dark beige

By Reno Raines, TV's Renegade

Hi, I'm Reno Raines, though for some reason I can't really put my finger on, you might know me better as Renegade.

Let me tell you a little more about me: Framed for the murder of my wife by corrupt cop Donald "Dutch" Dixon, I was sent to prison, but promptly escaped.

Next thing I know, that evil bastard Dixon sent professional bounty hunter (and Native American) Bobby Sixkiller after me, but things got a little messed up and instead I actually saved Bobby's life and gained his trust.


MY GOOD PAL BOBBY

Adopting the name Vince Black, I now work as a bounty hunter for Sixkiller Enterprises, while searching for the one witness who can clear my name and bring down Dixon — a witness called Hound Adams, who, fearing for his own life, will only come forward if I kill Dixon, something which I am unwilling to do.

Or, to put it in a simpler way, as this voice I sometimes hear in my head says:

“He was a cop, and good at his job. But he committed the ultimate sin, and testified against other cops - gone bad. Cops that tried to kill him, but got the woman he loved instead. Framed for murder, now he prowls the badlands. An outlaw hunting outlaws, a bounty hunter, a Renegade."

The thing is, I'm starting to get freaked out by how formulaic my life seems to have become. It's as if every week the same thing happens to me: I'm riding around the "badlands" which always seem confusingly vague as a general area, failing to take in town or city names, and never looking the same twice, when I seemingly stumble upon someone who is clearly morally strong and righteous but physically weak or vulnerable, who is in some kind of danger, threatened by bad people.

It might be evil property developers sending around thugs to intimidate an old mom and pop farming couple into selling their land, or evil property developers sending thugs to scare a young woman and her son into dating their evil boss. Whatever it is, it always seems to involve intimidation and violence (and property developers).



THE BADLANDS

I'll jump off my bike and administer a series of ass kicks and face punches, leaving those no-good thugs bruised, bloodied and beaten. They hightail it away in the back of a pick up truck, often vowing revenge.

I'll have some kind of brief but intense relationship with whatever woman I can find that's involved with the case, get my ass kicked (just briefly) by a bigger gang of hoons, narrowly avoid the local police, team up with Bobby and bring the baddies down for good. Then I'm out of there, with nothing but a tank full of gas, a pocket full of hope, and maybe even a knapsack full of dreams. Just back out on those badlands, wind in my hair and vengeance in my heart - for that no-good Donald Dixon.

I'm kind of bored of prowling the badlands now. I never thought it would go on for this long. I'm not actually sure where I sleep at night, as it's never been made clear to me, nor have I worked out how I'm constantly prowling new badlands but am never more than a few miles from Bobby's office.

When I was in high school I thought I might have been an artist or something, instead of this badland-prowling renegade I've become. I just want to go home...where is that?

God, I'm so depressed.