<strong>Havel</strong><br/><br/>Being all blind and shit like he is, the Captain isn't really aware of the situation until Whiskey hollers "Roll off!" all of a sudden, slapping him on the leg real hard and urgent. Whiskey's bike is loud as hell, plenty loud enough to keep him from hearing the ruckus up ahead, right up until One-Eye's bike goes sideways on the pavement and starts sliding with a shriek fit to wake the dead.<br/><br/>Surprised and still pretty damned disoriented, Havel hesitates for just a moment before reflex and instinct takes over, sending him off the side of the bike. Tucking into a ball, he tries to take the fall on his armored back and shoulders, wrapping his arms over his head. It pretty much works, but he doesn't hit the ground with so much of a roll as a bounce, white pain flashing up his spine and down his legs as he tumbles into something that doesn't do a damn thing to cushion him when he comes to rest against it. Tasting copper blood, he just kinda lays there for a moment, spitting red and groaning, arms wrapped around his ribs. Broken, sprung, or just bruised? Is the blood from biting the inside of his mouth, or a hole in his lung with some bone shoved through it?<br/><br/>Sitting up slowly, he makes a check of himself, trying to work his arms and legs, feel his sides. At least he can move at all; that kind of tumble could just as easily have broken his neck as any other bone, but he feels pretty good all things considered. Of course, that might just be the pulsing red rage that's starting to cloud his senses, now that the shock and surprise is wearing off. Havel's not having a good day, and when the Company Captain has a bad day, fuckin' everyone better be having a bad fuckin' day. If he weren't blind, like he is, he'd already be seeing to it that heads rolled for whatever the hell had caused him to come unseated.<br/><br/>As it is, he pretty much just waits for Whiskey to limp over with a slightly pained, "Dude. Not cool." Something pokes Havel in the shoulder, and he grabs for it; the stock of his shotgun, along with the rest of it still attached, shells loaded within. "Report," Havel says, scooting himself back to lean on whatever he'd fetched up against; felt like some kind of shanty wall. Whiskey fills him in on what had happened, as best as he could see it. Mostly just that someone was naked and One-Eye had wrecked and the Doc had bailed out. "Go find her. And Brandy. Regroup here, and for fucks sake grab any Company Man you see and bring 'em. Where the fuck is everyone?"<br/><br/>The last is more of a mutter to himself as he bends to the side with a wince, spitting some more blood into the dust. Word should have gotten around by now about the trouble at Ball's place. The shots in the direction of the laager would have been noticed. And now a full-blown motorcycle wreck in the town itself? Every Company Man in Gomorrah should have been crawling all over, guns and blood up, ready to take action. Too much was happening too fast, and he needed his gang around him if he hoped to survive to nightfall, the way shit was going so far. Was it even noon yet?