So I found it. I found the document just named "Side Project Thing". This is the terrible, TERRIBLE, origins of Jack, who eventually over the years became the main character in Dead, who then became a side character in Dead, which then became Second Street Blues.
MAN is it bad, holy shit. I'm just shocked at how bad it is, lmao. Anyway, yeah, enjoy this trash while I go dig through whatever else I'm able to find
“How ya doin’ boys?” The two darkly dressed teenagers looked to the source of the voice, each hiding their spray can.
A tall, thin man stood next to them, his footsteps hadn’t made a sound. He smiled at the two, staring at them intently. The man’s grin widened to an unnatural angle, making them nervous.
One dropped his can of spray paint, “Uh, uh, nothin’. We was just havin’ some fun, ya know?” The other nodded in agreement, both terrified.
The first man’s smile flashed to a frown for only a moment, then was back to a face splitting grin again, “Oh good, Jack likes fun.” His voice was a deep growl for a second, suddenly changing to a manic whine, “Mind if Jack has some fun of his own?” He held out his hand to the man still holding a spray can.
The two looked at each other, and then handed it to him.
Before either could blink the man sprayed the black paint into their eyes, plunging a knife into each of them. “No one gets to have fun without Jack!”
He let their blind, bleeding bodies fall to the ground and smiled, “Jack thinks tonight is going to be a good night.” He hummed as he dashed away from the corpses, his eyes glinting under each street lamp.
As he raced down the street he thought about the bodies and realized there would be more people to have fun with soon.
Grabbing a lamp post he spun himself around and back to a fire escape he had passed only a dozen feet before. Jack climbed quickly and started to make his way to his victims over the roof tops.
When he finally reached the roof above they alley he crouched at the edge. The tails of his long suit coat hung behind him, the edges of its sleeves coming down over his hands, hiding the knives strapped to his arms. He wore perfectly shined leather loafers, a bowler hat obscuring his eyes.
The inside of the coat was lined with more blades, pistols, lock picks and a small amount of explosives. Even with the instruments and the weight they added he moved silently. The only sounds that came from him were his breathing and the slight click of the clockwork watch he wore.
His constant grin widened as he heard the scream of a passerby, the shouting, hurried footsteps. Not much could be seen from where he was, the alley was too dark, the light from the gas lamps on either side of the entrance not penetrating far enough.
He knew that the constables would show up soon, someone must have sent for them by now. When they arrived he could have more fun.
He let out a short, quiet laugh, the black leather of his gloves creaking slightly as he gripped the lip of the building harder.
“Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun,” he chanted, over and over.
As Jack crouched, waiting, he cocked his head to the side, slowly turning it to look behind him. His grin vanished and he stopped chanting, looking all around him. Finally his eyes stopped straight up, staring into the night sky. “Hello. You, yes you, the one listening through my ears, watching through my eyes, or reading whatever they’ve decided to write down. I know you’re there, don’t be shy. I’m going to call you Reader, or The Reader, or maybe just The Person Who Watches My Fun.”
His smile returned and he continued, speaking to the sky, “You see, maybe you don’t know how they know everything I do, I’ll explain it. They put something in my brain, a long time ago. It spread its tendrils to my eyes, my ears, my throat. It knows everything I see, say and do. They collect that, they steal it from me.” The last words were nearly a roar, Jack snarling.
“They know about my fun, they know who I am, yet they do nothing to stop me.” There was the squeel of old brakes below and Jack’s grin split his face. “Time for more fun, dear Reader.”
Jack waited until they had the alleyway cordoned off before slowly, making his way down the side of the building. He stood in the inky shadows, only a few feet from the two men. He drew a pistol, screwing a silencer onto it quickly. He stared at the silver gun, eyes filled with something akin to lust.
One of the pair went back to the car to call in for a constable, or maybe a coroner, the other going deeper in the alley, into the shadows. Jack forced himself to not cackle as the man walked passed him.
He took the two steps to reach, him, slipping his hand around the man’s mouth, pressing the barrel of the gun to the back of his right knee. “Let’s have fun.” He man made a muffled yelp for only a second. Jack pulled the trigger; there was a soft pop and jerk on the thirty-eight caliber pistol. Blood, bone, tendon and meat sprayed forward, the stranger’s knee now in bits on the ground. His scream muffled in the thick leather of Jack’s glove.
Jack pulled the trigger three more times, one bullet in the back of his other knee and one in each shoulder. “Oh, sorry.” He whispered, realizing that he had been supporting the man by only his jaw, which had now dislocated from the thrashing weight, “That must have been uncomfortable.”
He let the stranger fall, still covering his mouth, “Just give it a minute, dear Reader, he’ll go into shock fast. Then, we can have more fun.”