Profit? Hm... so the rumors were true, Ash thought to himself as he yanked on a pry bar. That one lapse in concentration was all it took. Suddenly the piece of shrapnel came loose from the engine compartment and his forearm contacted a battle damaged piece of the vehicle's frame. There was an audible sound, like scissors closing, as the rusty metal sliced through his leathery skin. Thick, dark blood ran down his arm and began to drip onto the ground below. There was no gasp of pain, no cursing his bad luck. He just stood there staring at it for a moment. It'd been so long since he'd felt anything at all.

"Hey, uh... You just gonna watch yourself bleed to death, buddy?" Lucian asked, a surprisingly sober expression on his face.

He snapped back to it and clamped a hand over the bleeding appendage.

"Yeah," he replied.

"...Ya sure?" Lucian persisted.

"Of course! This scratch is nothing compared to other things I've been through," he said.

...It was a week boast.

A minute later the bleeding stopped on it's own and he wrapped it with a scrap of cloth.

Brrrrrrum bra brum brum! The vehicle's engine finally rumbled to life.

"Looks like it took a blood sacrifice!" somebody declared.

Ash laughed and banged a bloody hand print onto the hood as he slammed it shut. It was a pretty good joke.

"I now christen you... Wilson," he said loudly.

Several of the nameless scavs laughed. He knelt down and gathered a handful of dirt and rubbed it between his hands to soak the blood. Slowly he slipped back into the numb haze of post apocalyptic life.

"Can we go now?" he asked.

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