How many hours now? The sand had gotten trapped between his tracks - at first it had just been itchy and annoying, but now it ground in as he headed slowly onward - he felt each scratch against the metal, but made no sound of protest. His gun was digging in as well, the weapon dragging him back and the strap sharply digging into his shoulder, into that joint between metal and metal, pressing against one of the bolts holding his shoulder in place. A few miles ago, he'd tried to adjust it a little, but was met with a screech and a stream of commands from Herr Vogel, sat upon the butt of the gun. He always had to do what Herr Vogel said. He was good, and they had said he only wanted what was best for him. He might look a bit funny with his little wings and skull face, but Herr Vogel was a good man
Herr Vogel was a good man.
The sun was heating his radio up, and it scorched his synthetic skin, but he travelled on, hat slipping down over his eyes a little. Too bright, it was all too bright,