"Won't you tell me your name?" The young girl pleaded, deep blue eyes desperate for an answer. Dressed in rags, her frail hands shook on the back of his vest, adorned with an abundance of burn wounds and a myriad of scars. "I need to know how to address my hero..." "We give names to things we hold dear," He replied plainly, turning back only to push away from her grasp, deep brown eyes clouded with a dull, monotonous glint. "That's the worst thing you could do, fall in love. I'll be dead by next week." "Oh, and one more thing..." He added, taking a single, heavy step. A step that carried seemingly the weight of the world, the souls of a thousand fallen soldiers swimming in the veins of a single leg. "Heroes don't exist." --- Jackal. Though his given name was lost long ago, the rouge renegade took the alias with a wary hand, the name is has taken the world by storm and has become synonymous with the words 'hope' and 'freedom.' In a world where choice and free-will have long turned to ash, Jackal serves as the Phoenix that has risen to rebuild it all. He'll do whatever it takes.