The winter of 1790 was cold, the icy air outside of the tavern pecked at peoples skin like vultures scavenging their latest meal. The cold night sky held no stars, and the few clouds that dotted the sky seemed to drift aimlessly like lost sailors. At this time of night the honest people of France had abandoned the streets and men with cruel and malicious intents crawled out of the dark corners to roam the streets, looking for prey. Many of the locals knew not to go out at this time, and those who where foolish enough to do so, usually came back robbed or not at all. However, this was unknown to a young American who had just came to France earlier that day.

The young man wandered through the streets, his hands stuffed deeply into his pockets, with his wings curled up behind him. His trench coat and rugged scarf barely kept him warm in the winter heat. His bones shivered as an icy gust of wind blew past him. Serval leaves had been kicked up into the air, creating an obscurity in the Avian's vision. The soft crumple of leaves came behind him, probably created by a random passer trying to make his way home, the Avian thought. Only a few moments later the Avian could feel the collar of his shirt strangling him as he was pulled back and quickly thrown to the ground.

Falling onto his back, the Avian quickly began to scramble to his feet, only to suddenly receive a tip of someone's boot into his jaw. The sudden kick alone knocked the young Avian down onto the ground once more. The force however, made his vision blurry. Forcing himself onto his knees and hands, the Avian quickly ran his hand across the ground picking up whatever he could get his hands on. He quickly found himself holding a fist full of leaves, which in a move of terror, he threw into his attacker's face. Taking this chance of distraction the Avian got to his feet and ran as quickly as he could. During the whole altercation, he hadn't even got a glance of what his attacker might of looked like. He only knew that the man was wearing steel capped boots.

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Later that evening the young Avian ran into the closest inn, slamming the door closed behind him, he propped his back up against the door, using his own body as a blockade for a moment. Strange looks where quickly passed onto the man, causing the Avian to quickly straighten himself up and make his way over to the bar. The bar tender, cleaning an empty mug with a clean rag, gave the man an odd glance, before placing the mug down. 

"What can I get ya?" The bartender asked, in a heavy French accent. The young Avian was surprised the man spoke fluent English, he didn't expect the locals to be able to know the language, yet speak it to patrons. Then again, the Avian wasn't a local, and probably looked like a foreigner to everyone their. "Or are you just going to stand their starring?" The bartender asked, nearly about to dismiss the Avian, as if he was wasting the bartender's time.

"Uh, um, sorry," The Avian stumbled over his words, trying to get a hold of his barring's. "I'm Jack, Jack Free, I... I just got here this morin-" The man was suddenly cut off by the bartender, waving his hand in dismissal, the bartender turned to Jack saying he didn't ask for the boys life story, just what he wanted. "Sorry, someone just attempted to rob me outside, I was wondering if there was someone I could talk to..." Once again, he was swiftly cut off, this time by the bartender's low chuckling. "What? What's so funny, someone just attempted to rob me!" Jack said, trying his best not to shout at the man.

"Sorry, but you must be new here. Getting robbed on the streets here is nothing new, it a way of life, I suggest you keep your head down boy, and go on with your life. Night time is the time of thieves." The bartender said, giving the Avian a toothy grin. Jack was about to argue more, but he was quickly silenced by the sound of the taverns door opening and being shut, which was quickly followed by all the talking coming to a sudden stop. As if the who room had just been killed off in a mere second, the inn became dead silent, the blood drained from the bartender's cheeks, and all the warmth was suddenly sucked out of the room. The Avian turned around to face the door, only to have his gaze fall onto a huge man, dressed in a trench coat, lava red scarf, and a white mask holding the omega symbol on it. The figure had serval leaves scattered over his trench coats, and as Jack's eyes drifted downwards, he spotted the figures steel capped boots. The figure instantly locked onto Jack and the bartender. Walking up to them slowly, the sound of his boots rung throughout the inn's deadly silent atmosphere.

The figure shoved Jack to the side, with a considerable amount of force, which the figure seemed to take utter ease in. With the speed of a demon, he grabbed the bartenders collar, before he was even able to flinch. "Where's my money old man?" The figure said in a deep and gruff voice. When his question was met with terrified mumbling and stuttering, the figure raised his fist which became ingulfed in fire. The figure was about to ram his fist into the bartender's chest when he was suddenly hit to the ground by a bar stool being cracked over his head. The stool shattered into pieces, and the figure quickly pulled himself up, rolling his head around in circles, allowing serval clicks to ring out.

"I'd suggest you leave." Jack said, trying his hardest to sound brave, against the figure who didn't even seem to be in any pain. Then before the Avian could make another remark, a strong hand grabbed his next, and then threw him through the bar with ease, as if he was nothing but a pebble. Jack came crashing down into a table, drinks spilling all over him, and glasses shattering on the ground. Bar patrons quickly scrambled off to the sides, trying to get away from the danger. Falling onto the ground, Jack pushed himself to his feet, raising his fists, and getting into a fighting position. "That... That all you got?" Jack remarked, attempting to sound tough, as he stumbled on his own two feet slightly. The figure began to approach him with a calm stroll, and once close enough he threw a punch right for Jack's jaw. In a move that surprised himself, Jack blocked the hit, and threw one of his own towards the figure. With a soft thud, he punched the figure's chest. This however, hand no effect, as the figure suddenly grabbed his wrist and with one heavy spin, threw Jack into a near by patron.

"I suggest you don't get too cocky." The figure said, his voice having traces of an English accent in it. Not that it mattered to Jack right now, his mind just found it interesting that a British man was the thief on the streets of France. Jack forced himself off the patron he had been thrown into. Quickly apologising, he stumbled back into the fight with the figure. With his eyes searching around for anything he could use as a weapon, he grabbed the closest thing to him, a metal beer mug. With the mug in hand, he swung viciously, catching the figure in the side of the head, as the last bit of ale that was resting in the mug fell out onto the floor. This had worked, causing the figure to stumble back in shock, more than anything, Jack used this to his advantage as best as he could. Opening his wings he pushed himself off the ground, flying right into the figure, shoulder barging him out of the inn.

The two flew onto the streets of the town, Jack quickly slammed the mug down onto the figures mask, causing a heavy crack to form. Then before Jack could throw another swing, the figure suddenly threw him off into the street. His back hit the ground with a thud. The air was suddenly knocked out of him and his vision once again started to blur up. Yet being determined to not go down, he forced himself onto his feet one last time, only to be met with the figure ripping off his mask. The man's pale skin and fiery red eyes just stared into his own eyes.

In the distance shouts could be heard, it sounded as if the authorities had been finally called. They both turned to see a group of guards, armed with sabres and rifles, marching up in their direction. When Jack looked back at the figure he was gone, and he was left there surrounded by guards. The guards accused jack of the damage done to the inn, and with no one coming to his aid, vouching for him, he was forced to take the charges and be taken away. "You're going to spend the next few night stuck in a cold cell, you rat." One of the guards mentioned, as Jack was taken away.

In the shadows, not to far away, stood the figure watching the Avian being taken away for serval crimes he didn't commit. Ducking back into the shadows, the figure left, leaving his broken mask on the side of street. He didn't need it anymore.