I stepped out of the shitty Japanese compact they brought me, honestly, couldn't they have brought me a nicer car? Well I guess they wanted me to fit in. I shouldered my ratty old bag and slammed the door. I slumped towards the office and got my time table just before the bell rang. I checked my timetable, English, great. (Note the sarcasm). I slowly walk to the building and enter. The teacher barely glances at me.
'New kid? Sam or something. Spare seat by Tora.' He says pointing to a desk. I look at the lone occupant, she has long dark blond hair and blue eyes so light they almost look white apart from the dark ring around them. She had a jagged scar going from her right eye to her lips which shaped them into a permanent scowl. She was ripped, her biceps were like watermelons, this girl hit the gym often, her arms were tattooed. She wore a unbuttoned plaid blue flannel shirt over a white tank top, she had two silver chains dangling on her throat. One had a heart an the other had a skull. Then I saw them, the scars, all up her arms and one stretching across her collar. Her feet are kicked up on the desk, she wore leather boots the must be old because some of the black has worn away leaving brown patches.
I mooch over to the desk and sit beside her. 'Hey.'
'Hi.' She grunts, she has an accent like English isn't her first language. 'You're probably the first one to sit next to me all year.'
'Why?' I ask cause I am generally interested. She sighs, like this is pain in the arse for her.
'Cause me and my family are basically Harley riding, tattoo addicted Neanderthals. And well nobody can stand a chance in a fight with me.' She says flexing her massive biceps. That I can believe.
'The names, Tora, Tora Jensen.'
'I'm Sam Turner.'
The new kid was cute, I guess, with scruffy dirty blond hair and sky blue eyes. But not my type, I need a tough guy that can protect me, not small guy that could probably fall over in a breeze.
I should probably explain who my family are:
Lee Christmas, an ex member of the British SAS. Pretty reliable, he is the only one that doesn't ride a chopper. His weapon of choice is throwing knives and he knows a good blade when he sees one. He has actually "borrowed" mine sometimes.
Yin Yang is the martial arts expert and has managed to whip my arse, he is a midget compared to the rest of us and thinks because of that he needs to be paid more. He doesn't like killing in "Gruesome" ways.
Toll Road is the demolitions expert, he wrestled in college and has screwed up cauliflower ears, constantly telling stories about it. He is an therapy for Avoidant Personality Disorder (don't ask me what it is, I don't know either.)
Hale Caesar is one of the biggest guys I have ever encountered apart from my old work mate, Trench Mauser. He is a heavy weapons specialist and has a massive shot gun which fires miniature war heads that arm them selves. Literally if you were in a zombie apocalypse, you would want his gun.
Gunnar Jensen, aka Dad. One trigger happy motherfucker. got a degree in chemical science, which I found hard to believe. One insane son of a bitch, who carries around guns the size of Yang. He is probably 6'5 (that's where I get my height from). Gone to rehab a couple of times to try and get off drugs. One other way to help his addiction is to hide his stash and just hit him if he try's and find them.
Then there's Barney Ross our so called "Leader" Sixty something and a badass motherfucker. One of the people I most look up to. He drives a 55 ford pickup truck and pilots an old biplane which ships us too our awesome missions. He has tattoos all over his arms and back, more than me.