Bite was torn from his sleep by the sound of harsh automatic gunfire too close to his darkened dwelling for comfort. Panic swallowed him for a second, and for a moment he was certain that he was on the receiving end of that fire, his imminent death reaching his ears before he could feel the bullets tear him apart. Fortunately, it was not so. Not yet, anyways.<br/><br/>Bite groped blindly in the familiar murk of his dwelling for his backpack—an ugly, improvised thing made of brown cloth and brahmin leather—that held everything he owned. It was time to move on; the neighborhood was going to hell these days. He crept with caution from his dwelling—a small underground hole dug into the hard-packed earth that probably once served a pack of mole rats, but had recently served as his own den—and held a dirt-covered arm up to shield his eyes from the blinding light of day. As his squinting gaze scoured his surroundings another round of shots rang out, echoing emptily throughout the ruined city that surrounded him. With them came a low and wrathful noise filled with pain and anger, the sound of a super mutant in battle. Bite smiled beneath his gray rubber gas mask; a relic of the pre-war days and his prized possession, looking out at the world feeling slightly safer behind the circular glass windows.<span style="font-style: italic">Someone just made a really big friend</span>, he thought, acerbically amused at his own joke.<br/><br/>He approached the sound of gunfire as he skulked through the ruins, shotgun at the ready. He felt a familiar and welcome rush take hold; an elemental intuition that screamed for blood and thrummed with a vital urgency. It told him to shoot, stab, kill, and survive above all else. His pace quickened. As he came into view of the source of his unexpected wake-up call he crawled into the closest shaded gap, accustomed to the jagged rubble biting into his arms and legs as he moved farther into the relative safety of darkness. He couldn't satisfy his need for combat just yet, he was too careful for that. His dirty hands shook violently, and he held his gun with a death grip as if he meant to strangle it.<br/><br/>As he looked out he saw five soldiers. NCR troopers, by the looks of their gear: brown sand-colored cloth pants and shirt, dull silver-grey armor plating on the upper chest, with a matching brimmed helmet the same color as dirt. They patrolled the streets occasionally, although Bite didn't know (or particularly care) why. They were fighting a super mutant, one of the city's more destructive denizens. The super mutant fought viciously, but it was bleeding profusely from what looked like dozens of bullet wounds peppering its sickly green skin. The crimson liquid poured down the once-human abomination, weakening it with every drop that left its veins. It seemed unlikely that it would survive much longer.<br/><br/>What really caught Bite's eye was the fallen armor-clad figure amongst them. One of them Steelers, or whatever they called themselves. Have a preference for technology and big guns. Bite didn't particularly care about that, though; the main thing that interested him was that these Steelers often carried high-tech toys. The Steeler here didn't seem to be doing so well, and corpses are plenty easy to take from. A loose hope for death formed in the raider's mind.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">This might just be my lucky day,</span>He smiled greedily, biding his time in his hidden place and watching the fight progress. He could gladly hold back his adrenaline rush for a while to for the sake of gear. He fumbled a chem syringe out of his pack and waited for the inevitable end to the fight.