The desolate, war torn air was harsh in the wastes, civilization wasn't close by. He cursed the ground as he spit upon it, lugging his tote and gun in hand, covering his face with his mask to get the dirt riddled air away form his lungs, filtering for some salvageable oxygen. Terrible place to be wounded and abandoned. He trudged on past the hailstorm of dirt and debris buffering his figure and scratching at whatever bare skin was showing, clinging to his hair and clothes, especially the bloodied bandage on his leg, he hobbled. Every step made him grunt in pain as he searched for refuge from the sandstorm, hoping the locals were a bit friendly to outside visitors. This war was not against the poeple but their reign of government and he hoped they were not partial to it as well.