Rifts: EotC - Reasons to Live
Posted: Wed Sep 09, 2026 11:33 am
Jack’s world didn’t break all at once. It fractured slowly, month by month, like ice thawing unevenly across a winter lake. After the undead attack, after the smoke and screams and the terrible quiet that followed, he found himself standing in the ruins of a life that had already been half‑taken from him years ago. His mother gone to the demon assault that orphaned so many; his father now claimed by the dead. No parents. No grandparents. No aunts or uncles. No one left to call him son.
So Jack did what he’d always believed a man should do when the world tries to crush him: he worked. He poured himself into the farm, into the soil, into the rhythm of chores that didn’t care about grief. He bought cattle with the inheritance he didn’t want, kept his hands busy, kept his mind from drowning. Hard work had always been his shield, and now it's the only thing keeping him upright.
Reggie and Ryan check on him from time to time, offering quiet concern. Jack appreciates it, but grief is a creature that hates witnesses. He prefers solitude and to let the ache run its course without anyone trying to fix it.
The ranchers took notice. They taught him roping, herding, the lore of the red angus, which are gentle giants with warm eyes and steady hearts. He learned to ride better, to shoot from horseback without spooking Nanashi, his painted companion who seemed to understand him better than most people ever have.
One afternoon, he picked up a harmonica at the market. Just a whim. But when he breathed into it, music came out... real music. The shopkeeper, recognizing something in him, let him keep it. A pre‑cataclysm relic worth more than most folks made in a season. Shep had been the only other harmonicist in town… and Shep is gone.
Jack hated guns, but necessity forced him to learn them; rifles, handguns, even energy weapons. He respected their danger, feared their power. He refused to own one. The machete from Z‑day, though… that he kept. Hidden in the coat closet. A reminding relic of horror to burden him of the memories of that day.
The house was his now, but it still felt like his father’s shadow lived in every board and nail. Simon Brewster had been tough, fair, proud of the farm’s reputation at the market. Jack hadn’t gone back since. Too many people and memories.
Mazur, one of Jack’s closest friends, had lost both parents too. He honored his father by running for mayor, working alongside Hank, who held the town together until elections could be held.
Nova existed in a strange half‑state of neither living nor dead. Pale skin, orange eyes, a survivor of something no one understood. People avoided her. Reggie and Hank did their best to keep her anchored to the world.
Kar died. Others vanished. Heroes were named, which included Jack. He didn’t attend the ceremony. Surviving didn’t feel like heroism. Half of Camp Wilson had perished. Flyboys from Lake Crenshaw patrolled regularly now, keeping the town safe.
Shep lasted only weeks before leaving with his power armor and gear. Rumors swirled that he’d gone to start over, unable to bear the weight of loss. Ret, left without his closest friend, spent his days in the library with Susan or buried in books.
Hughe didn’t change much. He basked in the hero attention until enough people scolded him into humility. He threw himself into rebuilding the burned sections of town, earning back some respect even though he remained a jerk.
Natalya, the red‑haired fighter who’d arrived with Yuno, spiraled after Yuno’s disappearance. Blackouts and personality shifts caused frequent visits to Dr. Anderson.
Alan West stayed, became a deputy alongside Reggie. The man is loud, fun and deadly with his revolver.
Irina and Beth drifted in and out. Amy vanished, likely to Lake Crenshaw. Corvus visits Jack sometimes, helping with chores in quiet companionship. Jinaan drinks in town, never speaking of that day.
With mayoral races approaching, Jack watched closely. Mazur, his friend, stood for agriculture. Magnus Martin, his neighbor, for expansion. Simon Rhodes, the aging music teacher, for culture. The town was split evenly. Three futures. One choice.
Months passed...
The midday sun hangs over the fields as Jack finishes irrigating. He moves on to feeding cattle, checking water, milking cows, preparing goods for market he still didn’t want to attend. Just another day of labor to keep the ghosts quiet. He wonders where his father’s horse had gone. It was never found.
Nanashi follows him faithfully, nudging water pails toward him whenever he forgets to drink. The corn is nearly ready. Wheat still needs time. Squash has about a month left. Carrots, onions, and potatoes could be harvested anytime, but he waits for demand. Radishes are questionable. Tobacco is ready. Jack stares across the pasture when a four‑wheeler approaches, dust trailing behind it. It rolls into his driveway. Jinaan removes his helmet and offers his usual solemn half‑smile.
“Jack, what’s for work today?” he calls, jogging over.
Jack sighs. Company isn’t what he wants, but Jinaan needs distraction too.
“I need something to keep my mind busy,” Jinaan adds.
“Appreciated, if you don’t mind the heat,” Jack replies flatly.
“Maybe we could grab a drink after.”
“I dunno. That involves… people.”
“Good! Let’s get to work. You’re coming with after,” Jinaan chuckles.
Jinaan works like a man possessed; or two men, really. Within an hour, chores are caught up. Only evening feeding remains.
“So, let’s go have a beer,” Jinaan says with a smirk.
“We’re underage. What’s wrong with you?”
“We’re heroes. Earned the right.”
“Surviving isn’t earning anything.”
“I oughta hit you,” Jinaan snaps, anger flashing. “Yeah, people died. But you don’t have to drown yourself in survivor’s guilt. You helped save people. We saved what was left until Shep and the flyboys finished the job. Reggie’s busy. Mazur’s campaigning. Ret’s boring. I don’t feel like drinking with the girls. That leaves you. My best friend. Don’t shut me out. Not you too.”
Jack exhales, long and heavy. “Fine. Two beers. Then I need to get back.”
He brushes Nanashi down, preparing the saddle, but Jinaan points at the four‑wheeler.
“Hop on. Faster.”
Jack hesitates. Nanashi’s ears twitch as she senses his reluctance. The four‑wheeler was used by Ryan and Hughe to distract the undead. It should be memorialized. But he climbs on, grabbing his travel gear.
Jinaan laughs. “I got good at this thing. Hang on!”
Jack squeezes him as the front tires lift.
Eventually, the two drive a few minutes up the road and arrive in Camp Wilson. In front of the library, Ryan, Ret and Reggie stand on the steps as Hughe straddles his own four wheeler, apparently trying to convince them of something... probably to beat up Ret.
They notice him and Jinaan arrive. Ret immediately waves as Ryan cheesily grins, "Jack and Jinaan! Nice of you two to come out of your caves!"
OOC: Please post to "EotC - Life of a Lawman" thread. The story continues there.
So Jack did what he’d always believed a man should do when the world tries to crush him: he worked. He poured himself into the farm, into the soil, into the rhythm of chores that didn’t care about grief. He bought cattle with the inheritance he didn’t want, kept his hands busy, kept his mind from drowning. Hard work had always been his shield, and now it's the only thing keeping him upright.
Reggie and Ryan check on him from time to time, offering quiet concern. Jack appreciates it, but grief is a creature that hates witnesses. He prefers solitude and to let the ache run its course without anyone trying to fix it.
The ranchers took notice. They taught him roping, herding, the lore of the red angus, which are gentle giants with warm eyes and steady hearts. He learned to ride better, to shoot from horseback without spooking Nanashi, his painted companion who seemed to understand him better than most people ever have.
One afternoon, he picked up a harmonica at the market. Just a whim. But when he breathed into it, music came out... real music. The shopkeeper, recognizing something in him, let him keep it. A pre‑cataclysm relic worth more than most folks made in a season. Shep had been the only other harmonicist in town… and Shep is gone.
Jack hated guns, but necessity forced him to learn them; rifles, handguns, even energy weapons. He respected their danger, feared their power. He refused to own one. The machete from Z‑day, though… that he kept. Hidden in the coat closet. A reminding relic of horror to burden him of the memories of that day.
The house was his now, but it still felt like his father’s shadow lived in every board and nail. Simon Brewster had been tough, fair, proud of the farm’s reputation at the market. Jack hadn’t gone back since. Too many people and memories.
Mazur, one of Jack’s closest friends, had lost both parents too. He honored his father by running for mayor, working alongside Hank, who held the town together until elections could be held.
Nova existed in a strange half‑state of neither living nor dead. Pale skin, orange eyes, a survivor of something no one understood. People avoided her. Reggie and Hank did their best to keep her anchored to the world.
Kar died. Others vanished. Heroes were named, which included Jack. He didn’t attend the ceremony. Surviving didn’t feel like heroism. Half of Camp Wilson had perished. Flyboys from Lake Crenshaw patrolled regularly now, keeping the town safe.
Shep lasted only weeks before leaving with his power armor and gear. Rumors swirled that he’d gone to start over, unable to bear the weight of loss. Ret, left without his closest friend, spent his days in the library with Susan or buried in books.
Hughe didn’t change much. He basked in the hero attention until enough people scolded him into humility. He threw himself into rebuilding the burned sections of town, earning back some respect even though he remained a jerk.
Natalya, the red‑haired fighter who’d arrived with Yuno, spiraled after Yuno’s disappearance. Blackouts and personality shifts caused frequent visits to Dr. Anderson.
Alan West stayed, became a deputy alongside Reggie. The man is loud, fun and deadly with his revolver.
Irina and Beth drifted in and out. Amy vanished, likely to Lake Crenshaw. Corvus visits Jack sometimes, helping with chores in quiet companionship. Jinaan drinks in town, never speaking of that day.
With mayoral races approaching, Jack watched closely. Mazur, his friend, stood for agriculture. Magnus Martin, his neighbor, for expansion. Simon Rhodes, the aging music teacher, for culture. The town was split evenly. Three futures. One choice.
Months passed...
The midday sun hangs over the fields as Jack finishes irrigating. He moves on to feeding cattle, checking water, milking cows, preparing goods for market he still didn’t want to attend. Just another day of labor to keep the ghosts quiet. He wonders where his father’s horse had gone. It was never found.
Nanashi follows him faithfully, nudging water pails toward him whenever he forgets to drink. The corn is nearly ready. Wheat still needs time. Squash has about a month left. Carrots, onions, and potatoes could be harvested anytime, but he waits for demand. Radishes are questionable. Tobacco is ready. Jack stares across the pasture when a four‑wheeler approaches, dust trailing behind it. It rolls into his driveway. Jinaan removes his helmet and offers his usual solemn half‑smile.
“Jack, what’s for work today?” he calls, jogging over.
Jack sighs. Company isn’t what he wants, but Jinaan needs distraction too.
“I need something to keep my mind busy,” Jinaan adds.
“Appreciated, if you don’t mind the heat,” Jack replies flatly.
“Maybe we could grab a drink after.”
“I dunno. That involves… people.”
“Good! Let’s get to work. You’re coming with after,” Jinaan chuckles.
Jinaan works like a man possessed; or two men, really. Within an hour, chores are caught up. Only evening feeding remains.
“So, let’s go have a beer,” Jinaan says with a smirk.
“We’re underage. What’s wrong with you?”
“We’re heroes. Earned the right.”
“Surviving isn’t earning anything.”
“I oughta hit you,” Jinaan snaps, anger flashing. “Yeah, people died. But you don’t have to drown yourself in survivor’s guilt. You helped save people. We saved what was left until Shep and the flyboys finished the job. Reggie’s busy. Mazur’s campaigning. Ret’s boring. I don’t feel like drinking with the girls. That leaves you. My best friend. Don’t shut me out. Not you too.”
Jack exhales, long and heavy. “Fine. Two beers. Then I need to get back.”
He brushes Nanashi down, preparing the saddle, but Jinaan points at the four‑wheeler.
“Hop on. Faster.”
Jack hesitates. Nanashi’s ears twitch as she senses his reluctance. The four‑wheeler was used by Ryan and Hughe to distract the undead. It should be memorialized. But he climbs on, grabbing his travel gear.
Jinaan laughs. “I got good at this thing. Hang on!”
Jack squeezes him as the front tires lift.
Eventually, the two drive a few minutes up the road and arrive in Camp Wilson. In front of the library, Ryan, Ret and Reggie stand on the steps as Hughe straddles his own four wheeler, apparently trying to convince them of something... probably to beat up Ret.
They notice him and Jinaan arrive. Ret immediately waves as Ryan cheesily grins, "Jack and Jinaan! Nice of you two to come out of your caves!"
OOC: Please post to "EotC - Life of a Lawman" thread. The story continues there.