The Ghost sat on atop the Lasalle County Courthouse. He'd managed to acquire a few new weapons. While scavenging a few local firearm shops, he'd come across an M1 Garand, a BAR, and specific coordinates. His eyes narrowed into a squint as pressed play on his cassette player. The song, Don't Stop The Music, began to blast into his ears as he climbed down from the roof of the courthouse. Today, he would solidify his position in this new world. Once on the ground, he loaded up some gear into the 1919 Autowa Car (a rare Model-T Pickup). As the music picked up, the Ghost gave the handcrank a whirl and the Autowa trembled to life.
As the century-plus year old pickup left the courthouse, the Ghost increased the throttle, advanced the timing and let the pickup pickup speed, occasionally changing the no-so-standard manual transmission gears. The ancient pickup rumbled toward Norris Drive, however, the Ghost took a left turn to hop on Route 6, heading toward Lasalle-Peru. As the left Ottawa, his mind began to wonder. Memories of the past swirled about his mindscape. There were happy ones, always centered around his grandparents. Then came the dark ones... memories of pain, seething hatred, and a need to rectify things. However, he snapped back to reality as the sounds of honda civics filled the air.
The Ghost got into the left lane, holding a solid fifty miles-per-hour. The Autowa couldn't dream to outrun a late-ninties civic... but the Ghost didn't leave with out a plan. The Ghost snapped into action, grabbing fifth-high, then opened the front windshield. With the windshield out of the way, the Ghost locked the bi-pod of his new BAR machine gun in front of the pickup's cab. With a quick pound of box magizine, the Ghost steered the Autowa into the dead-center of the road. The century-plus year old inline four began to flow its valve as that little motor sang at a speed of sixty-five miles-per-hour. The civic, now had three tribals leaning out the windows, guns firing into the air.
Once the civic rounded the curve, the Ghost open fired the BAR, unleashing a stream of .30-06 (pronounced thirty-out-six). The Civic's radiator exploded in a blinding cloud of boiling coolant steam, burning the three tribals. Behind the Ghost's mask, the Ghost near shattered his teeth from the force that came from his loatheful gritting of his teeth. "FUCKING TRIBAL TRASH!" He yelled as he held down the BAR's trigger. The Civic's engine block took several hit, the did the fuel rail, causing the civic to burst into flames. The driver lost control and slammed into the right-side drainage ditch. The Autowa sped by, completely unscathed. Holding a solid sixty-eight-point-five miles-per-hour, the Ghost pushed that over a century old motor to its upper limits. Valves floated, the dual belts spun the radiator fan at blind speeds, and the rear-wheel-drive pickup was pushed along as the driveshaft could've been mistaken for a cast-iron tornado that propelled the Autowa forward.
As the Autowa roared into Lasalle-Peru, he focused on his mission's destination... the Illinois Valley Regional Airport. Once he was on the main roads of Lasalle-Peru, he made his way to Interstate-80, which he took for all of five minutes before taking an exit. As he took a left, the airport looked to be in half-decent shape... with several World War Two era warbirds parked up near the hangars. As the rumble of the Autowa Pickup came into earshot, a woman, couldn't have been older than her early twenties, and an older man stepped out of the hangar to greet the Autowa. Once the Ghost had the pickup shut off and had stepped out, shutting the door with a metallic thud followed by the dorman door jam's signature click, the Ghost raised his googles.
"Mr. H, Katie, thanks for the assist." The Ghost's tone was kind and gentle as he shook H's hand and nodded at Katie. "Well, without you, we'd have been killed by tribals weeks ago!" Smiled H. H was the Ghost's former auto shop teacher and mentor. As for Katie, she was running the logistics of this "more secret that a government cover-up" operation. While H made his final diagnostic check, Katie helped get the Ghost suited up. The faded, US Army olive-green coveralls worked for this mission. Now with a replica sherpa, flight cap, and his aviator goggles, the Ghost of Ottawa got rigged up with a parachute and leather flight gloves. "Ghost...", started Katie, her voice trying to muster up a solid reason as an anchoring soul, trying to keep the Ghost from crossing into the darker side of his soul, "...you don't have to do everything... you know that right?" Her voice trailed off as the Ghost slowly turned to face her.
"Katie, you know I can't do that. Besides, how would I live up to Archie's motto, the montra I centered my heart, soul, and will around... "If Not Me, Then Who?"...besides...", the Ghost's eyes narrowed into to their hyperfixated death-glare, "There are still people who need my help... and people who have earned my wrath. So long as those two groups exist... I can not rest."