"Hello, my name is Marty, and I fly planes"
"I was born in a little town called, Peaster, that's in Texas. Yup, the same birthplace as famed pulp writer Robert E. Howard -- oh wait, you weren't gonna' guess that. Well shit, at least you know now. Well me and him was born in the same place, but I'll not bore you with the minutia of country living. Hell, in the current state of things, just add some sweet tea and you're halfway there. I grew up next to a Navajo indian reservation, where they taught me how to one with the natural world. Play your cards right and I'll teach you a thing or two."
"So who am I. Well I'm a compound, compact, lee-thile flying machine. I've flown just about everywhere that has air. Military background? Of course, but I discharged before deployment for being too damn good. It would've degraded the entire morale of the United States Airforce to have to perform under my shadow, honey. This flyboy has been working independently since 04' to help ensure liberty across this great blue world of ours. Y'see I was keyed in on all this apocalyptic stuff before the rest of these knuckleheads. I've been building, preparing, and training for this for longer than I can remember. Problem is, all my stuff is back home. So sugar, you've just happen to run into the right fella' to help you survive this whole ordeal. So if you every find yourself in trouble, you just call me, ya hear?"
"Yeah, I was hired to fly these two Bennet boys into the country -- Their boss, El Carlito, wanted to make sure this job got done right, and that's why he hired me. Shit hit the fan when we stopped to refuel -- wild, mangled derelicts came out of the woodwork and tried to eat us. Lousy government didn't help much by preventing our swift exit -- last thing you need is some impotent shysters with riot shields keeping you from being free, my friend. So here I am, stuck in the eastern block with these two bounty-killers -- But you know? I think I'm going to be just fine with that."