[b][i]But Not Forgotten[/i][/b] [i]"Movin' on is a simple thing What it leaves behind is hard." -Megadeth[/i] [b]Inside one of the Dojo's Bars[/b] [i]Jackson Wolfe sat silently at the end of the bar, a single shot glass before him, full of liquor. His expression was unreadable, his helmet on the table beside him, the menacing mask facing out, a dead giveaway as to his identity for those who knew him. He seemed to be fairly melancholy, silent, and deep in thought. The bar around him was empty, save for the bartender, who was busy wiping beer mugs and taking inventory. An old country song played on the jukebox situated on the far end of the room, the place feeling like an old-school western roadhouse. Wolfe wasn't much of a drinker, and personally, he had never cared much for bars either, but even he couldn't say that alcohol wasn't a good way to drown his blues away. The Christmas season had been rough for him since his father had been killed, and even seven years later, it was a depressing time of year. He usually avoided the festivities, the people, the cheery music and the holiday spirit. Instead, the soldier sought splendid isolation, away from the world, and with his reputation, an old bar was the best place to hide. Few people really knew who he was, few needed to. Those that did know him knew what he was doing, and simply left him alone. Jackson wouldn't have wanted to see them anyways. Sometimes wolves needed to be alone. [/i] [spoiler]Open[/spoiler]