Alex would head to his car. He would want to travel to an abandoned building, hoping that Kibbel was right and the place wasn't raided.
And you do consider it possible that it could be raided, as that's an entirely logical fear when keeping your gun stash in a place that's likely to have as many as three to ten hobos living in it at any time. Fortunately, you haven't heard of any hobo gang wars happening in the past weeks, so you think it ought to be all right.
Indeed, this impression is confirmed once you check your stash location - there's still that assortment of pistols you got from a bunch of places, and that one SMG from China that looks really futuristic and that you think you heard the PRT were either going to buy up or at least rip off the design of. It's kind of like an FN P90, but about a step up in niftiness. Shoots real good, the seller told you. You haven't tried it yet, because it uses some sort of ammo that's got a caliber measured in some kind of moon units. You're told it's another term for 5.56 ammo, but a little shorter and wider, which doesn't help you all that much.
Taking the only available option steven attempts to sleep off his injuries.
Come now, that's not the only option. They've got para-Medicaid for aspiring supervillains in this day and age. Wouldn't want the cracked skull doing you in before you can get it cracked for ya against an Endbringer, right? It's a little awkward to arrange, naturally, but it's definitely an option. You could also buy shady supervillain Tinker medicine from friendly neighborhood vendors. Well, you wish you could. You might actually be able to, who knows. Other than para-Medicaid, you have no idea how these guys hold themselves together for very long, and even that's a little bit of a stretch. Like Glazzie. How does she pay off her hospital bills? She doesn't rob banks too often, just goes around and starts fights. A mystery to be sure.
Of course, there's other options as well, not all of them particularly wise ones, and two seem most pertinent - walking it off or sleeping it off. Or heck, you could try taking a lot of aspirin or whatever other painkiller you fancy and riding a hazy wave of less-painful delight until you start feeling better. Since you hurt all over and can't be bothered to check the medicine cabinet, you choose the latter and drift off into peaceful slumber, forgetting to worry about whether you have a concussion or not and if you're going to wake up afterward. You already woke up once, is how the train of logic goes - that's the last thing you remember, actually.
Once you wake up, your clock tells you it's midnight, and you feel like your state of being has improved to 'serviceable', which is, to be honest, about the most massive improvement you could hope for. It is now about as early Saturday as it gets. You feel kind of hungry. And thirsty, too!
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Topic: Worm: Edwardstown (Read 135617 times)