Denver, 1978.

The school was bland and mundane, painted in washed out colors and obnoxious fluorescent lights. The floors were an ugly cream color, speckled with brown and blue. The lockers that lined the winding hallways were bright blue, covered in stickers, marker and spary paint.

Vance sauntered down the hall, hands in his pockets, head high as kids left and right coward away from him. He wore his signature sleeveless denim jacket with a spaid and a club patched onto the shoulders, a white tank top, and black jeans.

He spotted his friends leaning against their lockers and stepped over to join them with the usual greetings, his eyes scanning over the kids walking by as he picked out the next victim of his relentless anger.