A man sat alone in saloon with his shotgun placed over the table in front of him. He stared blankly at the weapon and tried not to immediately associate its appearance with all of the events that had come along with it. He ran the back of his fingers across the length of its barrel and the skin of his knuckles felt out the engravings of the word "destiny": a word that felt so soft and light on his fingers, but its imprint sank so deep into his memories that the concept alone seared with pain. He continued his blank stare and did not bother wavering it with even as little as a sigh. He had no idea where to go or what to do, but he knew that he was not happy with his life and the paths he had taken. However, in the end, he accepted it. He was unsure if acceptance was what left him so blank, but he knew that he needed to find a new purpose, because that empty saloon was not where he intended to spend the rest of his life.

He swung his legs to the side and stood up. He glanced around the empty bar and let a smile erode over his face. He lowered his gaze and pulled his cowboy hat over his eyes so that he did not have to look at the mess he had left behind. After picking up his gun from the table, he stepped over the corpse of the first drunken idiot who had tried to start a fight, and weaved in and out of the rest. The entire place looked as if it had just survived a war; yet, the truth was it had just survived a mob and one angry man with a gun. He helped himself to a non-shattered beer from behind the bar tender's counter and walked out of the saloon. He expected that there would be some police coming to investigate soon enough, but he did not particularly care. He had spent such a long time in jail already that a little longer would not hurt him much. And besides, he had no intention of being caught.

He walked down the dirt road with the same mannerisms that he used before; his hat pulled over his face and his head bowed to cover his eyes. His shotgun rested on his shoulder in a way that seemed much too casual for its massive size. The man was well built and the heavy nature of the weapon could hardly be considered a deterrent for him. His short gristly beard was so tough that it scraped his hands when he rubbed his chin; not that it mattered, his hands and face were already covered in cracked calluses and healing scars. He walked out of the town without meeting a single person, and began walking into the open valley outside of civilization. He pondered the massive quantity of options that he had on routes to take. The most obvious one was to get his revenge on a man that had attempted to ruin his life. He had been a close friend and a good ally, but, just as the pair had done on many others in the past, the friend turned on him. As a result, he got to spend the next few years of his life in a prison cell, surviving off of sloppy meals and a bitter sting for revenge. And even though he had gotten out, he was not sure where he should go. He did not just want to walk up to the man and shoot his face to kingdom come. Odds are, he would get tricked and end up back in prison, without his gun, and with his previous friend standing there to laugh in his face. However, not a whole lot of options seemed to be presenting themselves.

He tossed aside the empty beer bottle with a moan. He had hoped that it would last for a slightly longer portion of his travel. Perhaps he would just seek another bar to sit at until someone looked at him funny. He opened his shotgun to the sound of a crack and a satisfying ping to indicate the empty shell flying from its old home inside of the weapon. The man pulled two new shells out and loaded them in before shutting the gun tightly. He had blown a fair amount of ammunition in the bar, but the soft jingle of metal and plastic in his backpack assured him that there was plenty more if needed.

His lonely walk towards nothingness was interrupted as an old acquaintance stood in his path. He chose not to say a word to the woman. In fact, he did not even acknowledge her presence as he marched along. She called out to him.

"Malcolm, where do you head?" she asked. He did not say a word to her and continued forward. As he passed her, she fell in line behind him and followed in silence. "Did you not hear me? Or perhaps you are too intoxicated?" Malcolm was persistent in his silent charade but the woman had no intention of leaving her question unanswered. "You are not talking to me. You have done something bad again, haven't you?"

"The hell's it matter?" he finally shot back.

"Your language is as foul as always."

"And you haven't stopped bitchin' at me yet. Guess it makes us even, huh?"

"That is hardly a matter to consider level…" the woman replied.

"Are you still here? Could ya get lost 'fore I kick your ass away?"

"You would not touch me," she told him. He did not respond immediately but he continued walking in the directionless vector.

"No ma'am. But why do you keep comin' back? I ain't nobody worth followin'."

"You have a good heart, Malcolm. I see that."

"Bullll shit. My heart was shot long ago. It's still beatin' simply cause I'm too damned stubborn to let it stop."

"While that may be true, that truth is, in itself, an admirable trait," the woman said. Malcolm let out a long and heavy sigh that was followed by more silence. The woman pursued quietly to see if he would respond, and piped up when she determined that he had no intention of talking anymore.

"Where are you going, Malcolm?" she asked again.

"Hell if I know. Away."

"That's hardly a direction."

"Look, I ain't got shit, okay? I ain't got my family, I ain't got a girl, I ain't got no friends, hell, only thing I got is this shotgun."

"You have faith, Malcolm," the woman said.

"Ma'am, I appreciate your courtesy, I really do, but I'm a long lost soul. There ain't no room for my faith."

"You tell yourself that…"

"I'm telling YOU that," Malcolm insisted.

"You have done good things Malcolm, I've seen you do them."

"Yeah? You see the pricks I filled with lead too? You see the shithead jailer I force fed the sorry end of my shotgun to? You seen the women I pillaged 'cause I wanted to?"

"These acts are forgivable." Malcolm stopped his march and turned the face the woman.

"Alright. I give. What you want?"

"You still have yet to answer me. Where are you heading?"

"I ain't goin' nowhere. I want to shoot that sorry son'bitch's head off of his damn shoulders, but I know I won't be able to."

"So, you should have no reason to object to my request?" the woman told him.

"No. Guess not. Whatchu want?"

"Come with me to Ionia. We need your help."

"The hell could you possibly need my help in particular for?"

"You have a will that cannot break, and the ability to fight like none other. We could use these characteristics." Malcolm was genuinely confused at this point, but he did not voice it. He stared at the woman following him and waited for her to explain more in depth. "You have been locked up for quite some time. Ionia has been invaded by the country of Noxus."

"And? Hell's it got to do with me?"

The people of Ionia are peaceful… we need warriors. Warriors who will not crumble at the sights of what Noxus is doing to my people."

"Karma…" Malcolm began. "I ain't never gunna understand your Ionian faith gibberish. But you win. I'll go with you." She smiled at him and nodded solemnly.

"Very well. We will need to head to a port and sail there. Which you have taken us in the opposite direction of."

"Ma'am, I'm no stranger to walkin'," Malcolm replied.