The jacket looked amazing. The white jacket with dark blue stripes up the sides of the arms. The dark blue M1911 stitched on the jacket, just below the shoulder. The countless number of pockets filled with who knows what kinds of ammunition. The back had sort of an explosion looking emblem, with each layer a different shape of blue going from darkest in the center to lightest on the outside. The hood was white with a single blue stripe going down the back of it. Most amazing of all was the man wearing the jacket. The hood covered most of his face, but his chin had stubble on it. He was big, but not bulky. He looked like he could maneuver around any obstacle with minimal effort. His build was strong. He looked like he could win any fight with just his fists, assuming it was hand-to-hand of course. But the most impressive feature of the man was his weapons.
At his side was an M1911, a simple gun, but effective. It was thoroughly shined and polished. Across his back was an M16, complete with a silencer, extended clip, and a scope. Finally, he had his shotgun. An old pump action shotgun with Isabelle etched into the side. He also had a few grenades and a combat knife for when a gun couldn’t get the job done.
Nobody would have noticed the guy if he would not have just tried to attack Norman Quasdale, the head honcho of the group that kept attacking the town. Quasdale was tall, ill-tempered, and could hit like a truck. The group listened to his every command, and the town was helpless. They had no weapons, no experienced fighters, and no way of fighting back.
In the middle of town, Quasdale charged the man and pulled an AK-47 off of his back. He shot a few times at the man, but they all missed. The man retaliated by taking out his 1911. He fired a shot at Quasdale and took out his foot. Quasdale screamed and shot his gun at in a last ditch effort. Swiftly dodging all the bullets he gracefully walked over to Quasdale. He punched him in the jaw, knocking him out cold.
“Put this man away. His gang won’t bother you anymore,” said the man. A little kid came running up to him.
“What’s your name mister?” the kid asked him.
The man gave the kid his 1911, and walked out of town. On the gun was an engraving. It said “The Gunslinger.”