The Big Apple, a place where law hasn't reached out it's cruel arm yet, a place where a man and his gun could still decide their own law, their own sakes, their own wishes and desires. A city where the tight clutch of democracy hasn't killed everyone with their own intent of doing something his own way. Oh hell yeah!!! A perfect place for John Mc Carthy. With his trusty old Thompson, that's how he nicknamed his 10mm hunting rifle, he was heading from California to N.Y, a path he survived with a combination of survival instinct and sheer luck.
Now being in the city the first thing he searches for was a job, bounty hunting, as he would say plainly. And...it happens..that not the few people of this weird farm could tell him anything, it was the radio and the voice coming out of it. The voice warned of slaver attacks and their hideout near the boardway. Slavers? How perfect, if there are slavers, there are slaves, if there are slaves, there's probably someone who's willingly to pay something for a rescue. John made his way to the boardway, the once so crowded street was empty, so what did he decided to do? Taking a nap. As for the night, he was certain that the slavers woudnt find them. In one of the many empty shell of houses, he chooses the cellar to rest. Not to mention he inspected it of giant rats, ghouls and things alike first. John slept for long.
Suddenly a ruckus caused him to jump up from his slumber, John quickly erased all of the things which could have told the people, monsters whatever that he was down here. The loud noises didn't stayed gor for and so John made his way up. Now leaving the building and cheking the street he saw what the source was. A bunch of mutis wad walking through here, heading for the old theathre. John followed them, as the mutis reached it, John could tell that he also arrived at the location where he would probably find the slavers. The street was filled with junk...fresh junk and most cars were moved to the side, giving space for the slave caravans. John lured a cigarette as he watched the mutis as they turned into a near alley, so eventually reaching the main entrance of the theatre.
John stayed where he was, looking around. Up the street was a building with the skeletons of big umbrella's clanching on it wall, the entrance swallowed by shadows. A ideal place of observing. John slowly walked towards it, the cigarette between his lips burned till the filter. He was steady and calm now. Getting another one out of the package, he used a near bench as a stance for his rifle by flipping it and placing it towards the alley where the mutis headed into. He barely finished placing the bench, roughly 50meters from the threatre, as a strange and loud noise echoed through dead city. The fire-alarms of the theatre.
With an angry grunt John spat out his cigarette, his right eye looking through the scope, the other closed. What he saw wasn't really statisfying. Just a bunch of slaves panicing while running a fire-exit John happened to believe that it was locked. A certain slave wad quicker than the rest, bad for him that two slavers were right behind him. Just as they seemed to recognise that they could also shot the slave, they also took notice of the flipped bench up the street and the big desperado cowboy hat which popped up behind it. Two loud cracking shots later and the sound of two 10mm shells dropping to the ground, the two slavers were no more. John waved towards the slave who was now close by him, by swing his hat from left to right. Sure he still was looking through his scope but there also would be more than one slaver, not to mention the mutis who certainly aren't as easy to kill as a mere raiding human. The moment the slave would met up with him, he would retreat, the other slaves would probably take care of themselves or killed by either crazy mutants or pissed off slavers.