Jack the Ripper

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Jack the Ripper last won the day on January 22

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202 Hero of the Wastes

About Jack the Ripper

  • Birthday 05/20/1995
  • Age 23

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  1. Jack continued to work as Feral relayed the events of the raid, paying close attention to each detail. He stood and turned towards his armor, his face half hidden behind a veil of hair, only the edge of his mask visible in the light. He worked slowly to attach the new piece to the frame, taking his time with the one arm he had available to him. "I'll require updated maps on the positions of the slavers headquarters, and I'll send a recon team to scout out the area. The heavy weapons and armor will be taken to the armory lockup to undergo repairs and maintenance. Ensure your squad receives proper medical attention, and once they are ready, I will have you attack the second base marked." With a grunt, Jack pushed the armor seals into place, locking the piece firmly onto the frame. He then picked up a ratchet and went about tightening the bolts. "Good work, you followed orders to the letter and returned with slaves, armaments, and information, as well as no casualties. See to it that you get appropriate rest, and I'll have something sent your way as compensation for a job well done."
  2. The courtyard was small, completely isolated from the other parts of the stronghold by high steel walls, edged with razor wire. The ground was hard dirt, much like all the other outside areas. In the far side of the small courtyard rested a workstation, and standing face front, the huge suit of power armor, glaring at Yetti and Feral with cold, empty eyes. Jack sat at the workstation, his back to the pair as he worked on the damaged armpiece that had been removed from the set. His face was not visible, only his black hair, and imposing figure, his large knife still strapped onto its sheath across his lower back. His wounded arm was in a full cast, held in place by a sling around his neck. He worked only with his free hand, slowly and carefully to repair the damage done to his suit. "Report." He commanded in a low growl, keeping his eyes focused on his work.
  3. The bartender looked up from cleaning one of the glasses with his eyes, his face still cast downwards. "Jack is out there." He said, motioning towards a door in the back side of the Throne Room. "Leads to a small courtyard. Usually doesn't let people in there, but specifically told me to send y'all on through if you returned." He leaned in closer, speaking in a low voice. "Mind y'selves around him. Spear may've broke his arm, but he won't need that, nor his armor to kill ya if he wanted."
  4. Reaver pulls out the map Grim gave him the other day, and unfolds it. Upon it are several camps marked within Scourge territory. Two are circled in red. "Jack wants these two camps put to the sword. He wants their castrated corpses mounted on spikes at their gates as a warning to the others, who dare conduct business in our lands." He hands her a final piece of paper, a requisition form for Shit and Crap, for six incendiary grenades. "Burn them to the ground. No survivors."
  5. Reaver comes rushing into the Barracks as the rest are about to leave, his eyes wide. He slows down as he approaches Feral. "Holy shit, I did NOT expect that to go down like that." He breathed, as he unslung a pack at his side and pulled out three bags, clinking with caps. "Went over to the store for you. Got the caps myself, save you the trouble, but it's gonna invalidate the paper I gave you, obviously." He hands two bags to Feral and one to Mackenzie. "Sure you can handle giving the other lad his share." He then looks over his shoulder, checking to see if anyone is within airshot, and then lowers his voice. "Listen. I'm not trying to be an ass or anything, all I'm saying is that was REALLY shit timing. The leader of that opposing faction pulled a fast one on Jack. It was a last ditch trap I guess. Threw a goddamn landmine at his feet. Explosion only stumbled him in his armor, but they had some sort of mounted crossbow or something, shot a spear right through his arm. Gave her and them, time they needed to escape proper." He reached into his pocket then, and pulled out a small badge. Cold grey steel, with the bloody red insignia of a deathclaws skull emblazoned on the front. "I spoke to Jack before y'all came.... barging in. Said that, while he can't offer you a position within the inner circle without disrupting the balance of things, he can give you direct and official command over your own special ops team. They report to you, and you report directly to him." "Just.... don't push it with him. Jack may be one of the more logical people here, but he's still a cold blooded killer, with a red hot temper when caught at a bad time."
  6. The Bone Carver finally wriggles the upper arm piece free from Jack, causing the end of the spear to jerk and Jack to snarl harshly. Instinctively, he draws his shotgun with his free arm and aims it directly in front of him, not caring whom he is aiming at. "All of you have three seconds to exit this room." He growls, his voice sounding as if on the verge of loosing his temper. "Three......" The Bone Carver is far less forgiving. She pulls out her knife and flips it so that she is holding it by the blade. With her foot, she kicks Feral square in the face, and at the same time, throws the knife with impressive aim and skill, straight at Inga, the weapon revolving thrice before burying itself right in the womans raised palm. "Get the FUCK OUT." She snaps, as all the Scourge leaders stand and draw their weapons. "And don't EVER think you can come in here like that again." Jack slowly lowers his shotgun, keeping the weapon ready on his lap. "Two...." He continues, tapping the handle of his weapon with a single finger.
  7. Jack sat in his Throne, his armor covered in enough blood so that it was more red than black. The Scourge leaders sat at their own table across from the bar, watching Jack with nervous eyes. Big Mike lay on the floor between them, unconscious, with a bloody gash on the side of his head. The Bone Carver was at Jacks side, working hurriedly with a drill to unbolt the armor around his right arm, where the snapped off end of a spear was firmly lodged. She muttered quietly to him, and Jack glared across the room, growling and cursing under his breath from the pain of his wound, but keeping himself quiet and still enough so it would not show. His large cleaver was leaned against the left side of the Throne, his hand wrapped around its handle, obviously ready to use it if anyone dared approach him. His helmeted head turned, its eyes focused now on Feral and Inga, his grip on the weapon tightening somewhat. The Bone Carver paused in her work to glance over her shoulder at them. Her eyes narrowed before she resumed working at the bolts of Jacks power armor.
  8. There would be a commotion outside, more and more voiced filling the air, and raider began trickling into the barracks. Most were covered in blood and wasteland filth, some were wounded, all looked exhausted. A number of them would return to their bunks and crash out immediately. Some made for the showers, while others simple collapsed to the ground in their respective groups, talking quietly among themselves on the events that had transpired beyond the wall.
  9. Reaver leaned forward and looked at the map, studying it with a critical eye. "Some of these bases are situated in our territory.... and by the looks of things, they're well hidden enough to escape out eye. Jack will want these cleared out, but I'll have to take it up with him first, see if there is anything specific he'd want done."
  10. Reaver leaned back his his chair. "Leave the weapons here, I'll have them dealt with. For now, return to your Barracks and be on standby. The main force was repelled but it's entirely possible that they have a reserve force ready to attack now that our defenses are thin. They won't be able to get through the walls, but we need to be ready in case they pull anything funny." He waved his hand. "You're dismissed."
  11. Reaver shook his head. "Nah thanks man, but I'll pass."
  12. Reaver took a long drag on his cigarette, listening to what Feral had to say. Anyone else would have mocked her demands, laughed in her face, and told her to fuck off. But Reaver just sat there and listened. When she'd finished, he nodded, and stuck his cigarette butt in the ashtray. "Alright." He said, in a relaxed tone. "Fair enough. That artillery would have raked our forces if it hadn't been dealt with, so I commend you for that. And yeah you're right. Only Jack can dictate who has a leadership position here.... but I will take your proposal to him, when he gets back, and see what he has to say." He frowned a little. "Sledge won't like it. Under the impression that you lot. He hates that one." He points over at Mackenzie. "And with you two so close, he won't take very well to the idea. But fuck him. He's become more arrogant ever since he killed Charon and took his place. Kind of an asshole.... well.... more than he was already at least." He picks up the cigarette packet and takes another one out between his lips, before offering it over to either Grim or Feral. "Either of you smoke?" Whether they'd take one or not, he'd place the packet back down afterwards, and light his up, putting the lighter down on the table. "I can only promise to relay your request. Nothing past that. Regardless...." He takes out a notebook and scrawls down a few short words and some digits down, before tearing it off and sliding it over to Feral. "Take that to the lunatic robot that runs Shit and Crap. He'll comp you for the weapon haul you've brought in." The paper would read: 1000cp, x 3, signed Reaver.
  13. The girl continued to drill Grim with her eyes, ever defiant in the face of a considerable larger opponent. She cast a glance towards Feral as she spoke, before returning it to Grim. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted as the main door to the Throne Room burst open, and Reaver stormed in. The 6.5ft of muscle wore makeshift armor covered in blood from the recent battle, and his hair was messy, full of mud and blood. A large gash still bled fresh across his brow. He froze a few feet in the door as he surveyed the scene with widened eyes, before pulling out a decorated .44 Magnum, pulling back the hammer and aiming it right at Grims skull. "The FUCK you think you're doing in here you pint sized shits?" He shouted across the room. The Bone Carver looked between Grim and Reaver, not moving any other muscle. Reaver slowly advanced on Grim, keeping his aim steady. "Step the fuck back boy, before I put you down." Before anyone could react, The Bone Carver lowered her knife and slid it into her belt, smiling calmly at Reaver. "They're good." She stated sweetly. "I was just showing the man here a little knife trick to catch your opponent off guard. We were just waiting for you actually. They have business." She stepped back from Grim and looked between all of them, the hostility in her demeanor gone. "It was nice to meet all of you, but you ahve business, and I feel like reading. Until next time." And with that, she sauntered off through a door in the back of the Throne Room, disappearing from view. Reaver slowly lowered his weapon, disarming the hammer and sliding it back into the holster at his hip. "Eh, apologies. Guess I walked in at a funny moment, yeah?" He shook his head and made his way over to the table across the room from the bar. He grabbed a cigarette and lit it with a zippo from his pocket. "So.... what business do you have with me, and by extension, Jack?"
  14. Her expression immediately went hard when Grim approached, and she shot out of the throne and into a standing position, the knife rocketing upwards so that the point almost dug into the skin under his chin. "Don't ever ask me what my name is." She snarled through clenched teeth, untold fury ablaze in her green eyes as she glared up at Grim.
  15. The girl let out a small giggle, looking at Feral with humor in her eyes as she lowered the knife to her lap. "I know right?" He exclaimed, leaning forward with wide eyes and a wider grin. "Everyday, all around me, all I hear is, "I've killed this many people, I've killed that many monsters, I drove a spear through a mans eyehole and pinned his head to a wall. Blah blah bla-bla-bla-bla", fucking, boring." Her words turned harsh as she uttered the last one, slowly leaning back in her seat. "What makes me more dangerous than anyone here, is that the rules that apply to all of you.... don't apply for me. I could kill everyone that looked at me wrong, but I don't. No...." He lets out a long, quiet groan, running one hand down her face. "No, Jack takes care of all that, doesn't he." She looked back at Feral. "When I met him he was.... already too far gone to tell what may've been before. And after that it was just.... blood and fear from everyone around him, everyone that looked at me funny, or got any bright ideas. He hides.... so much, behind that suit and that mask. Maybe part of the world he left behind, a world where killing wasn't part of everyday life." She looks down, turning the knife over and over in her hands.