So, this story has already been pre-written. It only has six chapters. Totaling at 36286 words by Google Docs Word count. This was written over the course of the month of November 2021. This was by request of TheCarlosInferno. The story, the OC, and the plot of this fic are all because of him. I simply wrote it. Therefore, the poster, Soul of Horus—that's me by the way—will not be responding to reviews nor be making changes to the story if you do not like it. I see anti-OC Bias all the time, nothing new.

The OCs name is Cameron Mason. His callsign will be Maverick. The pairing is Rampart x OC. Yes, there will be a lemon, to which when I post the chapter, I will mark it appropriately. Fair warning now, the lemon is the result of writing one after two years of not doing any sort of lemon. The last one—which is not present on this site, rather AO3—was a Halo one.

Inferno wouldn't leave me alone on this—you know it and I get to say it, shush—and for good reason. I still have my own projects but I was interested in the idea he presented to me. This is just me plugging along. I care not for chapter lengths being consistent because this is less than 50k words, making 10 5k word chapters. The point is, I know there are going to be details left out, purposefully vague, and that is because I wanted to get to the ideas that Inferno gave me. So please, do not bash me nor him for tiny oversights.

This content that is provided by all authors on this site and others is from our free time. Most importantly, they are free. So please, do not bitch that something isn't there. Okay? *mumbles off to the side* What the hell, it's the internet, someone will bitch about something.

Chapters will be uploaded weekly on Wednesdays (I know its November 28th, so that means that the next chapter is going to be December 8th and from then on until we're done in January)

With this lengthy note out of the way, let me explain how dialogue works.

"Speaking"

Personal thoughts

"Radio Communique"

Does that make sense? Should something come up and it isn't defined, PM me, and I will fix it, okay? Good, now welcome to Wreaking Havoc.

...

I never thought I would get this chance. I never thought I would be standing here next to this scraggly lot. Probably should thank that old bastard for allowing me a second chance. The man who stood at the door of a dropship opened and feasted his eyes on a modified Kings' Canyon. Just last week they were on World's Edge. The week before that, Olympus.

There were talks of another place, some bullshit getaway island in the middle of some backwater planet. That was for the future. But to explain that, one must first be jumped into the past.

You see, there once was a boy living on the streets of some other backwater planet in the Outlands because of the Frontier War. At least, the remnants of it all. Sure, IMC and Militia have mostly been disbanded, but they still tried to inflict their will upon the residents of this place. It used to be such a great place.

Great for everyone else that is. There would be no such thing for Cameron Mason. He was orphaned at the end of the War and just being six years old when it finally ended made for a very dark and rough childhood. People spat at him, cussed him a new one—marking the start of a very vulgar repertoire of words—and even threw food and blades at him. There was no sympathy to be found there. He kept the blades in the pockets of his ragged clothes. Never know when the need to shank someone arises.

Everyone whom he sought out, family friends or someone close, couldn't house him because of the lack of supplies that the War caused. The IMC once occupied out here but were driven back, and they haven't made an appearance since. Once the Militia won, they disappeared, fucked off to who knows where. They left the war-torn planets to themselves, and he hated them for that. They were the problem just as much as the IMC. That made for a long road ahead.

It wasn't until the young Cameron stumbled into an alley and just curled into a ball. The Frontier must have been mocking him that night because it started to downpour. This is how I die...cold, hungry, and alone. I hate this world. I hate everyone. I hate the IMC and the Militia! Someone should have been there for me! Most often, other orphans had to band together to survive.

Sometimes, that worked. Other times, it ended with children's blood coating the sewers. Why feed an extra mouth when they aren't being a proactive member of society? There was no such thing as rules around here. It was one of those things that never seemed to get into anyones' head. Not that it mattered. They were left to govern themselves. That never works out.

With the current atmosphere, it wasn't a game of Gunshot or Firework, but a game of Dead or Alive? If anything, Cameron expected to just shrivel up and die in that alley. His clothes were soaked, his body cold and shivering, and nowhere to call 'home'. He could barely remember his parents. He's survived for almost two years but that was only by luck and any remaining sympathy that people had.

Does anyone know about Fate? Cause, let's be honest, that shit works at either the best or the worst times. Tonight just so happened to be one of those nights where it was both. "Yo Kendrick, ain't that somebody?"

Even in the rain, he could hear their voices. Cameron wanted them to leave, but he wanted them to stay, but I want them to leave! No, stay! The indecision within him just made him freeze in place.

"Aww shit, it's another orphan," a lighter voice said. Quite the mouth on her it seems. Not much else to be said. Cameron didn't move, and he didn't even breathe. They would probably torture and kill him for sport or a night of laughs. There was a case of that recently…

"Boss said to take them in," Presumably Kendrick replied. "Don't know why...but orders are orders."

"You know he can probably hear you, 'cause he's not dead. In fact, I bet he's terrified. I mean, you heard of that one case where they tortured that little girl and then cut her tongue out to silence her cries?" the woman said

"Glad those bastards are dead. Well, Marcy, you found him, you get to carry him," Kendrick snickered.

The woman, Marcy, spat, "Hells no, you pick him up."

Cameron didn't get a chance as he felt a boot into his stomach, making him swallow the bile in his throat, "Oi, little shitstick, up and at 'em!"

"Smooth," Marcy deadpanned.

"G-Go away…" Cameron croaked, coughing up a lung and probably a little blood as well.

"Don't care, you're coming with us. The Boss wants a word with you," Kendrick replied, scooping the fragile Cameron over his shoulder and walked out of the alley whistling a tune. Marcy first noted the fact how dead the kid's eyes were. The green in them was dulled like he's already suffered and died once. Perhaps he has.

That was the night that Fate took the wheel and it was not going to give it up so easily. There was more in store for this child named Cameron Mason. The soon-to-be Maverick.

Arriving at some dive bar on the outskirts of the town and was put in front of a bunch of people who were eying him like fresh meat. It was no wonder why his hands went down to the blade he had in his pocket. Since he was a child, he knew not to trust so easily. Yet children should be trusting of others because they're naïve to the world around them. Not this child. No, he's been roughed up by the world and he knew it was only going to get worse before it gets better.

So, Cameron didn't offer resistance as he was...escorted...to a seat in the middle of the bar. It reeked of alcohol—obviously—and the smell of cigars. There was another smell in the air, and judging from the way people were moving suggestively at the bar, they were engaging in an act too dirty for an impressionable child. He couldn't hear, but with the way the man was moving his hips...yeah...they were having a great time.

"This the kid?" a voice from behind a chair said. A feminine voice said. Cameron knew there were gangs and such but they were run by men, most of the time. There were a couple of small gangs run by women. What did I just get dragged into? The chair turned around and Cameron couldn't see who it was as the lights were working against him. "You found him in an alley close to their territory?"

"Yes, ma'am," Marcy replied, a ravenette who had the expression of boredom locked down tight. "He's been going there for weeks, finally got him when it looked like he was about to kick it."

Ironically, a bucket was kicked across the room. The Boss looked him over, and Cameron fidgeted in his seat. They must have locked eyes at least once because Cameron could feel the smile in her voice, "Perfect, he looks broken, but nothing a few good meals won't fix. Nana! Bring him something light." A new toy, perhaps. Maybe he will be a fine man one day. He has the eyes of a soon-to-be killer and I want to see how far he's willing to go. Safe to say, the Boss doesn't make a move without thinking long-term.

A voice from the kitchen, "Aye, Boss!"

The voice leaned forward until he came face-to-face with a woman who had a scar down her right cheek, ending at her neck, an eyepatch covering her right eye, and a smile that promised much more sinister things. "What's your name, darling?"

The poor child tried, and failed, to keep the stutter out of his voice, "C-Cameron M-Mason."

"Okay, Cameron, here's how things are going to work here," the Boss said, leaning forward with both arms on the table. He didn't dare look down. "If I and my crew provide for you, you gotta join us. If you don't, then you can leave and go die on the streets. It sounds simple, right? Nod if you're following me," she cooed.

Cameron dumbly nodded. He could smell something good being made. Admittedly, his focus was there.

"Good," the Boss purred, her gloved hand gently caressing his face. "So, you join my crew, we become your family, and you get to live in somewhat comfort. If you join, you go on jobs, complete them, and return home. You'd be under my property. Just know, the world isn't sunshine and rainbows."

"I k-knew that. The streets weren't any better," Cameron replied back.

"Is that a yes?" the Boss asked as an older woman came out from the kitchen area with a small bowl of soup. Cameron just eyed it, even as his stomach protested. "What's wrong? I thought you were hungry?"

"Why should I trust anything you say?" he asked. "How do I know this isn't got something bad in it?"

The Boss hummed, "Astute, I like that." She reached out with a spoon and scooped out a little soup and then ate it. "Mmm, Nana, your cooking's amazing."

"Thanks, Boss!"

With that being done, Cameron ate the soup gently. It was amazing. Once he finished, "I accept."

"Wonderful," the Boss said, a feline-like smile on her face. "Welcome to the Jackals, little Cam."

That night changed his life forever.

Over the course of the next few months, Kendrick taught him how to kill. Yeah, let's teach a six-year-old how to take a man's life, that'll go well. He often learned how to wield blades and handle firearms. Pistols mostly, like a P2015. A small thing for a boy. Marcy often taught him how to act normal, like a boy his age should.

"Remember to check the safety before picking up a weapon," Kendrick said. "Only use it when your life is in immediate danger. We may have to use it if a situation goes bad. Now, pick it up."

Cameron reached out and slowly grasped the pistol. It felt light, well, for him anyway, but it did take some considerable strength for him to hold. That was when the gun was empty! Kendrick put down a full magazine of bullets for him. "Load the gun, keep your finger off the trigger, and wait."

The young boy gently picked up the ammo, inspected it for a moment, before turning and putting it into the gun with ease. He's also seen people slap the bottom of the gun to ensure it made it inside. So, that's what he did. Kendrick didn't say anything, not even a note of him being impressed. He was more impassive when he was teaching. What he did do was reach behind him and flick down a lever, allowing the receiver to slide forward.

"Now, aim." Cameron did so, "Breath in and out." The boy did. "Aim for the target." He sighted in. "Now, squeeze the trigger, and hold the gun firm." Repeating all the steps, he slowly pulled the trigger. BANG!

Cameron smiled, "I did it!"

Kendrick nodded, "You did, you hit the target, not in the middle, but it was better than some people's first time." Cameron put the gun down before feeling the excitement of it all.

The Boss was watching with a serene smile, it's almost time for the baptism. He will learn what it means to be a Jackal. The lessons will come as he learns. Or he dies...it would be no skin off her back. Kendrick caught her eye and nodded. He knew what his mission was.

Cameron, the adorable boy, was unaware of the interaction, too excited to shoot the gun again; with supervision, of course.

The first night he ever went on a Raid was when he was eight. Over that past year or so, he's learned all sorts of stealth and assault tactics. It was a matter of time that he would put them to use. In this city, it was take what you can, keep what you can, and kill those who try to do the former. There was no such thing as authority. Admittedly, the Boss did tell him to clean his room from time to time. Come on though, Marcy's room gets dirtier than his. Even his neighbor, Eve, was a nice girl. She liked blades more than him…

There was no need to trespass any further. It made for a time that wasn't going to be covered yet. Anyway, the mission, go into the enemy's base, light a spark and watch the building burn. It was so commonplace that people ignored the plight altogether. As long as they stayed out of the way, the Jackals wouldn't touch them. It was like an unspoken game rule. No matter the cause, if a civilian is confirmed innocent, they are not to be killed. It was a war between the gangs, that much was clear.

Anyway, the mission. Cameron had to be the innocent child that was lost. They even roughed him up for real, because "makeup was for pussies" according to the Boss. She doesn't use it and Cameron did think she was pretty. She must have noticed because of the way she smirked at him.

So, Cameron had to limp into their enemies' territories and burn down any of their bases. It wasn't ever specified which one he had to, and it was left to his discretion. Why would they trust an eight-year-old with something like this? He would find out why soon.

The enemy's name was the Bengals. Yes, like the cats. Yes, the irony is duly noted. He easily limped in and saw the first patrol. The pain was very real. He hasn't been sene on the streets for almost two years. If he was, he acted like the poor little kid he was. It wasn't hard to act out a role that he once had for years. His parents were dead, thanks to the war. Not much to say.

"Yo, Jason, that's one of the orphans!" a group of three approached, and thank whoever brought them along because he was actually fifteen seconds away from collapsing. The hardest part was not to fight back.

An unintended whimper escaped Cameron's lips as he felt something shift, he was so going to get Mort back for that. He aimed for a joint, like who does that to a child? "What the hell happened to you?"

"J-Jackels…I...I tr-tried to fight back..."

"Those sonsa bitches!" One screamed clutching their hold on an R-98 SMG. The R-97 model was outdated, less likely to jam. "There's an agreement to leave people outside our business alone! They've crossed the line!"

The third was a woman, who carried a Smart Pistol, which remained at her side. Cameron took steps back from them, playing the card well. She kneeled down before him and held out a hand, "We'll take you back until you recover, okay, sweetie?"

"Triste, you know that would-"

"And I'm not leaving this kid to die, Jericho!" Triste said, gently picking him up, not before she subtly patted him down. Well, this kid ain't carrying anything. He probably got unlucky with another orphan group. There are a lot of groups, accepting all ages. "Why didn't you go to a group with other orphans?"

"They would beat me up because they think I would 'overthrow' them. I j-just wanted to sleep on something that wasn't concrete" Cameron said. Partly true. Partly false, a lie of omission.

"Damn kids," Jericho said. "Come on, Boss will want an update."

Cameron mentally tacked off step one. Step two was getting inside and finding the things that go boom. The boy would smile upon his fortune when he gets there.

The base that he was brought to was close by to his old stomping ground. Thankfully, Cameron kept himself low to the ground. His injuries were minor in some retrospect, and to make the story believable about fighting back, some of his knuckles were split. The blood dried and felt uncomfortable.

Triste was the one who cared for him, washing him off and dressing him. It almost felt motherly. Cameron was shown the basics of the place but found that the armory had some special explosives.

Once Triste left him alone in a single room, Cameron began to formulate a plan. He put his ear to the door and listened for people. Once he found none, he peeked outside the window. Once more, he saw no one. So, he propped the window open and snuck out. His goal was to the armory and blow that up.

So, under the cover of night, he snuck away and found a backdoor. Thye had horrible security. I guess there's a reason why they haven't attacked this one. Was it for me? As he continued through this, he saw the proper firestarter.

Within a few minutes, he lit the fuse and got the hell outta there. The explosive shockwave made him stumble but it got him to move faster, especially since he saw the people who took him in. One of them snarled and raised their weapon. He took that as a sign to run. So, Cameron ran, hiding his head from the rain of bullets coming his way. The sounds of screams pierced the air. He would eventually know that fifteen people lost their lives that night.

"Bengals! Kill that fucking kid!" a voice that sounded like a guy who choked on his meals every night.

A piercing pain shot up his left side, and Cameron recalled the Boss's warning. "If you feel like something bit you real hard, you just got shot. Stay out of sight."

So, that's what he did. He jumped into the first alley he could and climbed up the fire escape, blood now coating his hand. He leaped onto the roof and laid there. He wasn't in danger of bleeding out, but he was in danger of being caught. As a child, his lung capacity was not up to par. He didn't have time to grab a weapon, so when he heard footsteps he tensed.

"Well, look at that, the little shit did it," Cameron recognized the voice of the Boss.

"Hey Boss!" he waved with his bloody hand.

The Boss's eyes were drawn to the wound, "Well, looks like you'll be getting your first scar, Cam."

"Cool. Okay...I'm gonna…" his vision gained black spots and the adrenaline that was present in his system diluted.

Hands cradled his form, "I got you, sweetie, I got you. Jackels, let's move."

From that day forward, he became the pyrotechnic of the group because not a single person thought that a child was going to blow up a Bengal base without hesitation. He laid low from that point and the Boss gave him a choice. Be a permanent member or continue doing small-time jobs.

For Cameron, the choice was obvious. So, imagine his confusion when he was escorted to a tattoo shop when he was ten years old. The Boss didn't elaborate, and she didn't have to when the owner walked forward, eyed the pair, then said, "The normal, Boss?"

"Mmhmm, make sure it's able to be adjusted in the future. He'll need it."

"It'll be done, Boss. Kid, come here, I gotta ask you some important health-related questions. They are important and may not apply but for the sake of it, stay with me." The owner beckoned Cameron over. "Do you have any diseases that I should know about?"

"No, the last thing that was major was taking a gunshot twoish years ago," Cameron replied plainly.

That gained a bewildered look to the boss, "What the hell did you send him on?"

The Boss must have made some gesture because the way the owner's eyes lit up, "So, that was you? Damn...okay. So, no diseases, no major injuries in the past year. Diet?" a shrug, "Okay, normal. Boss, you sure?"

"Positive. I've checked over him myself, he'll be fine, just give him something to bite down on. Tattoos are a long process," The Boss said.

Cameron was directed to lay down on a chair. "Alright, bite down on the towel when you feel pain, make a sound, but do not move. Can you at least try to do that?" A nod.

"Same pattern, Boss?" The pen turned on, "Alright, welcome to the Elite of the Jackels, kid."

The pain wasn't bad. It was actually pretty nice, at least to Cameron. He even fell asleep. So, the weeks went by and once he got a peek of his new ink, he was jumping up and down like a kid his age should when something is exciting.

The tattoo was of a skull, missing a few fragments, one yellow-rimmed eye visible, missing the lower jaw. Below it was a bed of roses, and on the sides were two large-caliber bullets. Beneath that, were the words, 'Most Dangerous Game'. A present for his first successful mission. It took time to set this up, and it was well worth the wait.

Skip ahead a few years, putting Cameron at fourteen.

The tattoo caused no problems and has yet to be adjusted. The only thing that was happening was the new scars he kept getting. A few close calls and another bullet wound added to his list of ever-growing injuries. Over that time, he's learned how to repair and build stuff. A young mind to absorb the knowledge of his elders.

The woman known as Nana loves to dote on Cameron, attempting to teach him how to cook for that 'special someone' one day. It was that day that he saw the Boss pout and get a hit from a wooden spoon. Cameron was wondering why she still had a wooden spoon in the 28th century.

On patrol one day, Cameron and Eve, a nice girl, older than him by five years, stopped him, "You see that?"

Cameron adjusted his shades to peer to where her finger was pointing and sure enough, he saw it. A fucking Titan, just lumbering along. The fear welled up inside of him faster than he ever thought. Titans were the reason that the Outlands were still recovering, at least this planet. Others may have already recovered. Titans were the reason why his parents were gone. The IMC and Militia were a core problem in the Outlands. They never helped, only accomplished their mission and fucked off to who knows where. Cameron hopes they'll all be dead.

"We should leave," Eve said, her grip on his shoulder would be considered bone-crushing if not for the fact he was wearing a shoulder pauldron that he made out of spare parts. Looks old as shit but still deflects the occasional bullet.

"No, I'm going to destroy that thing."

"You fucking crazy, Cam? The Boss wants you alive, remember?"

Eve didn't react fast enough as he bolted off to the lumbering giant. The optic of the Titan turned towards Cameron but did not raise its weapon or even defend itself. The hostility radiating off of Cameron should have been enough for the Titan's defense protocols to kick in. Yet as he walked toward it, his steps went from hostility to confusion. The Titan's optic just stared at him. Eve finally caught up but her eyes were glued to the Titan's. Its optic didn't move, just stayed focused on Cameron.

"Who are you?" Cameron found himself asking.

To his shock, and surprise, it was a feminine voice that responded, [ID confirmed, Cameron Mason.] He paled and shared a look with Eve. [A small token of my pilot's appreciation. Use my parts to further yourself.] the optic flickered once.

"Woah woah woah, the hell do you mean, your 'Pilot'? Pilots haven't been seen in decades." Hell, none of these things have been seen either, so…"Why the hell have you ID'ed me?" Cameron asked confused. "Eve, get the Boss on the line."

"Already working on it," she replied, her eyes never leaving the Titan.

[For good reason, and a final order from my Pilot. Protocol One: Link to Pilot. Protocol Two: Uphold the Mission. Protocol Three: Protect the Pilot] The optic flickered. [Mission Complete.] Then, the Titan fell to its knees and powered down for the final time.

"What did the Boss say?" Cameron asked after looking at this Titan.

"The Boss is coming, and she's…" Eve said. Cameron gulped. If one cannot describe the Boss's mood, she is a mixed bag of emotions. So this was either going to go very good, or very bad.

That was how they ended up in a Jackel warehouse with the Titan stung up, the core removed. WT-4586, the core read. It was in Cameron's hands and upon first inspection, it was fully intact. No chips, no cracks, no nothing. "I thought Titans were all off-planet, back with their militaries." Cameron looked over to the Boss who was deep in thought. She was not pleased with this outcome and for some reason, she wouldn't tell him why. That was the thing that annoyed the teenager.

"They should have been…" the Boss replied. Why the hell did she come back? Instead of stewing on it, she had other business to attend to. There are things in the works that she is not going to be happy about. "Cameron, use any parts you can to outfit yourself. This chassis you've brought back is an Ion Titan. The markings match. So, you could use the equipment."

"What's on it?" he asked.

She smirked, the corner of her mouth crinkling, "Fuck around and find out."

Find out he did, and within a year, this town started calling him a new name. The Crimson Juggernaut.

Skip ahead a few more years and Cameron is now twenty-one. Easily one of the more decorative officers of the Jackals. They've done plenty of raids, and there was plenty of blood on his hands. Crimson Juggernaut has made a name on this town. You become a mark on his list, it'll be another notch for his belt.

With that Titan chassis, he kept the core. Something told him that one day he might need it. It turned out, he did. During that year of tinkering, he used the core to them use the equipment. Over his right pectoral was a device, on his left wrist was a gauntlet. His two pieces of equipment allowed him to be the Juggernaut that he is. It's actually a fascinating process. There was something else about the core that made him feel something, almost empathize with the Titan.

These pieces of equipment are a crucial part of his loadout. On his thigh was a Wingman, on his back holster was the first gun that Kendrick ever gave him. Littered about his person were knives, expendable ones. Since they were so commonplace, no one could trace them. His fingerprints were lost from the system, so Cameron being an orphan was something that he didn't account for saving his skin.

Anyway, over the years, Cameron has proven himself time and time again. Cameron already had the Boss's attention, so it was a matter of promoting him. The things that he was tasked with doing bordered on harassment but Cameron knew when to put his foot down. As a side note, his romantic life was dull, despite sleeping with a few people, rocking their worlds.

Seriously, how did I not see that she was a cougar? A very hot cougar, but I'm not about sleeping with higher-ups. Makes people talk. Today was like any other day, normally.

Over the past few years, four to be exact, there was new 'management' in the area. Some large cooperation—not the IMC—popped up and started cracking down on the gangs and crime. A 'Promise to reform the planet to make it a safe Haven' was the biggest load of bullshit since the end of the Frontier War. Cameron didn't like authority to those that don't understand the area. The Jackals understand the place, their home, where their own flesh and blood are shed, keeping the place happy.

While business ventures on the legitimate side of things are going well, it's starting to become a competition. No one likes competition and the market isn't a monopoly. Obviously, trade comes in and people get supplies, but these cooperations are starting to claim the majority of said supplies in the name of 'jumpstarting their business' or some half-cocked excuse that they are just eating up. Cameron wanted to kill them immediately but surprisingly, the Boss told him to stand down.

Grunting, he reached down to his newest habit, smoking. Sometimes, the stress of everything just gets to him and he needed a way to cope that wasn't just drinking and sex. So, this was the alternative. Like come on, who the fuck does yoga anymore? Appearance-wise, Cameron has certainly grown. The way he was outfitted had changed from when he was a teenager. At first, it was just clothes that he could fit in, no rhyme or reason. Now, the clothes felt like they were made for him and him alone. A form-fit tunic, long armored pants, boots with a blade fashioned within the soles, the works. Cameron molded his hair into a short mohawk, nothing super obnoxious but easy enough to manage if he had to.

He wasn't the most built, but he wasn't that scrawny weak kid that he was so long ago. The Boss made good on her word. He transformed from a weak little shit to a bigger, stronger piece of shit. To help strengthen his coordination and ability to read his opponents, he entered the fight clubs around the city under a false name, as his own would draw too much attention. James Alder was his alter ego, and he was classified as a regular.

He won most of the time, some were close, but there were some that were better than him. There was always someone better. That's just a fact. Every time he lost, he would get up, shake his opponent's hand and leave. Not in shame, but with a sense of humility. Arrogance would only breed incompetence.

When he would return, everyone would shit on him that he 'was the worst fighter' to which he would retort that he could still kick their ass even in his sorry state.

To be fair, everyone in the Jackals all calls one another the most obscene, offensive names you could ever conjure—except the Boss because she'll kill you if you called her a c**t—and they'll laugh and have a drink later. Camaraderie at its finest, everyone.

Thanks to that fight training, as he calls it, all of the raids that Cameron went on were huge successes too. That, and because of his gear. The way it works is fascinating. No one in the Jackals ever thought that having a literal laser from a Titan could be used in such a manner. The man has gained control over it.

As for the raid themselves, they are not hip-fire raids. Each raid was precisely planned, precisely executed, and they got away scot-free, weeks even months apart. Never the same target, never the same crew, if it can be helped. They were aiming for bigger fish and it was working. There was one major problem though, and that was the fact that the gangs, small to medium-size ones, were dropping off the map entirely. Not many gangs were left. Most of the small ones were absorbed into bigger ones until there were three factions. Normally, one would think that means more territory for the big fish. The problem was that no one claimed responsibility. Not a single person or group took that bait. This conglomerate was responsible but they just couldn't exactly go to war. Their enemy is unknown, unlike everything else.

Theories were thrown around, and all sorts of things and- "Hell yeah, I told you the speedster was going to win!"

Cameron turned to see a TV screen broadcasting something called the Apex Games. They were on...Psamathe...the planet was. Specifically, Olympus. Some new Legend was there...Horizon was her name or something. Cameron didn't particularly care.

"What the hell is it now?" Cameron drawled looking to the two subordinates.

"Sup, CJ," CJ being the shortened version of Crimson Juggernaut. He preferred the term Maverick since that's what he felt like, even in the Jackals. A free spirit or as some people say, an unorthodox person. "The Games are fun to watch, you think you might ever be in them?"

A scoff, "Nah, they are in a league of their own. It honestly is fucking stupid they get to be paid for the stuff we do out here."

A shrug, which was basically conceding to the point, "Whatever, Octane seems to be a handful, but he's fast."

"Not faster than a laser, or a bullet for that matter," Cameron replied, walking away. Still cradling his cigarette, he entered the Boss's wing. She needed him for something and she needed her left-hand man. Yep, little old me is the third of the Jackals. Fuck the haters. The layout of the whole place has changed. They no longer used that dinky bar, since the Jackals have expanded since then.

Now, they own a good portion of the City and use multiple safehouses and warehouses to conduct business. It surely shouldn't be a big thing if she needs him for something. She calls him in all the time, and some of those times he immediately walks out. The image was great, perfect even, but again, he's not one for sleeping his way to the top. The Boss does it to tease him...he thinks. He's not dense, but the Boss has this sort of cryptic way of talking, explaining. It is most likely a defense mechanism from before the gang.

Knocking on the door to her office, he heard, "Come on in."

Opening the door, "I don't have a proper reply to that, Boss." Cameron averted his eyes in case this was another attempt. Upon peeking out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the Boss was fully dressed. "Good, you're dressed."

"Were you expecting me to be undressed?" The Boss raised an eyebrow, smirking. Cameron deadpanned her.

"Whatcha need? I was prepping for that raid on that slimy bastard Zac. I only came because you knew of the mission, sanctioned it even. So, I showed up," Cameron said.

The Boss put her arms on her table, "My agents are reporting back to me that they are mounting an offensive, soon."

The cigarette was put out and his focus was here and now. "What have they come back with?"

She sighed, rubbing her forehead, "That's the thing, they haven't."

Cameron frowned, "You think…"

"Yeah."

He sucked in a breath, "Should I have the preparations made under the radar?" The Boss nodded. "Yeesh, must be bad if you actually said yes. I'll begin after my assignment in a day, or does this take top priority."

"Focus on your mission and once you're done, get your crew off-planet. Rally point Tango," the Boss said.

"Got it."

"You bastard, you'll never get away with this!" The slimy man himself, Zac, said as he crawled pitifully backward.

A red light was cast over the room, "I already have." The raid went beautifully, with not a single casualty. Only a few injuries. That's a win for the Jackals. These poor bastards were caught off-guard. The sleeper agent was a perfect decoy, faking him being caught, only to be saved. However, that didn't mean she was off the hook.

He would regard her with suspicion for the time being. More to the point, he had a target to kill.

All that could be heard was the firing of a laser and the smell of burning flesh. The crew watched with fascination. They were excited to be working with the Crimson Juggernaut. They got to see his ruthlessness in action. "Mission complete, team," he said as he walked by. "Start preparing to leave."

"Leave, sir?"

"Boss gave the order. Move to Rally Point Tango, pack light. We won't be coming back."

"Sir!" they waved and they were gone, even the sleeper.

The memories of this place would stick with him until he died. Every now and again, he thinks about the parents he never got to know. Would they be disappointed in him? Happy that he made his own life? Sad that he had to turn to this life?

"It doesn't matter, the mission is done. Time to go," Cameron said to himself, looking over his shoulder before going. "Someone's following me, don't wait up." Looks like work isn't over.

The next few hours can be described as wandering the place, in his territory with his location on to the rest of the Jackals, so that if something happens, they could be on him in a minute. When he felt the eyes peel off him, he turned and took a long convoluted route home. There was not going to be a tail on him when he arrived home. Just in case, "Hey Mom, grocery shopping ran a little late, I'll be home soon. Just gotta make one more stop."

The Boss's voice came through seconds later, "That's fine sweetie, did you make sure you got everything?"

"Yeah, Mom, I got the milk, eggs, some cheese, a couple of steaks to share with the fam," he said, continuing his walk home, merging with the night crowd. With that being done, he slipped out unnoticed and made a light jog home. "See ya soon, love ya, Mom."

"Love you too, sweetie," she replied. Sometimes he wonders if she really means that.

Nothing happened the night after, or the night after that, or even the night after that...and it was slowly starting to drive Cameron crazy. The order was issued across the entirety of the Jackals, so people made calm, precise movements to extract. Cameron refused to let his guard down. He knew that the exact moment that he does is the exact moment that they kick in the door and everything goes to shit. One night, a package was left in his room, and the Boss's writing was all over the package. Something to have your back when all else fails.

Definitely strange. Cameron opened the box and saw a knife laying inside. This knife already didn't seem normal. Well, there was that, and the note. New technology called a Vibroknife. If you latch onto an enemy with this? The simple wound can be opened fifty times over before they realize they've been stabbed. Enjoy, sweetie. From, Mom. "Well, that's thoughtful. I've been in need of a new knife."

Finding its sheath, Cameron strapped it to his belt, opting to test it out later when he had the chance. Right now, he needed to speak to his mother. That shift in their relationship happened a few years ago. As of now, they've been hush-hush about it. Not for the reason one would think. It's because Cameron doesn't want to be seen as getting 'special' treatment, in both senses; props if the intellectuals get it. But yeah, that will never happen, ever.

Heading down the hallway, Cameron knocked on the door, "Ready, Boss?" She, instead of answering, beckoned him inside. He opened the door, and stepped inside, shutting it soon after.

"Cameron, I haven't told you my name ever, have I?" The Boss asked, slightly out of character for her.

"No, you haven't. I've never asked, and I never planned to. You're acting weird, Boss." His hand fell to his Wingman. "Is it too late?"

The Boss didn't get a chance to respond as an explosion rocked the building. Cameron cussed as he immediately grabbed the Boss's wrist and started escorting her out. "If anyone needs to survive, it's you and that is not up for debate.'

"Cameron…" the Boss breathed out, trailing behind him. He's too loyal. That is something that anyone can respect, but they were insistent. "You need to leave, now."

"Sorry, but that isn't how I'm going out, abandoning my family, or do you not remember a conversation that we had years ago? This place, this gang, is my family and I won't be sitting quietly while I watch it burn to the ground. I won't desert those who picked me up off the streets. So If I have to send you in a stasis capsule to keep you alive, I will."

The Boss looked away, that won't save me. "Cameron…"

He paused in his speed walk to turn to look at his boss. "What?"

"Did I ever tell you that you are like a son to me?" She asked.

"Where's this coming from?" Cameron asked. It did set a warmth in his heart, knowing that was how she viewed him.

"You ever wondered why I was always worried about you? I never got to have children of my own. Old scars prevented that," the Boss said. "So, when we took you in, I thought it was a chance. A selfish one, but not one I regret."

"That...actually makes me feel good. Now, I'd like to reminisce some more, but we got to go."

They continued down the hall until an object smashed through the window, rolling in between them. Cameron recognized it first and with a grunt of exertion, pushed his Boss away and fell back soon after. "Grenade!" The object exploded and Cameron wasn't far enough away from the blast radius and as a result, he flew back into the wall making black spots appear in his vision. Rubble started falling in front of him, cutting him off from the Boss.

She cried out, "Cameron!" as she watched him disappear from her sight.

The ground met him and some more rubble too. He heard the carnage of gunshots, screams, and cries of mercy. To which their enemies had none. What goes around, comes around, as the saying goes. Cameron felt his consciousness fading and he tried to fight it, but the pull of the darkness was too strong.

Be strong, Jackals, and we will prevail.