05-25-2007, 07:50 AM
The fighter paused to look at himself in the reflective surface of the fountain. He had slipped his bandana over his bad eye. Hardly ever the narcissist, he found a little amusement at the thought that he looked somewhat dashing with his battle wound. Then he was off. The torrential downpour had subsided and this was no place to make camp. Even with dampened spirits, camping wasn?t part of his strategy?at least not now.
He decided to follow the road, lacking little other incentive for direction. Before leaving the hallowed ground, he stopped at a rather large pit of mud. Setting his bag aside, Bardock jumped in, as if invited to a hot bath. The fighter smeared himself with the mucky substance until he was almost unrecognizable. Satisfied, he leapt out, grabbed his supplies, and quickened his pace not on the paved path, but nearby it. The mud served as a primitive form of camouflage.
?Could have been worse,? Bardock said to himself of his useless eye. The rest of his body, aside from a few insignificant bumps and bruises, was in excellent working order, and therefore still a lethal weapon in itself. At least he hadn?t injured anything else.
The black-haired brawler?s eye narrowed as a spot loomed up in the distance. A single solitary building sat along the edge of the cement, surrounded by a sea of gravel.
Bardock halted, sniffed, and quietly listened. His other senses would compensate for that which was damaged. The saiyan?s keen nose picked up the scent of gasoline. Slowly creeping forward, the fighter realized it was a fueling station of some sort. The scouter picked up nothing, so he moved into plain sight, still keeping a watch out.
The building by the fueling instruments was, unguarded and in Bardock?s opinion, poorly constructed: large glass windows gave anybody a clear view inside. He sauntered up to the entrance and pushed open the door.
A loud electronic bell rang out: do-do do-do, do-do do-do.
Bardock pivoted back outside, pressing his back against the wall.
I?ve set off an alarm! his mind raced.
But no one came to heed its call. Bardock cautiously stuck his neck out, peering inside. Still empty. Gradually, he reached out and pushed at the door again.
Do-do do-do, do-do do-do.
He jerked back.
Then his face screwed up in thought. He stepped sideways and pushed at the door.
Do-do do-do, do-do do-do.
The island was empty. No guards were here to protect the building.
Bardock sauntered into the convenience store.
?A food silo!? he gasped, looking at the rows of packaged goods and noticing the refrigerators in the back. He strode over. ?These cooling units still have power!?
Immediately, he reached into his back, pulled out the bread, and tossed it away. ?Meat!? his eye bulged. A rack of beef jerky awaited his grasping fingers. Hickory, teriyaki, peppered, original?he yanked them all off the shelf, voraciously tearing into one package and scarfing its contents until he choked on a plastic package. He pulled it out and read the label: ?oxygen absorber, do not eat!?
Once he had stuffed the packages of jerky into his bag, he moved to the fridges.
?Beer?? he moaned, reading the labels. He snatched a few cans, and grabbed some other beverages according to their markings.
Still keeping up his guard, he wandered around the aisles, examining each individual product for its usefulness. Now that proper sustenance had been taken care of, there was precious little room left in the bag. He reached the ?miscellaneous? aisle and snatched up crucial medical supplies: band-aids, wetnaps, the works.
He backed up, bumping into another display shelf. He turned around, and discovered a holder of sunglasses.
?Protective eyewear,? he mused, holding up a pair. He selected the best fit and folded them up and placed them in his bag. He couldn?t wear a scouter and protective eyewear at the same time, and for now he chose the machine.
Break time.
The muscled mud-man crouched behind the fortified barrier, also known as a counter. He unscrewed the cap to one of his water bottles and chugged it, knowing there were several shelves more ready and available if he consumed the lot. Grabbing his map, he began to mark out his course and accordingly cross off the latest danger zones.
He decided to follow the road, lacking little other incentive for direction. Before leaving the hallowed ground, he stopped at a rather large pit of mud. Setting his bag aside, Bardock jumped in, as if invited to a hot bath. The fighter smeared himself with the mucky substance until he was almost unrecognizable. Satisfied, he leapt out, grabbed his supplies, and quickened his pace not on the paved path, but nearby it. The mud served as a primitive form of camouflage.
?Could have been worse,? Bardock said to himself of his useless eye. The rest of his body, aside from a few insignificant bumps and bruises, was in excellent working order, and therefore still a lethal weapon in itself. At least he hadn?t injured anything else.
The black-haired brawler?s eye narrowed as a spot loomed up in the distance. A single solitary building sat along the edge of the cement, surrounded by a sea of gravel.
Bardock halted, sniffed, and quietly listened. His other senses would compensate for that which was damaged. The saiyan?s keen nose picked up the scent of gasoline. Slowly creeping forward, the fighter realized it was a fueling station of some sort. The scouter picked up nothing, so he moved into plain sight, still keeping a watch out.
The building by the fueling instruments was, unguarded and in Bardock?s opinion, poorly constructed: large glass windows gave anybody a clear view inside. He sauntered up to the entrance and pushed open the door.
A loud electronic bell rang out: do-do do-do, do-do do-do.
Bardock pivoted back outside, pressing his back against the wall.
I?ve set off an alarm! his mind raced.
But no one came to heed its call. Bardock cautiously stuck his neck out, peering inside. Still empty. Gradually, he reached out and pushed at the door again.
Do-do do-do, do-do do-do.
He jerked back.
Then his face screwed up in thought. He stepped sideways and pushed at the door.
Do-do do-do, do-do do-do.
The island was empty. No guards were here to protect the building.
Bardock sauntered into the convenience store.
?A food silo!? he gasped, looking at the rows of packaged goods and noticing the refrigerators in the back. He strode over. ?These cooling units still have power!?
Immediately, he reached into his back, pulled out the bread, and tossed it away. ?Meat!? his eye bulged. A rack of beef jerky awaited his grasping fingers. Hickory, teriyaki, peppered, original?he yanked them all off the shelf, voraciously tearing into one package and scarfing its contents until he choked on a plastic package. He pulled it out and read the label: ?oxygen absorber, do not eat!?
Once he had stuffed the packages of jerky into his bag, he moved to the fridges.
?Beer?? he moaned, reading the labels. He snatched a few cans, and grabbed some other beverages according to their markings.
Still keeping up his guard, he wandered around the aisles, examining each individual product for its usefulness. Now that proper sustenance had been taken care of, there was precious little room left in the bag. He reached the ?miscellaneous? aisle and snatched up crucial medical supplies: band-aids, wetnaps, the works.
He backed up, bumping into another display shelf. He turned around, and discovered a holder of sunglasses.
?Protective eyewear,? he mused, holding up a pair. He selected the best fit and folded them up and placed them in his bag. He couldn?t wear a scouter and protective eyewear at the same time, and for now he chose the machine.
Break time.
The muscled mud-man crouched behind the fortified barrier, also known as a counter. He unscrewed the cap to one of his water bottles and chugged it, knowing there were several shelves more ready and available if he consumed the lot. Grabbing his map, he began to mark out his course and accordingly cross off the latest danger zones.
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
_=Pass you by, it's all in this life you have
Pass you by, good-bye to you=_
Pass you by, good-bye to you=_