Jack Rabbit takes a long, slurping sip out of the cracked mug hanging precariously from his index finger. There’s a fair amount of liquid seeping over the side and through the cracks, never mind his mouth, but he laps it all up the best he can until there’s nothing left of his Earl Grey. He slips the cup back into his pocket, smiling a little.

His teeth are plain and the front two are slightly chipped from various events over the years. He thinks they’re perfectly fine for the things teeth are meant for; even if they are very human. Jack is very human after all.

This particular closet that he’s been recently deposited in can frankly be described as nothing short of a mess. He’s nearly knee deep in clutter, and can barely move his arms more than a few inches from his side. It’s not nearly enough to procure a weapon, much less to actually fight. He’s been in smaller, he supposes.

After a few moments of ajustment to the new light, he sighs, listening patiently for a heart beat. The first step. Always start with the first step; less mistakes this way. He can tell the occupant of this room is having a bad night’s sleep; the beat's too fast, too anxious. Perhaps, he thinks, it's easier when they’re conscious and aware.

Eventually he decides he can’t wait any longer. He’s not exactly the patient type anyways.

Jack opens the door slowly, shivering his way out with well practiced stealth—you can’t go into these things with bad feet. Jack's made it his job, and he’s good at his job, to be nothing more than a shadow until the most opportune moment.

Sleeping only a short three feet away is a small boy with black hair and a slight sallow hue to his skin. He can’t be older than six. He turns restlessly, tangling his hopeless comforter even further until it’s wound like a snake around his small neck and Jack just can't help himself. He takes an appropriate pause to watch the actions play by play; the twist, the pop the snap of his neck, under all that blanket--watches it just behind the hood of his lids--but he eventually manages to pull himself back on track.

His mind always wanders on lazy nights.

The boy's eyes flutter shortly under the weight of his long shadow, and he finds himself smiling just a just a little more. He smells of fear and sweat, and it's as close to a turn on as Jack can ever achieve. Despite the high rush that always accompanies him during these types of activities, he still manages to be anxious. His tight-knit sweater chafes against the slashes along his spine every now and then, and it's enough to remind him that he's on a time schedule. Failing’s not something Jack’s used to, so he’s not very good at it. He’s already decided it’s something he doesn’t want to experience again.

He makes quick work of the sheer net wound into a bracelet around his wrist. In two finger strokes, he has it ready for capture. The threads are made of steel and spider silk. It’s virtually indestructible against any weapon, and razor sharp to human skin. He makes sure to keep his fingers well out of the way while slipping into position. This, this is familliar. He's good at this.

Both arms are near straining point as he poises himself over the boy, about to make his move, when something whistles by his ear and imbeds itself well into the wall behind him. Jack stops, immediately on alert. He listens for any movements.

Another whistle reaches his ear, but he’s not quick enough. Too late now. Closer related to an annoying twinge than actual pain, Jack’s still pissed as he pulls out the stem of a yellow dart. There’s a small bloom of blood on his right shoulder, but nothing he can’t patch up later.

Shit. A plan. He needs a plan.

He simply waits for another attack, still clutching the net firm in his palms. Now that he’s listening, he can hear the faint outline of a second heartbeat. How had he missed that? Jack frowns.

Seconds later, only the premature squeaking of floorboards alludes to his aggressor’s location before a dark shadow all but springs out from behind the bed, a kitchenette of weapons clutched in their shaky hands. The breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding whooshes out in one long wave. All apprehension disappears.

“D-don’t come any closer.” They whisper, sounding frightened but firm. He lifts a dark eyebrow, now able to see that it’s only a harmless female child. The lighting’s bad, even to his skilled eyes, but she looks around sixteen or seventeen. He doesn’t know exactly; it’s been a good while since Jack’s come into contact with teenaged girls.

He sighs, feeling really agitated now. It's a toss up. One one hand, he doesn’t necessarily want to kill the girl—after all, it’s not she who he’s after—but on the other, if it can’t be avoided…then it can’t be avoided. “Jesus fucking Christ. I’m not going to harm you, you idiot girl.” He finally says, feeling as though that sums things up.

Something in her stance changes then, enough so that Jack notices it. “You need to uh,” She licks her lips uncertainly, “need to go. Right now.” The few knives in her left palm shake. In a fleeting thought, he wonders what they’d feel like lodged beneath his jaw but blinks away the thought a moment later. Back to reality, Jack, back to reality. She wouldn’t be that hard to get rid of, but something stops him from taking out a weapon. If she’s armed, than she knew he’d be coming. She knows about the road in her closet.

“What’s your name?” He asks simply, hoping to divert her attention away from killing him. She stays decidedly stiff, but answers primly.

“Sophie.” She’s got the same pale skin and raven hair as the boy in the bed. He guesses they’re siblings, and even though he can’t directly relate to human family obligations, he guesses that’s the reason she’s armed with half her silverware and little to no experience.

Sophie bites her lip, inching a little closer.

“Please stop moving Sophie, or I’m going to have to slit your brother’s throat. Ok?”

She stops.

“I k-know how to use these.” She holds the silverware up like a deck of cards, waving them in what he assumes is supposed to be a menacing gesture. For a little girl, she’s composed herself quite well. She’s perspiring heavily, and there’s a pressing cloud of fear around her, but the girl’s well intact consciously. She has no intent of backing down.

He motions to her with two fingers, twitching them to the side. He can practically see the lost minutes dancing in front of his face; this is costing him so much time. Valuable time he’ll have to eventually explain. Jack hates explaining things.

“You’re a little in the way.” He side steps her swiftly, with all intents of grabbing the boy and hightailing it out of there, but he's only manages three feet before-

Sophie lunges for him with a sharp keen that seems to come from deep in her throat. “NO! no, stop, please!” She pants, wrapped like a dead weight around his legs, all weaponry seemingly forgotten. She claws at him with enough strength to momentarily buckle their teetering weigths. He staggers, dropping the net carefully away from both of them so as not to suffer any further injury than he’s already acquired.

He's not prepared for what happens next.

Sophie abruptly bites his leg, leaving a couple of bloody half crescents on his calf. Sharp, focusing pain springs into his sockets, but he forces himself to ignore it, quickly grabbing two fistfuls of her hair now that his hands are empty. He bends down so that his mouth is just behind the shell of her ear.

“If you don’t let go,” He whispers in the voice he usually reserves for little children, “then I’m going to rip out your hair strand by strand until you’re bleeding out onto the floor, alright?” Sophie doesn’t release herself completely, but sits back far enough for Jack to see her tear streaked face. Her eyes are the color of ice, so bright and hard that he thinks they’re going to gouge his own eyes out.

“Please, no, you can’t…” She whimpers, sucking in a deep, phlegmy breath, “you, he...I-I. You can’t take Daniel!” Sophie sobs into her palm for less than a moment before putting a stopper on her tears. She sniffles again.

“You can’t.

“I can.” Jack says calmly, still holding her hair tight by the roots. “And I’m going to... After I kill you.” He makes a move to take out his switchblade.

“Wait!” Her eyes are glittering so violently up at him that he finds himself complying. “I-I’ll make a deal with you.”

This prompts a raised eyebrow as he searches her young, scared face. Sophie’s certainly done her research. His kind never could resist a bargain.

He narrows his eyes like a snake, taking a breath in through his nose while deliberating. Slowly, he releases his hold on her.

“Try anything and I’ll cut off every one of your fingers and make you watch.” She simply nods.

"Speak."

Sophie seems to implode on spot, “Take me instead!” She begs breathlessly, chest heaving and heart beating fast. Slowly, but surely, a dark smirk curls his mouth until he looks positively menacing.

“You?” He croons, bending down so that his long hands are placed supportively on his thighs. “What makes you any more special than him?” he jabs a finger back at Daniel, spilt over his bed in a drugged state. Sophie slowly staggers to her feet, disheveled and a little shaken, but still determined. He can’t help but be curious by this little girl’s drive; she seems to have no sense of self-preservation. Either she’s remarkable or plainly stupid.

“I know about you.” She whispers softly, so softly that even Jack has to lean on the meat of his feet to catch it. Sophie locks their eyes, unguarded hate flowing freely from her stare, and for a moment, he almost feels it physically.

“Hmm,” He turns away from her, nonchalantly picking up the net and stowing it away safely around his wrist. “This could be a plot twist."

“I can fight!” She interjects, looking at an odd crossfire between hopeful and angry. Jack pauses to snicker appropriately, glancing down at the silverware, strewn haphazard.

“So I’ve seen.” He then eyes the neat, little period of blood on his shoulder.

Sophie bites down on her bottom lip, looking like she’d rather slit her own throat than continue to have this conversation with him. "I'll...I can learn. I'm really good at picking up on things, and-"

“You must also understand that exchanging you would be absolutely idiotic. Do you think I’m an idiot Sophie?”

She pauses, then looks up from under her long lashes with a small, bitter smile, “I don't have an answer…”

He laughs genuinely aloud, making sure to bare all of his teeth in her direction. They may be normal, boring, human teeth, but they were still his teeth after all, and that counted for something. “You may know how to stay alive yet.”

“I know a lot.”

He quirks a dark eyebrow down at her, “Yeah?”

“I k-know what you do with those children.” Her eyes start to burn again, making Jack distantly uncomfortable.

She continues, “I know it’s horrible and sick and you’re a twisted fuck for even considering doing all t-those things to innocent little kids.”

“Like Daniel?” He asks politely. Sophie takes down a large gulp of air, almost choking on it in the process, she’s so wound.

“Yes.”

He can’t help it; he laughs. He laughs until there are tears pricking at the corners of his dark eyes. Sophie looks distinctly unimpressed. Once he’s finished, Jack simply turns away from her, taking out the net again.

“Looks like you don’t know much after all.” He quickly unwinds it once more—for what feels like the millionth time that night, and hopefully the last—while poising himself over Daniel’s small body. The boy writhes under his pitch shadow but other than that, nothing but Jack’s calculated breaths stir the air.

He feels Sophie’s presence just behind him and holds out a hand to her, “Want to see what happens when you move any closer?” He practically hears her shake her head, and something grows fondly in his chest. She’s like a pet of sorts.

“Say good night dear Sophie.” Just as Jack drops the razor-like net over Daniel, a searing pain starting in his lower back practically blinds him. His vision whites and all bearing over the room disappears. He’s only vaguely aware of Sophie standing over him with a long object in her small hands; they’re shaking but her voice is composed and perfectly calm. If he hadn’t been paralyzed on the floor, he might clap for her performance. It’s certainly a good one.

“That’s what happens.” She hisses, moving over him to her distressed brother. From the sound of it, he’s passed out from the pain and shock of the net. Sophie’s dropped the weapon down to the floor, allowing Jack a peek at what’s almost done him over. He feels an odd tangle of annoyance and surprise once he gets a blurry look at the gun. It’s nothing from the human world.

His curiosity is almost enough to allow him to forget the pain, until he remembers again. Jack can only manage a weak moan, but does get himself up onto one knee with a little help from the wall. Sophie doesn’t seem to hear, or if she does, care, that he’s moving again. Her quick fingers are flitting all around the net, bleeding small rivers down into the crooks of her elbows. He can’t be sure, but she sounds like she’s started crying again.

“That’s a nice little toy you’ve got there,” Jack grunts out, finally standing—albeit slumped against a wall—but standing none-the-less. “Got one just like it somewhere.” He slowly inches his way over to the bed, curiosity getting the best of him. He wants to see the damage.

Daniel’s got a good number of incisions on him, most are shallow, but the deeper ones could cause some problems if not treated. Sophie, as young and naïve as she appears, seems to realize this as well.

“Get the net off him. Now.” She grinds her teeth together, making a dodge for the gun on the ground. In his state, Jack can only watch as she clumsily points it at his heart—or the spot where he supposes it is.

“Or what?” He laughs, a long raspy laugh, “You’ll shoot me? Go ahead kid, shoot away. I'm guessing maybe he's got ten minutes. Tops.” Sophie licks at her chapped lips in hesitation, pointing the gun to his head instead.

“Then you and him have something in common.”

"You think this is a game? Two down and it’s Bingo! Sweetie, these are lives you’re dealing with, not cards. Your brother’s life.” Jack hates sympathizing, especially with other humans, but if that means he’ll save himself another bullet, then he’s all for new tactics.

“If you let him die, then I promise I’ll personally walk you to hell Jack Rabbit.” He freezes, blinking at her small, tense body. It’s gone in a minute.

As smooth as he ever can be, Jack smiles a bullshitting grin, “What an honor. Can't be much afraid of something given, can I now?” When Sophie remains silent, he decides that she might want to hear a little more from him.

“You've got a gun, you're smart. It all speaks wonders. Let's cut a deal, right here, right now. Just for you, yeah?"

“He’s bleeding.” She swallows, grip tightening over the gun handle.

“Obviously. You think he’s having a party over there?” She abruptly shoots an experimental shot right over Jack’s head, and although it’s maybe an inch off, it conveys her message clearly.

“Well, that was just a little close…” He wheedles.

“Just talk.”

“I always did like a girl that knew what she wanted.” Sophie triggers another sonic shot, this time right between his legs. He can’t help but grudgingly admit she’s got a good sense of aim.

“A little too close to the family jewels, but we’ll live I think.”

“Now!”

“Sure, sure. I just want some questions answered.” Sophie looks like she’s about to send off another shot straight into his arm, but lowers the gun a fraction of an inch. Now that table’s have turned, she’s gained confidence; a far shot from the timid, little girl who’d first thrown the dart.

“Questions?”

“We’re not going to get anywhere if you keep unnecessarily repeating everything.” She ignores him.

“All you want is for me to answer some questions and then you’ll free my brother and leave us alone?” He cocks his head and smiles another toothy grin.

“Yes.”

Sophie spreads her arms out, signaling for him to start. “Ask away.”

“One preference?” He takes her arced eyebrow to mean ‘yes?’ “the gun stays at your side.” She glances fleetingly down at it with a frown, but slowly slips it into the front pocket of her flannel shorts where it creates a cancerous looking lump.

Jack nods, “Thanks. First question, where’d you get the gun?” He figures it’s easy enough for a start. Sophie doesn’t even blink before she answers.

“Found it.”

This causes him to raise an eyebrow, “Hmm? Where exactly?” Still on the easier questions.

She crosses her arms over her small chest, and if he hadn’t known what she was capable of, Jack might even think it’s because she's feeling self-conscious. “Next question.”

He waves a long finger at her, “No, no. Deal was that you answered the questions. Your brother only has so much time Soph.” A small muscle in her jaw ripples, and he almost hopes she screams—Jack is quite partial to screaming—but she remains well composed, albeit shaking a little.

“It was already here when we moved in, under the bed.” Jack nods to himself, mulling this new bit of information over. He knew from the beginning this house smelt odd. Must be former hunting headquarters; he certainly wouldn’t be surprised. Jack almost wishes he’d ran into a whole hunting team as opposed to this little girl; certainly less time consuming. He’d always been up for a good chase.

“Well, that’s interesting enough I suppose. You knowing about the road in your closet is even more of interest, however.” He says eventually; question implied.

She looks confused for a moment, “A what?”

“A road,” Jack repeats, as calmly as he can achieve, “It’s what allows big bad guys like me into sweet little kid’s rooms like your brother’s. It’s a wonderful invention.” Her face scrunches up at him, hands involuntarily tightening over the gun. He almost wishes she’d just shoot it; this talking’s getting tiresome. He’s wasting so much damned time.

“Yeah, I know about it.” She whispers in a tight voice; like she’s choking.

“Right, well, I was more wondering about the how?” He cocks his head to the side, dirty strands of hair spilling forth into his dark eyes. Sophie’s small mouth opens just slightly in the same moment that the closet door caves in. One would imagine the sound of splintering wood to be of the subtler noises out there; they’re wrong. It’s as if that’s all there is—that noise—for an instant. Sophie instinctively brings her hands over her ears, stunned by the sudden commotion. Jack’s a bit more composed.

He immediately recognizes the metallic scent of fresh gun-powder, the sound of heavily clad feet on the floor.

Simeon.

Sure enough, there she is with her long, dark, red hair flowing like streamers in her wake. There’s that trademark smirk on her cherry lips, and a gun in her hand. Jack feels like he’s back at square one.

Simeon simply offers up a saccharine smile in his general direction, he can’t be sure exactly due to the dark shades hiding a good majority of her face.

She ties up all loose strings a few moments later, “A little slow today Jack?”

“No more than usual.” He grinds out, on full defense. It’s really no use where Simeon is concerned; he’s well aware she could just as easily break all the bones in his body as she could tie a bow, but he also doesn't beleive in coincidences. She was always an opportunist.

“Thought I’d take some things off your hands.” She snickers while unlocking the bright yellow bio-hazard box strapped around her waist. From inside, she pulls out a net similar to the one Jack has but significantly less crude looking in design. He’s not surprised.

Jack’s also not as surprised as he would imagine himself to be when she swiftly transfers Daniel from one net to the other in less than a few series of hand motions. Simeon tosses back his bloodied net from over one slender shoulder.

“That’s yours I think.” They’re gone less than a few seconds later; vanished, nothing. Jack stares dumbly at the thick air where Simeon had been standing only moments prior, feeling the dull burn of rage start low in his abdomen. He was going to snap her neck in two.

“Fucking…” A few more meaningless curses slip from his lips before he decides standing around wasn’t going to fix anything. After a sequence of precise ties, Jack’s got the damp net wound safely on his wrist, intention in mind. He barely glances back at the stunned Sophie quivering on the ground before he jumps back into the road from which he’d first come.

AN: How I do love me a new storrryy. Don't worry though, chapter four of The Mosaic Project is half-way done. Between that and Summer Reading, I might just kill myself. Love to anyone who's ever read any of my shit and liked it. Mucho kisses and other things related.

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