[ john's only been here a few of days, himself. long enough that he's figured out the ebb and flow of things, how this forum works and how new people coming driving away from the scrapyard without any real schedule, and that nothing - really - is any better than the shitty med tent he woke up in. his phone is some relic from the eighties or nineties, almost worthless, and the system is set up for those who take and those who survive.
and john is a survivor, against all odds. in spite of the odds.
so he grabs a bike that doesn't look like it'll disintegrate at the slightest gust of wind and heads out into things. he gets a motel room in what he soon finds out to be the worst part of town, and he starts figuring out the rules. the setup. the way this all works. that's where the forum comes in, these supply run jobs, the requests for people who aren't all that worried about themselves to go out into the fringes, these flux zones, and john thinks what the hell, what's the worst that could happen?
apparently the worst that could almost happen is the form of some weird hippie van not paying attention to the basic rules of the road and nearly crashing into him. john, thankfully, avoids the front end of the shitty van, cursing loudly and turning to make eye contact with the asshole in the driver's seat, and-
the glimpse is half a second, barely even that, but john skids to a stop the second the meet eyes, the wheels burning rubber into the concrete as he comes to a stop and turns back after the back end of the car, squinting like he can't quite understand what he just saw, even when he knows what he just saw. ]
Bob?
[ and then, another moment later, he blinks - realizing there's probably no way that bob would at all be able to hear him, or even saw him, judging by the absolute insane way he's driving down the road. so john revs the engine and his bike and heads after him, twisting down the two late road until he finally pulls up to the driver's side and knocks - a bit aggressively - against the driver's side window.
slaps down a wildcard because you can't stop me.
and john is a survivor, against all odds. in spite of the odds.
so he grabs a bike that doesn't look like it'll disintegrate at the slightest gust of wind and heads out into things. he gets a motel room in what he soon finds out to be the worst part of town, and he starts figuring out the rules. the setup. the way this all works. that's where the forum comes in, these supply run jobs, the requests for people who aren't all that worried about themselves to go out into the fringes, these flux zones, and john thinks what the hell, what's the worst that could happen?
apparently the worst that could almost happen is the form of some weird hippie van not paying attention to the basic rules of the road and nearly crashing into him. john, thankfully, avoids the front end of the shitty van, cursing loudly and turning to make eye contact with the asshole in the driver's seat, and-
the glimpse is half a second, barely even that, but john skids to a stop the second the meet eyes, the wheels burning rubber into the concrete as he comes to a stop and turns back after the back end of the car, squinting like he can't quite understand what he just saw, even when he knows what he just saw. ]
Bob?
[ and then, another moment later, he blinks - realizing there's probably no way that bob would at all be able to hear him, or even saw him, judging by the absolute insane way he's driving down the road. so john revs the engine and his bike and heads after him, twisting down the two late road until he finally pulls up to the driver's side and knocks - a bit aggressively - against the driver's side window.
( don't worry, it doesn't break. ) ]
Bob! Bob- slow down!