N.T.B

A single black Buffalo leather Chelsea boot steps onto the cool yellow desert floor. The rough dirt crackles underneath the weight of the boot and its owner. Soon, another boot follows its brother, stepping off the metal steps of a barely working jeep and onto the dirt-riddled ground. The owner of the boots begins to walk forward, his open, charcoal Yarmouth 112 centimeter trench coat waving slightly in the soft breeze. The classic fit raglan trench coat's broadly cut chest and raglan sleeves created a relaxed fit for the figure, who often moved around and needed to move quickly. The fabric of the coat, cotton gabardine, was renowned for its strength, lightness and durability, while the closely woven yarn protected against wind and rain, while being light and breathable. The heritage features retained the iconic trench coat silhouette, giving the man a radiation of mystery to his figure. As the man raises his hands behind his head, it could be clearly seen that the coat has double black bridle leather cuff straps with corresponding epaulettes. The cuff straps of the coat seemed to be slightly faded, meaning that it was often adjusted to protect against the wind and rain of the strange desert weather. The inside of the man's coat, which was shown upon the wind blowing up the tail of the figure's coat, was lined with a beat check cotton twill. His collar up, the man's undercollar was designed with a check-patterned throat latch, while his coat buttons were Burberry branded horn buttons with metallic smoke hardware. Similar to his buttons, his loose belt was of black bridle leather belt with a metallic smoke buckle, and flew around aimlessly as he walks away from the barely living car. The inside of the trench coat, between the second and third buttons, had the initials 'NTB' embroidered in with a fine, cool gold/yellow fabric.

"Stop right there!" A female voice calls out, followed by a symphony of loading weapons.

The man stops walking towards his assailants, his coat brushing against the rusty surface of an old, bullet hole-riddled car. The man raises his head towards the female assailant, who wore a light red trench coat, detailed with a matching red top hat. In one hand of woman was a black cane, and the other was a Derringer aimed at the man's head. The man's face shows prominent and chiseled cheekbones. His lower jaw possessed a light 4 o clock shadow, which added on to his Aric sunglasses Oliver Peoples. The olive-lensed sunglasses cover his hazel-colored eyes, which were scanning the area in front of him, the woman in front of him, and the gas station he just blew up. 

The facts were these.

Young Neal Blackburn was fifteen years, four months, one week, three days, eighteen seconds old when he ran out of the front door of his childhood home and never returned. Only a few knew the reason to young Neal's runaway journey, but the select few were his two older brothers, Adam and Cecil, who were the reason that caused young Neal to run away into the night. From then on, with multiple unknown reasons, the two older brothers swore war against each other, and broke off, creating two groups at war for territory: Titus Corps and Merys. Although Neal loved his dear brothers greatly, and they to him, he kept in mind the reason he escaped from them, and never forgave them for the actions they committed. Young Neal would grow up to be a excellent and intelligent survivalist, with odd tastes in almost everything. 

Now, Neal Blackburn was twenty-nine years, seven months, three weeks, five days, forty-three seconds old, a young and fine man who was being held captive by a psycho woman, who was furious at him for blowing up her gas station, and a male trigger-itchy antique gun collector, who was quite mad at Neal for wrecking his motorcycle and wasting his antique gun ammo. As Neal looked back down towards the ground, he could see the bodies of his fellow captors, who worked for Titus Corps as mercenaries and bandits. 

"You and your bandit buddies blew up my gas station!" The woman's shrill voice splits through the air.

"Buddies? They're no more than you to me: completely insane." Neal responds. Neal turns his gaze up, only to be met by the butt of the woman's gun. 

The facts were these.

A few hours ago, Neal was walking about in his run-down, barely habitable house when he had heard the sound of cars rolling up outside. Looking out the window, Neal could see the familiar Titus Corps jackets and badges on the raiders. Cursing himself for having chosen such an awkward location in the area, Neal approached the raiders as a captive, for he did not want to fight with them. Knowing that the raiders were fearless in battle, but still somewhat merciful in taking prisoners, the raiders looted his residence, threw him into their convoy of vehicles, and set out back for home base.

It was at this moment that Neal thought he might see a familiar face again, but those thoughts were interrupted by him falling into a deep slumber. His sleep was later on interrupted by a raider, who informed him that they pulled up at a gas station to refill gas and..well, hopefully loot the place. 

Which brings us to Neal's current predicament: Laying on the ground with a bloody nose, a dizzy head, and...oh, wait. The woman fires a shot into Neal's foot, causing Neal to grunt and wince loudly, struggling to keep his calmness. A bloody nose, a dizzy head, and an injured foot. 

As Neal began to lose consciousness, he could hear the conversational voices of the two who he fought against with the raiders. 

"I'm going to kill him."

"But his group will just come back for him." 

"Says who? I'm ready for them. Mr. Smartass here though, will be dead before they get here."

'Great.' Neal thinks to himself. 'This is where my nightmare begins.'


And this, is where our story begins.