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There were many tales at the time of people whose skin could be shaped into that of a car, a tank or just a block of metal, but very few of them were true. One of them starts here.

In the barren wastelands of the where there were no real laws, wars were fought with kingdoms that had sprouted, there were rebels, and they were everywhere. the rebels holed up in tiorn down abandoned cities, or cities that were untouched by the hell that made up the now vast spaces of land. The last world war had come, and gone. and now people were just tryin to survive. . the people who lived in the kingdoms lived best, transporting their money and stuffs by cars and trucks and trains. at first they were easy targets for the rebels, but thenthey started being able to fend off the rebels.

There was a couple of cities that did well and begun to live off of what they had, but some didnt get so far, thats where this guy lived.

He owned a shop in a city off to the side of all the havoc, he knew rebels that brought goods in and traded them for machines and parts, he even did some of the raids and organised quite a few of them, but this town was know n for its peace and so the kingdoms never bothered it, for they didnt know it really housed quite a few rebels. He made his business making shells, paryts, amunition, and other machines used in tanks and weaponry. and so the town was heavily fortified.

he hadn’t done raids in a few months but business was still good. he just wondered however if he would ever find someone, you know, like the couple that was looking through the ammunition. he sighed and continued listening to his music and watching the cameras that came from the ceiling down every isle.