Drak lay in the pile of trash. It took a few moments for the adrenaline to leave his body, and with it gone, now a sharp pain seared through his side. He reached for it, a large piece of metal had imbedded into the side of his stomach. He pulled it out screaming, and blood began to pour. He curled in pain cursing himself for getting into this situation. She had betrayed him, ready to see him die for what he did. It was his fault that she was put into that horrible prison, where she was tortured. Still, what she just did to him was far worse. Even after escaping death, he may still die. He pressed hard on the wound, because unlike the blaster shot in his leg, this one was deadly.<br/><br/>The speeder came to a stop on a platform, getting prepared to unload the trash. Drak rolled out of it onto the platform. He didn't notice it before, but he smelled bad now, like the trash. He looked around for any of Vince's men. There was no sign of them yet, but Drak didn't know how far he'd gone, or for how long. He just knew he needed to patch himself up, to find a blaster, and to hide. He needed to survive, and he was not going to give up on that.<br/><br/>He ran as best as he could, but with every step, his wounds cramped his whole body. He fought through the paralyzing torment, and kept walking, holding tightly on his stomach wound. Blood dripped onto the ground. People stared at him along the street, looking confused, but no one came to help. In fact, most ignored him to 'not get involved.' Everyone was in survival mode, which is what happens on a moon full of criminals.<br/><br/>He found his way into a general store. He stumbled through the aisles, as patrons gave him looks. He grabbed a roll of towels, a bottle of hard liquor, and a sewing kit. He threw it onto the counter and slapped a few credits he had in his pocket. "I need a bathroom," Drak told the Zabrak behind the counter. The horned man looked at Drak, watching his wound.<br/><br/>"It'll be 50 credits for the bathroom, and another 50 for the cleanup," he snarled. "Blood aint easy to get off."<br/><br/>Drak sighed, his body becoming weak from the loss of blood. "Fine," he said as he slammed a few more credits onto the counter.<br/><br/>The Zabrak pointed him to the back room, and sighed as he had to grab a mop. Drak stumbled into the back bathroom. He saw his skin was now white in the mirror, and he was going to lose consciousness if he didn't stop the blood. He was glad at his progression. He wasn't exactly in hiding with the blood trail he left, and he didn't have a weapon (except maybe the bottle), but at least he was fixing his wound. After this, he needed to really get into hiding, and find a blaster. One step at a time.<br/><br/>He grabbed a piece of wood, some dirty debris on the ground, and placed it into his mouth to bite down onto. Second guessing himself, he took the piece of wood out of his mouth, and gulped the liquor. It was so strong it was hard to tell what it was. He breathed out for a second, and placed the wood back into his mouth, then poured the liquor onto his wound. He screamed in pain.