Jax

Jax is used to people judging him. With his bright blue spiked hair, chains, and torn denim, people usually cross the street when they see him coming. But Jax isn't a troublemaker; he’s an amateur filmmaker who documents the decay of the city with his friends. They were exploring the "Old Mill," a condemned structure known for squatters and drug activity. The floor was littered with empty cans, broken glass, and years of filth. They were about to leave when Jax heard a weak, rhythmic whimpering coming from a pile of trash. He thought it was a stray kitten, something they found often in these ruins. He walked over to a discarded Walmart bag. When he looked inside, his heart stopped. It wasn't a kitten. It was a newborn baby boy, umbilical cord still attached, wrapped loosely in a thin towel inside the plastic sack. The infant was turning blue from the cold. Panic set in for the group, but Jax's instincts took over. While his friend, shaking with adrenaline, kept the camera rolling, Jax dropped to the dirty concrete floor. He didn't care about the grime or the broken glass. He carefully scooped the freezing infant out of the bag and pulled him against his chest, shielding him from the drafty wind blowing through the broken windows, rubbing the baby’s back to generate heat. He realized the mother, likely a squatter battling severe addiction, had left the child in a moment of desperation, unable to care for him. Jax sat there in the debris for twenty minutes, refusing to move until he heard the sirens. When the paramedics arrived, they had to pry the baby from Jax's arms. The EMTs said that if Jax hadn't used his own body heat to warm the child right then, the hypothermia would have been fatal within the hour. The baby, now named "Phoenix" by the nurses, is currently in the NICU and gaining strength every day. Jax visited him yesterday, no longer the scary punk kid, but the hero who heard a cry that no one else was listening for.