Nicholas J. Lantino was born and raised in Mahwah, New Jersey. He was raised by his Aunt Trudy, due to his father disappearing when he was a child, and his mother’s lengthy prison sentences. Nick was always looked down upon by the rest of his neighborhood because of this, and figured that if that was the only way they were going to see them, then that was exactly what he would give them.
Nick got into trouble with the law in junior high, committing petty thefts and getting into fights. However, he would always target people that he felt genuinely deserved it, like bullies & other assorted assholes. Nick would always step up to help people in need, and when he found the star quarterback of the football team slapping his girlfriend around…well, lets just say it ended with Johnny Football sucking Thanksgiving dinner through a straw. The only thing that kept Nick out of serious trouble was the fact that the girlfriend in question was Stacy Kincaide, and her dad was the local Sheriff.
After things calmed down at the school, all Nick could think about was Stacy. “There was no way a girl like that would want to be with me, she’s a cheerleader for fuck’s sake!”, he thought.She’s high class, Nick is the school criminal, and her dad is the goddamn Sheriff.
One night, walking home from his usual Saturday night tomfoolery, he saw a car on the side of the road with the hood up. looks like they broke down. Nick went to see if he could help, and sure enough, it was Stacy. Nick offered to help, but the next thing he knew, he and Stacy just sat on the side of the road and started talking. About everything. It was then he realized something amazing. She didn’t care. She didn’t care about his parents (or lack there of), his laundry list of offenses, or what anyone else thought of him. He was in love.
The next few years were amazing. They had to keep their relationship on the down low from her dad, but they were inseparable. Stacy helped Nick graduate, and he kept himself out of trouble…for the most part. There was a band Stacy wanted to see at a club, some whiny Goth band, but Nick cowboy’d up and promised to take her. The show, to Nick, sucked hard, but Stacy had fun and that was all that mattered.
After the show, as Nick stood in line for the bathroom, the lead singer pulled Stacy aside and started chatting her up. Nick ran outside and saw that lame Goth prick lead Stacy into a tour bus. She had a weird look in her eyes. Did they give her something? Nick ran to the bus, but got intercepted by one of lame fuck’s roadies. The guy was big. Strong as hell. Nick and the roadie brawled as the tour bus pulled out fast, causing a pizza delivery van to swerve into the alley and hit the roadie. As the pizza guy went to see if the roadie was alive, the roadie popped up like John Cena no-selling a DDT on an exposed concrete floor. The roadie looked…different. He seemed bigger, his eyes were fire engine red, and his teeth got real pointy. He snapped the pizza guys neck with one backhand. Nick barreled into the roadie, planting his shoulder into his gut and driving him backwards until they crashed into some old wooden pallets. As Nick got to his feet, he saw that a large pointy chunk of wood punched straight through the roadie’s back and came out through the center of his chest. And before Nick’s eyes, the roadie dissolved into a crusty old skeleton. Nick found a list of tour dates in the roadie’s pocket. Nick jumped behind the wheel of the pizza van and from that day forward, Nick Lantino followed that lame fuck band all over the country. Every time he stopped at the next town on the list it was the same story. Mysterious disappearances and blood drained corpses. But no Stacy.
One town left. Los Angeles. Nick picks up a show on the van’s radio. A guy named Blackthorne, says he is an expert on crazy shit. If he’s going to take on a band of…whatever the fuck that roadie was, He’s gonna need help. Might as well start with Blackthorne.
Nick quietly says to himself “I’m coming Stacy. I’m bringing you home.”