A Story of Cinders: From the Ashes

Chapter 1: Gunslinger

It was twenty years since the beginning of the last world war. Fifteen years since the Adskoye Plamya bomb was created and stockpiled: a bomb that was created and mass produced by the faction in control of the Russian government—the Zhar-Ptitsa-- meant to replace nuclear weaponry. An incendiary weapon that had all the destructive capability of a nuclear missile, but none of the radioactivity. Their leader, Czar Abram Karlov began to develop them with the hopes of ending the prolonged conflict. When UN forces began their final assault on Moscow, Karlov triggered the launch of the bombs as a failsafe, hoping to pick up the pieces and reshape the world as he saw fit. Seven billion people were killed immediately or died as a result of the injuries within months. That was seven years ago. Yet some still survived the Day of Fire. Though almost all central governments had since been disbanded or overtaken, many survivors managed to carve out a living in the ensuing wasteland, selling scavenged or crafted goods, or services. But others, because there was little formal law or method of enforcing it—the closest thing to law enforcement for most people was placing bounties or hiring , turned to dishonest professions. Thousands turned to banditry and raiding, looting and pillaging to survive. Gearbox was one of those rotten bastards. And as with many prolific people in his "profession", someone had put a bounty on his head.

There he is, with one of his raiders, lying in wait to ambush a caravan that is on its way to trade with the nearby town of Homestead. The caravan is carrying food, alcohol, and goods scavenged from Ground Zero. The merchants are probably armed, but there are only two of them, and their weapons are more for show than practical use anyway. And Gearbox is a tough person to deter. The fools aren't ready for it. Gearbox jumps in front of the van, sawed-off shotgun in hand. He lets off one shot, and a thunderous crack resounds throughout the desert air. The windshield of the van shatters, and the driver jerks back. What is left of his head slams against the head rest, then the lifeless corpse bounces forward, resting on the steering wheel. His foot slips off the accelerator, and the van comes coasting to a halt. The passenger is in complete shock. His door is ripped open, and another bandit pulls him from his seat. He hits the ruined asphalt road with a thud, the wind rushing out of his body from the impact. The bandit raises his machete, and savagely hacks at his neck. He doesn't even scream. The bandits yell in victory. A blood curdling yell that would strike fear in the hearts of most men. Another perfect raid. Nobody would know what happened to the merchants, they would just know that their shipment would never reach its destination. No witnesses. Well, almost none.

Behind a dune fifty yards away, something stirred. Then stood. It was a man. Young and athletically built, dressed in black cargo pants, a hooded gray vest, tan combat boots, and a long dark brown overcoat. He was wearing black sunglasses and had a gray face wrap pulled down over his neck like a scarf, a lit cigarette hanging between his lips. He was carrying a fully loaded .44 magnum revolver, and had a large kukri knife strapped to his lower back. His short, wild black hair blew back in the desert wind, and he scratched the stubble on his face. It looked as if he had been on the trail for days. Gotcha he thought to himself.

He pulls the hammer back on the hand cannon, then moves toward the carnage. The sound of the van's idle engine helps to mask his footsteps, and the smoke from his cigarette mingles with the stench of the exhaust. The bandits don't even notice him when he gets within 10 yards. Gearbox is alone at the back of the van checking his plunder. The man strides casually to his target. "You Gearbox?" he says to the bandit. Gearbox turns around, gun in hand, but before Gearbox can react a bullet tears through his chest. He screams and hits the ground. The man plants his right foot on the wrist of Gearbox's gun hand. "You..." Gearbox gasps, struggling for breath. "You're that bounty hunter. The Gray Wolf!"