You wanna get through this? Do as I say.At least that way, we might be able to, together, come across some kind of redemption. But I guarantee you that a hundred and sixty days' ride that way. If you can't fix what's broken, you'll, uh. How much more can they take from me? They got my blood, now it's my car!.
So I exist in this wasteland, a man reduced to a single instinct: survive. I am the one who runs from both the living and the dead, hunted by scavengers, haunted by those I could not protect. Here they come again, worming their way into the black matter of my brain. It was hard to know who was more crazy: me, or everyone else. As the world fell, each of us in our own way was broken. Once I was a cop, a road warrior searching for a righteous cause.
