Frontier Justice

[2067 - Outside of El Paso, Free Republic of Texas...]

All around was sand... and more sand... agitated by the rustling winds and occasional passing tumbleweed. The decrepit home with peeling paint and rusted roofs stood against the backdrop of a desolate horizon baking in the summer heat. Even on a good day, the raised voices carrying through the old and dingy house were enough to drive a man to the edge of reason... and today was by no means a good day.

At the behest of the love of his life, a much younger Jackson Calloway sat in an old rocking chair on the front porch of the run-down ranch-style home, his jaw clenched as he stared out with narrowed eyes at nothing and tried to ignore the all-too-familiar familial spat occurring inside. He took short and shallow drags from an unfiltered cigarette hanging loose between pursed lips, scratching away the grit and sweat from his grizzled cheek covered in a few days' worth of stubble. He was at his wits' end with all of it, ready to step in at a moment's notice... except that Aiyana had begged him otherwise.

It was less than a month since Aiyana had buried her mother in a shallow grave, hushed rumors persisting among the tribe of her demise at the hands of a chronic abuser... Aiyana's father. The old man was a bastard in the truest sense of the word, but one could surmise he had his reasons... were he not such a boorish and miserable asshole to be around. He had spent his entire adult life as a nomad farm-hand, traveling wherever there was work with his wife and daughter in tow. More recently, he had been forced into 'early retirement', as the farm employing him was scooped up by an aggressively expanding corporation in El Paso that favored robotics over a good old-fashioned 'ganic green thumb.

His wife put her foot down, having finally settled and with no desire to uproot her life once again and move elsewhere... and they both weren't getting any younger. So with no opportunities and nowhere else to turn, he resigned himself and his meager savings to the one comfort that had never failed him. He climbed inside of a bottle, content to waste away in his ever-growing intoxication as he hurled torrents of abuse at the one person who had never let him down... who had stood by him through all the hardship.

Jackson spat at the entire affair as he exhaled the last bit of smoke and flicked the spent end of his cigarette into the sand, taking a chance as he turned and looked back through the tattered screen door to the relative disarray. The house was a mess, piles of trash and unwashed clothes littered between the trail of empty bottles and upended furniture.

It was no mystery that the old man had always been a drunkard, but he was spiraling further out of control with every passing day. Call it guilt or whatever else, he was beside himself with his own demons, having no one else to direct his frustrations... except on the increasingly rare occasion that his loving daughter came by to make sure he was still breathing... and God bless her for that.

Aiyana was as pure a soul as they came, a radiant ray of sunshine on a cloudy day, and Jackson would never believe that he of all people had earned her love. Above all else, she was the most forgiving person he had ever known; despite a lifetime of verbal and physical abuse at her father's hands, she never once faltered or hesitated in putting her best foot forward. Jackson could have gladly beaten the man to within an inch of his life without a second thought, except that Aiyana made him promise to stay outside for this particular visit... and for good reason.

This wasn't just a courtesy welfare visit; out of an abundance of misplaced loyalty, Aiyana felt it was only right to let her old man know that she and Jackson were moving away. The Calloway Family Ranch had suffered a similar fate to the nearby farms. The only silver lining there was that Jackson was the sole proprietor, both of his parents having passed away nearly twenty years prior during the latter days of the Red. From that point forward, the ranch was looked after by trusted family friends until Jackson was old enough... and strong enough... to take over as its rightful owner.

Despite being a nomad, for lack of a better descriptor, he never cared much for school nor saw the point in it, and so he spent his adolescence learning the trade. Brash and ballsy as an imprudent young man could be, he was a quick study, taking the reins at only 18. His family's friends were happy to see him succeed and help in any way they could, and for that, he made sure they were cared for once the corpos came knocking.

Not that he took lightly selling off his family's legacy, nor found any joy in it, but the question with the corporations wasn't so much if as it was when. He was bound to lose the ranch one way or another, and so he sought to at least walk away clean with some scratch in his pocket to start life anew with his partner. And the angel that she was, Aiyana supported him all the way.

Young as they were, they figured out early on in their relationship that they were better as a pair. Even if they didn't immediately agree on something... and who the hell ever did... they came through it stronger and wiser together. They were a perfect balance for one another, leading them to make a solemn vow; unequivocally, any decisions they made were made together... all in or fall out.

And thus, when Jackson told Aiyana of his plans to sell the ranch while it was still worth something and leave El Paso in the dust, he couldn't really be surprised when she wrapped herself around him and asked simply, "When do we leave?"

Her strained relationship with her father notwithstanding, there wasn't much else tying Aiyana to El Paso, especially seeing as she wasn't even a native to the area like Jackson. All it took was one conversation out of some strange sense of unrequited respect, and she was ready to move on with the most kind and honest man she had ever known.

And then there was actually having the conversation... and what Jackson came to learn later in life was that the best-laid plans rarely survived first contact with the enemy. From what he could overhear, it was going better than he had hoped, which meant at the very least that fists weren't being thrown yet, although voices were raised. He was on edge at all of it, having already seen the old man's drunken rampages with his own eyes.

Like clockwork, he heard the stomping of Aiyana's well-worn boots approaching the front of the house as the voices grew louder. They were speaking in their mother tongue, and while Jackson could pick out bits and pieces, they were entirely in their own world when these spats occurred simply because of the sheer tempo at which they spoke.

From what he could pick out, Aiyana's father was insinuating that her mother was ultimately to blame for all his woes; had he never married and been saddled with a child, he likely would have been a happier man overall. He could have been free, and he would have been spared the heartache of watching his only child 'traipse' off into the desert with some bum vaquero.

Apparently, that was a step too far, as what Jackson heard from Aiyana in response shook him to his very core. She implied that if she were such a burden to the old man, why didn't he knuckle up and finish the job he started with her mother? Why didn't he truly free himself...?

Jackson nearly jumped from the rocking chair as the screen door was knocked clean off the hinges with a loud crash and snap of the spring-loaded closure mechanism. It distracted him long enough to not realize that Aiyana had been thrown through it, stumbling off the porch and landing face first on the ground as her father stepped out looked down on her.

He was a slovenly bastard, carrying most of his weight in his gut, his stained shirt struggling to contain the pot belly peeking out. His face was bloated from the amount of booze he'd shoved into it in the last few weeks, the blood vessels in his cheeks burst and leaving him looking almost permanently flushed. He had a persistent moisture to his lips from the slackjawed drool as he slurred and mumbled his words. He tried to mask his face with a full beard, and it didn't do a good job. His pants were tattered and lived-in, barely hanging on to his tree trunk legs. His deep brown eyes were bloodshot, the bags heavy and fully set underneath... he hadn't slept well, if at all, and the heavy creases in his face had only deepened since Jackson saw him last.

He was quite literally almost sweating pure alcohol, the toxic vapors mixing with his musk and filth. From the slight hint of ammonia behind everything else assaulting Jackson's nostrils, he had to assume the old man had recently pissed all over himself and not bothered to try and clean it up. And yet all of it paled in comparison once Jackson realized what had happened, his eyes drifting to Aiyana laying on the ground. The old man held a half-empty bottle loosely in one hand as he raised the other, swearing and closing the distance.

That was all the fuel to the fire that Jackson needed; he had seen Aiyana's father raise a hand to her with his own two eyes, and his objective from that moment forward was never clearer. He stepped up, barking at the man as he readied his strong left arm. As soon as the man turned, Jackson swung with all his might, knuckle meeting jaw with a sickening crunch as the man lost his footing and landed on his side. Jackson reached down, grabbing him by the collar as he delivered another solid strike. He had so many things he could say, but in that moment, he had no voice or words... just pure and unbridled rage.

After he rendered the man's face into a bloody pulp, he pulled his iron from the small of his back and cocked the hammer. Before he took aim, he leaned down and picked up the bottle laying on its side, contents spilling out. He poured the remainder over the man's face as he rebuked him, "You still wit' me, you piece o' shit?"

The old man spat and swore in a broken mix of English as he tried to keep his eyes shut from the alcohol soaking him. Once it was all gone, he looked up and stared into the cold hammer forged barrel of Jackson's handgun, raising his hands as he trembled on his back. He was on the verge of pissing himself all over again as Jackson narrowed his eyes and took aim. He had never killed a man, but every fiber of his being told him this was the right thing to do... until Aiyana screamed for him, her voice breaking as she pleaded for mercy on her father's behalf.

Jackson's jaw clenched as he weighed the options in his own mind, his hand starting to shake and falter. He wanted nothing more than to put the old bastard out of his misery, but even he knew it was more than the man deserved. After too long of tense silence, Aiyana staring wide-eyed and praying to herself, Jackson de-cocked the hammer and lowered the weapon before looking away. He returned the gun to its holster tucked inside his waistband, staring with hate as he spat on the man and said, "You're lucky your daughter loves you... you get'a live wit' what you've done."

He turned and walked down the few dry-rotted steps to solid ground, his pointed boots tucked neatly under a worn pair of jeans kicking up some dust as he offered Aiyana a hand. She graciously accepted, pulling herself up and into him as he closed his arms around her and whispered words of comfort. She was strong all on her own, having survived her father's brutish behavior for this long, but even she needed a shoulder from time to time, and she wept quietly into Jackson's, all of her grief and frustration pouring out of her.

After a while, they turned and walked the long path back to the main road together, leaving her father in a pool of his own booze-laden spit and blood. What was done was done; Aiyana spoke her piece, and felt immediately at peace with all of it. She had a better life ahead, and she had a loving partner to share it. They just had to open their eyes and wake up to all of it...

[Present day - Rocky Ridge, the Badlands]

Pa... Pa, wake up!

Jackson heard the voice from far away, soothing and sweet as honey, and his heart warmed before he shook himself awake with a sharp inhale. His eyes shot open, trying to focus in front of him as he saw Jayce sitting up and leaning over in his face. The warmth returned, and he smiled as he looked in her eyes and said, "Mornin', kiddo..."

She laughed, snorting slightly as she looked up and around, "Man... you must'a really been out cold... 's after dark, already."

At that, he remembered where they were, and he shot up in the chair, looking all around the room. They were in the infirmary of a Militech encampment... and his pride and joy was handcuffed to a hospital bed, left to answer for what she'd done earlier that day. His face hardened as he looked back at her, and her composure broke almost immediately as she sat back, her eyes clouded over, and she looked away, ashamed at all of it.

Jackson leaned forward in the chair, rubbing his brow with a deep sigh as he asked the obvious question, "Jayce... what the hell happened...?"

Her shoulders sagged forward, her hair falling and hiding part of her face as she explained, "W-We... we stopped at Medeski, out by the landfills. I needed'a fill up, figured it's as good a place as any... an' I wanted to look at the City up close."

Jackson smirked, moving his hand away as he looked up while Jayce kept going, "Nel was grabbin' supplies inside while I filled the bike, and... this beat-up old rover pulled in, looked'a be four Raffen, all fucked up. Three went inside while the fourth tried chattin' me up...

"I turned 'im down flat, and he took a call, so I took my chance an' walked in to see how Nel was makin' out... but she wasn't there. Then I h-heard... screams...", Jayce tried to force the words through her voice breaking, "...the t-three that w-went in, they h-had her wit' a b-bag over her head and d-draggin' her to their car before..."

Her face twisted in pain, the tears running down and collecting at the tip of her chin as she sniffed up, "I tried'a follow, but they shot the place all to shit... they cut my fuel lines and ripped out the wirin' harness. I couldn't let 'em get away, so I—"

"So you car-jacked a civilian in broad daylight... in plain sight o' a Militech patrol...", Jackson interrupted, finishing her sentence with a disappointed and yet sympathetic fatherly tone, "...and then led 'em on a merry goose chase through the desert... Jesus, Jayce!"

She burst into shallow sobs, her entire body recoiling against all of it as she beat herself up, "I-I didn't know what... I p-panicked... P-Pa, I couldn't let 'em—"

"YOU SHOULD'A CALLED ME!", Jackson shouted, on his feet before he even realized it. Jayce shrunk down with a fearful cry, flinching away from him and bringing her arms up as much as the handcuffs and IVs would allow, trying to hide her face as if she expected some kind of physical repercussion. He froze in place, eyes wide in shock as he realized in that moment... Jayce thought he was actually going to hit her...

The very notion broke his heart in two, and he stood beside himself as he flashed back to a long time ago... to something he swore he would never be, and a line he would never cross.

He turned away, ashamed of himself as he stood with his hands on his hips and tried to collect his thoughts. As upset as he was with the entire situation... although he understood it... he was even angrier at himself for ever inspiring that kind of fear in his only child. Jayce was his world, and now she was afraid of him in a way she should never be.

After a long silence, she managed to control her breathing, the sobs subsiding as she spoke weakly, "Pa I'm... I'm sorry for all o' this..."

Jackson's eyes closed as he fought tears forming, trying to calm his own breathing before he turned and looked at Jayce. Sitting chained to that bed, she looked so pitiful and helpless, and he was driven to her as he closed the gap and wrapped her up tight, "I'm jus' glad you're okay, baby... ya scared the hell out o' me, that's all."

Jayce curled into his warm embrace, letting all of it go as she tried to apologize, to keep forcing words. She was a mess, torn up to Hell and back inside her own mind, and all Jackson could do was let her work through it as he held her close. He saw in her the same fire that he once had, standing over Aiyana's father and ready to pull the trigger. Love was a beautiful and terrible thing, and Jayce had found her own, ready to fight for it... to die for it. He could only take comfort in the fact that his daughter's heart was in the right place, even if her youthful mind hadn't yet caught up.

He tried not to crack a smile at the absurdity of the whole affair, but before long, it wasn't hard to keep a straight face as he remembered; while all of this was going on, their little albatross was lost in the wake of all of it. She had been taken from them. He couldn't bear the thought, after nearly three months in their care... just learning how to be a human... that she might be right back where she started.

Jackson felt Jayce trembling in his arms as she let slip a soft whimper. He was suspiciously confident their like minds had gone to the same place, and he pressed a gentle kiss into the crown of her head as he whispered, "Don't worry, kiddo... we'll get her back. I promise you that..."

She nodded her head against his chest as they held one another for a little longer before she asked, "So... how fucked am I...?"

The door to the room opened, but to their surprise, the doctor was nowhere to be seen. In his stead was a grizzled older operator around the same age as Jackson, carrying himself with all the confidence and swagger of a man who'd seen some shit and lived to tell the tale. He closed the door behind him as he flashed a devious smile and said sarcastically, "Might be, I can answer that... now, ain't this a touching sight."

Jackson knew the look, and his face hardened again as he let go of Jayce and stood up straight. The man took a few steps closer, careful to keep his distance as he sized up the situation. He was a handsome son of a bitch, although his past life had left its mark on him, a noticeable scar running up his right cheek. His hair was tapered on the sides, the top short and swept back. Like the doctor, he was undoubtedly a military man, albeit more rugged and loose in his overall appearance. Above the scar, his right eye was entirely chromed, a deadly and piercing red glow emanating from it as his left eye narrowed, a natural deep brown.

He kept a neat and tidy scruff adorning his face, adding to the overall edge of his appearance. Unlike most operators, he appeared to be free and clear of any visible tattoos... which told Jackson he was likely not just a contractor, but a bona fide company man... although he dressed casual for the station, a simple black t-shirt wrapping around his upper body and leading to a pair of tactical trousers bloused over combat boots. His veiny arms bore several distinct threading patterns, their true power concealed beneath interconnected RealSkinn platelets.

All in all, he was a mean motherfucker, but he didn't advertise it. His hand swiped over a deck as he perused some data before mumbling to himself while Jackson asked the pertinent question, "Where's the doc...?"

"Making his rounds...", the man answered, seemingly distracted as his eyes flashed over the jacket bearing Jayce's headshot. Even from far away, Jackson could see through the transparent panel that in lieu of a proper mugshot, they had just snapped a picture of her still unconscious. As much as he wanted to protest, he chose instead to put his best foot forward as he asked, "So who are you?"

The man's eyes left the tablet for a moment as he looked up and answered with a smirk, "Grady... I'm head of security. Welcome to the Oasis..."

Still trying to be as amenable as possible, Jackson kept a straight face and took a step forward with an outstretched hand, "Okay, Grady... I'm Ja—"

"I know who you are, First Sergeant Calloway...", the man remarked dismissively, his face hardening, "...the 'Butcher of China Lake'... your reputation precedes you."

Jackson's entire body went rigid, his eyes narrowing and fists clenching. It was nearly twenty years since he had heard that nickname spoken out loud, and he didn't like it, especially not in front of Jayce. Grady's subtle but stone-cold stare turned into another smirk as he looked the cowboy up and down, particularly focused on the entire implanted left arm as he mused, "We lost a lot of good men that day... on both sides. Heard tell that some of us never really left... bet you'd know all about that..."

There was an opening, and Jackson took it as he pointed to his own eye, "Don' s'pose I'm to blame for that...?"

Grady smiled with a low chuckle, taking the hit in stride as he shook his head, "Much as I'd like to, I can't lay the blame at your feet for this... but, I'm not here to dwell on the past. Let bygones be bygones and all."

"So then what are ya here for...?", Jackson asked, his patience already wearing thin with their unwanted host's fake drawl and charm. He felt like he was being greased up by a used car salesman. The man swiped up on his deck, sidestepping the question altogether, "You have some powerful friends, Jackson..."

There was a moment of silence as Grady gauged for a response, but Jackson's poker face was as calm and steady as his hands on the range... not even a twitch. He just stared, letting the air hang heavy between them to see who caved first. Jayce looked at her old man, then across the room, genuinely uncertain how things would go if this pissing match kept up.

After an uncomfortably long amount of time had passed, Grady's jaw clenched as he looked away. Unlike Jackson, he was on the clock, so little luxuries like an old-fashioned Mexican standoff would unfortunately have to suffer in the grand scheme. At the end of it all, Jackson really didn't have all the time in the world, either. Every second stuck in this situation spelled a greater chance of never finding Nel. Seeing as Grady blinked first, Jackson extended an olive branch in his own way as he said, "Cut to the chase."

"Less than six hours ago, my boys had an easy collar and a pat on the head from higher-ups in the form of your... daughter...", the operator explained with enough ridicule in his voice to raise Jackson's blood pressure and leave Jayce giving him a mental middle finger, "...and not even a minute after she's cleared to be processed, do we get a mysterious call from the Old Lady ordering us in no uncertain terms to sit tight."

"Get. To. The. Point...", Jackson spoke through gritted teeth as Grady obliged with a raised hand, "There's a lot of unpleasantness in these parts lately... and a little too much coincidence for my liking. I'd like to understand it."

"And you think me an' mine are at the center o'it all...", Jackson preempted the man, "...so who better?"

Grady laughed to himself, "We don't think you are to blame, but your daughter's current predicament places you in the damage path at the very least... and I don't think you give yourself or your crew enough credit, Jackson. You're not unknown in these parts."

Jackson could see there was no getting around it, and he took a seat, scooting close to Jayce's bed as he sighed and asked, "What'ya wan'a know?"

The operator's eyes returned to the deck for a moment as he reviewed some notes before proceeding, "The witness' statement says four Raffen in matching jackets carried a girl with a black bag over her head, kicking and screaming, to a car... the girl, who is she?"

"One o' my crew, an' my daughter's output...", Jackson spoke as loosely and casually as possible, giving no more than he was asked to provide. Jayce blushed and looked down, trying to give nothing of her own away as her old man continued, "Young love can be a vexin' thing... ain't that for damn sure."

The operator gave no response to the quip, instead prodding further, "Four Raffen for one little girl sounds a bit excessive... sounds targeted."

"Sounds'a me like we's wastin' each other's time...", Jackson rubbed his brow and groaned, "...how's 'bout you tell me what you think you already know, and I'll fill in the gaping holes."

Grady's eyes flashed with ardent skepticism, but he nodded anyway as he cleared his throat, "There's a new boogeyman rustling about in the Badlands... and they're making moves, holing up in our old stomping grounds near the Border."

Without a lot of back and forth, it didn't get much simpler than that, but even Grady knew it wasn't the full picture. Fortunately for him, his guest couldn't help but take the bait...

"Man, they don't tell you shit, do they?", Jackson laughed out loud as he lit a fresh cigarette much to the operator's chagrin as the latter warned him, "Y-You can't smoke in here..."

"Try an' stop me...", Jackson challenged the man as their eyes met, reaching over to give Jayce her own smoke before he leaned back comfortably in the chair and took a long drag, "...or maybe Militech CI jus' ain't what it used t'be, and y'all really are in the dark out here."

Jayce lit her cigarette, taking a deep drag as Grady's eyes flashed blue. A reinforced glass pane opened behind them all, revealing the metal bars bolted outside the window as smoke wafted out and the operator continued in Jackson's direction, "Well, a gentleman keeps his word, as I recall."

"In 'is day an' age, not wit'out somethin' in return...", Jackson said plainly, forcing the operator to pause and clear his throat, trying not to give away a most obvious tell as he held out the deck, "Look for yourself... girl's cleared to leave once I give the good word... your fixer friend already saw to that. This whole debacle's already settled on your behalf."

Jackson didn't need a deck to read what he already knew. Dakota looked after her people, even a pain in the ass like him... although he was genuinely surprised at just how quickly she worked in the background.

There was now a sense of desperation in Grady's voice, and Jackson just couldn't help but play into that as he smirked and hypothesized out loud, "You boys're jumpin' at the chance to throw down wit'ese animals... why's that?"

Grady looked down and exhaled sharply as he shrugged his eyebrows, "Because whoever they are, they're not just going after civilians anymore... our patrols are getting ambushed on the daily... I've lost a dozen men in the last two weeks already."

As much as a smaller, darker part of Jackson's mind always jumped for joy at hearing that, a loss of life was never anything to celebrate, corpo or otherwise, and he let his humanity show as he leaned forward, pulled the cigarette from his mouth, and laid it all out.

This was no longer a battle between factions. It was a battle between human beings trying to live their lives and the animals trying to take them... and so Jackson explained all of it. Nel's origins, the fight between the Aldecaldos and combined Raffen and Outlanders, and even what he understood as the Outlanders overall objective... no stone was left unturned, save for Charles Bishop's and Biotechnica's supposed connection to all of it. Until the Afterlife came through, any information on that front was pure speculation, and so it was best left as such.

Grady nearly crashed back against the wall, a pained look of resignation on his face as he muttered under his breath, "...one fuckin' thing after another..."

Not like Jackson couldn't empathize, leaving the chair to stretch his legs as he tried to be frank, "Yeah, y'all 'aven't had the best run o' luck lately, have ya?"

"With the way shit went down in '82...", Grady scoffed, "I'd bet my other eye the Afterlife was involved somehow... I mean, who else has that kind of reach?!"

"Now 'at's above my pay grade...", Jackson joked with a smirk, slowly and cautiously closing the distance, "...I'm just a simple man on the edge o' civilization tryin'a give 'is family a life worth livin'..."

"You don't give yourself enough credit...", Grady pushed off the wall, his smirk having returned as he stood shoulder to shoulder with his guest and parroted himself before turning to Jayce, "...Raffen took your girl... and with her history, that's enough to drive anyone off the deep end. I get it, and I'm sorry..."

The corners of Jayce's mouth curled up as she nodded. With all of their cards laid out on the table, the air in the room was suddenly very choomy, and everyone felt a little uneasy at the notion. Grady looked at his deck for a moment before he spoke again, "You have good friends, Jackson... what must that be like?"

Jackson felt a warmth creeping in his gut as he looked away and chuckled, "Out here, all we have's each other... no safety nets. Out here, you's either friend or foe, and friends may's well be family... guessin' the corp havin' your back leaves ya wantin'...?"

Their host gave no answer, only clearing his throat as he held up his hand, to which Jackson cautiously accepted as he extended another more sincere olive branch, "Rocky start, but your people've been good t'us... looked after my kid. I know what it's like to lose men... 'magine we both do. Far's I'm concerned, this ain't 'bout sides anymore... so if I hear anythin' 'at doesn't directly impede me findin' the girl, I'll give you a shout."

"I got a job to do here, and I'll do it come Hell or high water... but if a report goes missing here and there, well...", the operator joked as he locked eyes with the cowboy and shifted topics, "Doctor cleared her for travel while you were asleep... you're free to go."

Jackson nodded, but asked one last question as Grady turned to leave, "There's a particularly nasty nurse who might have it out for me, and she's holdin' my iron hostage... any cha—"

"Shift change... she's gone for the night...", Grady cut him off, his tone shifting back... for appearances' sake... to one befitting his position in the camp, "So get the fuck out while we still let you..."

The door slammed shut... and at the same time, the cuffs on Jayce's wrist unlocked with a small ding, leaving Jackson stifling a laugh to himself as he turned and asked, "What's your read on 'im?"

Jayce's head dropped as she laughed and answered, "Conflicted, 'at's for damn sure... I think he gets one good look at Panam, he'll turn then an' there..."

Jackson let loose the laugh as he walked back over to the bed, opening his arms as Jayce fell into them. Even as an adult, she never turned down a chance to let the old man cuddle her. She still felt bad about the whole situation, beating herself up inside. Jackson read her like an open book as he whispered, "Don't worry 'bout it, kiddo... be a distant memory in a month's time."

How's he always know...?, Jayce thought as she tightened her arms around him, wincing slightly at the pain in her wrist. After almost a minute in silence, she asked a question on her mind since Grady had first walked in the room, "Hey Pa...? Why'd he call you the 'Butcher of China Lake'?"

She felt her father's body freeze up again, wishing in that moment she hadn't bothered to ask. He obliged her by sidestepping the question altogether, "Ask me again when I'm drunk off my ass an' stupid 'nough t'answer that..."

Jayce laughed as she sorted back in her own mind before retorting, "...I don't reckon I've ever seen you that drunk..."

He sighed deeply as he rubbed his daughter's back and offered the best answer he had, "I love you, Jayce... and I'll never lie t'ya... but there's sides of me I don't ever want you to see... "

She didn't like that answer, but she understood it. To her surprise, he kept going, "Before you's even born, I gave myself up to somethin' greater... thought I's doin' what I had to for our family. Fat lot o' good, huh?"

"You came back...", Jayce chided him, leaving him dumbfounded. It was that simple... whether it was in one piece or one hundred pieces... he came back to his family. He knew proudly in that moment that Jayce would burn it all down to get Nel back... and it scared the living shit out of him...

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