Bite lay on the floor, bleeding, with his back against the wooden furniture that had shielded him from the grenade. His chem-addled mind was beginning to lose the focus that it had previously possessed, and his ears were still ringing from the explosion. He looked down at his still-bleeding arm with a detached interest, watching the blood pool around his hand as it rested against the floor. Fortunately, it appeared that the lead shot had passed completely through his upper arm without shattering any bones inside. It hurt like all hell, though, and would probably leave a permanent mark on the flesh.<br/><br/>Bite pulled his backpack off of his body and began to tend to the wound, first cleaning it, then placing a clean bandage around it. The wounds were too small and irregular to try and close with a suture, so he could only hope that the alcohol was enough to fight off possible infection if he bandaged it. Every so often he would raise his head and glance behind him, checking the doorway and listening for footsteps coming up the stairwell. He could hear the sounds of intense gunfire coming from below, but could not tell who was winning. He didn't particularly care who won, NCR or raider alike, but he was sure he wanted whatever gear they carried. Especially the Steeler.<br/><br/>In front of him was a gaping hole in the wall that allowed grey light from outside to enter the darkened third-story room. Bite took up his shotgun and crawled over to the edge of the void, looking down over the ruins at the battle below. The fighting was obscured by smoke, but the occasional flash of gunfire or light from a laser could be seen behind its grey veil.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Fucking hell,</span>he thought.<span style="font-style: italic">What am I doing? Are the caps worth getting shot for?</span><br/><br/>He knew the answer to this question, of course. He'd asked himself the exact same thing many times before. He picked himself up off of the ledge, put his backpack on, and retraced his steps down the shadowed stairwell. From what he could tell, the first floor was clear now. The raiders must have advanced on the NCR through the smoke screen. He knew that going into the smoke would probably be suicide, that both sides would think him a foe and shoot him on sight.<br/><br/>He would have to wait until the smoke subsided before he could make a play. He took up a position in one of the windows, watching the battle with restless impatience.