Jack-in-Irons

Background   He took his name from the Yorkshire giant of blood-soaked folklore, then built himself into a modern myth with steel, tire-rubber, and chain. To the Scrap Hounds, Jack-in-Irons is more than a boss—he’s doctrine. “Nothing is wasted.” Not metal, not food, not people. Abandoned TTC cars become throne rooms, car doors become shields, propane tanks become flamethrowers, and the desperate become either recruits or “entertainment” in the pit.   Jack’s rise was less rags-to-riches than waste-to-warlord. He consolidated fringe scavenger crews along Toronto’s industrial spine, preaching that civilization is already over and only those who can turn garbage into power will survive. Fear is his currency. Trophies—skulls and heads—are his tithe. His armor rattles with tow-chains, his helm is a leering boar-dog visage, and his weapon is a two-handed spiked maul forged from an axle and rebar.   During the recent events, Jack staged a spectacle: captives in welded cages, a baying crowd, and a blood rite in a makeshift fighting pit. The vigilante The Minx infiltrated, cut the lights, freed the prisoners, and lured Jack beneath a yard crane. An activated electromagnet hoisted the “giant” helpless into the air for all to see. He was eventually cut down by his crew, but the humiliation burned into him like a brand. Jack has since doubled recruitment, punishments, and patrols—vowing to mount the Minx’s mask beside his trophies.   Personality   Jack-in-Irons is apocalypse made performative—part preacher, part butcher. He believes civilization is a lie propped up by the wasteful and the weak. In its place, he offers order by fear, ritual, and the sovereignty of steel. He cultivates awe with spectacle: chains that clink like hymns, a throne of welded wreckage, a maul that writes doctrine in blood. He is canny enough to plan supply lines and patrol rotations, yet vain enough to chase a taunt into a trap. Mockery ignites him. Defiance obsesses him. Being hoisted like scrap under a magnet is the kind of insult he will cross cities to avenge.   To his followers, he is the giant who cannot fall. To everyone else, he’s a cautionary legend stalking the rusted edges of Toronto—a man who proved that even garbage can be forged into a crown.