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notethestripes (ex_notethest397) wrote in labyrinth_rpg,

Jack Harkness was no stranger to death. Once, on a lark, he had decided to count up the number of deaths he had faced over the years. Somewhere in his safe back at the Hub was a half-filled ledger, his tidy scrawl on each page dictating the date and manner of death. He'd lost interest once he hit the first Great War, realising the notion was going to be pointless. His own death he could handle. It was the deaths of Owen and Tosh that hit him hard. He still remembered what he said to Gwen and Ianto that day: the end is where we start from. If he didn't know better, Jack would have called this hell.

Either that, or a transmat beam had found him -- Jack was definitely not up for another round of games on Satellite 5. Yes, this would have had a different set of rules this time around, but he still didn't fancy running into another Ann Droid anytime soon.

Looking around at his new surroundings and without the surviving members of his team, Jack felt utterly alone. He listened to the man, Jareth, speak. If he wasn't pissed off about being ripped from the others, he may have saidthe man was good looking. As if to spite him, Jack poked at his wrist strap in the vain hope that it would magically start working again. Jack Harkness didn't have that kind of luck. Ever.

And so, here he was. An unknown city, an unknown place -- and without the Hub or the Rift for comfort. Shite.