You guys have literally been insane in reviewing the past few days. I'm so glad you're enjoying this story, as I was a bit hesitant to post this initially because of how different it is. Some people asked how many reviews it takes for an upload. Normally it is twelve, but since the chapter before didn't get as much I was planning on holding off for just a little bit more. But you guys just kept reviewing, so I figured you earned this chapter. This chapter is some of Jace's backstory as I wanted to give you guys a break between cliffhangers. I hope you like it!

Jace's life had never been better.

Party lights bore down on him and the stench of weed, cheap booze, and sweat filled the air. The smell had disgusted him once, back when he was an oh so innocent freshman, but as a junior, he had long grown used to the heady scent. In fact, it sparked a burst of adrenaline within him. It reeked of a party, of a chance to let loose and have fun with his friends and—

A smirk lit up his face as he spotted an obscenely tantalizing pair of legs topped with a plushy ass sashaying away from him. It was one of those asses that were just begging to be touched, then pulled, and then kneaded, and oh god—

Of course, there were other perks to the parties too.

"Yo, Herondale!" Amongst the grinding bodies and twirling hips, he heard a familiar voice that caused a genuine grin to light up his face. Jordan, one of his frat brothers and the quarterback of the Bruins was lumbering toward him, looking irritably at a couple that were too comfortable making out in public while stripped to their underwear. Jace couldn't help but smirk at the display. Jordan was never cut out for the frat life. He had always been the mom of their team, the constant designated driver, the one who lectured them as if he weren't just a few years older than the rest of them. Jace knew that if he hadn't needed to join a frat for the alumni connections it offered, Jordan would have been in a dorm spooning his girlfriend to some chick flick rather than at the biggest party of the year.

Jace, on the other hand, lived for the constant pulsing excitement the life of a fratboy offered him. The girls always throwing themselves at him; the constant companionship of his frat brothers; parties that he couldn't remember the next day, but knew nontheless had been epic . What more could a small town kid have wanted when going to university?

From Jace's position perched upon the pool table, he could see everyone in the crammed house. Jordan wasn't going to be making any headway for quite a while judging by the bra clasp that had just been undone in front of Jordan's blushing puritan eyes. That gave him some flexibility to appreciate the crowd a little. That is, appreciate the half of the crowd who lacked testosterone. There were some faces he recognized. Bridgette was practically falling on the keg, just as she had been that one night they had spent together a few months back. She had gotten needy rather fast. And then there was Chelsea, who was posing with her equally scantily clad friends for a cleavage laden selfie. He smirked at the sight of the group, seeing they were as inseparable now as they had been that night he had planned on just getting with Chelsea. Not that he was necessarily complaining about the extra companionship. His eyes danced away from the five, instead flickering to another who was heading right towards him. Dear god, what was her name? Emma? Emily? Brittany? He knew it had been some suburban white girl cliche. But which one?

"Jace!" Her voice was nasally. He cringed, just as he had when he had first heard that nasally voice scream. It had been the first time he had regretted being so great in bed. He pretended not to hear her—as if that was possible—and fixed his gaze on Jordan. The poor guy looked like he was going to pass out, but Jace hardly cared about his friend's discomfort while his own safety was on the line. He heard his name being called again and winced. Emma/Emily/Brittany/? was the type of girl who was used to being heard, but feigned obliviousness to her behavior when confronted. Why had he ever slept with her again?

His gaze had been downturned when she suddenly pushed herself against him, shoving her overly large breasts directly into his eyeline. Oh right, he mused. That's why.

"You've been avoiding me, Jace." He forced his gaze upwards, where she was doing that cutesy innocent eye bat that guys like him were supposed to find sexy, according to movies. He shrugged.

"And you are?"

She giggled. That's what Jace loved about girls like her. He could be as much of an ass as he wanted, yet they would still lap it up. They would literally giggle while he insulted them. Sure, there may occassionally be a "feminist" girl every here and now who would call him out on his bullshit and play hard to get, as if he couldn't treat them like dirt, but even they would always fall and toss their ideals aside to become another giggling plaything for his entertainment with a good enough wink.

"You're awful," she pouted. "If you keep talking like that then there won't be a round two."

"Thank god."

Another giggle. See?

Before she could say anything else, a panting Jordan shoved her aside just as he would the linebacker of the Trojans. She screeched, but Jace never checked to see what happened to her. He had never seen Jordan look so serious.

"What's wrong, man? You've never seen breasts before? I'll be sure to send Maia my sincerest apologies."

Jordan didn't smile. It was like he hadn't heard him. Instead, he pulled out a phone from his pocket—Jace's phone. Jace furrowed his brow in confusion. Jordan normally confiscated phones before big parties to avoid any regrettable drunk texting decisions, but he still didn't understand what had him so shaken.

"Jace," he paused, swallowing thickly as he looked to the golden boy with sad eyes. "Your dad called. I—I forgot that it was your phone so I picked up."

Jace stiffened. "Jordan, I don't get what—"

"He's sick Jace. He's sick and—it's bad."

Jace stood up roughly, stumbling away from Jordan and the party and the night. This wasn't right. It couldn't be. It just—

He was Jace Herondale, the beloved running back and frat boy who could have anyone he wanted. He has the perfect life, people would say about him, and they'd be right. His life was perfect. It had been ever since he had left that dead beat town he'd grown up in, since he had stormed out after getting at it with his dad about what he was doing with his life. They hadn't talked since. And now—

It was all over. His chest felt tight as he stared around at all of the happy, glassy faces surrounding him. The perfect life of the perfect boy had just been ripped out from underneath him. This was all over. He would go home and take care of his father. He had to. Once his dad got better, he could come to take his life back. This wasn't goodbye. Not yet. He was still Jace Herondale.

"Take one last look bitches, because your lives are about to get a lot more pathetic!" he crowed, feeding upon the drunken cheering thrown back. He smiled smally, basking in the hundreds who adored him and always would.

If he had known they all would be dead in a week, maybe he would have thought of something better to say.

His father's body was cold.

It had been a few days since he arrived back home. How had his world fallen apart so quickly? Jace kneeled next to the gray pallored body—because that's what he was now—of his father. The man he had looked up to his entire life. Gone. So quickly, so simply, without a fight. He felt his throat tighten as the first wave of sobs threatened to break free and explode. If they did, he knew there would be no pulling himself together. That would be it. He'd be done for, left to mourn alone for his father in some tiny office in an abandoned mall.

It wasn't fair. His father had been getting better and things had even begun to look up. Then the military came. "Everyone in the city has been ordered to evacuate," they had said on the news. Of course, they were vague on the why, citing some kind of illness or whatever bullshit they were trying to push. His father had adamently refused to leave.

"Nothing good ever happens when the military tries to force people to evacuate," he had grumbled. "You think the Khmer Rouge evacuated Phnom Penh out of the goodness of their own hearts? Pah!"

And so, they had stayed while everyone had left. They had stayed, even while the doctors had fled, taking the medicine his father needed to survive with them. The evacuation order had been two days ago. That was all it took for his father to cough until there was no breath at all.

Jace blamed them. He blamed everyone. He had just been reunited with the man he'd idolized as a child who now was taken from him. There was so much he still had to say. There was so much—

A stirring came from beneath him. Jace jumped, startled. His father's arm twitched beneath him, life flickering inside the form that had been lifeless only a moment ago. A beaming grin broke upon Jace's face.

"Dad," he choked, hastily wiping away tears with the back of his elbow. "You're—you—"

His father's eyes flashed open. There was a growling sound from the back of his throat that Jace had never heard before. Like a blender being blended by another blender while that blender is also blending a small dog. Jace furrowed his brows for a moment, before shaking his confusion away with a chuckle.

"You sound like shit, Dad," he breathed. His father's eyes—were they yellow?—locked on his. The man who had just been on his deathbed lunged with a piercing screech.

"Dad!"

He was on top of him now, his jaw snapping wildly as he fought to tear into his son. Jace screamed, feebly attempting to push his father away from him. He kept screaming his father's name, telling him he was his son, but there was no recognition in his eyes.

Was this PTSD? What did his father, a mall security guard, even have to be traumatized from? Early alzheimers? The possibilities ran through Jace's head as he tried to explain why his father looked as if he wanted to eat him. Tears were running down his face and he felt his resolve weakening just as he heard a pop and felt a cold splash across his face. His father fell limp on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Jace opened his eyes tentatively.

Red was all around him. In his hair, soaking his clothes, an ever growing stain oozing upon the charcoal gray carpet from his father's shattered skull. Jace screamed his father's name, grasping him by the lapel as he cried out. "Come back," his voice was as shattered as his father's temporal lobe. "Dad, please!"

"It wasn't your father, Jace. Not anymore."

The voice came from the doorway. Jace looked up dumbly, again scrambling to wipe away his tears at the new voice. A man with broad shoulders and hair as fair as corn stalk stood. He was wearing his Army Combat Uniform—camo pajamas, he had called them—and in his hands, he clutched an M16A4 rifle with a silencer attached. The gun that had burst his father's skull.

"Uncle Valentine?" Jace felt five years old again. A child with no clue what the world had in store. "What are you talking about? What's going on?"

His uncle sighed, lowering his weapon to kneel beside him. His oil slick eyes gazed at him with compassion and mourning one could only show to those they loved. "Jace, the military lied. They—they lied to all of us. They didn't evacuate the city because of some illness. We've got a goddamn apocalpse on our hands and we hoped that we could cover up what was going on and contain it before any civilians found out but—this isn't a war a government can win."

"Apocalypse? War?" Jace felt like he was going to be sick. "What the hell—"

"Listen, kid, I know it sounds crazy. Believe me, I know. I thought it was crazy too and I promise that I will do my best to explain everything later, but for now, we have to go."

Jace felt suddenly dizzy. "Go? Go where?"

His uncle stood up now, looking toward the doorway. "Me and a couple of my buddies from the squadron left before things got too hairy. We had enough time to prepare a sanctuary full of supplies. We can build a community, first letting in those we trust and then expanding. I was planning on bringing both you and your dad with me but—"

His eyes fell downwards to the still body of his dead brother. Valentine was a soldier, Jace knew. He was trained not to mourn until the battle was won. The grief for his brother and Jace's father would come later, when he was alone and it was quiet. But until then, he would keep moving and do what he could to at least protect his brother's son. Jace would be safe with him. They could survive whatever his uncle said was coming.

"But—why do we need a community? How long is this thing going to last? Can't we just, you know, wait it out?"

Valentine shook his head. "There's no telling how long this will last. All we can do in the mean time is survive as a family and keep going. I can't force you to come with me if you don't want to, but—"

Jace shook his head quickly, standing up from the floor. "No. I'll go with you. I just—" he breathed in roughly, steading himself "—I want to bury Dad. I can't just leave him to rot in this cellar."

Valentine smiled softly, wrapping his arms around Jace in a hug. He sank into the embrace, not realizing just how much he had needed a hug, before he began to cry once more.

College Jace was so much fun to write, in all his ass-ish glory. Especially in comparing how he viewed relationships then and how he's developed (and will continue to develop) in his relationship with Clary. And yes, in this story, Jace is related to Valentine but Clary and Jonathan are not. Because I do what I want.

Next chapter will be a whirlwind from start to finish, but I'm very proud of it. I'm really excited for you guys to read it, so be sure to review so that I can post it as soon as possible! Thanks for all of your support!

-Anika