Jack Slater gestured to the bar keep for a refill, the prior drinks now adding a quaint turning motion to the room that his eyes kept trying to counteract. The bar tender, to his credit, hesitated and gave Jack a thoughtful look, "Maybe you wanna to slow down a little there.." The end of his sentence hung in the air awkwardly. Jack knew the old man wanted to add, 'Captain' to the request, but no one was supposed to know who he was, and more than that, he didn't even have an official rank anymore. His gaze across the bar narrowed to a cold sort of steel before the liquor reasserted itself and he hung his head.<br/><br/>His fingers combed through his dark brown hair with shocks of white creeping in at the sides, then rubbed habitually at the large 'X' scar embedded between his eyes. It was one of the largest of his various old injuries to mark his body, stretching out above his brows at the top, and down across his cheeks at the bottom. His stern, square jaw seemed to set itself as his hand moved down his face and over the salt and pepper five o'clock shadow which was perpetually there these days. The crows feet at the corners of his hazel green eyes used to only show when he smiled, but now they were always there, perched at the sides of a worn and tired stare set into a face which tried its best to be squared. It was as if discipline and years of service tried to keep the corners filed sharp, but quit halfway through the job. His muscled and toned frame shifted from atop the bar stool, as if weakly trying to shoo away the minor aches and pains that prodded at his joints. He almost chuckled to himself thinking of his old rank now. He used to take pride in seeing himself in the mirror, dressed to the nines in his BDUs, sleeves rolled up over forearms which may as well have had steel cable running under the skin. He was young and bold and ready to save the world. '<i>And stupid</i>,' he thought bitterly to himself, '<i>fucking clueless</i>.' Now the pride had all been weathered or blasted away. The cable under the skin was still there, but now it had actual pins and bolts in the bones to match. His skin itself was now a road map of pain, but he hid it well under his civilian clothes. '<i>They're just called clothes now...</i>' He corrected himself. His hiking boots, jeans, and t-shirt under a worn brown leather jacket were all he ever wore now days. Not much reason to wear the BDUs anymore, and even if there was, shame had become a powerful incentive not to.<br/><br/>In the back of Jack's mind, he supposed he blamed himself the most. He had had plenty of time to torture himself wondering who had taken them down. He thought of their enemies having finally had enough of the company meddling in their affairs. He thought of her, and the way she had twisted him and all the others, played them all for fools, but that line of thought always lead to the next most obvious conclusion. He had been used, and because it was her, he had let it happen. Not a day went by he didn't wonder if he would have done things differently. Part of him always tried to assume the best in people, and in her case he had held to this stubbornly, though he couldn't say for sure if it was out of some overly optimistic philosophy, or if it was love and all of the folly that that entailed. Now that idealist had been burnt away. He didn't waste any time wondering if maybe she had been turned or corrupted. He didn't worry himself with notions of her being blackmailed or extorted. All of the 'whys' and 'hows' had been drown under a raising tide of cold cynicism. He had done this. He let it happen. Nothing would change that, no matter how many bottles he tried to crawl inside.<br/><br/>Still, it didn't hurt to<i>try</i>...<br/><br/>Jack remembered back when they had first approached him about the idea. A coordinated effort through the U.N. and a host of other multi-national entities. They had the means and the funding, they just needed the shooters. Men and women from all over who could do the work. In the beginning, it was only a handful of members and it was easy enough to keep a lid on it, but soon the organization had grown large enough that leaks were difficult to keep up with. Rumors circulated online and soon the conspiracy nuts started to call them 'The Shadow Company<i>.</i>' Everyone on the team loved it. The real name for the organization had more acronyms and designations that anyone would bother to remember and finally giving it a name, even if it was slightly fantastical, was a relief.<br/><br/>All ancient history now. An empire that burned down over night and left nothing but bodies and regrets.<br/><br/>He looked up from his swirling memories and glared at the man behind the counter again, half of his alcoholic daze starting to settle once more into all too familiar reality. "Hit me again." He reasserted. Tonight, he wasn't in the mood for friendly faces or any further reminders of the life that had left him behind.<br/><br/>But in life, we rarely get what we want.