He never let his ship get out of sight and constantly threw a glimpse back in it's direction. In situations like these, it always paid to be within sprinting distance of a way out, and to make sure there wasn't anything particularly bloodthirsty in your way. Even in an area that's had no visible signs of activity for what could be guessed as months, it wasn't uncommon for the predatory Xenomorphs to lay dormant for close to a year. They were, after all, created solely to hunt and kill.<br/><br/>Slipping the shotgun free from it's holster, the data pad in his free hand, he continued to circle the area around his landing sight. The device in his hand wasn't exactly the most precise detection system ever made, mostly due to the fact he'd had no real supply of parts to pick from while making it, and even less to use for repairs. It was telling him there was a source of water within about 20 yards of his position, and a mild electrical reading in the same general area. 20 yards in this wasteland might as well be 20 miles, since every minute staying in one place with any sort of technology was just asking for an unfriendly encounter.<br/><br/>Kneeling down beside an oddly colored pile of refuse, he lightly bumped the muzzle of his rifle against the side, causing it to tumble and collapse into various bits and pieces. A particular gleam caught his eye and he knelt down, brushing bits of rock and bone fragments away. Holding the trinket in his hand, he gave a tug and was met with some resistance. It had become snagged on something beneath the surface. With another, firmer yank, the dust broke and a tinted white object emerged, the little trinket in his hand giving a clack as the chain it was attached to snapped. In the middle of that tiny refuse pile, which he was now able to recognize as the remains of a military helmet, was a human skull. Long since eaten away, caked in dust, he looked down at the item he clutched in his hand. Dog tags.<br/><br/>Giving the tags a once over, he saw the name, the SSN, Blood Type and Religion. Most likely this was all that was left of this man's entire identity, and odds are, there was no one left in the world that would care, or even know, who he was. With a little snort, he moved to drop the tags onto the ground, but paused, and instead, tucked them away into his breast pocket. "Well, let's see if you've got a canteen. Maybe that's what I'm picking up." He mumbled, as much to the skeleton as to himself, and moved to begin digging. A momentary blip on the data pad as he moved to set it down caught his attention, and instantly, he whipped about, gun aimed in a vague direction. The water source had moved, and that usually only meant one thing. "Whoever's walking around, best come out. Because if I'm chasing the water in your body instead of anything I can actually drink, I'd like to know if this has all been a massive waste of my time."