Deacon St John was a member of the Mongrels MC. His bike and his cut was a representation of that. He used to be part of the army. He severed a full tour of duty in Afghanistan. He was stationed in the 10th mountain division where his unit worked in collaboration with the Northern Alliance. Although, he severed honourably, he hated every minute of his service.

On a mission whilst advancing on Mazar-i-Sharif, Deacon's squad was ambushed by a Taliban group with flatbed trucks equipped with ZU-23 modified anti-aircraft guns. Their Humvee was destroyed and fell off a cliff into the Hari River. Deacon survived the crash and swam out to the wreckage hoping to find survivors, only to pull eight bodies back to shore including his sergeant, Tanner. Emotionally traumatized by this event, Deacon decided to leave the military.

After being discharged, Deacon returned to the United States where he purchased a motorcycle and spent a couple of years on the road drifting from place to place before he finally returned home. Deacon later gained employment as a mechanic in a motorcycle shop owned by an old man named Jack, who was The President of the Mongrels Motorcycle Club. Jack personally offered him a membership which Deacon gladly accepted and was patched as an Enforcer in the MC.

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Now, he was on his way to Crazy Willies. It was a bar and it an old motel attached. As well as a gas station. He was on his way to meet the rest of the MC. The ride was quiet, like it usually was. No one ever traveled this far. Farewell wasn’t up to many people’s standards after all.

The low rumble of a motorcycle cuts through the stillness as Deacon slows down, spotting the broken-down car on the side of the dusty road. His eyes fall on a woman, leaning over the cars hood. He paused, his hands on the handle bars of his bike as he watched her.

“Hey,” he greeted casually, looking back out at the dirt road ahead of him. “I’m sort of lost. You uh, know the way to Belknap?” He asked the woman, turning to look at her. He knew exactly where he was. But he wanted to ask - to strike a conversation with the pretty woman.