“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!” A loud and rather terrifying howl rang out from the dust cloud generated by my feet. It was a nice sunny day on the southern side of West Angle City. I, being a rather astute and dignified individual, was hauling ass down a dirt road towards the nearest building I could find to hide in.

So… why the fuck am I running. It’s always important to ascertain your current understanding of a situation and then work with what you’ve got. And what I’ve got at the moment is a 2-ton behemoth, bellowing in anger, oozing with bloodthirst, and a serious hard-on to do me some harm.

So, how did it come to this some might ask. Well, it’s my job, and I don’t mean a 9-to-5 kind of thing. People hire me to take the blame for their: stupid, lustful, vengeful, politically correct, and (you fill in the blank) actions. I’m the Fall Guy. Literally.

This all started a while back, at the time when I was a simple lackey for a big-time bruiser, Tommy Knox. Well, Tommy had a nasty habit of getting his hands dirty in any way he could, and by, “any way” I mean, pulling some beautiful woman into a dark alleyway and doing rotten things, kind of way.

He was a true, Scum Lord, but that’s beside the point. I was the one who had to clean up the… result. Not a fun job, but a job nonetheless, and the pay was decent. You may condemn me, say I was a horrible human being, to which I would say, “I don’t fucking care.” I’m not one to judge those on which moral pathway they decided to embark on, and I, for one, am no “Knight of Justice,” but I do have some remorseful moments.

Needless to say, this kind of attitude has gotten me into more shit than the King of fucking Dung Beatles, and they roll in it. Literally.

Anyways, I digress… Hmm… Where was I? O yes. Cleaning up the result. Well, finally, Tommy ruffled up the wrong skirt (If you know what I mean.), and had a rather enraged court official, who also happened to be the young lasses’ fiancé, take some very drastic measures. Which is to say, a legion of soldiers combing the streets, sword in hand, flaming torch in the other. Lucky for Tommy and Fucked for me, the bright young lass didn’t exactly know what her attacker looked like.

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Tommy didn’t like the idea of carrying a smoking gun, so he did what any morally corrupt individual would. He passed it to me.

I had no idea I was being framed. The only thing I found when returning to the rundown building he called, the Casa, was a shitload of soldiers, and me, holding ripped strips of the girls’ dress. Tommy always wanted me to bring back the ‘tokens’ of his “Good times.”

Of course, no questions were asked. I saw them, they saw me, and I booked it the hell out of there!

Luckily, I have always been a quick one. My mother used to call me the incarnation of a renowned rabbit racer. Her humor always seemed to be lost on me, but still warmed me the way only a mother could. Tis a shame she’s gone…

Anyways, I raced away from the 300 iron heads, and by some lucky chance or another, I managed to get away.

And for several months, a huge amount of people wanted to kill me. Posters were hung, soldiers searched, people were interrogated, but I was nowhere near this mess at the time. Why? I met a rather strange man who called himself, Leblanke.

While on the run, there aren't many places to stay and recuperate. Friends turn into greedy bastards looking for an early retirement at the first sight of gold, and because of this, I, for a decent amount of time, had been shacking up in gutters and climbing onto new unsuspecting “hosts’” roofs.

It was during this time that I met, Leblanke. A rather corrupt, rather mean, and rather cunning old man. He’d discovered me on his roof, and he did something you wouldn’t expect, after finding a death-warranted criminal covered in dirt and grime from being on the run, he invited me inside for tea.

In a grand study, one that would put kings to shame might I add, He told me of his trade. The Great Father of a huge organization, catering to every good and bad individual’s needs: The Red Cross Guild.

It was then that he offered me an exclusive, and a rather lucrative job (provided you could live long enough to get paid). He told me to forget my past, and who I was, and to formally become, The Fall Guy.