"Me?" he said, smiling down at the tightly packed boxes of 45 caliber bullets he'd just uncovered.<br/><br/>"I'm a child of the dead," he said, "one of those whose life started when civilization ended. I don't think there is much more to say than that..."<br/><br/>He made sure to pack the ammunition carefully into his bag and then moved onto the next box. Talking was a social pasttime, but he'd been talking to himself for a while, so talking to someone loving seemed, strange.<br/><br/>"Spent some time wandering around, visited some of the early settlements, you know..." he said, "so are you really just tagging along to keep me out of trouble?"<br/><br/>He had the sense that there was something else, but he'd been wrong before. His gut instincts weren't bulletproof, but he usually trusted them. He'd encounter bounty killers once or twice, it wasn't an entirely unique occupation, given the complete lack of police, putting a price on someone's head was about the only recourse someone had, if they couldn't fight themselves.