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{Private Rough Riders MC Radio Frequency}

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Don sits down by a decrepit warehouse and pulls his mask down around his neck.

He switches his rifle to safety and lays it in his lap as he burrows through his bag.

As he searches through, he takes out multiple jars and canisters of unknown compounds.

He eventually reaches his old radio and examines it for a moment before tuning it.

He takes a breath and pulls the radio up to his lips.


His shallow and hardened voice rises over the net.


"Pascagoula . . . . ."


He sits and waits for a response. . . . .

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Cowboy, quite shocked to hear the old callout from his MC quickly grabbed his radio, pressing down the PTT as he would reply.


He'd then release the PTT button, grabbing his crossbow and slinging it over his shoulder, trying to travel in the direction where the signal was strongest.

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Don grins at the reply and takes his radio back up.


East of Novy, small green homestead by the road.

See you soon, brother.


He picks his rifle back up and snugs the mask over his face.

He begins moving eastbound.

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