This is a weird little piece I wrote on the train a few days ago. It didn't quite fit properly into 'Resurrection' so I'm posting it as a one-shot. Enjoy!

I tapped my pen on my notebook impatiently and scanned the crowd; the quad was pretty well empty after the events of last week, and the park wasn't looking much more promising. I turned and saw a young man walking towards me and put on my broadest smile.

"Excuse me! Sorry could I have one moment of your time-?"

He just looked at his iPod and brushed past me impatiently. I sighed, habitually tapping my pen on my notebook again. Shit shit shit! No one was very talkative at the moment, unsurprisingly. I made my way up towards the fountains, trying to pick out people who were on their own (couples and groups tended to be more dismissive).

I spied a young woman leaning against a tree, talking on her cell, she sounded a little irritated. I edged a little closer to see if I could catch the words.

"Fine." She said tiredly, a hand running through her long hair, flicking the ebony locks over her shoulder, revealing a small row of stitches over a cut on her arm, "I'll see you in ten."

I watched as she clicked her phone off and stuck it in the pocket of her worn black jeans, folding her arms across her chest and started waiting. I felt myself smile. Perfect.

I made a beeline to her, studying her figure before I spoke. Her eyes were hidden by a pair of aviators, and I could spy a few tattoos over her skin. She wore a black singlet with 'SEX PISTOLS' splattered over the front of it, the fabric so loose it showed the sides of her purple bra beneath. There was a collection of piercings up her ears, one in her eyebrow and another on her lower lip. Good. I wanted viewpoints from as many different demographics on campus as possible, and so far hadn't covered the grungy/punk slackers. Not that I'd really covered any demographics.

"Excuse me, miss?" I voiced as I approached her. She ignored me for a moment till I got closer, and she finally looked to me. Or I think she did, I couldn't tell behind the aviators.

"What?" she said coolly. I felt my eyes twitch – just keep smiling Carmella, I reminded myself.

"Sorry to disturb you there, but I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time?" I offered as pleasantly as I could. The young woman raised and eyebrow and looked away from me, but seeing as she didn't say anything or walk away, I took it as a sign to continue, "You see, in light of recent gang activity disrupting campus life, the student newspaper had asked me to do a report, and I would like to gauge the different opinions of the student body on campus."

I'd gotten her attention. A half smiled curled up over her lips.

"I'm not a student," she coolly.

"That's no problem!" I said quickly – at this point I'd interview the groundskeeper if he'd give me some time. I had a deadline looming and squat to work with. "Are… are you involved in the university community in any way?" I fished. Her half smile became a sardonic grin at this.

"Yeah. You could say that," she said. There was something off about her tone, but I forced myself to ignore it.

"So… would you mind talking to me for a few minutes?" I asked again. She shrugged, the smile disappearing.

"I already have been, haven't I?" she asked, turning a little to face me, "What do you want to know?"

I couldn't help but grin with relief, smoothing out my blouse and pulling out a recorder, moving to the tree. "Would you like to sit down?" I offered, indicating to the softest looking patch of grass. The woman raised her eyebrows at me, and then shrugged, lowering herself down into the clover. I settled down opposite, clicking the 'record' button and carefully sitting it down on the ground.

"This is Carmella Camry, speaking to…" I paused awkwardly and indicated to the woman.

"Oh," she said, leaning forward slightly to the microphone, "Jane. Jane Elliot." She announced, and then leant back. I felt my brow furrow at that, trying to work out why that name sounded odd. It shouldn't. It was perfectly plain. I cleared my throat when I noticed Jane looking at me expectantly, and I saw my awkward reflection in her glasses. I cleared my throat a second time and looked to the list of questions in front of me.

"Thankyou Jane. And how old are you?"

"Twenty three."

"And your occupation?"

"Entrepreneur… of sorts."

I raised my eyebrows at her. 'Entrepreneur' had always been the sanctimonious code for 'unemployed'.

"Do you enjoy your work?" I needled. I saw her mouth twitch.

"I'm good at it," she replied.

I chuckled. "Yes, but do you enjoy it?" I repeated. I saw her lips twist thoughtfully.

"…Yes." She finally decided, "It's interesting, keeps me active," she replied, her mouth pulling into a grin, like she was in on a joke I knew nothing about. Maybe she was a stripper or hooker? Hah.

"So, Jane. In light of the disaster at the quad open day last weekend, involving the bloodshed between the Sons of Samedi and notorious Thirds Street Saints, do you have any opinions on the gang activity in the city?" I asked, smiling as charmingly as I could. Jane tilted her head slightly.

"Yes. I do." She replied bluntly, and then added after a pause, "Do you have any questions that could be a little more direct?"

Her tone made me suddenly awkward around her. Uneasy. My instincts were warning me to get up and leave. I glanced back down to my questions and chewed my lip – I didn't have time to turn down this interview.

"Well, do you denounce the gangs? Do you think they are a product of a Capitalist political system? Have you been personally affected by the gang activity or do you blame anyone for their existence?"

She actually chuckled for a moment, putting her thumb to her chin.

"I… do not denounce the gangs, I have been personally affected by them, and I blame their existence on the people who are in them."

"Would you want to see them removed from the city?" I added, curious at her cryptic answers. I was surprised when she shook her head.

"No. There'd be no point. You take all the gangs out of this city and it'll only create a vacuum, drawing new gangs in… they're… organic. I mean there'll always be criminals, it's the way of the world. Excuse me, you mind if I smoke?" she asked as she drew out a pack of cigarettes. I quickly shook my head and saw her press one between her lips, taking out a purple lighter and flicking a flame to life and igniting the smoke, breaking deeply.

"You mentioned a vacuum, are you referring to the collapse of the Third Street Saints approximately four years ago and the consequent rise of the Samedi, Brotherhood and Ronin?"

"The Ronin are finished." She said rapidly, sharply, as if I had offended her. I blinked. Well, the Saints had all but obliterated the Ronin from the North Island-

"Yes, I suppose they-"

"And yes, I was referring to that." She interrupted, taking a long drag and flicking some ash onto the grass. I shifted, waving away a little of her second hand smoke.

"But," I continued, "If there was a way to eradicate gang activity totally, no more violence, no more crime… you wouldn't want that?" I asked, leaning forward. Though her opinions were proving interesting, I couldn't help but feel she was being evasive. Jane grinned at me.

"Nope."

I blinked at the single word response and felt my shoulders drop.

"And why would that be?" I pressed. Jane only shrugged, elegantly putting the cigarette to her mouth again, drawing in and speaking through the smoke.

"I dunno. I think life would be pretty boring, don't you?"

"You say boring, I think most of the student body would say safe or contented."

"Aren't those three words synonymous?" she said with a dry grin, tilting her head. I sighed. The Sex Pistols shirt should have given it away, she was obviously some wannabe anarchist or something, who thought violence and bloodshed was trendy. She'd probably piss herself if she ever wound up in a real gunfight. I scrawled the note down onto the paper in front of me.

"In light of that," I said thoughtfully, "I suppose you consider yourself to have a certain moral flexibility. You, like the Romans in the colosseum before you, would find human life expendable for the sake of entertainment?"

I had been expecting a cocky wave of the hand or laughter, but her features were suddenly still. It was a moment before her thumb finally flinched and tapped some ash onto the ground.

"Not for the sake of entertainment," she said eventually, "But I think society highly overvalues human life."

It wasn't the words so much as the tone with which she said this that made me shivver. It sent a race of cold up my spine and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I suddenly wished I hadn't antagonised her just then. But my damn curiosity was getting the better of me.

"What value would you give it?" I asked, my voice low and trying to see past my reflection in her aviators to the eyes behind them. She took another drag of her cigarette before answering.

"None."

I raised an eyebrow, "None at all?"

"Well, I don't suppose that's entirely true." She said with a coy smile, tapping more ash off her smoke, looking away pensively, "Okay. The value of a human life is entirely dependant on their relation to me." She said. I had to laugh, albeit nervously.

"That's a rather arrogant assumption." I suggested.

"It's a logical one." She said in all seriousness. She drew down on her cigarette again, finishing it and stubbing it out into the ground. "If you care for someone, you want them safe. If you despise someone, you want them killed. If you don't know them, it's really no big deal either way, is it?"

"Ah, but those people you don't know mean something to someone else," I challenged. She only raised an eyebrow.

"But not to me. Why should I care?" she leant forward, drawing a second cigarette, somehow looking threatening when she did.

"… Because every human life is unique and precious-" I started, but she cut me off with abrupt laughter.

"Is it? Really? Every single one?" She lowered her glasses slightly and peered at me over the top of them, revealing large grey/blue eyes thickly lined with black. Those eyes made me nervous, and something niggled in the back of my mind. Something was off about this woman.

"So… you'd happily exchange one life for another?" I said, trying not to whisper.

"Happily." She reiterated. I swallowed carefully.

"What'd be your limit?" I pushed. I realised we were far off topic by now but I couldn't stop myself.

"Could you elaborate?" She said quietly. I shifted.

"Well, to save the life of someone your care about, a life you value, what would you do? How far would you go?"

Jane's blue eyes were fixed on mine now. They were cold, and I felt transfixed by them.

"I'd level the fucking city." She said quietly, and I honestly believed not only that she would, but could. I tapped my pen on my clipboard, staring down at my list of questions, very few actually answered.

"You'd happily take thousands of innocent lives in trade for one?" I clarified. She nodded casually, and I found myself a little annoyed at that.

"Would you kill me?" I said quickly, unable to control myself. The woman's smile widened.

"I wouldn't want to. I mean, I've been chatting to you and you seem like nice enough person. I'd be more inclined to take his life than yours." She said, indicating to a random guy sitting over by the fountain, "But in the grand scheme of things I suppose you're still disposable."

I snorted. "You're trying to make it sound like you've killed before." I said, trying to hold back from any more smart-ass comments. That would just be bad interviewing technique. Jane was still watching me with a fixed gaze, like a cat watching its prey.

"I suppose I am." She said coldly. I blinked, suddenly uncomfortable.

"What, are you admitting to murder?" I asked, trying to make my tone dry and funny. She only raised an eyebrow.

"Hypothetical murder." She purred back with a wry smile.

I swallowed carefully, glancing down at my notepad and trying to think back to what we had been discussing – she had a habit of taking me off on a tangent. Ok. Value of human life.

"… Does your life have value?" I asked quietly. She went to make a swift answer but quickly held back, frowning. I almost smiled, thinking I had her. She pushed her glasses back up onto her eyes.

"No. I suppose it doesn't really." She said with a smile, followed by a chuckle. She drew a long breath through her smoke, still smiling.

"Uh, okay." I said, letting out a short breath while she enjoyed her smoke. I read through the list of questions I had there, a variety for the various responses. I looked away from the paper. It wasn't helping me much.

"Okay," I repeated, "We're a bit off topic. Uhm, going back to what you said before, about not wanting to see the gangs removed from Stilwater. You said there would be no purpose to it. Uhm," I hunted down the paper for a good question. "Okay, do you think that these gang members could be rehabilitated?"

She automatically shook her head, and then glanced at the recorder, speaking for its sake.

"No. Some, maybe. But it'd be unlikely. Certainly not if we're using the penitentiary system to that end."

I nodded thoughtfully, "And why do you think these people cannot be redeemed?" I asked. She froze up a little.

"Redeemed? From what, human nature? You mentioned the Romans in the colosseum before. That is a prime example of human nature." She frowned, finger tapping her cigarette habitually, "See… I'm not much of a history buff, but… you know about the Battle of Culloden, right?" she said, leaning forward. I nodded; who didn't? She surmised regardless, her hands beginning to weave emphatically with her words. "Cumberland defeats the Scots in battle, they retreat. So he chases them down and kills every last one of them. Then, he just keeps going; he slaughters nearly every man woman and child and burns Scotland to the ground. Why? Because fuck the Scots, that's why."

She'd worked herself up, taking a sharp breath of smoke and blowing it away furiously, "Humans have been tearing each other to shreds for the pure bloodthirsty joy of it since they first dropped out of the trees. It's why you pay money to go see violent slasher films and why kids sit at home playing sadistic videogames."

"It was a different culture. They were all different cultures, Stilwater isn't Ancient Rome or… England in the mid 1700's. The morals of the society are different." I interjected.

"The morals of every society are different, it's illusions placed on you to make you feel bad about your natural impulses." Jane said, waving a hand dismissively. I grinned.

"So you're a Nietzsche girl then?"

"What?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Nietzsche's theory of human nature. You know?" I asked. She clearly didn't. I sighed and continued, trying to summarise it easily. "Some say all men are created equal, Nietzsche said all men are created dicks."

Jane laughed at this and nodded, "Well, yes then, I guess I am."

"So how would you explain charity work and outreach programs? People giving endlessly of themselves to better their community?"

"Well it all stems from the same instinct, doesn't it?" She said bluntly. I must have been giving her a quizzical look, because she raised her eyebrows and continued, "Survival. Both selfish and selfless acts are based entirely around survival."

"How so?"

"People have evolved to live in communities, so there is a base instinct to protect and maintain your community, which is why people feel obligated to… charity work and shit." She said, frowning as she tried to explain herself and taking another sharp drag, hands beginning to move expressively as she continued, "It comes from survival. And the desire to not only kill your enemies, but obliterate them, to prove to be the best, the strongest the most powerful also comes from that base survival instinct."

I tilted my head. "You've thought a lot about this." I suggested. She was still for a moment and I thought she might have looked to the ground.

"Yeah well, I don't sleep much." She said. I chuckled.

"What, guilty conscience keeping you up at night?" I said sarcastically.

"…Something like that." Jane said, sounding a little hollow. I tilted my head at her tone.

"I don't know if destruction is really a path to happiness." I offered. She continued to puff away on her cigarette.

"Happiness is only one of many satisfying emotions. You clearly haven't experienced say… the thrill of revenge," she said quietly, with a frighteningly dark smile, "The pride of success." She took another drag, "…Happiness is fleeting. It's an orgasm, it's a good song on the radio, it's a cigarette after a long day. It's one of Laura's snicker doodles."

Her last comment quickly lightened the mood and I forced myself to smile, glancing quickly at my paper, hunting back to what we had been mentioning before.

"So protective and destructive instincts… they're mutually exclusive?" I said with a raised eyebrow.

"No." she replied, frowning slightly.

"But the gangs clearly don't have any desire to help their community." I added.

"The gang is their community." She said darkly, "They're family."

I froze and became certain of something I'd suspected for a while – I hadn't thought so by the way she dressed but… the purple belt matched the purple shoes which matched the purple bra – my eyes flickered to her tattoos, and I spied the one on her neck – a purple fleur-de-lis. Oh fuck…

When I spoke my voice was desperately low and nervous, "… are you connected to one of these families?" I asked, trying to confirm my suspicions and immediately regretting it. I didn't want to be involved with these people – shit, what if I'd already drawn too much attention to myself?

She was quiet, watching me, and then slowly a sinister smile tugged as one side of her mouth. Her attention was suddenly caught by the deep rumbling of an engine and she looked to the road, her smile broadening when she saw a royal purple Venom Classic pull up to the curb, heavy dub step thudding from the speakers. A man stepped out of the car, a tight purple silk shirt over his torso, dark grey pinstriped pants slung from his hips. I felt my eyes widen and I began to recognise him, the sharp spiked hair with pale tips and the trademark pale shades over his Eurasian eyes. I'd seen him on the news. I panicked when he began walking over, smiling lazily at the girl opposite me, who I suddenly realised was speaking.

"Sorry, my ride's here," she said, standing and stubbing out her cigarette under her toes, brushing grass clippings off her jeans. I couldn't breathe – Johnny Gat was this woman's ride?

"Uh, that's no problem," I said quickly. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins; I scrambled to click off the recorder and shoved it and my notebook back in my bag, standing quickly, glancing towards Johnny Gat as he approached. This man was insane – no, no he was a total psychopath; he'd killed nearly four hundred people, and was so confident and fearless he strolled about the city like he owned it. There was only one other person on the planet more elusive, more unafraid and unashamed than he was and that was-

I felt my heart drop into my stomach and I looked back at Jane. Jane Elliot. I knew why the name sounded so wrong, it was the alias Jane Eyre went by. I looked at the tattoo on her neck, I thought back to everything she'd said to me. I was a little thrilled, I think, but mostly terrified.

"Well, thankyou for your time," I said quickly, forcing a smile and turning away, trying to make my escape before Gat got there. He was a dangerous man; I wanted nothing to do with them or that gang. I took quick steps across the grass.

"Carmella?" she said loudly, commandingly. I froze, and then slowly turned around to look at her. Oh god… she'd remembered my name…

Johnny had reached her now, towering over her protectively, his focus shifting between me to the surroundings – he looked like he was waiting to take a bullet to protect the comparatively small woman, and I could only think of one person who would earn that from Johnny-Mother-Fucking-Gat. 'Jane' seemed oblivious to this; she'd taken off her sunglasses, fixing her dark gaze on me and suddenly the she didn't look like some college punk. She stood regally; her gaze was cold and imposing.

"… I enjoyed our talk," she called out to me knowingly. She flicked her aviators down and smiled up at Gat, and I was astonished to see him smile back lazily – in that moment he looked friendly, approachable even. They started talking and though I couldn't hear their words clearly, I saw him indicating to me. I felt frozen to the spot, watching them leave – she slid into the passenger side of the car, Gat getting into the driver's seat and revving the car into life and just like that, the two deadliest people in the city roared away through the university.

I can't be sure how long I stood there, painfully aware of the recorder in my bag, heavy with the weight of the interview on it.

There's a funny little part in SR3rd where the boss yells out "I've read Jane Eyre 13 times!"
Hence her choosing 'Jane Elliot' as her alias.