Gundham’s head aches, the world around him fuzzy and indistinct as slowly regains consciousness. He knows something is wrong, that this is not how things should have gone but he is finding it difficult to remember exactly what he was doing before he fell into unconsciousness. The smells of fire and oil fill his nostrils and a memory begins to stir. A memory of a deafening boom and a crash into chaos.

   He pushes himself up out of the dirt, staggering to his feet. Eyes scan the wreckage of the small Future Foundation convoy he had been apart of. Memory of moments before comes flooding back. It had been a routine run meant to deliver supplies to an outlying base. This route was supposed to be safe but apparently that assumption was wrong. The bombs the convoy had driven into is proof of that.

   Perhaps he should be thankful he wasn’t in the first car. It gave him enough time to bail out before his vehicle was added to the carnage. Although, he might be regretting the pain in his shoulder some. Guess he landed wrong. He takes a breath, his uninjured hand slipping into his coat to unholster the gun hidden within its folds. Often ambushes like this mean there will be despair fanatics waiting in the shadows to swarm on the survivors and the way the hair is standing up on the back of his head tells him one might already be watching him.

   The former breeder spins, coat flaring as he levels his gun on the presence behind him, eyes narrowing. The fire arm clicks as he cocks it, Gundham very much prepared to shoot whoever it is but then the figure comes into focus and he tenses. The gun lowers an inch, eyes going wide. Internally he begins to realise he might be in a lot of trouble.