Jackson has never really liked the sort of people that hung around these sort of bars. Sure, he owned one himself back in the day, but that didn’t mean he particularly liked his clientele.  “Tracy’s” was rather run down looking from the outside when Jackson first came upon it, but the sources he had gathered told him that looks would be deceiving, and boy were they right by the time he flickered into the damned place without nobody noticing. 

The inside of the bar almost seemed like a shining model for a strip club. The place was gigantic as it was a renovated warehouse, dancers and strippers were in full swing as college students ran in and out of the various areas, playing beer pong or frustrating the old men trying to get a chick on the dance floor. Jackson felt a hint of jealousy in his bones, wishing his bar had been this busy, even if he didn’t exactly fancy how undeniably lewd the place was… but then that was expected for a college town.

Jackson waded into the crowd and looked toward the back corner were seedy business was normally done in these places. The conglomeration of men with oddly nice looking clothes next to baggy-clothed jackwads told him that this was the place the gang he was hunting down done some of their business. Terror, Jackson’s vigilante alter ego, was hunting them down for their crimes in the sex trade.  He didn’t typically see college kids as his type of children to be mad about people abusing, but when he saw in the news how a girl names Kelly was killed by the supposed gang it got different. Her parents were sobbing profusely throughout the interview, the fire in his belly was lit by them with such fervency it was hard to say no to the nagging in the back of his head that made him decide on this as a job. So, here he was, hunting down criminals like usual, being all nonchalant and badass.

Jackson hit the bar up near the corner so he could watch the thugs through a small shard of reflective glass behind all the alcohol for the bartender. He got a Margarita as he was accustomed to and slowly sipped on the salty beverage while watching them. If he remembered correctly, they loved drugging drunk-ass college girls and taking them out the back. He just had to watch out for any girls that got over their heads here, which from his experience typically meant the ones that just turned 21.

“Now ain’t this special, Jack. You’re sitting here drinking away your sorrows again while therapeutically planning the mass murder, or at least debilitation, of an entire gang of sex traffickers. What has become of you ol’ chap? Oh right, you almost died and have lost quite a bit of logic and sanity! Not to mention the common sense needed to know better than endlessly putting your life on the line for strangers! Oh bother, at least it’s fucking fun…. Speaking of fucking, this Margarita tastes like sex.” He rambled on to himself quietly, only one or two people hearing him, all of which who promptly left their seats with a look of concern on their face. Couldn’t handle fucking genius when they saw it, their problem.




[@Morose]