The adrenaline has definitely worn off at this point. That, plus the combination of the blood loss is truly kicking my ass. I forget what I`m doing, and the next moment I wake up on the ground. My soaked clothes aren`t doing me any favors staving off hypothermia. For a supposedly blasted wasteland, it actually kind of gets cold out here.

　　&or maybe that`s just the blood loss too. Moving is hard enough, but it`s even harder to get my thoughts in order. Things are starting to seem weird, and I don`t know if it`s me. Some of the buildings seem to have fresh coats of paint. I`d stop moving and catch my breath, but I swear I can hear people talking nearby. Not going to stop here. Especially from what I know about scavvers and slaggers. They`ll kill me, take my crap, and steal my augs. Not necessarily in that order, either. Getting killed by the drones would be a more dignified death than that.

　　Though, it seems kind of weird. Some of the buildings that I catch a glimpse of seem to have lights on. It might be my vision failing me. Or my mind playing tricks on me. It`s probably both. I`ve been told that this place is off the grid, and there`s no way that these backward hicks could rig up anything that would generate power.

　　It only causes me to grip my Adjudicator even tighter. It`s not a case of if` I run into someone, it`s when.` Not that I expect my aim to be true in the state I`m in. My mouth is pretty fucking dry. I should probably change direction. My balance falters, and I hit the ground hard this time. It takes everything in my power to not yell, or shout out a series of cuss words.

　　The thing that`s weird to me is I`m hearing conversations overlapping with each other now. It sounds something like the crowds at the Zhaponese open air market. Against better judgment, I clamber up to my feet and decide to investigate. Left foot. Right foot. It`s getting hard to even focus on walking. I lose my balance again.

　　Thunk.

　　I can be thankful I didn`t land on my face again, but instead I find myself braced up against a brightly painted wooden privacy fence.

　　The crowd seems to be getting louder with each lumbering step, to the point where it`s almost shaking my entire being. And then I see it.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

　　Neon lit signs. Street lights. People making casual conversation with looks to be shopkeeps peddling their wares from street facing store fronts. I have so many questions, and nobody to answer them. My head screws itself back on for long enough to remind me to holster my pistol. I shouldn`t make a scene.

　　Well, more of a scene than a security officer well out of his jurisdiction, who also happens to be covered in long since dried mud and his own blood. Everything that I`ve been told tells me to turn back around. Don`t step out of this alleyway.

　　Maybe I`m going to thank my blood loss onset stupidity in the future if I survive this. I take a cautious step forward. A bit more worried about my own sense of balance than I am with the people around me, given that a better view of the crowd seems to indicate these are& regular people. Not the voltheads that I had to deal with on a frequent basis. None of them seem to be foaming at the mouth, or sputtering insanities while waving a gun around.

　　Said people seem to be doing their best to give me a wide berth. I don`t blame them. A better view of the street does make it seem like it`s some kind of market, though. Not the nicest kind, but some part of me feels surprisingly at ease. Not that I should be, given that I`m fucking dying.

　　My unsteady stumbling takes me in the direction of a stall. Everything`s so blurry. I can`t even tell what they`re selling. I open my mouth to ask where the nearest hospital is. Or a doctor, even. But my mouth is so dry I can barely form words.

　　I guess the woman manning the stall at least understood my intent. Realistically, she noticed how much blood I was covered in. She raised her hand, pointing across the road before saying something in Zhaponese. I don`t speak Zhaponese. The most I could understand was Doctor.` My eyes trail along to the direction she`s pointing.

　　I wouldn`t guess it`s a clinic from what I`m seeing at first glance. Stairs downwards and into a basement. A blinking neon sign overhead that says The Hole. If I didn`t know any better, I`d guess the place was home to a bar. Or an underground fighting ring. I like to imagine I said thank you,` but I know better. She probably got an earful of confused wheezing. If I`ve made it this far, I can make a few steps more. Just have to not let myself lose consciousness.

　　It takes a lot longer than I expected for my stumbling frame to reach those stairs.

　　Maybe if I just sit down at the top of the stairs and catch my breath, it won`t do me any harm. I`ll sit down and close my eyes. Just for a few minutes. Then I`ll go down and get myself fixed up—