The Dow Dragon

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@Gowi Do someone from Cali, Jonah needs company.

After The End, A Tale of Rebirth (Remake)

@Nerevarine I'm gonna have to drop out of this RP. Sorry, but I'm just not feeling the spark for it.

①⑨⑥⑧

Aquaman

Arthur Curry, 25 (b. 1943)
_{Vigilante based in Atlantic Ocean
Active since approximately Summer, 1966}

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---

In this version of Aquaman, Arthur Curry is a warrior of Atlantis, not its king. He wasn't born in Atlantis, either. He was born the son of a sailor in Massachusetts. Arthur inherited his father's trade company and began running it at 22. He had just gotten out of the navy and his father had passed away from cancer a few months prior. But only a year of running the company, the ship he's on is caught in a terrible storm and he goes overboard. He's saved by the King of Atlantis's daughter and she bestows upon him the powers of an Atlantian. The King is furious and decides that Arthur can pay off this debt by pledging allegiance to Atlantis and serving her. Arthur has no choice but to accept. While Arthur is pledged to Atlantis, he acts as more of a guardian of the Atlantic overall. Sort of an indentured protector. As such, he resents Atlantians on a level and will sometimes prioritize humans, his natural born species, over Atlantians.

I want to make Aquaman an outsider looking in. Believed dead by humans, he can never return as himself because that will raise some alarming questions and as a sort of mercenary for the Atlantians, he'll never truly be one of them. He's in limbo, the ocean and the aquatic life being his only true friends. He's built a reputation among sailors and people who frequent the coast and no doubt has garnered at least a little attention from Batman @Gowi if only as an urban legend. He dreads the day when he'll be called into fight a war for the Atlantians, fearing that it will be against humans. Because of this, he acts as a sort of suggestive diplomat as he is called into the King's court often. I also want him to be disenfranchised with the American way of life, unsure of it due to the time he has spent with the otherworldly Atlantians.

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Might add something if he ever gets a sidekick. Equipment wise, its just his skivvies and his trident really. And those sweet sideburns.

Aquaman's Theme

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---

"Man overboard!!" screamed a sailor as he saw his shipmate tumble over the side of The Betty, the wind and rolling tide pushing him into the churning sea below. The sailor knew that in these waters it would be a matter of minutes before the poor bastard was pulled underneath by the ocean's unending wrath. Below the ship, the fallen sailor sunk. No matter how hard he kicked and swam, the sea was too strong, her might tossing the ship above him about like it was made of paper. The sailor's mind started to dim as he ran out of breath and he knew that the sea would claim his life. Aquaman sped through the water towards the man, the current practically bending towards his will. The water was his constant companion, aiding him, unlike the unfortunate soul who was currently drowning.

He put an arm around the sailor and swam upward, his powerful legs doing all the work as his hands were full with a man and a trident. The pair exploded out of the water the surface, Aquaman slamming his trident into the hull of the ship. They dangled from the edge as the hero tried to see if the sailor was still alive. He growled and awkwardly climbed up the length of the ship, which was no small feat considering he was carrying a 200 pound man. They finally managed to get over the lip of the ship, where Aquaman promptly dropped the sailor and motioned to the nearest sailor "You should probably check to see if he's still breathing." and marched past the appropriately bewildered man. It wasn't that he didn't care about the guy he just saved, he did, but the dumb bastard that was piloting this thing was going to get everyone killed if he didn't head away from the eye of the storm. Aquaman raced up to the bow opening the hatch and spotting the helmsman and he assumed the captain. The captain looked over and blinked saying "Who the hell are you?" Aquaman replied "Davy Jones. You realize you're heading towards the eye? Those waves will capsize this rinky dink vessel. Hell, they could seriously screw up an aircraft carrier if they put their mind to it. Turn this fricking tub around." The captain was young, probably the same age as Aquaman himself, though nowhere near as weathered. It was immediately painfully obvious this kid was just getting his sea legs.

"No, we gotta head towards the eye of the storm where the waves are calm-" Aquaman cut him off "We are nowhere near land and this is a damn hurricane, turn it around. Now." he added, stepping forward. The captain glowered at him but nodded and started relaying orders. It was rough going, the tides battered at the ship like it had insulted their mother. Aquaman would periodically leap into the ocean and communicate with the sea life to gain some information about the tides. But eventually, they saw the moon peak through the clouds and the waters began to calm. A collective sigh of relief went throughout the ship and as Aquaman turned to leave, the captain stopped him "Who are you, really?" He stopped and said without looking "Aquaman." and leaped off the ship, plunging into the sea below.

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@BrokenPromise Ghost rider is my jam. One of the coolest designed characters. Too bad his movies were awful.

①⑨⑥⑧

I love how Jonah is literally the only 'hero' on the west coast. Freaking New England.

①⑨⑥⑧

Jonah Hex

Major Jonah Hex (Ret.), Bounty Hunter/Suspected Vigilante, 30 (b. 1938)
_{Vigilante based in California
Active since approximately Late Spring, 1968}

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---

---

---

Jonah Amos Hex is a USMC Major who was caught in an explosion in January 1968 while surveying a battle scene in Vietnam. The explosion killed four other marines but Jonah survived, all ligaments and senses perfectly intact. The right side of his face however was horribly disfigured. He received a medical discharge and a medal upon returning to the states. After finally being released from the hospital in March, 1968. Jonah was incredibly bitter at...well, everyone. Vietnam. The Viet Cong. The Vietnamese. The United States. That one asshole just walking down the street. You name it, Jonah hated it. He despised the bizarre the looks he would get from people as he passed, so much so that he knocked a guy out for bringing it up.

After a disappointing search for no work, Jonah was walking the streets of downtown LA when he was approached by a desperate man who begged him to help. Gang members had taken his son because the man refused to pay their extortion fee. Even if Jonah was definitely the most bitter son of a bitch on planet earth, he wasn't heartless. Jonah agreed to help and followed the man to the gang hideout. What started out to be a reasonable negotiation turned into an all out fight and when a gun was pulled, it got bloody. But during the crack of ribs and the occasional gunshot, Jonah realized he hadn't felt this good since the explosion. He loved to fight, that's why he joined the Corp. And as he wrestled a pistol away from a gang member and turned it on him, Jonah considered that maybe there was a purpose in life after all. He smiled as the gangster's head exploded from a point blank shot. Killing bad guys.

Never mind the fact that most people would consider that as crazy and he now had a temper that was like a stick of dynamite next to an open flame, this felt good. Really good. The man had no money to thank him for rescuing his son. Jonah didn't care. He'd found a purpose he hadn't had for months. So he took contracts for the government to capture crooks for whatever and bring them back alive. But by night (and on his days off) he slaughtered anyone who he deemed to be hurting people. He acted as Judge, Jury, and Executioner...and he loved it.

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---

---

Equipment:

- Jonah's Bounty Hunter Outfit: Looks like a typical cowboy, with subtly armored jacket and vest underneath shirt.

- Two Colt 1911 Pistols.

- Bowie Knife and K-Bar Combat Knife.

- Scoped Springfield Rifle.

- Harley-Davidson Motorcycle

Jonah's Theme

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---

Lightning cracked across the night sky. Rain fell from the clouds like a thousand mortars on a battlefield. A lone rider sped down a desert highway, his duster billowing in the downpour. Water smashed against his hat, dripping off the brim and smacking the black pavement. The rider gripped the throttle and ripped back, flying down the highway. He had spotted his target. A club, with a dozen motorcycles outside of it. It was built low with a rustic look to it, but looks are deceiving. The rider pulled into the lot, parking a small ways from the rest of the motorcycles. He shut off the engine and patted himself down, everything in its place. He touched the rifle in its sling which hung from the back of the bike. For luck. The rider dismounted the motorcycle and sauntered up to the entrance, surveying the burly white man standing guard. The lightning illuminated him, greasy long brown hair and an unruly beard. A swastika on his arm. At least he had the right place.

But the rider wasn't here for him, he was here for someone in particular. Everything would be fine if the man would just let the rider in. But as he approached, a strong arm gripped his bicep to stop him and a stern order came. "Tattoo." The rider rolled his eyes, wrapping his right hand around the hilt of his Bowie knife and said in a rasping voice with a hint of southern twang "What? You don't do walk-ins?" he asked, looking at the man. The rider almost had to resist grinning as the lightning illuminated his own face, revealing his scarred right side. Ghoulish, some might say. The bouncer recoiled, loosening his grip. The rider swung the Bowie with strength, speed, and accuracy. The knife pierced the bruiser's throat and the rider drove it through, blood flowing over his fingers, his eyes locked onto the bruiser's and the big man slowly slunk to the ground as the rider ripped the knife out. Crimson liquid poured from the Aryan's throat and he slumped to the ground with a soft thump.

The rider holstered his knife and pulled out twin pistols, flipping off the safety of each. He figured if the bouncer wouldn't let him in, none of the others would either. The rider holstered one and hid the other in his coat. He opened the door and felt the warmth of a heater and the smell of beer. Music flooded his ears as he closed the door. Every head in the bar turned towards him. A dozen burly Nazi bikers. "I'm only gonna ask this once!" declared the rider "Where is Ned Schneider?". There was a low growl from the men and the one nearest to him, a rough looking redhead said "None of your damn business, cowboy. How did you get past Os-" he was cut off by a bullet entering his mount and blowing the back of his head out. The rider didn't play games, he was on a schedule and didn't have time to play tough with some skinheads.

He ripped out his second pistol and blasted the barkeep, who had reached for a shotgun. Glasses fell from the wall as the barkeeper slammed into it and dropped to the floor. The bikers stood up and three of them charged with bats and knives. Well no one said they were smart. The rider's bullets ripped through the three men like a knife through butter. They crashed into bar tables and tumbled to the ground like dominoes. The remaining eight bikers looked at him dumbfounded, the rider had just dropped four of their men like it was nothing. They exchanged glances and reached an agreement. The rider saw it and another four of them charged as the other four retreated into the backrooms. They split off and were much faster than their fellows. One went for the shotgun under the bar, the other three were bearing down upon the rider. His pistols went two different directions, the left one blasting the biker at the bar, sending him stumbling to the floor. The one on the right put a bullet in another biker's face.

The four were down to two and as the remaining two looked down at their friend, who was currently missing an eye and very dead, they started to back up. The rider pulled the trigger twice, pumping two in one of the biker's chest, that same biker falling backwards and landing with a flat thud. Then there was one. An amused look came over the rider's face as he started to beg, a swastika tattooed on the bald man's neck. "Please, please don't kill m-" the rider shoved his colt into the man's mouth, all amusement from his face gone. "You lynch a black man not ten miles from here and you beg mercy of me? He cackled without humor. "I'm gonna take this gun out of your mouth, and when I do, you're gonna tell me where Ned Schneider is or I'll fucking castrate you. Understand?" The Aryan nodded. The rider took the gun out of his mouth and the bald man stammered out. "He was with the group that left out the back." Sure enough, he heard bikes erupt to life and screech away. The rider groaned and turned to leave but was stopped when the bald man asked "W-Wait, who the fuck are you?"

The rider paused and slowly turned around, considering the man. "What do you care? You're dead anyway." With that, he rapid fired his right pistol, three rounds right through the bald man's skull. The man's head flung backwards and painted the floor with blood and the rider pushed the door open, jogging to his bike. The hunt wasn't over yet.

①⑨⑥⑧

Aquaman

Arthur Curry, 25 (b. 1943)
_{Vigilante based in Atlantic Ocean
Active since approximately Summer, 1966}

---

---

---

---

In this version of Aquaman, Arthur Curry is a warrior of Atlantis, not its king. He wasn't born in Atlantis, either. He was born the son of a sailor in Massachusetts. Arthur inherited his father's trade company and began running it at 22. He had just gotten out of the navy and his father had passed away from cancer a few months prior. But only a year of running the company, the ship he's on is caught in a terrible storm and he goes overboard. He's saved by the King of Atlantis's daughter and she bestows upon him the powers of an Atlantian. The King is furious and decides that Arthur can pay off this debt by pledging allegiance to Atlantis and serving her. Arthur has no choice but to accept. While Arthur is pledged to Atlantis, he acts as more of a guardian of the Atlantic overall. Sort of an indentured protector. As such, he resents Atlantians on a level and will sometimes prioritize humans, his natural born species, over Atlantians.

I want to make Aquaman an outsider looking in. Believed dead by humans, he can never return as himself because that will raise some alarming questions and as a sort of mercenary for the Atlantians, he'll never truly be one of them. He's in limbo, the ocean and the aquatic life being his only true friends. He's built a reputation among sailors and people who frequent the coast and no doubt has garnered at least a little attention from Batman @Gowi if only as an urban legend. He dreads the day when he'll be called into fight a war for the Atlantians, fearing that it will be against humans. Because of this, he acts as a sort of suggestive diplomat as he is called into the King's court often. I also want him to be disenfranchised with the American way of life, unsure of it due to the time he has spent with the otherworldly Atlantians.

---

---

---

---

Might add something if he ever gets a sidekick. Equipment wise, its just his skivvies and his trident really. And those sweet sideburns.

Aquaman's Theme

---

---

---

---

"Man overboard!!" screamed a sailor as he saw his shipmate tumble over the side of The Betty, the wind and rolling tide pushing him into the churning sea below. The sailor knew that in these waters it would be a matter of minutes before the poor bastard was pulled underneath by the ocean's unending wrath. Below the ship, the fallen sailor sunk. No matter how hard he kicked and swam, the sea was too strong, her might tossing the ship above him about like it was made of paper. The sailor's mind started to dim as he ran out of breath and he knew that the sea would claim his life. Aquaman sped through the water towards the man, the current practically bending towards his will. The water was his constant companion, aiding him, unlike the unfortunate soul who was currently drowning.

He put an arm around the sailor and swam upward, his powerful legs doing all the work as his hands were full with a man and a trident. The pair exploded out of the water the surface, Aquaman slamming his trident into the hull of the ship. They dangled from the edge as the hero tried to see if the sailor was still alive. He growled and awkwardly climbed up the length of the ship, which was no small feat considering he was carrying a 200 pound man. They finally managed to get over the lip of the ship, where Aquaman promptly dropped the sailor and motioned to the nearest sailor "You should probably check to see if he's still breathing." and marched past the appropriately bewildered man. It wasn't that he didn't care about the guy he just saved, he did, but the dumb bastard that was piloting this thing was going to get everyone killed if he didn't head away from the eye of the storm. Aquaman raced up to the bow opening the hatch and spotting the helmsman and he assumed the captain. The captain looked over and blinked saying "Who the hell are you?" Aquaman replied "Davy Jones. You realize you're heading towards the eye? Those waves will capsize this rinky dink vessel. Hell, they could seriously screw up an aircraft carrier if they put their mind to it. Turn this fricking tub around." The captain was young, probably the same age as Aquaman himself, though nowhere near as weathered. It was immediately painfully obvious this kid was just getting his sea legs.

"No, we gotta head towards the eye of the storm where the waves are calm-" Aquaman cut him off "We are nowhere near land and this is a damn hurricane, turn it around. Now." he added, stepping forward. The captain glowered at him but nodded and started relaying orders. It was rough going, the tides battered at the ship like it had insulted their mother. Aquaman would periodically leap into the ocean and communicate with the sea life to gain some information about the tides. But eventually, they saw the moon peak through the clouds and the waters began to calm. A collective sigh of relief went throughout the ship and as Aquaman turned to leave, the captain stopped him "Who are you, really?" He stopped and said without looking "Aquaman." and leaped off the ship, plunging into the sea below.

After The End, A Tale of Rebirth (Remake)

@Dinh AaronMk

①⑨⑥⑧

Jonah Hex

Major Jonah Hex (Ret.), Bounty Hunter/Suspected Vigilante, 30 (b. 1938)
_{Vigilante based in California
Active since approximately Late Spring, 1968}

---

---

---

---

Jonah Amos Hex is a USMC Major who was caught in an explosion in January 1968 while surveying a battle scene in Vietnam. The explosion killed four other marines but Jonah survived, all ligaments and senses perfectly intact. The right side of his face however was horribly disfigured. He received a medical discharge and a medal upon returning to the states. After finally being released from the hospital in March, 1968. Jonah was incredibly bitter at...well, everyone. Vietnam. The Viet Cong. The Vietnamese. The United States. That one asshole just walking down the street. You name it, Jonah hated it. He despised the bizarre the looks he would get from people as he passed, so much so that he knocked a guy out for bringing it up.

After a disappointing search for no work, Jonah was walking the streets of downtown LA when he was approached by a desperate man who begged him to help. Gang members had taken his son because the man refused to pay their extortion fee. Even if Jonah was definitely the most bitter son of a bitch on planet earth, he wasn't heartless. Jonah agreed to help and followed the man to the gang hideout. What started out to be a reasonable negotiation turned into an all out fight and when a gun was pulled, it got bloody. But during the crack of ribs and the occasional gunshot, Jonah realized he hadn't felt this good since the explosion. He loved to fight, that's why he joined the Corp. And as he wrestled a pistol away from a gang member and turned it on him, Jonah considered that maybe there was a purpose in life after all. He smiled as the gangster's head exploded from a point blank shot. Killing bad guys.

Never mind the fact that most people would consider that as crazy and he now had a temper that was like a stick of dynamite next to an open flame, this felt good. Really good. The man had no money to thank him for rescuing his son. Jonah didn't care. He'd found a purpose he hadn't had for months. So he took contracts for the government to capture crooks for whatever and bring them back alive. But by night (and on his days off) he slaughtered anyone who he deemed to be hurting people. He acted as Judge, Jury, and Executioner...and he loved it.

---

---

---

---

Equipment:

- Jonah's Bounty Hunter Outfit: Looks like a typical cowboy, with subtly armored jacket and vest underneath shirt.

- Two Colt 1911 Pistols.

- Bowie Knife and K-Bar Combat Knife.

- Scoped Springfield Rifle.

- Harley-Davidson Motorcycle

Jonah's Theme

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---

---

---

Lightning cracked across the night sky. Rain fell from the clouds like a thousand mortars on a battlefield. A lone rider sped down a desert highway, his duster billowing in the downpour. Water smashed against his hat, dripping off the brim and smacking the black pavement. The rider gripped the throttle and ripped back, flying down the highway. He had spotted his target. A club, with a dozen motorcycles outside of it. It was built low with a rustic look to it, but looks are deceiving. The rider pulled into the lot, parking a small ways from the rest of the motorcycles. He shut off the engine and patted himself down, everything in its place. He touched the rifle in its sling which hung from the back of the bike. For luck. The rider dismounted the motorcycle and sauntered up to the entrance, surveying the burly white man standing guard. The lightning illuminated him, greasy long brown hair and an unruly beard. A swastika on his arm. At least he had the right place.

But the rider wasn't here for him, he was here for someone in particular. Everything would be fine if the man would just let the rider in. But as he approached, a strong arm gripped his bicep to stop him and a stern order came. "Tattoo." The rider rolled his eyes, wrapping his right hand around the hilt of his Bowie knife and said in a rasping voice with a hint of southern twang "What? You don't do walk-ins?" he asked, looking at the man. The rider almost had to resist grinning as the lightning illuminated his own face, revealing his scarred right side. Ghoulish, some might say. The bouncer recoiled, loosening his grip. The rider swung the Bowie with strength, speed, and accuracy. The knife pierced the bruiser's throat and the rider drove it through, blood flowing over his fingers, his eyes locked onto the bruiser's and the big man slowly slunk to the ground as the rider ripped the knife out. Crimson liquid poured from the Aryan's throat and he slumped to the ground with a soft thump.

The rider holstered his knife and pulled out twin pistols, flipping off the safety of each. He figured if the bouncer wouldn't let him in, none of the others would either. The rider holstered one and hid the other in his coat. He opened the door and felt the warmth of a heater and the smell of beer. Music flooded his ears as he closed the door. Every head in the bar turned towards him. A dozen burly Nazi bikers. "I'm only gonna ask this once!" declared the rider "Where is Ned Schneider?". There was a low growl from the men and the one nearest to him, a rough looking redhead said "None of your damn business, cowboy. How did you get past Os-" he was cut off by a bullet entering his mount and blowing the back of his head out. The rider didn't play games, he was on a schedule and didn't have time to play tough with some skinheads.

He ripped out his second pistol and blasted the barkeep, who had reached for a shotgun. Glasses fell from the wall as the barkeeper slammed into it and dropped to the floor. The bikers stood up and three of them charged with bats and knives. Well no one said they were smart. The rider's bullets ripped through the three men like a knife through butter. They crashed into bar tables and tumbled to the ground like dominoes. The remaining eight bikers looked at him dumbfounded, the rider had just dropped four of their men like it was nothing. They exchanged glances and reached an agreement. The rider saw it and another four of them charged as the other four retreated into the backrooms. They split off and were much faster than their fellows. One went for the shotgun under the bar, the other three were bearing down upon the rider. His pistols went two different directions, the left one blasting the biker at the bar, sending him stumbling to the floor. The one on the right put a bullet in another biker's face.

The four were down to two and as the remaining two looked down at their friend, who was currently missing an eye and very dead, they started to back up. The rider pulled the trigger twice, pumping two in one of the biker's chest, that same biker falling backwards and landing with a flat thud. Then there was one. An amused look came over the rider's face as he started to beg, a swastika tattooed on the bald man's neck. "Please, please don't kill m-" the rider shoved his colt into the man's mouth, all amusement from his face gone. "You lynch a black man not ten miles from here and you beg mercy of me? He cackled without humor. "I'm gonna take this gun out of your mouth, and when I do, you're gonna tell me where Ned Schneider is or I'll fucking castrate you. Understand?" The Aryan nodded. The rider took the gun out of his mouth and the bald man stammered out. "He was with the group that left out the back." Sure enough, he heard bikes erupt to life and screech away. The rider groaned and turned to leave but was stopped when the bald man asked "W-Wait, who the fuck are you?"

The rider paused and slowly turned around, considering the man. "What do you care? You're dead anyway." With that, he rapid fired his right pistol, three rounds right through the bald man's skull. The man's head flung backwards and painted the floor with blood and the rider pushed the door open, jogging to his bike. The hunt wasn't over yet.

@Gowi (I advise you listen to Jonah's theme as you read this taster of my skill.)

1968 // Season 1 – Dawn of Justice

Jonah Hex

Major Jonah Hex (Ret.), Bounty Hunter/Suspected Vigilante, 30 (b. 1938)
_{Vigilante based in California
Active since approximately Late Spring, 1968}

---

---

---

---

Jonah Amos Hex is a USMC Major who was caught in an explosion in January 1968 while surveying a battle scene in Vietnam. The explosion killed four other marines but Jonah survived, all ligaments and senses perfectly intact. The right side of his face however was horribly disfigured. He received a medical discharge and a medal upon returning to the states. After finally being released from the hospital in March, 1968. Jonah was incredibly bitter at...well, everyone. Vietnam. The Viet Cong. The Vietnamese. The United States. That one asshole just walking down the street. You name it, Jonah hated it. He despised the bizarre the looks he would get from people as he passed, so much so that he knocked a guy out for bringing it up.

After a disappointing search for no work, Jonah was walking the streets of downtown LA when he was approached by a desperate man who begged him to help. Gang members had taken his son because the man refused to pay their extortion fee. Even if Jonah was definitely the most bitter son of a bitch on planet earth, he wasn't heartless. Jonah agreed to help and followed the man to the gang hideout. What started out to be a reasonable negotiation turned into an all out fight and when a gun was pulled, it got bloody. But during the crack of ribs and the occasional gunshot, Jonah realized he hadn't felt this good since the explosion. He loved to fight, that's why he joined the Corp. And as he wrestled a pistol away from a gang member and turned it on him, Jonah considered that maybe there was a purpose in life after all. He smiled as the gangster's head exploded from a point blank shot. Killing bad guys.

Never mind the fact that most people would consider that as crazy and he now had a temper that was like a stick of dynamite next to an open flame, this felt good. Really good. The man had no money to thank him for rescuing his son. Jonah didn't care. He'd found a purpose he hadn't had for months. So he took contracts for the government to capture crooks for whatever and bring them back alive. But by night (and on his days off) he slaughtered anyone who he deemed to be hurting people. He acted as Judge, Jury, and Executioner...and he loved it.

---

---

---

---

Equipment:

- Jonah's Bounty Hunter Outfit: Looks like a typical cowboy, with subtly armored jacket and vest underneath shirt.

- Two Colt 1911 Pistols.

- Bowie Knife and K-Bar Combat Knife.

- Scoped Springfield Rifle.

- Harley-Davidson Motorcycle

Jonah's Theme

---

---

---

---

Lightning cracked across the night sky. Rain fell from the clouds like a thousand mortars on a battlefield. A lone rider sped down a desert highway, his duster billowing in the downpour. Water smashed against his hat, dripping off the brim and smacking the black pavement. The rider gripped the throttle and ripped back, flying down the highway. He had spotted his target. A club, with a dozen motorcycles outside of it. It was built low with a rustic look to it, but looks are deceiving. The rider pulled into the lot, parking a small ways from the rest of the motorcycles. He shut off the engine and patted himself down, everything in its place. He touched the rifle in its sling which hung from the back of the bike. For luck. The rider dismounted the motorcycle and sauntered up to the entrance, surveying the burly white man standing guard. The lightning illuminated him, greasy long brown hair and an unruly beard. A swastika on his arm. At least he had the right place.

But the rider wasn't here for him, he was here for someone in particular. Everything would be fine if the man would just let the rider in. But as he approached, a strong arm gripped his bicep to stop him and a stern order came. "Tattoo." The rider rolled his eyes, wrapping his right hand around the hilt of his Bowie knife and said in a rasping voice with a hint of southern twang "What? You don't do walk-ins?" he asked, looking at the man. The rider almost had to resist grinning as the lightning illuminated his own face, revealing his scarred right side. Ghoulish, some might say. The bouncer recoiled, loosening his grip. The rider swung the Bowie with strength, speed, and accuracy. The knife pierced the bruiser's throat and the rider drove it through, blood flowing over his fingers, his eyes locked onto the bruiser's and the big man slowly slunk to the ground as the rider ripped the knife out. Crimson liquid poured from the Aryan's throat and he slumped to the ground with a soft thump.

The rider holstered his knife and pulled out twin pistols, flipping off the safety of each. He figured if the bouncer wouldn't let him in, none of the others would either. The rider holstered one and hid the other in his coat. He opened the door and felt the warmth of a heater and the smell of beer. Music flooded his ears as he closed the door. Every head in the bar turned towards him. A dozen burly Nazi bikers. "I'm only gonna ask this once!" declared the rider "Where is Ned Schneider?". There was a low growl from the men and the one nearest to him, a rough looking redhead said "None of your damn business, cowboy. How did you get past Os-" he was cut off by a bullet entering his mount and blowing the back of his head out. The rider didn't play games, he was on a schedule and didn't have time to play tough with some skinheads.

He ripped out his second pistol and blasted the barkeep, who had reached for a shotgun. Glasses fell from the wall as the barkeeper slammed into it and dropped to the floor. The bikers stood up and three of them charged with bats and knives. Well no one said they were smart. The rider's bullets ripped through the three men like a knife through butter. They crashed into bar tables and tumbled to the ground like dominoes. The remaining eight bikers looked at him dumbfounded, the rider had just dropped four of their men like it was nothing. They exchanged glances and reached an agreement. The rider saw it and another four of them charged as the other four retreated into the backrooms. They split off and were much faster than their fellows. One went for the shotgun under the bar, the other three were bearing down upon the rider. His pistols went two different directions, the left one blasting the biker at the bar, sending him stumbling to the floor. The one on the right put a bullet in another biker's face.

The four were down to two and as the remaining two looked down at their friend, who was currently missing an eye and very dead, they started to back up. The rider pulled the trigger twice, pumping two in one of the biker's chest, that same biker falling backwards and landing with a flat thud. Then there was one. An amused look came over the rider's face as he started to beg, a swastika tattooed on the bald man's neck. "Please, please don't kill m-" the rider shoved his colt into the man's mouth, all amusement from his face gone. "You lynch a black man not ten miles from here and you beg mercy of me? He cackled without humor. "I'm gonna take this gun out of your mouth, and when I do, you're gonna tell me where Ned Schneider is or I'll fucking castrate you. Understand?" The Aryan nodded. The rider took the gun out of his mouth and the bald man stammered out. "He was with the group that left out the back." Sure enough, he heard bikes erupt to life and screech away. The rider groaned and turned to leave but was stopped when the bald man asked "W-Wait, who the fuck are you?"

The rider paused and slowly turned around, considering the man. "What do you care? You're dead anyway." With that, he rapid fired his right pistol, three rounds right through the bald man's skull. The man's head flung backwards and painted the floor with blood and the rider pushed the door open, jogging to his bike. The hunt wasn't over yet.

@Gowi (I advise you listen to Jonah's theme as you read this taster of my skill.)