Name:Jack Morgan
Age: 15 Years
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
147.3 cm
46.7 g
Birthplace: Washington, Maine
Relatives
Mother: Sara Morgan(Deceased)
Sister: Jenna Morgan(Age 18)
Background
I'm Jack. I'm a bastard. I grew up with my mother and older sister in the poorest part of Maine. We had different fathers, but that didn't matter to either of us. When mom was at work, Jenna took care of me, without complaining. Though I never knew my father, I've been told I'm a lot like him in many ways, most notably with my mind, the way I have an affinity for understanding most areas of life easily. A prodigy, they called me. Jack of all trades, and with time, I could completely understand the whole world. Still, I've never been good with people. They say I'm asocial, that I might even be anti-social. At the age of 5, I ran in with a group, scuttlers of sorts, about six of them, much older than me, but who took a shine to me because of his smarts, and and got to know me. And now, thanks to them, I've got street savoir-faire. We stayed in this old abandoned building that was originally used for storing vacuum cleaners. That was where I really went to school. Pickpocketing, lock-breaking, hot-wiring cars, general tinkering, I learned it all, quickly. Of course, I'd never participated in any big jobs until I turned seven. I tried to keep that life completely secret from my mom and my sister.
Still, we were prone to getting in trouble. Fights with other kids, playing hookie, being where we had no business. That didn't take long to reach mom and Jenna, and boy were they mad. They were always talking how they wanted me to get up and outta there, to stay out of trouble and go to college so at least
I
could get out of there, and maybe one day come back for them. Things would be a lot easier if we had a father. I used to wonder if, he thought about us, if he even kissed me goodbye. Mom said he was filthy rich, but only stuck around for one night. Then, I remember I just wished he was dead, that I could fine him and beat the Hell out of him myself.
Anyway, they told me I had to stop with the guys, but who listens to their mother or their sister when they're a kid, right? Besides, they weren't just troublemakers to me. To me, they were family. Yeah, we got in trouble, but sometimes we might get lucky and snag something really good, a watch or a ring, and then I could afford to do something nice for my mom and sister. Anything to ease the burden of mom working a full-time job, plus another half-time. Even though I seemed hopeless, neither of them ever gave up on me. Reminiscing on the stress I caused. . .
Then, out of nowhere, mom got really sick. Deathly sick. Like, uncontrollable coughing, mucus and blood sick. I hadn't really cared to know what it was, but they said she wasn't doomed for sure. Just that it would take a lot of time, steady treatments, and support for her to get better.
I kept getting in trouble, and by the age of thirteen, I'd been to juvie on more than one occasion. But one day, the guys caught wind of some kind of treasure, a big one, just a little while off Buck's Harbour. Shouldn't have taken long, just a weekend trip. Two days. We should've known better than to take advice from that strange old man. Anyway, he told us he'd lead us there, if we could manage to get a boat. We all agreed. I needed it; it would probably help me pay for some help for my mom.
So we scrounged together some cash, saved up from our adventures and rented a boat to get to and from wherever it was. Turns out, fog and a storm hit us as soon as the harbour started to shrink. We get out there and we can't see a damn thing, plus the compass the old guy brought gets all out of whack, but nobody panicked. The old man, he'd been travelling for years, and after about a day's rough journey, we made it to a small island. Seemed like the perfect place to put a treasure, right? What did we know? Turns out, the man's a freak. We get to the island and he leads us along, we come to a small villa, and he walks right up to the door and inside. We didn't know what else to do, so we followed him, asked him how he knew about the place and when we'd set out for the treasure. "Treasure!?" He started laughing, maniacally, for no reason, and then he said something like, "There is no treasure. You boys are scum, the scourge of everyone you meet. Your souls, they're dirty. You're greedy, selfish, but you're tough, smart, resourceful. I like that in my servants." Next thing we knew, the doors shut behind us and all the lights went out, and the only light in the entire place came from the floor, some sort of circular design with symbols, carved into the wood. What happened next, I don't completely remember, but I must've passed out or something, because I woke up and we were all in chains on the circle, and there was a red glow coming from it. I started feeling weak, and still don't remember what happened, but the old man walked in front of me, said something, about ties, the sins of the father, and a bunch of other stuff that I assumed was useless rambling. I wasn't paying attention. I was still pretty sure I was gonna die there, but I didn't. I woke up back at Buck's Harbour, alone and in tears.
When I went back home and unlocked the door with the key under the mat, nobody was home, but the house felt. . .different. It still looked the same, give or take a few new things here and a few things missing there, but it felt completely different. It was a few minutes before Jenna came in and ran over and hugged me; she was crying.
Two years I'd been gone. Well, a little more than two, but whatever. It was the middle of July. Anyway, Jenna said everyone else had given up searching for me, except her. When I asked about mom. . .well, she'd died. Three days before I got back. She'd been getting even worse since I'd disappeared, and then she just couldn't fight anymore. But she told Jenna if I ever came home, to tell me she forgives me, and that she's sorry. God, anything but an apology to make me feel worse. After a hug and a showing of love, Jenna gave me a scolding, then more love and affection. I went to my room and cried silently for hours.
The whole family would be coming into town for the funeral, and that I'd be leaving to go live with a more wealthy aunt and uncle while she was off at college. Where were they when we needed them before? As far as I'm concerned, they're just as bad as my father.
Per mom's request, she'd been cremated and the funeral was short. I'd stay with Jenna until it was time for school to start back up. Then I'd be moving to Boston, Massachusetts. I cherished every moment of it, or at least did my best. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was somehow responsible for mom dying, like it was me disappearing that made her lose her will. Or the wonder of what happened to my friends, the wonder of how I'd gotten out alive. I thought maybe they did too, so I went back to the old factory to check for them, and if they were there, to tell them what was happening. They weren't there. I checked old newspapers for articles, headlines. I was the only one who got a mention, a picture and and APB. The only one who had other people care about him, which made me feel even more guilty. I stayed there for a couple of hours, said my final goodbyes, to the factory and to everyone (hmph, like they could hear me) before returning home, and after that, I didn't go out much. Wouldn't be easy with everyone watching me like hawks now, to make sure I don't go disappearing another two years and trying to comfort me because I was probably some crazy kid who had emotional issues that caused him to run off in the first place.
End of the summer came pretty fast and I had to leave. Jenna was crying. I was not. Maybe I just couldn't. Maybe I'd exhausted them all in the weeks before. But then, what about Jenna? She had to be feeling it as much as me. She was there. Or maybe, that's why I had a reason to feel worse.
As soon as I arrived, my suspicions had been confirmed. Boston sucked. I didn't know anybody and it seemed like nobody cared about me, at all. I had no friends and the blood relatives I had, I couldn't stand.
Sometimes, I just wished I could run away. I rarely spent any time with them, usually off by myself, getting into more trouble, or anything to pass the time. Most times, people just assume I'm some street-urchin. And I kinda am, at heart. But they'll never turn me in. Because when you know what I know, they can't hold you for long. And I've still got the street savoir-faire.
Couldn't take it anymore. Had to get out of there.
Ability: No superhuman abilities noted, Jack is nonetheless good at picking up new things and does so rather quickly. An astute learner, quite adept at understanding and formulating, though he seems to have a problem with people and dealing with what seems to be apathy, as well as his antisocial tendencies. Despite his rather diminutive size, he is quite athletic, displaying ability comparable to athletes a few years older than him and able to reproduce many moves with little practice. Small and scrappy, he has no formal styles, but a street fighter, he'll use any dirty trick to win in a fight.
Jack is a kleptomaniac and has been known to take things of varying values, from trivial items like paperclips, to people's most valued possessions, jewels, et cetera.
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