Encrypted

Prologue

There’s never shelter or a hero in times of greatest need, a lesson learned over the years by Jackson. This dusk proved no different. Choosing to do this alone had been a mistake, but it was the only way to ensure the task remained unknown and, therefore, the objective protected. He was the only one who could know what Tanner Isle held within its over-populated community of rich. Nestled somewhere in the city’s twists and turns was yet another secret Jackson took upon himself to keep hidden. There were so many of those burdens, but this one had always been his priority, and finally he had decided that things were getting too risky to leave it unguarded.

With a glance over his shoulder, Jackson’s stomach somersaulted. Nothing could be seen beyond aged stores that threatened to fall to pieces from a mere gust, a few crumpling apartments, and the far-away lights from the part of town still bothered to be kept in its prime. Not a single person lined the dank, downtown streets, and that was what worried Jackson most. The feeling gnawed at him, telling that his eyes couldn’t see the danger that followed from the mainland.

Should he continue to his destination? He’d only end up leading the threat there as well. Then, all those years of distant protection would be a waste, all the dedication for nothing. His steps stayed paced normal, no fear written across his features though they bubbled within. Perhaps, there was enough time to keep one of the two main secrets he had from the evil that lurked; that’s what his focus fell towards. Jackson turned from the main street—if it could even be called that—and began to race.

The thoughts were endless as Jackson ran. He had so much left to live for, but all of that had been cast aside that day seven years ago. All of his dreams as a boy had been replaced with greater ambitions that Jackson willingly accepted. In ways, he had even begun to consider himself an anonymous defender of the oblivious within society. He didn’t regret his decision then and still didn’t. Regret was a pointless thing, just as trying to escape. Lucky for Jackson, he wasn’t trying to get away. He just wanted to get enough distance to allow him time to destroy it, time to destroy his burden and treasure. The codes—his codes.

The hunter’s strides could finally be heard trailing Jackson. After another corner rounded and alley padded down, Jackson had produced a sufficient amount of distance between his pursuer—he hoped. He came to a halt, digging deep within his jeans to retrieve his trusty switchblade. Clicking the button along the side of the smooth metal, the blade snapped out of hiding. The glint from the overhanging moon across the sharp titanium promised protection within devastation.

Jackson yanked his thin jacket’s sleeve high upon his arm, revealing the beautifully crafted design etched into his skin with what appeared to be a deep, metallic, gray ink. Each curve, line, and shape created a uniqueness that existed only on his arm. No other in the world would own the exact same one—and that was what Jackson was to ensure. He held the handle so the blade hung from the bottom of his fist and clinched his teeth. The cryptic world he’d been brought into was moments from being cut away and allowing him peace.

The pain was excoriating as the blade dug deep with a quick slice. Red oozed to the surface and dripped from his down slanted arm to the damp, cracked asphalt below. The first was an unaltered line down the center of the tattoo, the second horizontal through the middle, and that was followed by various slashes in whatever direction best distorted the image. No trace of the ink remained when Jackson heard the man approaching.

Jackson’s back leaned heavily to the wall of an apartment building, the chipped bricks pressing through his light jacket and into his back as he slid to the bloody ground. “I’m useless to you.” His dark eyes looked from his mangled arm and to the man as he came to a slow at the entrance of the alleyway. A smirk of victory pulled across Jackson’s face as the man’s expression flashed with anger at the sight of the lost encryption.

The stranger’s irises blazed a haunting, iridescent color behind strips of hair that brushed over his eyes. Cloaked in dark jeans and a black jacket, the man blended with the night of the streets beyond his white skin that soaked up the faint rays beaming from the sky. An off balanced and rather powerful aura surrounded the man. The negativity of the power was what caught Jackson’s mind as frightening, though now Jackson had nothing to fear beyond death. One of his secrets was safe—but what of the other? The most valuable one to him? At that point, Jackson could only pray for it to remain a mystery amongst the living.

With long, even steps, the man erased the distance the two had. The sick perfection of the stranger’s face became growingly clear and the means of gaining such flawlessness revealed itself to Jackson. A sick perfection indeed. Upon noticing what breached over the tip of the man’s collar, Jackson knew this had been the one. A new rage formed within his gut, but he would be incapable of servicing justice to the souls the stranger had already taken. He was too strong for Jackson now—even before his arm was deemed worthless, he would have stood no chance against this individual.

The man grasped tightly to Jackson’s shirt and forced him to stand, slamming his back to the rough wall. “What brought you to here of all places?” His glare clawed through Jackson’s eyes and searched for the other secret Jackson still clung to.

“Not a damn thing.”

Useless.