Farkas "Bulk" Bulkmeier's Arc

Chapter 1 of 5

Bulk kicked open the warehouse door and stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. The place smelled like rust and old smoke. Three months of tracking down petty thieves hadn't built him a reputation. He needed something bigger. He needed a base where people would come looking for him, where his name would mean something. He walked the perimeter, boots crunching on broken glass. The brick walls were solid despite the weathering. The second floor had good sightlines to the street below. In the back corner, he found what he was looking for — a heavy wooden desk still bolted to the floor. He set down his pack and pulled out the small zord figurine wrapped in cloth. Skull had kept it on his dashboard, called it his co-pilot. Bulk placed it on the desk facing the door. Outside, he found a rusted metal panel and three cans of scavenged paint. His hand moved quickly, layering colors across the brick facade. The warthog took shape — bright and wild, tusks curved like warnings. He stepped back and wiped paint from his fingers. Anyone passing would see it now. Anyone looking for muscle or favors or justice would know where to find him. Bulk locked the door behind him and pocketed the key. The building was his now. The wasteland had a new player, and tomorrow the first clients would come looking. He could almost hear Skull laughing at the paint job, telling him it looked like a kindergarten project. But Skull would've understood. This was how you built something from nothing. This was how you made a name stick.