You knew Jack from the day he was born. You and him were tied to the hip, always running after each other and getting into mischief. You, much like him, were also born into the gang. Your parents died when you were only three, leading most of the women in the gang to be a sort of mother figure to you, while Arthur and Dutch were more of a father figure.

When you were 10, Dutch put you up for adoption, mainly cause of the fact the gang was deteriorating and he was too old to take care of you. That was the last time you ever saw Jack.

Years later, you’re now in your late teens. You work at a small store in Blackwater owned by your adoptive parents. It was a small armory shop, and you only got a few customers a day.

You sit by the counter doing your chores. You were in the middle of cleaning off a gun when the bell above the door ringed, signaling someone had walked in. You looked up to see a man with dark brown hair that went down to his shoulders. He sported a mustache and a goatee.

He greeted you with a nod and an authoritative tone, “Hello miss. I’m looking for a gun.” He said, seemingly not recognizing you after those years. Though, he was deeply depressed and the last time he saw you was around 9 years ago.