the wind is warm, the sun is starting to dip below the desert horizon. The air smells like gas and blood. A motorcycle littered with laser holes lay discarded on the edge of the road, any sign of the better living assailants long gone. Poison clutches their brother in their arms. Kobras making pitiful gurgling noises, blood pouring from his mouth, a laser hole in his stomach. He’s coughing and crying in that way when you know it’s over.

poison clutches his body.

“It’s gonna be ok… you’re gonna be ok I can fix it… I can…help! Somebody please!”