"...and thus, this man, with the heavenly powers of God in his arms, fought against the evil legions of Angra and eventually confronted and defeated him, banishing him away into exile..."


"...Gene...? Hey! Gene!"

There was suddenly a sharp jab to the ribs, waking a man out of a spaced-out trance as he stared out the window of a train. He let out an annoyed grumble as he looked over to the girl sitting next to him, giving her a rather hard stare as he turned his gaze in her direction, frowning that his train of thought had been interrupted by her. She seemed irritated that she had gone on for several minutes, talking about the legend of what was called the "god hand", and about the man who wielded them to defeat an evil entity... nothing of which the man was interested in, as he had his mind on something else.

"What, what? What is it now?" he grumbled out loud to her as he glared at her.

"Were you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, sure. Godarms. Demons. Banishing Angra. Got it all."

"It's Godhands. God. Hands. Got it? If you're going to be wearing it, get it's name right."

"Psh, whatever, lady. Man, what a nitpicker."

"And my name isn't 'lady', it's Olivia. Remember that too while you're at it, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." he said hurriedly, as he wanted to resume his thoughts, turning his attention back to the scenery out the window.

Both the man and the girl next to him sat in an uncomfortable, uneasy silence after that conversation. The man was dressed in brown pants with black boots, a dusty black and red-trim longcoat that had the emblem of a split-open skull on the back and a hoodie that hung limply behind his head, a white shirt underneath, and a red bandanna. The left side of it had a sleeve, and the right looked torn off... on that right arm was a strange brace that looked as though it had been there forever, shining despite the fact it had a degree of dustiness to it. He ran his fingers through his dirty-silver hair, scratching his scalp for a moment to get rid of an itch that suddenly sprang up on the top of his noggin. He also had on a small white patch just under his left eye, probably from a slight injury that may have since healed, but Gene forgot he had it there.

The girl next to him was wearing a denim shirt with a powder blue skirt and thigh-high boots, a choker collar with an ornate necklace around her neck, wristbands, and short brown hair. Compared to the man she was with, she was pretty cute, and rather well-endowed in the front. Any other man may find this woman enchanting, sexy, and beautiful, but certainly not the man who was sitting right next to her. As far as he was concerned, she wasn't really all that attractive.

They were the only passengers in their car, and it was something of a low class seat. But it was all they could afford, as neither of them had much money to go on. The man, supposedly named Gene, looked the girl over for a bit to examine her once more as she read a magazine, unaware of his eyes. She had nice legs, at least, which was the only thing about her he thought was appealing... the girl, who introduced herself as Olivia to him some time ago, would be his type if it weren't for the fact that she was the kind of girl he often hated and found annoying.

The train roared on for a little while longer before it began to slow down. Gene couldn't wait to get off. It felt like hours since they got on, and he wanted to get some decent space away from this crazy chica he saved. A minute or so later, it came to a complete stop and the loud hiss of steam escaping was heard all the way from the train's engine, the roaring of the wheels against the steel tracks changing into a quick silence. This moment couldn't come soon enough for Gene, and when it did, the thought of moving away from her made him beam with enthusiasm.

"Well, that's our stop..." Gene said with a grunt as he stood up and stretched, "Nnn... we're getting off here right?"

"Yeah. We need to stay here for a while," She told him.

"Great. I could use the rest!"

"Actually, I hear rumors this town is under the control of some gang of demon-worshippers... we need to get you started on using that Godhand properly and take care of these goons."

"What!" Gene cried, his high spirits changing into frustration, "Hey, you never told me anything about that! And I don't need to learn how to use this stupid thing!"

"Oh, quit your whining and let's go," with that said, Olivia began to move on, "think of it as a training phase. Kung-fu guys like you like training, don't you?" Gene growled and put his hands in his coat pockets, following after her after she left the cart.

"Not when I'm being forced to do it..." he mumbled.

And so, they exited the train, and headed into a small town next to a lake that looked rather prosperous. Dusty, of course... but then, considering their location, where they were in the badlands, everything pretty much is already dusty by now. It had a very Wild West type of setting to it, from the looks it. Except there is a succinct lack of horses around, and no one was dressed as a cowboy. Instead, there were cars, motorcycles, and regularly dressed people, and yet all of it was dusty. Much of the town was silent and still, but you could hear music playing in the distance, probably from the rock genre, likely coming from the Saloon that was nearby.

"As long as I have this Godhand thing here, are you really going to keep following me around?" Gene then asked Olivia, secretly hoping in his mind that this wouldn't be the case as they continued down the dusty street.

"You betcha~!" She answered with a chipper voice and a sweet smile as they walked down the street, "I've got to make sure you don't do anything irresponsible with it."

"What, are you afraid I'm gonna pick my nose with it?" he asked her in a sarcastic tone.

"You look like the kind of guy who would."

"You're crazy. Anyhow, I'm thirsty. If you're not going to bitch about it, I'd like to get a decent drink somewhere. The liquor on the train was like gargling sewer water."

"How about that saloon over there?" She then asked, pointing to the larger white building that must at least be three floors high, with, of course, the words "SALOON" in big red letters on a sign that hung above the door. Strangely, the L was in reverse, almost spelling out 'sajoon', if one were to look at it that way. Gene, however, didn't pay this any mind and simply waltzed right on into the saloon without responding to her question, with Olivia following behind him.

It was full of smoke, obviously from people smoking thick cigars all over the joint. Olivia coughed and fanned the air in front of her face with her hand as she stepped in, slightly choking on the smog, the smell of the stuff almost nauseating and could make one's eyes water. But Gene didn't react to it like it didn't even faze him, as though he was used to it. The heavy amount of smoke wasn't the only pollution going around, as there was a lot of noise from the people within, laughing, roaring, and simply having a good time, their conversations almost drowning out the sound of the music coming from the jukebox. As Olivia and Gene found a seat near the bar, the man would slap the counter to get the attention of the bartender, a lanky and humble looking man wearing a bandanna and denim clothes.

"Yo," he said to him loud and clear over the music and people, "I want your best whiskey."

"Ah... um, that's the Something Special..." The bartender timidly said.

"Eugh... never liked that one. Doncha have anything else? C'mon, look at all those whiskeys on the rack behind you..." Gene pointed out to that very rack, which seemed to be lined with all sorts of exquisite and imported brands, "You gotta have one in there somewhere."

"Um, we do... the Curry Scotch is my other best one, but..."


"It's reserved strictly for one person here."

"I don't see his name on it... I guess that's his problem. I want the Curry Scotch."

"B-but sir..."

"Curry Scotch. I won't ask for anythin' else."

Gene hadn't noticed it, but three men had approached just then, all of them standing out from the other people who were hanging around the place. Everybody had noticed what was going on, and what was being talked about already... it was enough to quiet down most of the noise previously going on, with the jukebox following, as the music it was playing reached it's closure and would need another coin to get it running. The silence that filled this bar was that of anticipation, intensity, and nervousness, with the majority of the saloon's patrons all fixated on the scene transpiring at the bar.

"Uh oh..." Olivia quietly said to herself, stepping back to get a safe distance away.

"Hm?" Gene rose an eyebrow, then turned in his barstool to face the men around him, sensing and hearing their approach, the heels of their boots thudding against the wood floor. One had a large green mohawk. The other had an eyepatch, and the last guy had three scars running straight down the middle of his faceā€”but they weren't real. You could easily tell it was a tattoo. He also carried a metal bat, which he had leaning against his shoulder. The one thing they shared in common was that they all wore a belt buckle that had a triangle with a skull running down the middle of it.

Olivia's frown changed into a smirk when she saw that emblem. What a convenient moment...

"What's up?" Gene asked, grinning coolly at them as he leaned against the bar counter.

"Listen, kid..." The man with the eyepatch then said to him in a raspy voice that sounded like he had a bottle brush in his throat, "The Curry Scotch belongs to the boss in this town. You understand? Get the Something Special, it's better for ya."

"Something Special ain't so special." Gene then scoffed, "I want that scotch."

"Mack, we're not gonna argue with ya. That brand belongs to the boss, and there ain't no one else here who's allowed to touch it. It's his special whiskey."

"Like I give a shit."

"Still insisting on it, are you? Well, then... if you're not gonna listen to reason, then I guess we'll just haveta kick your ass all over this bar!"

Gene sighed with a roll of his eyes, "Challenging me? Look, buddy, I don't think you wanna do that right now. But if you're looking for a beating that bad, weeeeeeelll..." he then stands up, brushing aside the tail of his coat as he then got into a fighting stance, raising his fists up with a confident smirk on his face and his gaze falling on all three of the men who were now showing animosity, "...hell, I guess I could have a little fun with you."

"You idiot... talking to us like you think you're so cool... it'll be a pleasure to break your face." The three angry looking thugs then readied themselves, giving a threatening posture that was a sure sign they were going to wreck this guy up for being such a smartass.

"Try it if you can," he replied. Immediately, the mohawked man roared forth and swung a fierce haymaker at Gene's head, hoping to strike him down in one blow. But Gene had better agility, and could easily telegraph his attack. He ducked his head under his arm and with a swift movement, he slammed his fist hard into the man's gut and sent him reeling back, coughing for air. Gene didn't let up, and promptly gave a short hop off the floor to snap a kick upward into the man's face, throwing him off his feet and to the floor with a loud grunt from the landing, where he passed out shortly after.

Gene then turned to the two remaining men, "Next."

The man with the tattooed scars then stepped forward, gripping the metallic bat with both hands by it's hilt and madly swung at Gene, clinching his teeth as he intended to try and knock the man's head clean off his shoulders. Gene weaved over to the side away from the weapon's strike, which nearly hit the poor bartender, and he ducked behind the bar to safety as a result. Seeing he missed, the scar-tattoo man turned and swung at Gene again while he was in range, only for him to miss again when Gene ducked under it, and then swerved over behind him to kick him in the back. The force caused him to stumble forward, and he slammed into the bar counter, making him fall over it halfway. The tattooed man was frustrated, his face starting to turn red with rage, knowing that Gene did that to taunt him as he pushed himself off the bar.

To further add to the insult, Gene beckoned him forward with his hand, "C'mon, slugger, try and hit a home run."

"I'll knock you outta the ballpark!" the thug retorted as he ran over with a loud scream and angrily swung the bat back and forth several times to try and hit Gene, but the drifter dodged and ducked every one of them before finally throwing a knee into the man's rib cage, slamming his open palms against each side of the man's head to stun him, kicking him in the chest with a spinning back kick, then uppercutting him in the jaw, sending him flying back and falling to the floor, passing out from the cumulative blows and the bat clattering loudly to the floor as he dropped it before landing.

And that left the eyepatch wearing man, who glared hatefully at the guy who just made monkeys out of his pals, and he wasn't going to stand for being made a fool of himself. He grabbed a nearby bottle off the bar counter and smashed half of it against it, throwing brandy across it and a barstool and thick glass around, but in the end, making a crude yet effective stabbing weapon, now that it had a lot of menacingly sharp points for piercing and slicing flesh. The bartender, who rose for a moment to watch, silently cursed to himself in despair, realizing this simple discussion had quickly turned ugly, and hid back behind the counter for protection.

"Now why'd you do that?" Gene shrugged, shaking his head, "That was a waste of perfectly good beer."

"The only thing that's going to be a perfect waste here is your blood!" The eyepatch man yelled as he lunged at Gene, attempting to stab him with the jagged beer bottle. He came close to stabbing the man in the side with it, but he only nicked the side of his coat as he moved out of range, and attempted several more stabs, each one missing it's mark. The armed man turned to face Gene after one failed attack that caused him to stumble past his target, but instead was met with a fierce kick that was not aimed at him, but at the bottle he held in his hand, shattering it with his boot and sending pieces of it flying into the air. Now all the man held was the neck of the bottle, which was all that remained of his once dangerous weapon.

"Sucks when that happens, huh?" Gene said with a grin as the man stared with his mouth agape at his now totally broken and useless bottle... or what was left of it, anyway. This guy was good; he wasn't just some cocky punk who could talk a fight but not back it up... this guy was one of those who could talk it up and back it up, and frankly, he wasn't sure how to handle a guy like this one. Then he noticed the girl, Olivia, who had been excitedly watching him fight with clinched fists. He quickly reached out to her, and grabbed her by her arm, surprising her as he swiftly pulled a switchblade out from his pocket before wrapping his arm around her so he could hold the blade more easily at her throat while securely holding her.

"Hey! Ow!" Olivia gasped, eyes wide in surprise of finding herself in a perilous position.

"Alright, dude... you may have kicked around my pals, but we can put this behind us if you just get the Something Special, and not cause us anymore trouble," he demanded, squeezing the girl's arm tight, "got it? And your pretty friend here won't have to bathe in her own blood."

"Go ahead," Gene said, turning his head to the side with no interest, with his hands in his pockets, "No skin off my nose."

"Aw, come on!"

Olivia gave Gene an angry glare, "Hey, buster!" she then throws her leg back, striking her captor in the shin with the sharp heel of her boot, the sudden blow making him cry out and drop the knife as he backed off and held his leg. Olivia then turned and kicked the man hard in the nads, making him gasp loudly in surprise and hold his crotch in agony as he bent over and fell on his knees. She then turned to Gene and folded her arms across her chest, "Don't think you can get rid of me that easily!"

Gene picked the knife up and retracted the blade before juggling it in his hand, "Oh, you were in danger? I'm, uh, glad you're safe," he said, in a mock-relieved tone. Olivia simply growled at him with narrowed eyes, tapping her finger against her arm.

"You... ugh... you... s-son of a..." the eyepatched man gasped, trying to get back up as he held his crotch with one hand, almost stumbling, "I'm gonna kill you..."

Gene then simply kicked the man sharply in the face, knocking him back down and rendering him unconscious, "No thanks. Got things to do."

He then felt the angry stares of several people, and turned around. Staring at him were a few more goons of various shapes and sizes, and none of them looked too pleased at what they saw. Olivia eyed their belt buckles... they had the exact same emblem. A triangle with a skull in the middle. Apparently, these guys were associations of the goons Gene just knocked into dreamland. And each one wanted a piece of the guy who was now stirring up trouble in a place they liked to frequent. One of them was cracking his knuckles, and another was pawing his two-by-four... another one of them was preparing a set of brass knuckles, and one other was licking his tongue along a large, menacing looking knife while cackling like a hyena. Olivia wasn't even the one getting the stares, and she could feel the bloodlust emanating from these guys.

"Um..." Olivia then choked, her eyes not wavering from the group "...Gene?"

Gene simply smirked, and got into a fighting stance, "Now this is the kind of thing I like," he then looked over to Olivia, "Why don't you get outta here, sweetheart. This is gonna get hectic."

You didn't have to tell her twice. Olivia darted through the saloon doors like a cheetah, not just for her safety, but she knew she didn't want to get in Gene's way. Given the number of thugs who were facing Gene, things would be so crazy, she might accidentally get caught up in the chaos. But this also disappointed her. She wanted to see Gene fight with... it. She wanted to see how he would fare. She wanted to know if he was worth rooting for...

...because he had the Godhand. That very mystical arm that was used to defeat the being known as Angra. This has a story to it, of course... there is a reason he had the Godhand. One of them, anyway. And if Gene died, well... it was going to make things very complicated. Because he had the Godhand, she had to depend on him, even though she really didn't like him, and the feeling was mutual. As she headed over to a safer place, she prayed for him not to do something stupid and get killed.

At the Saloon, Gene was facing off with the bunch who were now gathering around before him, all of them eager to rip the guy a new hole. He smiled wide, and felt a great excitement welling up in his chest... ah, what a thrill... so many faces to cave in, so many butts to kick. The patrons of the bar who weren't violent psychopaths would quickly rush to the exits to at least not get caught up in the fight about the come. Others stayed with interest in seeing what was going to happen... others were chuckling to themselves in amusement, almost pitying the lone man who was going to be fighting against what seemed like 10 to 15 men all at once.

Something about these odds made him very excited... what was it? He could feel something stirring within his heart and soul that just made him want to beat these guys up. Well, this was no time to dwindle on it. This was no longer a time for thinking. It was a time for action.

"...come on!" Gene shouted to them, a wide smile on his face as he clinched his fists tight, "Let's party!"