Jet had allowed his defenses to fall upon his discovery of Longshot, this silent, untrained, orphaned, yet like-minded archer. But as he strode restlessly through the red-stained trees – side-by-side with Longshot, unwilling even in his youth to be a follower – his torment came back to him with full force. The captivating eyes of godless fire demons, the bitter taste of a half-lived mortality, the sickening way a man gargled when his throat bled. Jet hammered it into his mind, focused on the fierceness of his movement, the vengeance that he had not yet reaped. He would kill them. He would make them suffer.

This code of which he lived by – a code of revenge and repentance, to bring judgment upon the devils of Fire Nation – had its own precious drawbacks. He would never again know the comfort of love, the relief of perfect safety. The cheap luxury of friendship was no longer part of Jet's life.

Beneath the shadows of branches and crimson leaves, Jet's mind began to turn in a slow, cunning, calculating way. For months he had been isolated, absorbed with his own pain, his own guilt and despair. He had driven himself so far into the tortured recesses of thought that all other life forms practically ceased to exist. He had listened to birds call from the trees and, though he could mimic their voice, he did not recognize them any more he did the soundless piles of dirt at his feet. He was consumed by paranoia, by vengeance, by bloody desire. He noted the wind only for the smells it carried; the trees only for the food it bore; the moon and the sun only for the passing of time. Day by day he had labored at a log to build a home, and now – as Longshot paused at the edge of a thicket and bent low – he had discovered his greater purpose.

His army was becoming a reality. And he was absolutely determined to be its General.

Longshot gestured lightly before them and Jet lowered himself to his knees. The thicket obscured his vision and it was growing dark, but he found a passage between the thorns and peered, hesitantly, into the dusk-lit clearing.

And when he saw who was sitting there, he did – what he supposed – was a very sensible thing.

He laughed. Very loudly and decisively, he laughed.

Longshot stared at him in horror as the occupants leapt from where they were sitting. Jet, fueled by both arrogance and experience (you could never really tell which) straightened up, dusted himself off, and stepped boldly into the clearing.

One of the kids scuttled backwards, but his fellows stopped him from running. A small boy – hardly as tall as Jet's hip – picked up a stick and brandished it like a poor replica of Excalibur. He launched himself towards the smiling, smug-looking boy with all his minute strength, his throat uttering a high-pitched cry. What he got was a foot to the heel and a face-full of dirt.

"Calm down, pipsqueak. I'm not here to kill you."

He said it in such a plain-spoken, matter-of-fact way that it almost – almost – could have been considered a joke. Almost.

The rest of the children stared at him in either stomach-twisting terror or complete and total awe. A five year old's thumb was hanging guiltily at his lips, his attention captured by the dark, powerful stranger with the brooding shadows at his shoulders. Longshot, shaking his head grimly, appeared beside him with his bow in hand, unwilling to attempt fitting his only arrow. Jet tilted his head backwards and nodded acknowledgement to the dagger twirling in his right hand. The children shrank back slightly, but dared not run. The boy whom Jet had called pipsqueak was struggling up from the earth.

"I no Pipsqueak…my daddy is…big as a tree! I'll be big too, you'll see…"

A larger boy held him back as he continued to swing the stick like a homerun baseball bat. Jet studied him with a casual eye, not disturbed in the least by any of the children's behaviors. Most of them were solely focused on the slim dagger in his palm, too entranced by it gleaming movement to ask questions. From the corner of his eye Jet counted heads, just in case. Seven: five boys and two girls.

Longshot tapped his shoulder to warn him he was overdoing the victorious entry. Jet nodded and walked towards the tallest boy, who was almost the same height as him.

"What's your name?"

The boy stared at him for a minute before stuttering a response.

"S -Son Nih. Everyone calls me Sneers."

Jet's lipped curled into a smile. The boy's face was a mess of leechy nut shells and some sort of exotic, sticky goo that he didn't especially want to wonder about. His belly was fuller than the other boys and his face was slightly chunky. His eyes were very thin, as if he was constantly squinting. Jet wondered over this.

"You don't see very well, do you?"

Sneers stared at the dark boy for a moment, blinking his squinted eyes twice.

"I see alright," he mumbled. Jet smirked.

"Look down, Sneers."

Sneers did as he was told and gasped, horrified to discover that Jet's dagger was hovering, pointed indifferently at his thick-skinned chest. Jet allowed him one more moment of panic before taking the dagger away.

"Pay more attention, Sneers," he stated. He walked past the terrified boy who stood, gaping, and moved on to a pair of twins huddling close to each other.

"What about you? What're your names?"

At this point a toddler in the back began to cry, clutching to his older sister. She had raven black hair that fell thick and heavy across her shoulders and piercing, emerald eyes. She glared hatefully at Jet, his arrogance too complete and annoying for her to bear. Furious, she snatched the stick away from Pipsqueak and approached the dark boy with an air of absolute mutiny. Jet, intent on interrogating the twins, failed to notice her. This played well into the hands of the girl and she raised the stick above him, fully prepared to bring it crashing down upon his scalp.

There was a thud and the stick fell to the ground. Longshot, loyal to his eccentric partner, knocked the stick from her grasp and pointed between her eyes with the tip of the arrow.

Jet turned, walked up beside Longshot, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He identified the girl instantly as being the group's informal leader, and knew, just as instantly, that he needed to replace her.

"And what's your name?"

She glared spitefully at him, but Longshot's arrow was still pointed between her eyes. Any outlet of frustration would cause her more harm than her antagonist. Instead, she threw her words towards him like spears coated in venom.

"Who do you think you are, you – you obnoxious, cruel –"

To her astonishment, Jet silenced her by stepping towards her and bending down on one knee. He acknowledged her superiority and bowed his head, and she stared at him like he was a three-headed goat.

"I meant no harm. I think we can help each other. Do you lead them?"

The girl seemed to struggled for her voice and lose terribly. Her brother piped up from the back.

"We don't have a leader. We're looking for mommy."

Jet had wanted that answer and he got it. The girl nodded her agreement, still stunned by Jet's swift change in mood and suddenly respectful attitude. He stood and backed away from her with a gracious bow that was completely uncharacteristic for a nearly ten-year old boy. Longshot lowered the arrow and shouldered his bow, still burdened by its weight but growing more accustomed to it. He watched Jet (as did everyone else within a fifty feet of him) as he jumped up on a rotten stump and raised his voice to address the crowd of children.

"My name's Jet. I want to fight the Fire Nation. To make them pay for what they did to – us. I've got a plan how to do it, but to make it work you'll have to follow me."

The children looked warily at each other, considerably mistrusting this random, dark stranger with the dagger and the loyal archer. Jet knew exactly what they were thinking and didn't let them speak – especially the girl with the raven hair. He was determined to seal his fate – or, what he believed to be, The Fire Nation's fate.

"They killed your families," he roared abruptly, and all murmurings ceased. Haunting memories enclosed each individual child and Jet watched them with careful interest. Longshot twirled his bow idly.

"They murdered your friends. They burned your homes. They took away everything you love and care for. Remember. You have to remember. We have to make them pay. Its only fair, its only right. It's the right thing to do. All you have to do is follow me. You won't have to make decisions, you won't have to worry about getting hurt. You can help defeat the Fire Nation. You can help stop them from hurting anyone else. All you have to do is follow me. Remember why you're here."

There was a long pause in which Jet's words hovered in the air, seeping slowly into the children's thoughts darkness was mist. Sneers seemed on the verge of tears, though crying would probably help was the waste on his face. Pipsqueak stepped forward and stared straight at jet with big, trusting eyes.

"You mean, we'd be heros?"

Jet smiled and nodded in a slow, persuasive fashion. The boy stared at him awhile longer before breaking out into a very relieved smile.

"You're strong, like my dad was. He fought the Fire Nation too."

He turned and looked at the other kids, practically beaming with confidence. The feeling was intoxicating, and several others began to relax, even the girl. He turned back to Jet and Longshot, who were smiling victoriously.

"I'll follow you, Jet. You'll be good to us. I trust you."