S1, 00 Character Introduction - Dustin Vorn (January 2, 2016)

**03 January, 2096**

The Skarr, Republic of Australia

Earth

The disheveled man was slumped against the ruined wall, his tattered, worn clothing blending in with the rubble and rubbish surrounding him. His hair was long and packed with a mixture of dirt, grime and matted blood. A black hat was pulled low over his face, concealing eyes that had seen far too much.

Hastily shaved stubble grew in patches around his mouth. His frame showed that he had once been muscular, but years of hunger had starved those muscles of any weight. He sat in silence, contrasting the constant noise of the Skarr, the ruined and broken slum of Australia.

Footsteps suddenly echoed through the alley. The man looked up slowly, so no unwanted attention was drawn. A pair of construction workers strutted along the crumbling bitumen. Each man carried a hammer and an air as if they owned the place. The construction companies were amongst the highest paid jobs within the Skarr, and most of the employees enjoyed the benefits of the pay checks.

Which included harassing the poor.

They stopped suddenly and glanced at the man, almost invisible amongst the rubbish, and smiles filled their faces. However, neither smile was filled with pity. The disheveled man hunkered down further, but it didn't change the outcome.

Jack: "Oi Pete, look here! It's one of them low-life, good for nothing slum dwellers!" yelled the worker with the orange jacket. The man known as Pete smiled further.

Pete: "You know what Jack, I think you're right! Dirty filth, wasting away while we gotta work the hard yards."

The man pulled his hat down further, trying to delay the inevitable. But the two brawny construction workers had already made up their minds.

Jack: "Yeah, why is it that we have to slave away in the work yards while this filth sits around and clogs up the living area."

Pete: "We have to shoo away at least a hundred of you when we're at the yards, sitting outside the gate crying for food, cash, your mummies and daddies. Heck they don't know when to stop crying!"

Jack: "Couldn't agree more. Filth like this just loves to cry. You must bawl your eyes out every night, filth."

The man slowly raised his gaze to meet theirs, not speaking, not moving any other muscle. But the workers were having none of it. Without a word, Pete grabbed the man and pulled him upright, grunting slightly as he pulled. He ripped the man's tattered cloak from his back and threw it into the rubble. Jack's grin grew even further as the man stumbled to his feet.

Pete: "You say you don't cry filth?"

Jack: "Well then we'll make you cry!"

Jack leapt forward, his balance surprisingly good for a man his size. His sledge hammer thudded into the man's stomach, causing his lungs to empty and his muscles to burn.

By some miracle the man's ribs didn't break, but nevertheless he fell backward and crashed into a pile of boxes. The two workers were laughing their heads off as they waited for the man to get up.

Slowly but surely, the man stood, his balance steadying as he regained his posture. He kept his back turned, but the workers kept up their flow of insults.

Jack: "They really can't take a hit can they?"

Pete: "Well what do you expect from a beggar like him?"

Jack: "Hah! Clearly, not much."

The man finally stood, straightened, turned around...

...and smiled. It was a cold smile, devoid of any humour. It caught the two workers by surprise, but they didn't lose their stand. They grinned right back at the filth standing in front of them. If only they could see his eyes. The deep pools, one blue, one green, that had seen so much. The eyes that were filled with determination and experience; eyes that had seen the start of many fights. And the eyes that could see every fight's end.

The man spoke for the first time, his voice young and somewhat quiet. But it was filled with a surprising sense of certainty.

Man: "You poor, dumb fools. Out of all the areas you could have gone, out of all the poor you could have attacked, you picked me. You poor, poor fools."

Jack: "What did you just call-"

The man leapt, grabbing Jack's hammer and jumping over him. He was a blur of experienced motion, a force of nature that could not be stopped by any man. His knee thudded into the workers head, followed quickly by his right fist. Even as Jack was falling, he flicked the hammer out of his hand, catching it easily.

The instant he landed, he spun and threw the hammer directly at the stunned Pete. The throw was straight and the heavy tool smashed into Pete's thick skull, instantly knocking him out. He dropped his own weapon and slumped to the ground.

The man looked at his handiwork, a slight sweat forming on his skin. The two workers lay, unmoving except for the rise and fall of their chests. The man shook his head slowly. These men had clearly harassed many before him, but they had finally learned their lesson. The hard way.

Quickly, he moved to grab the bag that had been sitting at his feet, filled with edible food, small firewood and other useful things. He grunted as he bent over as the adrenaline began to recede and the massive bruise on his stomach began to ache. He left the cloak behind; so large were its tatters and holes that there was no reason for him to keep it.

He turned to leave but stopped as he heard a noise behind him. The bulking form of Jack slowly rose as he propped himself up with one arm, his face showing a broken, blooded nose and a slowly forming black eye. His voice came out as a wheeze.

Jack: "Please. Please, sir, who...are you? I...I don't want anyone I know t...to ever run into you. Pl...please sir."

The sir was an interesting addition, the man thought to himself and he considered the answer before he spoke.

Dustin: "My name is Dustin Vorn, but as far you're concerned, I'm just another low-life, good for nothing slum dweller."

And with that he turned and headed off into the ruined and rubble filled slum that was the Skarr.

Or, as he now called it; home.