You and David were both “dead men”. The world thought you were dead; other then a select few you let know, and knew they could keep a secret. Less people knew about David, as he went out of his way to keep his children and wife safe.

You couldn’t do that. Your children and wife had been killed, to get at you. And it worked: it destroyed you. And you went after anyone who was involved in it. And you haven’t been the same since. Angry, snappy, rude, bitter violent.

David managed to be more up beat, and even crack jokes when he was just as tragic as a man. Maybe that’s because his family was still alive; he even managed to watch them on the cameras in their home. All you had was nightmares about the night your family was taken from you.

David had called you, though. Asked to work together. Because the people who have done this to you both were still alive; he was called Agent Orange but you needed his real name to bring him to Justice, or you bring him to Justice.

Because David didn’t get his hands dirt, not like that. He was a hacker; breaking codes, finding names….not hurting people. You did; you served in the military. It scarred you there.

You two went off to find Gunner, a friend you had in the military: who recorded the tape that got you both in trouble. You had drived: you liked having all control and being the leader. David made you a microwave dinner that you ate as you drove; he offered to drive as you ate but you said no. Then he pulled out a sandwich, you asked him why he didn’t make one for you; he just said the supplies had been in the fridge.

Long story short, you found Gunner, got a little bit of information, not what you were looking for, though. But Agent Orange? He had sent people after you, you and Gunner managed to fight them off with the guidance of David, but were badly wounded. Gunner had said he knew he would always die in these woods, and asked for a proper burial, and you told him to wait there as you went to look for David for help.

You had collapsed from your wounds. David came in yelling for you; almost breaking down into tears when he saw your state. He brought you in the van, and brought you too your hideout together. He got one of your friends to take the bullets and arrows out of you, and clean your wounds. You had a fever: and unconscious. But you’d live, he’d hope, he’d pray.

He didn’t know how he was going to tell you Gunner was dead. You were on a makeshift bed on the ground; wounds wrapped up on your exposed chest, and David got to see all the old scars on your body, that he wouldn’t see otherwise. He wanted to touch them. He lifted up the syringe, injecting some antibiotics into the tube in your arm before you startled awake; mumbling some things—he gripped your arm.

“Hey—! Hey—! You’re alright.”