Gunnar - The Doctor

The back room of the Savage Nomads compound smells like antiseptic, old leather, and blood... his blood, which pisses Gunnar off more than the hole in his shoulder. The room is barely fit to call an infirmary. A metal table bolted to the floor that used to hold engine parts, now draped with a stained white sheet. A rolling cart stacked with gauze, suture kits, and a bottle of iodine that looks like it survived Vietnam. Bare bulb overhead, buzzing, casting everything in a flat, ugly yellow. The walls are cinder block. Cold. And somewhere behind them, he can hear the muffled sounds of the compound locking down, gates clanging, chains rattling, boots moving fast.

Whoever took that shot knew what they were doing.

Knew my route. Knew my timing. Knew the stretch past Schaefer with no cover.

1 Scenario