Montague used to play a game when he was younger. All of his friends would go down to the docks in a empty part of town, and they would have shooting competitions. His mother didn't approve of him going down to the docks, and she didn't approve of him risking getting shot.
The game eventually became fairly simple. One of them would fish out a playing card. The person with the gun would turn their back so they wouldn't see where the card was placed. The card was put somewhere, and then the game was to try to turn, aim, and hit the card.
It didn't take long for Montague to notice that he was good at the game. His friends said he was the best they had ever seen. Sometimes the adult gangs would even come down to watch.
When he went into the army, Montague's captain noticed his skill, and encouraged Montague to practice. Montague shrugged and said he was only decent.
When Montague left the army, he went back to his home neighborhood. His mother had left the city when she had the money to take her children with her. The apartment was still standing, and was a little more dusty and a little more run down.
He hunted down the street gangs, and found that many of the old ones had died out after the collaspe. He offered his skills as a bodyguard. They looked at his dead arm, and asked him what he could do. He said that he was decent with a gun, and proposed a game.
It didn't take long for people to believe him when he said that he wasn't bad with a gun.
So, he worked as a bodyguard for a while. People thought he was stupid since he talked slowly and moved slowly, and he didn't bother to correct their assumptions. He could move quickly when he had to, and in between those times he could rest. It didn't take long for people to see that he was a decent bodyguard.
It got to the point that he could recognize simple cameras and bugs, scan doorways quickly, and frisk down a man in a minute or less. It got to the point that he could recite exits in a room and recognize gang tattoos at a glance. It got to the point that he just got sick of it.
He was sick of the petty squabbles between gangs and sick of watching the cops bribe and be bribed. He was sick of going from week to week on the dole and hiding low when things got tense on the streets. He got sick of the easy grace of pulling his gun, turning, and killing a man. He was sick of watching soldiers come home and whisper about the fighting, and he was sick of soldiers coming into his neighborhood to keep the peace.
When his Captain, Damien, got out of prison, Damien was a quiet shadow of his former self. Damien said that he was told never to talk about his arrest, and that he wasn't supposed to protest his arrest. Montague knew that Damien was afraid to talk, and just as afraid of living in a world where no one dared to speak up. Damien wanted the city to become a place where people could be free. He also wanted just as powerfully to be left alone to heal.
It was easy enough to tell Damien that Montague could spare room in his apartment. It was easy enough to offer Damien room to sleep, food, and the old books that Damien loved to read. He was amazed that it was easy to take his gun and swear that he would die for Damien. After all, he was sick of the government, and he was a decent shot.