[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/7x28HGm.png[/img] "One Last Ride Pt. 1" [/center] His eyes opened for the first time in five years. Waking up in a ditch not far from where he died a decade and a half ago. Where the gangsters had killed him and he and Roxanne had made their pacts. The one where he had sworn vengence, and she had sworn protection of the man she loved. Neither of these pacts were carried out, Roxanne broke hers and Johnny was betrayed. The ground was damp. Rain was pouring down. He was wearing a dirty white T-shirt, a pair of ripped jeans and a pair of black work boots he usually wore. He was... Alive. Sure, he had been present, sort of. In hell, you aren't alive, and you aren't gone. They keep you awake, aware. But it's a different kind, your soul is active, but your brain and body are gone. As he laid there bondering the metaphysics of it all, he felt his lungs fill with air. The cold drops of the fall rain should've bothered him, but there was a soothing quality to them. While the grass was grimy and he was dirty, it was still the most beautiful thing he had ever felt. He sat up, looking at his hands, flexing his fingers. Incapable of believing the fact that he had a body again. For but a moment, he was so excited that the only emotion that he felt was joy. Glee. Maybe it had all been a bad dream, a nightmare. Maybe Hell wasn't real, and he had never ridden on that horse made out of fire and steel. Maybe he had never felt his skin burn off his skin, and maybe Roxanne was still alive and well. But as his eyes were drawn to a satchel hanging on the branch on the tree above him, he knew his naive thoughts were just that. Hell was real, and he was sent back to earth with a purpose. A dire one, at that. He looked at the satchel, in it was the shiny blade he had been gifted for his purpose, a few of his earthly belongings. And a note. [img]https://i.imgur.com/vVCPvun.png[/img] It was Enochian, and as Johnny read it, his arm began to burn, a searing pain in his right arm. On it Enochian runes appeared, a spell. He couldn't read them, but he understood what they meant. They were the agreement he had with the underworld. With Mephisto. He knew there was no getting out of it. And he had but one choice. He tore the letter out of the satchel, crushed it and threw it away. It evaporated into flames and a foul smell of darkness. He pulled the leather jacket out of the satchel, as well as checking the Sawed Off Shotgun that was put into one of the pockets. He had made it himself when he was 14, butchering his dad's old hunting shotgun. The double barreled shotgun had served Johnny, and the Ghost Rider, well. And it would do so again. But he was without his bike, and there was only one place to go to find it again. Reyes Scrapyard. The scrapyard was a biker clubhouse run by Robert Reyes, the meanest motherfucker the Eastern Seaboard ever produced to ride a bike - well, second meanest. They were the Reyes Devils, and they were all a mean bunch. But if anyone took care of his motorcycle after his demise, Johnny knew it would be Reyes. [hr] A few hours later, riding in a rusty old Chevy he had stolen. Johnny pulled up to the clubhouse, located on a 150 year old scrapyard, one that once had been used as a oil refinery, then a mafia moonshining place, and a scrapyard under Reyes grandpa, and now, a clubhouse. Johnny wore a hoodie under his leather jacket, covering his face. He walked in, the biker guarding the door stopped him. "You are not getting in. You're not in the crew, turn around or you will get hurt." The biker promised, his vest said 'Breaker' on it, a shitty nickname for a shitty biker. But in his waistband was a .40 cal, and he looked willing to use it. Johnny broke his nose, knocking him out and walked in. Inside the clubhouse, the music was loud. It was some new shit Blaze hadn't heard before. He noted all of the stairways up and down, if he knew Robbie, he would have his office at the top of the clubhouse, so, two floors up. And he'd have it well and properly guarded. But he simply didn't bother stalking his way up there. He instead walked up to the bar, where the guy with the most patches on his vest stood, meaning he was the highest ranked among the bikers on the floor. Johnny walked up, looked the bartender in the eye and ordered a shot of whiskey, the bartender eyed the Biker to Blaze's side nervously, before he walked away to get the drink. They knew the guy wasn't from here. The biker turned to him and looked him up and down. "And who the fuck are you? What are you doing in our bar?" And Johnny smirked. "I'm here to talk to Reyes. Your boss, fatso." He told the far bigger biker who didn't take kindly to the insult. He was about to rebuttle the insult when the door burst open, the guard from outside fell in, yelling about his broken nose, pointing at Johnny. "Oh, so he's woken up." Blaze noted, the bigger biker in front of him cussed a 'son of a bitch' as he swung his arm at Johnny. He ducked under it, uppercutting him with his left and then jabbing him in the gut with his right, as the guy was hunched over, he ate a knee to the plexus and then got a double-handed swing to the back of his head, dunking his face into the counter of the bar, teeth flying. He collapsed on the floor. Johnny was panting slightly, looking at all of the other really pissed off bikers in the club. "Now, where the hell is Reyes?!" He shouted, as a creek in the stairs was heard and down came the boss. Johnny smirked, turning back to the barkeep. "I'll take that drink now." Johnny had barely time to taste the shitty whiskey before nine bikers had knives, a shotgun, a automatic pistol, revolvers and a taser to his head. He looked at the guy with the taser and mouthed 'really'. Reyes looked him up and down. "Who the hell are you, walking in here smelling like a burning building and beating up my guys?" One of his bikers pulled down Johnny's hood, shocking Reyes to see his once-dead friend. "Hi, Robbie. Long time no talk. You never write anymore." He joked, his cocky smile creeping further on his face. [b]"Where the hell is my bike?"[/b]