Ashley bobbed his head to the music, tapping the steering wheel of his car as it barrelled down the open road. AC DC wasn't his favourite, but he'd managed not to get tired of it, and it made good driving music.<br/><br/>The heavily modified Shelby GT500 was about the only thing he'd put work into since the end of the world. Okay, so the world hadn't technically ended, but for him it was close enough. It looked, in it's current state like it had been operated upon by Dr. Frankenstein. He'd reinforced almost everything. He'd spent his time in post-apocalyptia making sure his car was nigh indestructable. It had bulletproof, double-thick windows, a solid steel frame and a deisel engine. It didn't get the speed it once did, but man, did it have mileage.<br/><br/>He turned off the music and slowed to a crawl as he approached the first gas station he'd seen in a while. New York. Nice place. It wasn't his first time, and he'd come with some sense of purpose. New York, as he'd heard, was a scavenger's dream. Enough Zombies that a lot of the city hadn't been touched, and enough stuff that even if there was a settlement or two inside the city, someone like him, someone who routinely killed the walking dead for fun and profit, could find anything he was looking for.<br/><br/>He pulled in beside the diesel pump, glad that even post-apocalypse, diesel veahicles were few and far between.<br/><br/>Of course, the distinctly not-abandoned bike caught his eye. He grabbed a gun from the pistol-rack mounted where his glovebox used to be. He got a Baretta 92, a 9mm handgun, but he wasn't picky. He had a 44 S&W revolver, and a selection of 45 caliber glocks.<br/><br/>He made sure the safety was on before putting the gun in the waistband of his pants, in the front, and covering it with his shirt.<br/><br/>Armed, and hopefully prepared, he stepped out, walking around the car to the pump. Pumps still worked, usually being mostly self-contained.