the man lets out a grunt of pain as he limps towards his bike, one hand holding a small piece of rubber hose, his other cups the fresh wound on his shoulder.
Cole kicks at a corpse of a blade dancer as he exits the small camp.
He had spotted the camp early and hoped by this time they would be too drunk to put up a fight. He was wrong, the few blade dancers put a a decent fight, Coles panting breath and blood soaked arm proof of the raiders will to live.
"ahh what a day." He chuckles to himself "but i got the hose and im still breathing!"
Cole sets the small gauge hose down...such a little thing..but when yours takes a shit on ya and gas spews out the side of ya bike at 50 plus it seems like the world. He pulls a crude first aid kit out of his back pack and begins to tend to his wound and rest.
Waking at dawn and having a nice breakfast consisting of cold can of beans and not so clean water. Cole heads to his bike and readies to leave. He gives the gas tank a solid thud with his knuckles before starting the bike...the hollow, empty sound from the tank rings in his ears. Cole sighs and begins the long walk back into town.
"...Well im still breathing." He chuckles.