“So, it's just about time, huh.” a man in a jagged crown stands behind his throne of scrap. He stares out the window and onto the pair riding away. He sighs out, a hopeful smile on his face. He pulls out a carton of cigarettes from his back pocket. It's an old habit, even older than his reign. He pulls one out, and sits down on his throne. “Damn kids better not get themselves killed. If it ain't you… this place goes to shit.” he pulls open a drawer in his desk “where's that damn light…” as he rummages around, he finds an old instant print camera. Under it, is a stack of photos held together by fishing wire. “Memories, eh… let's see what you got.” he places the stack on his desk, and finds an old utility lighter. “There you are. Better have some juice left.” as he presses it, the cigarette lights. “Hell yeah.” he shoves it back in, and gets to the stack. “Well shit. If it ain't lil Jerbear." The photo is of a younger Jared punching an older raider at a bonfire. It's dated 7 years ago “ha! You can even see the tooth flyin out." The smile on his face says it all. “You better come back to me alive, kid.”

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