Jack be nimble. Jack be quick.

Well, here you are. It's been a long time. I couldn't help but wonder where you've been spending all your time lately. I've had an uncomfortable realization.

You were playing it normal, trying to get in touch with your human side, right? News flash fucko, you don't have a human side. Everything about you spells killer. You struck out at the home plate of good human nature before even suiting up to play. Let's add up your...peculiarities, shall we?

You are, as many people have taken the pleasure of pointing out over your depressing lifetime, a killer. A good one. A natural.

Strike one on the humanity count.

You enjoy killing. It feels good. No matter how much you deny it, we know the truth. You live for the kill. It's all you're good for.

Strike two.

You are damn near incapable of forming relationships with anything warm blooded and breathing.

Strike three.

Then there's the cyborg thing. No explanation needed there.

Strike four.

Enjoying killing really deserves mentioning a second time, bringing us up to strike five.

Get the picture?

You were always in the wrong place at wrong time for wrong reasons; wrong, wrong, wrong. You were even the wrong color.

Throw in an orphan's childhood, a psychotic foster father and a decade of Liberia's own Apocalypse Now and you have the perfect recipe for a violently dysfunctional, self loathing, manic-depressive psychopath.

It's no wonder you ran after Death for so long. Too much of a coward to do it yourself, you fought battles that weren't yours for years. Sure, people can call you a hero, but we know the real reason you risked your life saving people who died later on anyway.

You wanted to die.

It's all you ever wanted.

Saving the day was just a perk to courting the Reaper. But he never came for you. Came close a couple times, and just when you thought it was done, he'd throw you back in.

You went looking for Death because you couldn't bear the blood any more and he gave you a damn promotion. Followed by a pay raise in the form of shiny new legs.

But wait, the plot thickens. In the middle of it all, you fall in love.

How sweet.

You found your saving grace. Redemption. She found something in your pathetic soul worth clinging too and you thought, maybe I can be worth something.

Never mind that she was almost as fucked up as you were. Still are.

Then, she's pregnant. You're going to be a father. Scared you shitless, didn't it? All the same, it was the perfect chance for a damned man to redeem himself. Raise your child right. Teach them how to be good and honest and make sure they never held a weapon. Never tasted blood or smelled fear.

So you shut me away. Buried me deep, deep down.

How stupid of you. There is no hole you could squeeze me into, no cage to lock me in that I won't come knocking sooner or later. You'd have to kill me. But killing me would kill you. And you knew that, so you put me to sleep and went about your life.

During the day, you'd go through the motions. You smiled when it was expected, laughed when it was appropriate. You held doors open and shook hands with well-dressed, middle class Americans. If only they'd known what those hands had done.

You'd choke down her shitty cooking and take her to the movies.

Oh, but the nights were different.

Sleep was a problem, it brought you nightmares. It brought you me. We couldn't have that, could we? Don't want to scare away the only person who could ever find your wretched life meaningful. So you didn't sleep. You tried to keep her out; out of your room, out of your head, out of your past. You kept her away from me. Smart, at first. Too bad you couldn't keep her out of your heart.

Makes me sick.

And you were surprised, weren't you? That you had a heart at all. Turns out, I'm the heartless one.

Then you fucked up. Big surprise.

You couldn't keep her out like you'd always done. So she forced her way in and you snapped. For just a split second you loosened the noose and I

wanted to meet her.

You've never forgiven yourself for that. She says that she has, but of course you never really believed that.

She got you back though, didn't she?

Five years of lonely retribution is a little extreme for a swollen lip and bruised cheek, wouldn't you say?

You didn't see her or your accident of a son for five years. I mean hell, you didn't even know he was your son.

And you didn't see me either. You tried to forget the anger and went with sadness instead.

Predictable, as you ever were.

But we worked together again last year. Remember? It was just like old times. The anger. The pain. The pain was always what you craved. Didn't matter whose pain it was. Your pain, my pain, any stranger walking by at the wrong time. Pain is pain. And it is powerful. Intoxicating. There is no drug that can do what pain can. And let's face it buddy, you're an old-fashioned, strung out junkie.

Then, dammit, you shut me away again. You go on about justice and peace and helping the weak, righteous kills, your sword is not a weapon, blah, blah, blah. You're ashamed of me, and that's a pity. We work so great together.

You can run and run and run, you'll never get away from me, Raiden. You can't because you are me. And I am you. Doesn't matter what name you go by.

Raiden.

The White Devil.

Jack the Ripper.

It doesn't matter. The result is the same. We are one, the Lightning and the Ripper. You need me, so stop pulling me out when it's convenient. I'm done sitting on a shelf collecting dust.

We've been to hell together.

You ready to go back?

Then wake up, Jack!

WAKE UP!

A/N: I've had this sitting on ice for a while, so thought it'd upload and share. One shot that could turn into more if there's interest, I have some ideas. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! -BMX