asked Joel.

"Or we could just let Robert go, like you said?"

He let out a scoff of false amusement, "Cute."

They walked past a black guy with glasses and a thick bush of a beard covering his face. He stood up from his dirty white plastic chair and followed them, "Hey, Tess, you see that shit?"

"I was there. Hey, how's the east tunnel looking?"

"It's clear. I just used it. No patrols. Where you off to?"

"Gonna pay Robert a visit."

"Huh, you too?" He sounded more confused than surprised.

Jacket frowned as his aunt asked, "Who else is looking for him?"

"Uh, Marlene. She's been asking around, trying to find him." Surprise was visible on all their faces, Jacket's turning into a soft scowl. Joel glanced behind at him with his own lukewarm version of a reassuring nod. The corners of his lips twitched into a small smile at the gesture.

"Marlene?" she questioned. "What do the fireflies want with Robert?"

The man sounded amused, "You think she'd tell me?"

"Well, what did you tell her?"

"The truth. I got no idea where he's hiding."

"Good man." Tess smiled, "Hey, you stay out of trouble, alright? Military's gonna be out in force soon."

"Yeah, see you around."

They continued their stride across the hallway when she asked Joel, "Marlene lookin' for Robert? What do you make of that?"

"I don't like it. We better find him before the fireflies do."

Tess' poorly veiled glance of concern towards Jacket wasn't lost to him, "You gonna be alright, kiddo?".

There was a pause before he answered, "So long as I don't have to deal with any of them, I'll be fine."

"We may have to. And not necessarily in a hostile manner."

Another curt pause. "Then so be it."

"Hey," she said beside him. Their eyes met. "I won't suffer you through them anymore than I need to, alright?"

He smiled a genuine smile, "Don't worry about it, Aunt Tess. I trust you."

It was a smile returned in kind before the passed into a room, and suddenly her smile changed along with the rooms they were in as she put on her act again.

"This is us," she sighed out.

Jacket saw that on the couch a man was seated, wearing a sweater with fading blue colour. "Hey, guys, how's it going?"

"Shit's stirring up out there." It was an honest response, and Tess is always honest to her own, no matter what. "How we lookin' over here?"

"Ah, it's been quiet. No signs of military or infected."

"It's what I like to hear." She moved to flank the TV stand, "Jacket, Joel. Give me a hand with this."

"Sounds like a bar or a store or something," Jacket said quietly as he and Joel braced to push the stand aside from the hole in the wall, and proceeded to do so with a grunt, the books atop it falling over. Jacket and Joel, Jack and Joel.

The three jumped down the lightless hole and landed in the building basement. After a complaint from Tess about the smell, which Jacket happened to agree with strongly if holding his own nose was any indication, the generator rumbled to life and lamps lit up their otherwise pitch-dark surroundings. They vaulted over a large pipe in the passageway of the broken wall that resembled a mine more than anything before arriving in a room with workbenches. On them were all of their equipment, and Jacket grinned as he jogged to his backpack.

Immediately, he took the large, sheathed knife attached to a harness in his hand before pulling it out of its professional, clean black scabbard. A custom and personalised Bowie Knife was revealed, sporting an exceptionally razor-sharp edge of a 14-inch blade owing to his constant and meticulous maintenance. Its size bordered on being a machete but not quite. On the parallel side of the blade was an equally razor-like set of sawteeth. The paintjob on the knife itself was rather simple, the flat of the blade a smooth black while the edge itself was painted chrome-white. The handle mirrored the blade, black grip and chrome bottom. What truly personalised it for him, however, was the two initials carved into the matching small, oval plaques on either side of the handle.

'D. B.' and 'A. J.'

"God, I've missed you so, Harvest," he whispered. He named it for rather obvious reasons. He'd had it since forever, but had never named it until he got his leather jacket that was, at the time, too large. A vigilante hero needs a signature weapon with a name, he remembered thinking. The symbol and words adorning his back had been a clear reference to death, and what more a fitting name is there for death's weapon than Harvest? It was the purpose of a scythe, wasn't it? Whether it be harvesting wheat or barley or human souls.

He placed Harvest in its scabbard before strapping the harness onto his red shirt, the bowie knife's handle hanging against the small of his back.

Next, his hand scoured the table and gripped the famed namesake. The black leather jacket was yanked off the bench and put on with a graceful flourish of black and red, and hiding Harvest on his back. He breathed a relieved sigh, followed by a whisper, "Being without you is like being without skin, baby."

"Not a lot of ammo," he heard Joel mutter aloud, snapping him out of his nostalgic comfort.

"Don't worry, I got some extra." He zipped open his backpack and pulled out his own gun, followed by a box of ammo which he opened to pluck out three bullets and handed them to Joel. "Make 'em count, J."

"That comin' from you?" His deadpan expression elicited a faint smirk from the old man. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he mumbled back, absentminded as he checked to see if everything was still where they were supposed to be. He had less need of bullets than either Tess or Joel, mostly because he used stealth to sneak up and Harvest anyone or anything in his way. (He liked calling it to Harvest someone rather than kill. In his mind, it sounded way more awesome and such a comic-book-antihero thing to say.)

His hand scanned the inside of his backpack for a last item. His hand found purchase and pulled out the one thing besides his name and namesake that was his own comic-book-antihero signature. A mark he was known for.

In his hand he held a GSR Gas Mask absent its canisters. It was the latest issued to the military of another country in the world, England, right before the global outbreak. His aunt had given it to him, and he knew she hadn't bought it in the black market (a presumption she confirmed). She'd revealed that it originally belonged to his father.

And the reason it was his own 'little' trademark? It had been given a rather… significant paintjob. A white skull marked the entire mask with a black silhouette and a fiery ember scarring a crack down the right side of its jaw, right below its teeth. And how daunting the teeth were! Long like the blade of a knife and sharp like a razor's edge. Without the canisters, the terrifying white teeth ran along the entire mask. The skull's nasal cavity rested on the mask's nose, between the single, large eye of the mask.

Aunt Tess told him that all of it had been painted on by his mother and planned it as a gift for his father.

His jacket was his namesake, and he loved it no matter what happened to it; if it were to get burned into single strip of cloth, he'd still wear it. But this mask had become his true face. It was the face he showed to strangers, the only way he could ever go out in the world without his shyness preventing him from living with others. Without it, he couldn't even look other people in the eye, Joel and Aunt Tess being the obvious exceptions.

He put on the mask with a sigh of relief and proceeded to check if the two canisters yet remained in his backpack.

Joel shot a faint glare his way. "You ever plan to stop makin' those noises whenever you put those things on?"

"Nope."

He heard a grumble when his hands confirmed that the two canisters remained, "Didn't think so."

His aunt placed her hand on his shoulder, "Hey, you ready?"

"Hold on, just gonna check for one last thing." He closed the main zipper and opened the smaller one to reveal his abundant collection of cassette tapes, each one containing different songs of drastically different genres. These, along with his Walkman, were his utmost prized possessions, each and every single one worth more than a human life, including his own. They had been his ever since his tenth birthday, the Walkman among them. His aunt told him it all belonged to his mother. She went through the trouble of recording every single song on the cassette tapes because she preferred the 'classic feel' over an iPod. Whatever that was.

He rummaged through them all to find one particular cassette and pulled it out. He smiled, glad that this one hadn't been missing. He checked for it every single time he either started or ended a job with Aunt Tess. His eyes ran over the text, over and over again. It read, "Happy Birthday, Jack!"

Jacket placed it with the rest and zipped it close before he slung the backpack on him.

"Let's go," said Joel.

They traversed their way over a ledge and into a long-abandoned diner through a hole in the floor before finally exiting its doorway. They were greeted by the beautiful sight of the outside world. Old and, to him, historical ruins of buildings were covered in the greenery of nature. In this world, vines intertwined with fences and hill roads were spearheaded by sprouting, large trunks of trees, all headed by beautiful green elms. He always resented the idea that before the outbreak, people would mow their lawn and cut down nature's gifts. How could anyone ever wish to prevent this beauty? As a kid, hearing it from his aunt almost made him cry, that people would so casually ruin something he loved so much to simply see. Thankfully, for the both of them, she managed to avert it a new Savage Starlight comic book she bought.

He shook his head as he looked around, realizing how ridiculous he was as a child. Now, he understood it. They had to keep things orderly and organized in order to maintain their buildings. It didn't blind him, however, to the greediness of men that delved in deforestation. Them, he did resent.

But it didn't matter. Who knows, perhaps CBI was nature's way of saying, "Fuck you, fuck your mother and your father, fuck your family's honor, and fuck everything you stand for! See if you can cut down any trees after this!"

If so, nature overdid it. I mean, Jesus, fucking CBI? Kind of an overkill if you ask me.

"You're talking to yourself again," he heard his aunt say when she stood beside him.

"What did I say?"

"Nature overdid it, or something. I think I heard overkill, too."

"Oh, sorry." He had a habit of talking to himself, intentionally and otherwise.

"Come on, let's get going."

As they walked, Joel commented, "Ain't been out here in awhile."

"It's like we're on a date," his aunt responded, causing him to shoot her a disgusted look underneath his skull-mask.

"Well, I am the romantic type."

"You got your ways."

"Okay," said Jacket, suddenly. "Ease up there, big guy. That's my aunt, keep it polite and platonic or I'm chopping your dick off."

They both laughed at him.

What? I'm not joking. He wasn't joking. Despite that, he smiled, knowing that the two of them were.

Jacket whistled inside his mask, muffling it to the other two in the room as they waited on the juvenile door-keeper to give the all-clear.

He unknowingly drifted off into musing, thinking upon the last fifteen minutes.

They'd gone through the same path as always, and yet, surprisingly, they discovered spores littering the air, and not far away some runners. Before them, however, they'd come across a man stuck beneath a large, fallen file cabinet. His mask broke and his hoarse voice suggested he'd breathed in way too many spores for a single man. He pleaded for them to prevent him turning, and with a somber realization, Jacket knew it there was only one way.

He unsheathed his bowie knife from his back-holster and bowed one knee to the floor, staring the man in the eye without waver. The man recognized the skull-mask and let out a chuckle absent humor, "It's you, huh? Son of Samedi?" It was his 'ring-name', so to speak. He'd remove his mask and paint on an identical skull on his face with children's face paint his aunt had found while scavenging during one of her drops when he was yet to enter puberty. He took on the name Son of Samedi when he was sixteen, after having read about the mythical figure. It didn't take a genius for everyone to realize the skull-mask wearing guy and the painted-on-skull-faced guy was the same person.

Jacket didn't answer the man's rhetorical question, instead staring with a question of his own on his lips, "What's your name?"

"Hor-" he began for a coughing fit overtook his lungs.

Joel, ever impatient, gently tapped him on the shoulder, "Listen, Jacket, we oughta get going. Just put a bullet in his head and be done with it, there's no need for all this ceremony."

He glared up at him coldly, "Sorry to tell you, but I'm not like you. Death yet holds meaning to me." He turned back to the dying man. "Your name?"

"...Horatio."

"Horatio." He spoke the name somberly. "I hope the afterlife brings you what you deserve." Not a moment later, his knife brutally, yet painlessly, pierced the man's brain through the right eye. Not an easy feat with a bowie knife, but he'd mastered its use in many, many ways.

They then proceeded to the room with three runners chowing down on some unlucky meal. They were easily dealt with. Joel shivved one in the neck, Aunt Tess took the other down with a single bullet to the head, and Jacket took the last one's head off her shoulders. The rest of their journey was uneventful, only more supplies and a note someone wrote for their brother.

He was shook out of his musing by the thunking on glass as the kid signalled green. Aunt Tess opened the door and they followed her, eyes greeted by the sight of the black market, free from the dictatorship of the military and ruled by the tyranny of the more powerful criminals.

A disheveled, filthy looking man with probably the worst haircut Jacket had ever seen stood at the corner of the building and spotted his aunt, springing him into action, "Hey, Tess. Hey Tess. Hey, pretty lady, how you doin' t'day? I heard you got some merch-"

"Not right now, Terrence," she interrupted.

The man persisted, to his ire. "No, no, it's good, I got the-"

Jacket softly but swiftly placed his hand on Terrence's chest when he saw the annoyance on his aunt's expression. His voice was firm and strong despite its youth when he said, "Enough, she's busy."

"Okay," Terrence said, backing off with his hands held up, "Is all cool, I can do that."

He inclined his head at the man politely, in spite of his previous attitude, "Thank you for respecting her wishes."

Terrence looked surprised and uncertain, "Y-yeah, of course, man." Jacket ignored his reaction at his own odd behavior, and turned around. When he returned to the two, he saw a pair of dogs barking behind a fence meant to act as a display for merchandise, the merchandise being the dogs, obviously.

The owner of the animals saw his staring, "Sorry, man. All these dogs are accounted for. Sold out less than an hour ago. Try me next week."

Is Robert planning ahead? We know he's expecting us. Too bad the dogs won't arrive in time to protect their new master. They strode into the market, their path flanked by several vendors. He stopped in front of one black guy that rose from his seat and said, "You touch it, you buy it."

"So… if I touch you, does it mean I get you for an hour." He looked surprised before scowling. "Ooh, going for the tough guy act, huh? Don't worry, I like a feisty challenge," Jacket jested with a pat on the man's shoulder, causing him to growl like one of the dogs from before. He faked nervousness at the man's growl and leaned his head back.

A voice called out from behind, "Easy, Samuel. The kid's joking around." He turned to see guy leisurely seated with a girl on his lap.

"How 'bout you mind your own damn business, pretty boy."

Having no interest in listening to their argument, he joined his nearby aunt and Joel. Surprisingly, there was no argument as the guy with the girl on his lap called out to him and Aunt Tess.

"Tess, Jacket, it's been awhile. You don't visit us anymore."

Tess ignored him while Jacket sent him a simple, curt nod, "Donny." The girl on Donny's lap stared at Tess who was walking off towards the bus.

"Who the hell is that?"

"None of your damn business," he answered with irritation.

Jacket glared at her, his pale eyes and dread-inspiring mask making her nervous, "Listen to your boyfriend, Bug-Eyes. You have nothing to worry about," He gestured his head at Donny, "Shitfuck, here, is all yours. If he had any interest in Aunt Tess, he'd lose it along with his dick."

Donny laughed, holding up his hands in mock-surrender, "A fact you made clear the first time we met. Don't worry, I'm not taking the risk."

"Good," was all he said before following the others into the bus, arriving just in time to see Malick being ordered to sit down by his aunt. He looked to his right and saw the fighting ring. It was once no more than a small area where only around four people would spectate two fighters. Now, thanks to Cross and Jacket, the 'arena' had prospered to the point that they moved the bus further to the left, to grant more width, and pushing the 'walls' of the arena to either ends of the bus. Presently, around twenty people beheld a handicap match with two smaller-statured women going up against a giant of a man. Goliath, everyone called him. A veteran of the ring.

He'd gone up against him, but only when offered by Goliath for a friendly spar. But if he had gone up against him in a real match? Oh, fuck no! I'm fast and strong, but that motherfucker's made of stone and is the size of a damn pillar!

Before any of them could spot his symbolic gas mask, he quickly made his way past the gridded windows to where they had been boarded up beside Malick. Partly out of not wanting to be recognized, seeing how they could be used as witnesses since Robert was about to die soon. But mostly since, in truth, despite his bravado and persona in the ring, he hated attention almost more than anything else in this world.

He stopped in front of the bouncer, holding out his hand. Joel and Tess glanced at him curiously, "Out with it. Two week's worth, remember?"

Malick sighed before reluctantly handing him the ration cards, and Jacket finally exited the bus with them.

His aunt stared at him as they walked, "You wanna tell me what that was about?"

"We had a bet between us, I won. He payed up."

"For what?"

"He bet against me when I fought Jared."

"Oh. I've no idea who Jared is."

"Don't worry about it."

Joel asked suddenly, "Who was that, anyway?" The question was directed towards Tess.

"An old headache. Don't ask."

They stepped into the alley where perhaps the most cliché-looking shady dude was leaning against the wall right beside an open-doored fence. "I'm lookin' for Robert," his aunt said, leaning in close with cards in her hand. "He come through here?"

He smiled, "Half hour ago. He went back to the wharf. He's there now."

Without another word, they moved past him and further into the alley where Firefly symbols littered the walls. It didn't take long for them to come across an area with tables and barrels separating them from three of men. Perfect for cover, if need be. How did he know they were Robert's? Well…

"Let us through," said Tess.

"You guys need to turn around and head back if you know what's good for you."

Jacket stepped forward so that both he and Joel were adjacent to his aunt, "There's no need for conflict here, man. Give us Robert and let that be the end of it, okay?"

The man seemed almost amused, but it was only a mask hiding anger, "You think you can scare me with your mask? Turn the fuck around, 'fore I rip that thing off along with your face."

Suddenly, his aunt placed her arm on his chest protectively, "Hey! You watch it when talking with him, understand? Now, we're here for Robert. Let us through and no one here has to die."

The man's irritability had reached its boiling point as he stomped forward slowly, pointing his finger at her. Jacket scowled, only his furrowing brows showing beneath the mask, his hand clenching into a fist before subtly reaching for the Harvest on the small of his back.

"Bitch, I will bash your fucking-"

None had time to react as Jacket, in his anger, pulled his knife from its scabbard and swung it down with expert precision to cut off the man's hand at the wrist. He stared at the blood-spurting stump in shock, and had been given no time to scream before he spun around with an opened, ensanguined throat when Jacket Harvested him. Joel and Tess took advantage of his two chums frozen in shock at the brutality by pulling out their guns immediately and gunning them down.

His aunt sighed, "Well, that takes care of that. You alright?" she asked Jacket.

"I am, now." He stared at Joel as the older man looted the dead corpses for ammo.

"Good, we can't have you angry if we're to reach Robert."

He met her eyes, nodding, "Yeah, of course."

"And, uh..." She looked down at the handless body of the man that had insulted her in such a way, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Joel interrupted them, "This is all very touching, but can we please keep going? Robert ain't waiting all day."

"Yeah, sure." Jacket suddenly stood rigid before raising Harvest into the air like it was a sword, "The time has come, 'tis the season! LET US HARVEST OUR FOES AND WATER OUR CROPS WITH THEIR BLOOD!" he roared into the sky over-dramatically.

His aunt shook her head, trying to hide her smile, while Joel just face-palmed with a groan. "Goddammit, Tess. Why did I agree to this?"

A/N: Ta-da! There's the first chapter for you. It was mostly to introduce Jacket, obviously. I decided to balance out his mastery of CQC and the bowie knife by making him a shit aim. I don't want him to be perfect or to make this a piggyback fic. I'm planning on making his skill symbiotic to his allies.

Also, I know the infection can be spread through saliva, so don't worry about it, I know.

His character will obviously be more fleshed out as the story goes on, but I'd still like to hear your opinion on Jacket so far.

See y'all next chapter.