Jack woke up with a start, her heart pounding against her ribs. For a moment, she wasn't sure why. The sound of boots crunching in the dirt, the muffled moans of the sick from the hospital tent, and the distant clatter of makeshift camp life filled her ears. Normal enough. But then she realized it wasn't what she heard that unsettled her. It was what she didn't hear.
Hector's sleeping bag was empty, the spot cold. She sat up, her breath catching in her throat.
"Shit," she muttered, running a hand through her unkempt hair. He hadn't come back.
Last night had been routine — or supposed to be. Hector had gone to drop off some extra canned food and water at one of the outer posts. It was supposed to be a simple exchange, a ten-minute errand, tops. Nothing dangerous. She'd told herself he could handle it. But now it was near morning, and Hector wasn't there.
"Damn it, Hector," she hissed under her breath, tugging on her boots. Her mind raced, fighting back the surge of panic crawling up her spine. She'd seen enough to know that kids didn't just wander off without consequence. She silently chastised herself for letting him convince her he was ready to go out on his own. She never should have caved. She should have stuck with her gut feeling; one that had been honed through so many years of betrayal and disappointment.
The old instinct kicked in as she grabbed her jacket, the one she'd worn since Grissom – the one she'd fought I the night it had all ended. Her gun was already strapped to her side, as always. She pushed out of the tent, the cool morning air hitting her face like a slap. The military camp around her stirred with the early risers, but no one paid her any attention.
Jack was a striking figure, her entire body adorned in a web of intricate tattoos. Her lithe frame, while small and seemingly fragile, hid a powerful secret: the ability that set her apart from the masses of humanity: biotics. Years of captivity and experimentation she endured had honed her power to a razor-sharp edge, shaping her into a formidable force to be reckoned with.
A childhood marred by violence and abuse left her with deep bitterness and hatred towards the world. Her foul-mouthed and abrasive personality a reflection of the trauma she had experienced, and those who dared to cross her quickly learned to regret it. While Jack's past had left her scarred and hostile, it had also given her a fierce determination to survive and a heart that beat for those who were struggling just as she had.
When she met Hector digging for scraps of food in the ruins of a once vibrant downtown London, she couldn't resist the pull in her heart to help the boy. And he was useful.
As she marched toward the hospital, her jaw clenched tight. If Hector didn't show his face soon, she'd have to search the whole damn place — maybe beyond. And she didn't like what she might find out there.
Her mind spun with worst-case scenarios: rogue scavengers, some lowlife trading violence for supplies, or worse. She quickened her pace, ignoring the tight knot growing in her chest. She couldn't let herself fall apart. Not now.
But just as she reached the edge of the camp, Hector appeared.
Jack stopped dead, her stomach dropping like a rock. Hector was trudging toward her, shoulders slumped, his face pale and... bruised. One eye was swollen, purple blooming on his cheek, and his lower lip was split.
"Hector!" she barked, anger and fear lacing her voice. She covered the distance between them in three long strides. She grabbed his arm, not hard, but enough to make him stop. "Where the fuck have you been?"
He looked up at her with those big, tired eyes. "I'm fine, Jack. I just—"
"Bullshit," she snapped, cutting him off. "What the hell happened to your face? You were supposed to be back hours ago. Don't give me that 'I'm fine' shit."
Hector flinched at her tone but didn't pull away. His gaze flickered to the ground. "I got held up... some guys at the post—"
"What guys?!" Jack's voice rose. She felt her hands clench into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She'd tear someone apart for laying a finger on him.
"They just… didn't like the deal. Took some of the food. Gave me this for my trouble." He gestured vaguely to the bruises. "But I'm okay. Really, Jack."
"Fuck, Hector," Jack swore, the word harsh and ragged. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady, trying to hold back the wave of anger surging through her. She didn't want him to see it — the fear beneath it all. "You should've come straight back to me. You don't let shit like this slide. Not here."
"I didn't want to make it worse," he muttered, still not meeting her eyes.
Jack crouched down in front of him, eye-level now. Her expression softened, just a fraction. She didn't want to show it, but seeing him bruised and bloodied like that made her stomach twist in ways she couldn't ignore.
"Listen to me, Hector. You don't just walk away from this crap like it's nothing. If you don't stick up for yourself, they'll keep coming at you. This world's shit enough without letting people push you around. You get me?"
He nodded, but his shoulders sagged, the exhaustion and hurt catching up to him. Jack sighed, running a hand over her face, her anger cooling into something more dangerous — worry. She hated that feeling.
"Come on," she said, her voice gruff again. "Let's get you cleaned up."
She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, steering him back toward their tent. As they passed the makeshift hospital, the stench of blood and disinfectant filled the air. Jack made a mental note to stop by later and see what she could snag. Maybe a couple of painkillers, something to dull the ache in Hector's face. She knew the medic in there, and he owed her a favor.
As they ducked back into their tent, Jack let go of Hector, rummaging through her pack for a clean rag. She wet it with some of the precious water they'd been storing, then knelt beside him, wiping at the dried blood on his lip. She was gentle, but didn't say anything, not about the bruises, not about the fear that had coiled around her heart the moment she saw him.
"You good, kid?" she asked after a long moment, her voice softer than before.
Hector nodded again, his lip trembling just a bit. "Yeah. I'm good."
"Liar," she muttered, but there was no venom in it. She didn't push. The kid had been through enough.
After a minute of silence, Hector spoke again, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, Jack."
"Don't be sorry, Hector. Just… don't get yourself killed, alright? I'd lose my mind."
He looked up at her, surprised by the admission, but she didn't meet his eyes. She tossed the rag aside and stood up, running her fingers through her hair again, the tension still crackling under her skin.
"We'll handle this," she said, more to herself than to him. Then, louder, "But next time, you tell me if someone tries to mess with you. I'll rip their fuckin heads off."
Hector gave a faint smile, despite the pain. "Yeah. Okay."
"Get your shit," she said throwing his backpack at him. "We're going to the outpost together."
Jack turned away, hiding the relief washing over her. She'd keep him safe. No matter what it took. No matter who she had to face down. Because in this wrecked world, Hector was the only thing left that made her feel human. And she wasn't about to let that go.
Hector had always been smaller than the other kids, though he tried not to let it show. His dark hair was a tangled mess, and his clothes were worn thin, hanging loose on his skinny frame. Jack watched him as he trudged ahead, his little backpack slung over one shoulder, acting like the world hadn't been too much for him to handle. He moved with a forced confidence, the kind that would fool anyone who didn't know better — but Jack did.
It wasn't the first time she had noticed the way he carried himself, like he was tougher than he really was. Hector barely said a word about the bruises or the hunger, and when he looked up at her with those tired, defiant eyes, she saw a reflection of herself. He reminded her too much of the past, of the kids she hadn't been able to save when the war tore everything apart.
Jack kept her distance, but not too much. He needed space to believe he was capable, that he could handle himself, but she couldn't let him wander too far. He had survived this long by being quick, by knowing when to duck and when to stay out of sight. But Hector didn't have the kind of instincts Jack had — the ones she had earned from too many close calls, too many fights for her life. He hadn't been hardened the way she had, and for that, she was oddly grateful.
Hector was an orphan now, just like the rest of the lost children left in the wake of the war. Jack didn't know what happened to his parents — he never spoke about it, and she never asked. That silence was their unspoken agreement. What mattered was the present: keeping the kid alive, making sure he had enough to eat and a place to rest, even if that place was a cold tent pitched beside a makeshift hospital.
She watched him shuffle through the camp, trying to keep up appearances, trying to convince himself — and everyone else — that he was fine. She couldn't help but shake her head. Fuckin kid. He didn't know how close he'd come to getting himself killed too many times. She felt like she was chasing after a wounded dog, trying to patch him up, keep him on his feet, even though he'd probably bite back if he thought she pitied him.
But Jack couldn't help it. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was just instinct, but something about Hector made her stick around. He didn't have the same survival skills she had, the sharp edges honed by years of navigating a brutal world, but that didn't mean she could let him slip through the cracks. Not after everything.
"Hey," she called out, watching as Hector glanced back at her, eyes wide with surprise. "Quit dragging your feet. We've got places to be."
He gave a small, forced smile — one of those tough-guy smirks that almost made her laugh. Almost. Jack wasn't sure what it was that had tethered them together, but she knew one thing for sure: as long as she was around, she wasn't letting him go.
The midday sun was high, casting long shadows between the tents and crumbling buildings of the military camp. Jack stalked through the narrow paths, her eyes sharp and every muscle tensed.
Supplies were drying up, the Alliance Military was tightening its grip on the shipments, and civilians running the hospital were desperate for food and clean water. And now, some fucking asshole had decided to use Hector as a punching bag over a few cans of food?
She'd tracked down her contact — a smuggler she knew from the old days, a man named Jonas who had a way of finding things the Alliance tried to keep under lock and key. He also had a way of keeping things quiet when he had to, which made him useful.
"Jonas better have some fucking answers," she muttered to Hector, glancing down at him. His lip was still swollen, but he was trying hard to act like it didn't bother him. Kid had guts, she'd give him that. But even that wasn't enough in a place like this. Not now. Not how things were at the end of all things.
He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. "I told you, it's not that big a deal, Jack. I'm fine."
"Fine, my ass," Jack snapped. "Shut up, let me do that talking. I'm serious."
She stormed toward one of the barracks, spotting Jonas leaning casually against the wall like he didn't have a care in the world. The camp bustled around them — soldiers, civilians, medics — all scrambling to survive the Alliance's stranglehold on supplies. Jack might've subscribed to the Alliance doctrine once, in the name of helping biotic students survive the war. But when the fighting had ended and the what was left of her student cadre was dispersed into Alliance defensive units, she struggled to keep 'fighting for the cause'. Hell, the only thing keeping her from tearing down their whole operation was her own damn self-restraint.
Jonas caught sight of her, and his cocky smirk faltered for a split second. He pushed off the wall, straightening up as she approached, and tried to plaster that smooth grin back on his face.
"Jack," he greeted her, hands spread wide as if welcoming an old friend. "Always a pleasure to see you."
"Cut the shit, Jonas." Jack didn't slow down, walking right up to him, her eyes burning into his. "I want names. Who the fuck was working the post last night?"
Jonas chuckled, but there was a nervous edge to it. He knew exactly what Jack was capable of. Hell, everyone in the camp knew. The stories about her floated through the ranks like whispered ghost stories — how she'd once taken out a whole squad in the middle of a black-market deal gone wrong, or how she'd made an Alliance officer "disappear" after he crossed her. People didn't tangle with Jack. At least, not if they wanted to keep breathing.
"Relax, Jack. I've got it under control," Jonas said, his voice a little too smooth. "It was a new guy, fresh in from the outer sectors. Didn't know who he was messing with. He knows better now."
Jack stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You think I'm just going to take your word for it?" Jonas faltered and took a half step back. Jack followed without hesitation. "I want this guy, and I want him the fuck now."
Jonas swallowed, his smirk long gone. "I need him alive to keep things running smooth," he said, his tone more serious now. "I'll make this right. You've got my word. No one touches Hector again. Ever."
Jack held his gaze for a long moment, her eyes cold and unreadable. She could see the fear flicker behind his eyes, and it was satisfying — but she needed more than his word.
"Your word's not enough, Jonas," she said finally, stepping back but not relaxing an inch. "You're going to pay for this fuck-up. Supplies. I want food and water, ammunition, medical shit and I want it sent straight to the hospital. Civilians are dying in there, and the Alliance is playing goddamn keep-away with their stockpiles. You're going to open that tap for me."
"Fuck's sake, Jack," Jonas sighed, running a hand over his stubbly chin. "Do you know how fucking difficult that's going to make things for me?"
"I don't give a shit, do I?" Jack's voice was icy. "So, what's it going to be? You make the drop, or I'll start culling your heard."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. You win, Jack. I've got a shipment coming in tonight. I'll send a good chunk of it to the hospital. They'll have enough food and water for a few weeks, at least."
Jack gave him a curt nod. "Good. Don't make me come back here."
Jonas smirked. "You've got my word, Jack. The supplies will be there. And trust me, the kid's off-limits."
"It learns." Jack turned on her heel, motioning for Hector to follow.
They hadn't made it far when Jonas called after her. "One more thing, Jack. Your name's been circulating out there, someone's looking for you."
Jack paused, waiting for him to continue.
Jonas grinned. "Couple of Alliance women. One was media, the other was some spook. Tall, dark hair, great ass."
Jack snorted, her lips curling into a dark snarl. "Where the fuck were they asking for me?"
Jonas chuckled, but there was a flicker of fear in his eyes. "They were heading to the hospital. Said they were looking for someone there."
"Let's go, Hector," Jack said, not bothering to look back as she walked away. "We've got work to do."
Hector fell in step beside her, his small form casting a long shadow in the evening light. Jack didn't say it, but she could see the relief in his posture.
As they made their way through the camp, Jack felt that familiar pull in her gut — the urge to rip the whole system apart, to take what she wanted and build her own kingdom out of the ashes. She could do it. She'd done worse in the past, and the temptation was always there. But she wasn't that person anymore. Not completely, anyway.
For now, she'd make sure the hospital got what they needed. And she'd make sure Hector stayed safe. But if the Alliance kept pushing, if they thought they could starve out the civilians to tighten their grip on power? Well, she'd show them just how dangerous someone like her could be when pushed too far.
And God help anyone who stood in her way.