America, like the Double Deuce, has turned savage. There was only one man that could save us, and now that man is gone.
He went by the name of Swayze to most, Dalton to those who knew him best. Was he a mercenary? Sure, at first. A man's got to make a living, and we all know that philosophy degree — even one from NYU — is worth basically nothing.
Before Dalton came around, the Double Deuce was the kind of place where they'd sweep the eyeballs up at the end of the night. It didn't take him long to change that.
Who was the real Dalton? A regionally-renowned bouncer? Zen Master? Protégé of the late, great Wade Garrett? Ruthless killer? Perhaps, the last American Hero?
Yes to all.
He battled wickedness in all its forms, and it took on many within the blood-soaked walls of the Double Deuce. He busted drug-dealers, thieves, and pimps. No matter what weapon was wielded, be it knife, pool cue, razor-boot, fist, or gun, not a chance was stood against him.
Should his enemies strike a blow, he barely flinched. "Pain don't hurt," he always used to say.
When the Double Deuce was finally cleaned up, Dalton was forced to face the true evil in town, local extortionist Brad Wesley. It would have been easy for Dalton to walk away, to find the next bar.
He didn't do that, instead embracing his role as the fist of societal justice, to strike back against what is wrong. And when the time came, he stepped aside and allowed Wesley's true victims to settle the score on their terms.
Would Dalton have fought for us, to help make the American Dream a reality? I'd like to believe he would have. At least providing we could come up with $5000 up front, and $500 per night.