He never felt any remorse for the path he'd chosen to follow. Jackson knew that by doing this, by being a murderer, would be the only way he'd ever gain any respect in this city. Sure, he could always become a doctor, or a teacher, or some shit like that, but really, who wanted to go through all the trouble of college and job applications, anyway? This was just as easy...and satisfying. He loved watching people cringe as he looked at them. Smiled his cold smile. The fear had begun soon after he'd killed Tim. Students saw him in the hall and they were genuinely afraid. They knew he'd done it...but the only people who really mattered...where the adults, the caregivers, the teachers. And they were too naive to guess. No, not their precious angel Jack, sent from the heavens above on that stormy night...
"I-I know who did it," Sam whispered to Christina. The young girl's face muscles twitched anxiously. "I know who killed Tim."
"Who, Sam, sweetie?" Christina pressed eagerly. "Who?"
"J-Jack Rippner," she stuttered. "But don't tell him I told!"
"How do you know?" Christina frowned. It didn't seem likely. Jackson was michievous, that was sure, but he wasn't...a killer, was he? He grew so upset at the taunts of his namesake that he surely wouldn't follow his path, would he? She truly did not want to believe anything of the sorts about Jackson...
"I just do, Ms. Smith. He does it every time. He's...screwed up," the girl's voice quavered nervously.
"Sam, I can't judge this based on your assumptions," Christina said forcefully, standing up. "I think you had better leave now."
"No! I'm not lying!" the girl continued to cry as she left the room. Christina shut the door behind her and leaned against it, sighing. Why was everybody so hard on Jackson? She loved him like a son, and he practically was. She had found him after all, he'd been sent to her like a blessing. After she'd discovered him lying in that puddle the orphanage had rewarded her with a promotion. Now she was third in charge of disciplinarian actions. Still quite subordinate, but at least she didn't have to carry a dust mop everywhere she went.
Sam nervously tiptoed down the hallway to her locker. She needed to be getting back to class. She'd certainly missed enough of French, after her scheduled appointment with Ms. Smith. A hand on her shoulder startled her. She turned around and dropped her French book. It scuttled down the hall on the smooth floor.
"Why, hello, Sam," Jackson Rippner said cheerfully. He was eleven at the time.
"H-hi," she tried to sound nonchalant. "What's up?"
"Oh, Sam, I think you know," he grew angry and slammed her against the locker. She was shocked at how strong he really was. His muscles were no match for his wiry frame.
"N-no, I don't, Jack, please, what," she stuttered nervously. His eyes glinted coldly.
"I believe you've been spreading assumptions about me, Sam," he said coolly. "Now, those are never good things to make, especially a girl of your age, your emotion based female driven assumptions."
"What?" she asked quickly.
"I overheard your little heart-to-heart with Christina," he snarled, his grip sliding to her throat. "That wasn't very smart."
"I-I-" she stuttered at a loss for words. "W-what are you going to do?"
"I think you and I know very well, Sam," he said mockingly.
"You-you're going to-kill me?"
"Why don't you just wait and see," was all she heard before she was gutted. Jackson smiled casually and cleaned his knife blade with a handkerchief, then restored it to his pocket. He returned to class, whistling gleefully.
Jackson smiled sweetly at the recollection as he got in his car. Fun times. It really had only been a matter of time before the organization found him.
"Rippner."
"You know my name."
"We know a lot about you."
The nineteen-year-old's temper raged. "You keeping tabs on me?"
"You could say that," Martin's voice was cool and collected.
"What do you want?"
"You."
"Beg your pardon?"
Martin removed his glasses and sighed. "We want you to work for us."
"You terrorists, are something?"
"You could say that. Governmental overthrows, assassinations, you get the picture."
"Well, what do you want me for?"
"We want you to be an assassin."
"Why would I do that?"
"We can already see, Mr. Rippner, that you have a sick passion for killing. Not that there's anything wrong with that, most of the Organization have sicker delights than that...but we like it. You are a born machine, you have a gift."
"Thanks."
"Yes. But again, why would I do that?"
"Pays well."
"How much are we talking about here?"
"At least six figures a job."
"Fine. When can I start?"
"Glad to see you're so enthusiastic. Here. First job, meet at this location, alone. Do you care about ever seeing your friends again?"
"What friends?"
"Well, that Christina woman for one."
"Please. She's a mere acquaintance who I didn't feel like murdering."
"I see. Well, that's good, because basically, Rippner, you need to disappear. For this job to work you need to become a new person."
"Why's that?"
"The government finds out that you're a threat, they trace it back to us, we get shut down, you either go to jail or we kill you. Simple as that. Plus, Jack, we're giving you the charming job."
"Beg your pardon?"
"Charming, Jack, charming. Conning innocent accomplices into assisting us with the job so they get framed, not us."
"Fine. Just one thing."
"What's that?"
"Don't ever. Ever. Call me Jack."