When Jack Ultor walked into class that day something was a little bit off. Of course, something was always a little bit off with Jack, but this, this was different. His dark brown hair was cut in the same jagged way as usual, as though someone had taken a dull knife to it. The only things that were a darker blue than his eyes were the bags under them. A grease stain was smeared across his left cheek and ink splotches covered his hands. All his little scars were in the same places. There were too many too count criss-crossing the backs of his hands, a small one along his right bottom jaw, and one dangerously close to his temple. He was dressed like a mechanic and a hiker had decided that he needed a new wardrobe. Odds and ends spilled from
