Roy McBane, a lone gunslinger you could call him. He lives in the shattered world of 2050 United States. After a huge nuclear war engulfed Earth, the world is plagued by chaos. Roy must make the choice to either give in to temptations, or pick up the pieces of a broken world.
Roy cocked his AK-47 and crouched behind a low stone wall. In the distance he could see a small group of Black Faces. Cruel, coldhearted thugs who, after the war, decided that they were in charge. Roy crept closer, his boots hardly made a sound over the gravel.
They were in the blasted ruins of an old WalMart, all that was left standing was a few sections of wall and a few counters and racks, everything else was either dust or knocked over. He aimed his AK-47 at the closest Black Face, they all had ragged clothes with ammo belts and rifles and most had a tall, dirty mohawk. But every one of them had something in common, the thing that gave them their name, they each had a black handprint on their faces.
Roy let his sights focus on the Black Face's head, then slowly pulled the trigger. Three rounds burst from the rifle and hit the Black Face perfectly in the temple. Roy ducked behind the wall before the shots even hit the Black Face. He peaked around the right side of the wall and saw the Black Faces looking around, rifles at the ready. They had not seen him yet, he had the perfect element of surprise. They heard him fire but didn't see him at all.
Roy put the strap of his AK over his shoulder and pulled his .44 Magnum revolver out of it's holster. The large pistol was a shiny metal color. He quickly ducked behind an empty shelf, that once carried food that was probably stolen by looters. He peaked around the corner, a Black Face was at least ten feet away and looking in the other direction. Roy aimed the pistol and took a shot. The Black Face flew forward straight into the ground, face first. Roy went around the shelf on the other side and as he walked he saw another Black Face. He quickly took a shot, catching the man just below his neck.
He kept moving quickly, he saw two Black Faces standing next to eachother warily. He took two more shots, catching one man in the chest and the other in the head. Roy took a quiet but deep breath, there were three more Black Faces, and he only had two more bullets. He looked to his left and saw a Black Face lighting a cigarette. He shot the man in the lungs. "Smoking kills", he said, and it was true, if that man hadn't stopped for a smoke he might've lived.
Roy kept walking, this time carefully. He peaked around a corner and saw a Black Face quickly stuffing money into a bag, as if he was gathering his stuff to leave. Roy shot the man in the spine, who fell to the ground, money in hand. Roy looked around, he didn't see the seventh man, he shrugged and assumed he left, like the last Black Face was about to do. He started going through their little camp that was set up, it was just a circle of stools and duffle bags filled with gear and money.
Suddenly Roy heard the click of a pistol being cocked. He turned around slowly and saw a black pistol aimed straight at his forehead. The Black Face holding it had face covered in soot and ash and his eyebrows were bent in a permanent scowl. Roy stood there slowly for a second. He wore a slight grin on his face, it was a tactic to set the Black Face on edge, to make him nervous. In one quick flash of movement, Roy's right hand struck the pistol, knocking it to the ground. And before the gun even hit the ground, Roy kicked the Black Face in the gut and punched him in the face.
Roy pulled out his knife and the Black Face did the same, wiping blood from his lip. The two stood there for a second, probing the others defense. In rapid flashes of movement, Roy swung his knife, the blade barely being blocked by the Black Face's knife. The Black Face thrust at Roy's stomach but he easily blocked it. Roy wore metal bracers on each forearm for just such an occasion. But the repeated striking at the Black Face worked perfectly as planned.
When the Black Face blocked the strikes, he created a hole in his defense. In the quickest flash of movement, Roy dove into the hole in the Black Face's defense. He started slamming his fists into the mans ribs. Then he slashed at the Black Face, cutting him across the cheek. The Black Face clutched his cheek as blood flowed down, he cursed and took off, bolting out of the building. Roy decided not to chase him, he rammed his knife in it's sheathe and started picking through the Black Face's gear.
He grabbed a few packs of cigarettes and some money and ammo. Nothing else was needed. He whistled and his dog Blitz, a black and muscular wolf-like dog, came running up to him, panting. Roy pet the dog and praised him cheerfully, he had known the dog for at least two years. The dog had been his best friend ever since he found it. It was Roy's only friend in this broken world, that's just the way things were.