Alexandra- "Defender of Mankind," "warrior," "most beautiful thing in the world."

Zachary- "remembered by God"

Okay, this letter was sent before the events of the Jack the Ripper DLC, so it's mostly for an intro and foreshadowing. Also if you notice the date, I dated it give a realistic time for the letter to reach Evie in India and for her to travel to London

Disclaimer: don't own Assassin's Creed, or had any influence in history

Warnings: Rated M for graphic violence, graphic death, angst, and other warnings will appear

June 26, 1888

My dearest sister,

I am afraid I am sending this letter with not the best of circumstances. For twenty years, after the Assassins defeated the Templars in London, the city enjoyed a certain peace. But I fear that peace is drawing to an end. I see the city we fought so hard and long for slipping away from me. At every corner I see Templar spies watching the streets of London, but when I turn to my brothers and sisters for aid, they are gone. Someone is killing the Assassins. Hunting them down, like the same menace that haunted the Colonial Brotherhood over a hundred years ago. I have sent the Assassins that remain into the brothels of London, trying to use their eyes and ears to find a lead. Even my daughter, Alexandra, has joined the hunt. Do you remember her? She reminds me a lot of you—she is clever, patient, and a pain in my arse, but if there's one thing she got from her father, it's her tongue. No person I trust more with this critical assignment, but there is no person I fear for more. She had just completed her training, and yet she believes she is skilled enough to take on the world. But we were once the same way, were we not? Zachary is still too young. He has yet to complete his training and is still ignorant to the harshness of the world. Which is why I call upon you, my dear sister. I know you have a family, that you are to be by your husband's side and you have your own sons, but I need you. We need to fight together, if we are to liberate London from this menace that lurks in the alleys of our city. Blood has been spilt, and there is more to come. Please, Evie, come to England at the utmost haste. The legacy of the Assassin Brotherhood depends on it.

Your brother,

Jacob Frye

Chapter 1

The autumn night was cold, but not yet as frigid as the winter days to come. Clouds rolled across the sky, blocking any signs of the stars or moon. Only the lanterns of stores and lampposts illuminated the street, but of number of them were left unlit, having sinister shadows cling to the stone of the streets and buildings.

Jacob Frye hid in one of these shadows.

Even with his heavy, long coat, the cold seeped through the clothing and bit at his skin. His thin gloves did little to protect his hands. It provoked the man to blow a breath of air into his palms, only to see a mist form at the action. He rubbed his hands together and wondered how much longer he would have to wait. Standing still in the darkness certainly wasn't getting him any warmer.

Arms folded across his chest, Jacob glanced over at the window in front of him. The light of a nearby lamppost shone onto the glass at just the right angle to allow the man to see his reflection. The Assassin had certainly changed from his younger days.

Now forty years of age, his dark brown hair was streaked with silver. It was mangy and untrimmed, swept back in a desperate attempt of tidiness. His beard hard grown unshaven and unkempt, but not yet thick enough to hide his features. Crow's feet were on the sides of his eyes, which were already dark and sunken from lack of sleep. Jacob couldn't remember the last time he had gotten a good night's sleep. He doubted he ever would again.

A voice pierced the silence of the night.

"Get a move on, Mr. Finch, this a story of a lifetime!"

Jacob peered out of his hiding place to notice a pair of sharply dressed men, walking briskly across the courtyard. One man slipped away, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment, leaving the other alone. He was not unlike Jacob—untrimmed and obviously sleep-deprived—but for a very different reason. The Assassin approached him.

"Mr. Weaversbrook, I know you have more of the Ripper's letters," Jacob accused, quickening his pace to match the man that was now trying to flee from him. The journalist audibly groaned.

"I told you to stay away from me," he growled over his shoulder. He moved even faster, but the Assassin would not have it.

Reflexes unhindered by age, Jacob reached out and snatched the man's arm. He forced Weaversbrook into a halt and to turn to face him.

"Stop publishing his letters," the older man ordered, using authority behind his voice. Something that only came after years of being Mentor. "You've turned an unknown miscreant into a legend—and that's what exactly what he wants."

Weaversbrook opened his mouth to retort, but never had the chance.

"Father!"

Jacob glanced over his shoulder at a figure rushing out of an alleyway. It was a young woman, not yet in her twenties. She wore a dress of sage, one that the man would have described as gorgeous, except it bared the woman's shoulders and showed more cleavage than his liking. Her white skin was illuminated under the lamppost's light. The woman had her long, dark brown hair wrapped into a bun on the top of her head. Her bright, hazel eyes, the same shade as his, were shining.

"Alexandra? What's wrong?" the father demanded. He had learned to pick up on his daughter's mannerisms.

Alexandra's skin gleamed from sweat and she panted heavily, no doubt due to a long run. The gleam in her eye wasn't from mischievousness or excitement like he was used to, but from something much more disturbing.

"It's the Ripper," Alexandra reported, her voice sullen. "He's done it again!"

Blood. That was first thing Jacob's mind could process when he reached the scene. It was everywhere—splattered across the walls and seemed to be across the entire courtyard, pooling around a pair of unmoving corpses. They had been covered by a white sheet, already stained red.

Then the Assassin Mentor noticed the entrails. Spread out across the cold stone. Ripped out. Just like his mother.

Jacob blinked when suddenly a bright flash filled his vision, causing him to glare at the photographer for taking the gruesome picture. The man only shrugged and picked up his tripod and camera, moving away to allow the constables to investigate the scene.

Jacob knew it would be no use. It was obvious to see what had been done—but the police would find no clue of the killer. It what he had been trained to do. While the Assassin stared at the scene, trying to process it all, his daughter, Alexandra dared to approach the bodies. He opened his mouth to scold her, one of the constables even doing so, but she was already pulling back the sheet.

Her hand flew to her face with a choked sob.

"Katey?" she whimpered. Something in Jacob's heart twisted in horrible way. Alexandra recoiled from the corpse, holding her stomach like she would be sick. "Oh, he can't, no, he can't have…"

While her back was turned, Jacob stiffly neared the other body. His stomach churned when he saw the face, then bile came to his mouth when he pulled the sheet from her stomach. He froze, an action he regretted when Alexandra turned around.

"And Lizzie?" she wailed. She shook her head and her voice cracked. "Not both. Not in one night."

Jacob realized what he had to do.

The man rose his spot and approached his daughter. Alexandra ignored him, frozen in place. Like he had done with Weaversbrook, the Mentor grabbed her arm, though gently, and dragged her away. She kept her gaze on her fallen friends until they were out of sight. She was then forced to look at him. Jacob's heart almost broke when he noticed the tears in her eyes, but they did not fall. Alexandra was strong.

"Remember what I said," he whispered to her softly, laying his hand across her shoulder. It took a moment for Alexandra's eyes to widen.

"Father, no—" she tried to protest, but was cut off by Jacob's hush.

He placed a bag of coins into her hands, wrapping her fingers around it. Alexandra looked up at him in a mixture of concern and betrayal. Jacob could not bear to look into her eyes. Instead, he placed his hands on her cheeks and pressed his lips to her brow.

Jacob wanted to tell her. How much he loved her, treasured her. That everything would be okay. But he couldn't.

"Now go," the father ordered.

Alexandra swallowed and closed her eyes. When she opened them, the tears were gone. That was his girl. With a nod, the young Assassin slipped away.

Jacob watched her go until she disappeared from sight, knowing it would be the last time he would see her.

Only when she did, a great weight fell on the man's chest. His heart was heavy and it was suddenly hard to breathe, more so than it already was. He slowly turned back to the scene. He glanced up at the wall, his vision slipping into shadow.

A gleaming message greeted him.

How many more Assassins must die before you see the truth?

Jacob swallowed. His heart hardened.

"Only one more, Jack," he muttered under his breath.

He was watching. He knew it.

Leaving the bloody scene behind, Jacob sauntered away. Soon the gasps and gags and gossip of the inspectors and journalists faded away, replaced by the sound of his heels on the cobblestone. Silence. Goddamn silence.

Jacob couldn't take it. The man paused in the center of the street and let the tremor in his body take over him.

Mutilated. His girls were mutilated, and left on grotesque display for the world to ogle. But it wasn't for the world. It was for him. As punishment for his sins, and his horrible, horrible mistake. Now his Assassins were dead. His Brotherhood was destroyed. His family was gone.

Jacob pulled at his hair. In a moment of madness, he let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed off the stone buildings. He wanted to throw something, hit something, stab something, but there was nothing. He was alone.

Jacob balled his fists and punched the air, trying to contain himself. He forced himself to continue on, trying to keep one foot in front of another. Then he saw it.

The flicker of movement in the window's reflection. A reflection of what was behind him. Jacob's hair stood on end. He was following him. Like a shadow.

"I know you're there, Jack," the Englishman called, keeping his voice eerily calm. "Is the Master of Terror afraid to show himself?"

The Assassin received no reply. He continued on, moving past a group of men, oblivious to the night's excitement. When they glanced at him, Jacob gave a curt nod in greeting, acting casual. He didn't fail to notice their eyes widening at the figure shadowing him, and their small gasps of shock. It wasn't until he turned the corner did the Englishman start to run for his life. And he swore he heard a deep, dark chuckle, reverberating from the very walls that surrounded him.

Jacob sprinted through the back alleyways of London, twisting and cutting around corners and streets. The Mentor didn't know how long he ran. He didn't know how far his pursuer was behind him. He didn't dare look back. He just knew he was there. Jacob didn't dare slow down until his body failed him.

He was forced to slow when his pants turned into wheezing and his legs trembled at the sudden sprint. Damn, how he wished for his younger days. Yes, he was not old enough to have an ailing body, but he was old enough that he could not keep up with the same stamina he did as a teenager.

Jacob composed himself when he came across a plaza. It was filled with people of lower-class Whitechapel, dressed in worn coats and dresses. Almost everyone danced to the cheery music that filled the air, and all were drinking and chatting happily.

The Assassin dared to relax as he weaved through the crowd, falling back on old instincts. Yes, he could blend in here, lose his pursuer. Maybe he could meet with Alexandra and Zachary, ensure they were safe. But he would never have that luxury. Jacob never made it to the other side of the party.

The festivities were shattered by an ear-piercing scream. Every hair stood on end as Jacob whirled around.

He was greeted with Jack the Ripper.

Jacob didn't want to call him a man. He stood over everyone present and his shoulders were twice as broad as Jacob's. There was a hunch to his back, but not enough to be identified to be a cripple. A leather coat wrapped around his body and tall, heeled boots reached up his legs. A tophat, similar to the ones Jacob used to love, rested on his head, shadowing his eyes. Or what should have been his eyes. Instead, there was only two round holes in the dirty, white bag that covered his head. Not even his face could be seen. Just those two round, dark, horrible holes.

But those bottomless holes weren't focused on Jacob. Instead, they were focused on the constable that had dared to cross the Ripper's path. The Assassin watched as the menace's long, twisted blade dug into the man's stomach. Then again. And again. And again and again and again.

One scream turned into many. The sound of dancing turned into a stampede as the guests ran in all different directions. Several of them barged into Jacob and shoved him to the side, and he witnessed others being trampled. But his focus wasn't on them. His focus was on the thing that looked like man before him.

By now there was blood everywhere, just like crime scene. Jacob watched as the Ripper gave one final stab into the constable (who was long dead) and carved his blade into his belly. There was a sickening sound that carried across the courtyard as his organs fell onto the ground.

Jacob didn't shout or scream or breathe. He didn't run or turn or move. He just stood there, frozen, as he watched Jack the Ripper dropped his kill. He looked down on his work, like he was satisfied with himself. He didn't even notice the blood covering his clothes, mixing with the blood of his previous kills.

For a long moment, it was if time did not move.

Then suddenly Jack the Ripper looked up and straight at Jacob. The Mentor stared right into those dark holes and saw them. Those lifeless, soulless eyes. No, this was not a man before him. This was a demon. A menace. A monster.

A thing Jacob had created. It was his Frankenstein. And it had come to destroy him.

Suddenly something foreign came over the Assassin. It first came from his chest, then it spread down his spine and through his entire body. An unknown instinct crawled its way into his mind and took over his thoughts. It was something Jacob never felt in his entire life, so it took him a long time to realize what it was.

Fear.

"Come on, you monster!" Jacob bellowed. "Let's be done with this!"

Jack the Ripper couldn't resist the invitation. He charged forward at an inhuman speed and crossed the courtyard in only a few steps. Jacob was already turning and tearing down the alleyway.

The chase went on.

But this time his pursuer wasn't a shadow. The Ripper stayed on his heels, close enough Jacob knew the killer had to reach out and take him. But he wouldn't. Because Jack wanted to enjoy this hunt. By now the fear was driving Jacob's actions.

His muscles screamed in protest, but he pushed on, going as fast as his body would allow. He couldn't breathe. In desperation, he tossed a handful of smoke bombs onto the ground, one right after another, but it was useless. They would have no effect.

Somehow, the distance between the Assassin and the menace grew. Either because Jacob's frantic attempts worked, the Ripper had allowed him, or just dumb luck. It was dumber luck that he ran into a group of constables patrolling a graveyard. Ones he happened to know. At first they were startled at his appearance, especially when he skidded to a halt in front of them.

"There is a killer on my tail," Jacob told them, cursing he had to gasp between words. "You must stop him at all costs."

He needed time. Just a few seconds. To catch his breath. To ready his weapons. To accept that Death had come for him.

The constables exchanged bewildered glances but the head one, who had worked with the Assassin before, nodded. As Jacob slipped by, the group lined up to make a wall. A human shield.

There was no light in the graveyard. Just shadow and darkness. A fitting place for a last stand, Jacob supposed.

He slipped behind a tall gravestone and began to take note of his arsenal. Two hidden blades, two revolvers, his kukri blade, a handful of darts. With trembling hands, Jacob loaded both of his six-shot revolvers and then placed a dart into his gauntlet (he didn't know which kind, but he didn't care). The man pulled out his kukri blade, balancing it in his hands.

Then he heard the screams.

Chills crawled down his spine as the men he left behind let out wails of agony and terror, only to be cut short. With a gasp, Jacob pressed his back to the tombstone, just as he heard a thud on the far side of the graveyard. There was the sound of heavy footsteps on stone and the sound of something being dragged, like a bag across the ground.

Jacob swallowed, but his throat was so raw that the action was painful. He forced down that strange instinct—fear—and mustered up the will that remained. He stepped out of his hiding place.

"Stop!"

Jack the Ripper paused. His body was silhouetted against the light of the window behind him. The eerie aura that surrounded him made him look like a sinister Angel of Death. He had already collected, as he clutched the still body of a constable. Once the monster noticed his true prey was right before him, in the open, he dropped his kill, now eager for the next.

"You want me, Jack?" Jacob demanded. He remembered. He remembered every one of their deaths. And their murderer was right in front of him. The Frye twin raised his voice to a harsh yell. "Come and kill me!"

"Zachary! Zachary, wake up!" Alexandra barked, grabbing her little brother's shoulder and shaking it.

The ten-year-old boy mumbled in his sleep and shifted, trying to shake her off. He had gotten his looks from his mother—he had reddish hair that curled around his ears. The candlelight reflected off his fair skin, a trait the rest of the family shared. His green eyes blinked open when Alexandra shook him further.

"What is it?" the boy asked sleepily. The older Assassin knew she shouldn't blame him for being tired. He had been training all day.

"Come, we're leaving," she whispered, but her voice was full of urgency.

"We are we going?"

"Crawley."

"We're leaving London?"

That seemed to wake the boy up. Zachary blinked and stared up at her in confusion, as if asking for answers. Alexandra could give him none. Her and her father were careful to keep him from the plague of terror that had stricken the Brotherhood. But Zachary was still an Assassin apprentice, and brighter than any of them gave him credit. He was well aware something was wrong, even if no one humored him.

"Should I get my things?" Zachary asked, already slipping out of bed.

Alexandra thanked God that he was a bright boy and already knew what to do. So many times he must have seen a member of his family barge in, pack a suitcase and disappear without a word. Usually that would be the case now, but Alexandra felt her instincts twisting, screaming of danger. They didn't have time for that.

"No, just get dressed," she ordered.

Zachary nodded and scurried to his dresser, pulling out a handful of clothes. Meanwhile Alexandra wandered off to her own room. If they were to cross the English countryside with a killer on their tail, they would need more protection that the small knife she hid in her dress. Even the short walk between rooms was intolerable.

The corset squeezed the air from her lungs and for the thousandth time that night, she stepped on her skirt. She thought she was getting better, but the panic that had seized her had thrown out all her experience. Causing her to take far too long to reach her home.

Giving up, Alexandra began to tear off the dress. Quite literally, as the fabric ripped in protest at her rough handling. It was gorgeous dress, she would not lie, and so were the handful of others she had purchased. As if wearing a modest dress wasn't enough, her father was not pleased when she decided to go undercover as a whore. More so when his plan backfired, and Jack the Ripper caught on almost instantly.

Now the madman was hunting down any Assassin sent to spy on him. And that included Alexandra. Which meant she was next.

The young woman dressed quickly. She slipped on a pair of dark trousers and a pair of tall boots. Over her vest, she put on a long, leather coat, the same one her Auntie Evie used to wear. It was a gift for her initiation to the Brotherhood. Once changed, Alexandra grabbed her gift from her uncle, Henry Green. A curved dagger, called a kukri. She would need it. The Assassin snatched the rest of her things and stalked out of the room. She shivered at the sudden chill, provoking her to walk over to the open window and close it.

"Zachary, let's go!" Alexandra called.

No reply.

"Zachary?"

The Assassin's skin crawled when she was greeted with silence. Instinctively, she stepped into a crouch and her footsteps went silent. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and her stomach twisted. A hidden, ancient instinct within her stirred and warned of danger, like faint whispers. Kukri in hand, Alexandra stepped into her brother's room.

"Zachary!"

Immediately the boy, half-dressed, jumped off the bed with a yelp. Only for him to land in a heap on the floor.

"What are you doing?!" Alexandra demanded. Zachary's cheeks were red when he realized he was caught red-handed.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I was just so tired. I only laid my head down for a minute."

"We don't have a minute. Come on, let's get you dressed."

Realizing he couldn't be left unintended, Alexandra snatched his coat and pulled it on his shoulders while the boy furiously buckled his beat. The older sister, though peeved, felt a little guilty at her harsh snap. She couldn't blame Zachary for not knowing what was going on, and not feeling the same panic as her.

"You can sleep in the carriage, alright?" she assured him. "But we need to leave right now."

Zachary nodded, finally understanding. Then he looked behind her.

Immediately his pale skin turned deathly white and his eyes widened. He mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something, but the words were taken from him. Alexandra didn't have the chance to ask him what was wrong.

"Cute boy…" a deep, gravelly, terrible voice said.

Alexandra's blood instantly turned to ice. She leaped to her feet and whirled around, holding out her blade in defense.

It was him.

"Jack," Alexandra hissed, saying it like a curse.

The Ripper was standing in the doorway, unfazed. He took a step forward. Alexandra took a step back, pushing Zachary behind her.

"Stay away from him!" she shouted.

"Oh, it's not him I want," Jack purred, his voice not even sounding human. Suddenly a wicked-looking knife appeared in his hands. The same knife that took the lives of his victims. The killer twirled it in his fingers, unfazed by the sharp blade. "You thought you could double-cross me and get away with it?"

"I am not the traitor," Alexandra spat, holding out the kukri further, like a priest waving a cross in front of a demon.

"You're no smarter than your father."

The mention of the man caught the Assassin's attention.

"Where is he? What have you done with him?"

Jack tilted his head. The woman could practically see the sadistic smile on his lips.

"Dead," he answered.

It was like someone punched her the gut. She stayed on her feet, but it was hard.

"You're lying," Alexandra retorted.

"We can go and see him, if you like. I'll even let you die by his side." Suddenly Jack's gaze turned to Zachary. "Maybe your brother can watch?"

Her little brother's whimper of fear was all it took. With a roar, Alexandra twisted her hold on her weapon and charged forward. Jack raised his knife in defense and braced.

Falling back on her training, Alexandra feinted to the right. Her opponent flinched in the direction, ready to meet her. At the last moment, the Assassin switched hands, sending her kukri blade from her right hand to her left. Jack now exposed, she raised her weapon to his chest.

Only for the Ripper catch her wrist.

Caught in her own momentum, Alexandra stumbled forward, stopping right before she rammed into him. But it was still too close for comfort. Their bodies were a matter of inches apart, and their faces were closer. She could have felt his breath, if he wasn't wearing that stupid mask.

"Did you like my display tonight?" Jack suddenly asked. He tried to ask it in a whisper, but it was like his vocal cords couldn't do it. "Left it just for you and your father."

Suddenly Katey and Lizzie's bloody, violated bodies flashed before her eyes. Her comrades. Her friends. Alexandra felt the rage in her chest.

With another scream, the woman flicked her wrist, unsheathing her hidden blade. She sent it towards Jack's stomach, to rip him out, but his knife intercepted her strike. He batted her weapon away and gave her a shove. Alexandra stumbled backwards, trying to catch her balance, but was denied when her opponent sent a kick to her chest. The back of her head landed on the desk with a crack.

She let out a wail of pain as she crashed onto the hard floor. Darkness already surrounded the edges of her vision. Suddenly everything became muted, but she could just make out her brother's shout.

"Alexandra!" Zachary screamed.

"Zachary, run!" Alexandra ordered, unable to hear her own voice.

But apparently, Zachary did hear her. He took off, but the only exit was the door, guarded by Jack. The little Assassin tried to skirt around the menace, only for Jack to catch him by his throat. Zachary choked defenselessly as the Ripper raised him off the floor with a single hand.

"Leave them alone!"

Alexandra saw the ghost of Jacob Frye, and then the world disappeared.

Jacob Frye didn't know how he managed to survive. Maybe there really was a guardian angel. Or Jack just let him live. A deep cut was on his side and his knee throbbed with pain, but somehow, he managed to make to his home. Only to find that Alexandra and Zachary were still there, and they were not alone.

Jack the Ripper had gotten there first.

At his yell, Jacob sliced his blade across Jack's back. The monster had moved at the last second, so it wasn't as deep at the Assassin had hoped, but it gotten his attention. Zachary was tossed across the room with a wail. Then Jacob saw the knife coming for his face.

The Mentor ducked just in time, only for something solid to slam into his chest. He wheezed as he was sent back, but caught his balance just in time to use his hidden blade to block Jack's next attack. Only to be shoved back again. The Ripper sent one strike after another, each one more ruthless than the last, forcing Jacob to desperately evade his attacks. The man hissed when the knife sliced into his skin.

The Assassin struck out his own blade in defense, only for Jack to catch and twist it at an odd angle until there was a sickening crack. Jacob screamed in pain and pushed himself away, trying to gain distance. He barely stayed on his feet. He knew he was at a disadvantage.

Jack was over a decade younger than him and was not hindered by an aging body. He was stronger, faster, smarter. And much, much more ruthless.

Jacob could accept his own death. But he rather be damned than allow the monster to take his family, too. Jacob let out a roar as he charged again, and the fight continued.

The two traded blows, sending attack after attack, never pausing for breath. Horrible sounds of breaking furniture and shattering pottery pierced the air, along with their grunts and growls. It wasn't long before it was obvious who was winning and who was losing.

Jacob struck with both his hidden blades, only for Jack to easily catch his wrists, stopping his attack. He gasped as Jack slammed his head into his brow with a furious roar. The Mentor was sent reeling back, left defenseless as the Ripper delivered a volley of relentless blows. Jacob was sent into the floor, tasting blood. He glanced up just in time to see the knife coming for him.

He scrambled back just as the blade impeded in the wooden floor with a thunk. The man tried to get as far away as his attacker as possible, only to slam into a coffee table and send its occupants onto the floor with a crash. He looked up to see the Jack the Ripper standing over him. He was trapped.

"Don't you see the irony, brother?" the monster drawled, approaching him like a predator nearing its prey. Jacob raised his hands, trying to show he was unarmed.

"Jack, you're sick," he said, his voice almost pleading. The Ripper ignored him.

"Only you know who 'the Ripper' is, but you can't tell a living soul!" The monster knelt next to him, waving his gleaming knife in front of his captive's face. "Because it would destroy you… and the Assassins."

Jacob's gaze flicked from the knife to a book shelf behind the Ripper. There, hidden between a pair of volumes, was his pistol. His only chance.

The man reached behind him, trying to find anything he could use for defense. His fingers wrapped around the stem of a candlestick. Acting quickly, Jacob swung it around into Jack's head with a yell. The monster let out a grunt of surprise and pain, recoiling. Allowing Jacob to escape.

"No, no, no, NO!" the Ripper screamed.

Jacob flew towards the pistol, but he wasn't fast enough. A heavy object slammed into his back, sending him back onto the floor. He rolled over just in time to see Jack leaping off the table, pouncing at him. The Mentor wheezed as the heavy weight of the Ripper landed on top of him. Jacob caught him, pushing back the knife aimed for his chest. Jack shoved him back down, arm leaning on his throat.

"Jack, we can fix you," Jacob promised, but his voice was strained from the pressure on his neck.

"Fix me?" Jack echoed, his harsh voice filled with offense. "I am the solution!"

The knife coming down on him was the last thing Jacob Frye ever saw.