He’d been riding for days. How long didn’t really matter… After his escape from the last batch of gangs roaming the wastes he just wanted to find a place to bed down and call his own.
Accompanied only by the voice of his iron steed as he motored his way along the dusty road, he suddenly remembered that he wasn’t too far away from an old building that his aged mentor had shown him long ago.
“People used to worship here. You can see their faces in the windows… Well, the ones that aren’t broken anyway. I don’t know much about the God they praised, but it still feels… I dunno… Holy here. Serene.”
That would hit the spot better than an entire liter of water right now.
He veered off the main drag and made his way to the decrepit cathedral. He approached the door, dismounted his bike and walked it toward the door. Fortunately no squatters had claimed it, so he made it his own.
He set up a few crude door alarms, bundled up a pistol inside his jacket for a ‘security pillow’ and drifted to sleep.