InsaneJournal

[Day 367 | Video]

[Max, given his choice about things, would leave well-enough alone, avoid the network and the other inmates entirely, and keep himself from getting dragged into anything at all, because he knows it's bound to happen. Always does.

Of course, if Max had his way about things, he wouldn't be here at all, despite his profound conviction that it's probably what he deserves. A cop-turned-vigilante? It's been a long time since there's been anything resembling real civilization in the wasteland, but he can remember clear enough what it was like, before everything.

Regardless, he doesn't have his way of things, and he can begrudgingly move along to get along, and can even (he hopes) keep himself out of everything by limiting contact as much as possible. And this - this network - it's impersonal. It keeps him separated even while seeking an answer to a question, so that's better than nothing.

But it takes him a long while after arriving to get around to using it. He's still in prison-orange (he's got nothing else), and he's still dirty from the desert; oil and blood and dirt smeared on his face, a half-healed crossbow bolt wound on his forehead, and numerous scars visible through his badly shorn hair. His leathers are missing. His supplies are missing, right down to his canteen. It's not the lowest he's been in recent memory, though it comes pretty close. Most importantly, however:]

Where can I find a leg brace.

[His voice is low, rough, accent declaring he is, indeed, from Australia - or what's left of it, though softened over time as borders have blurred. The kind of voice that says it's not used very often. And that's all he offers in way of greeting. He's not giving his name, and he doesn't want to know anyone else's.]