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Vernon is regretting directing his boss to buy this hunk of junk ostensibly known as a vehicle. Not very much, but a little. Mostly because she then made him drive it, and this is a finicky and temperamental beast that keeps listing to the left, but in amounts that change a bit on every single bump. They are driving through what is colloquially called 'the wasteland,' which is a desert about half as hospitable and twice as rocky as it sounds. He is having to adjust often. It's annoying. Not very, and honestly, having a functioning vehicle that is not potentially going to explode is a bit of a novelty for him, but enough that he will think fondly of that other vehicle boss-lady had been eyeing before he steered her this way. That sure would have been nice to drive. It would have been painting a gigantic target on their backs, but still. He can dream.
"I don't really know how it works... An old friend of mine gave it to me years ago when I lost my arm in an accident."
"Yeah, but he doesn't live in a city. He feels like people would misuse his work and try to disadvantage others using it. I can get to where he is, though."
“…. Can you talk your friend into at least disseminating the specs for your arm, because while obviously the kind you’ve got is far too expensive for the casual consumer to ever afford, I really feel like having a better idea of how to integrate cybernetics with the human nervous system would be on net better for the world at large.”
“There have been some rumors of a psycho who,” he waves vaguely, “does a lot of human experimentation to crack the code for immortality or whatever. Add cybernetics to the mix and I think we’re maybe ninety percent of the way to having a super soldier project of some kind.”
"That's part of why my friend doesn't really like being public about his work," Z agrees. "But he is working on things to help people at large."
Something about that makes him sound... very bittersweet.
"Okay, but if there's a mad science immortality project, that makes the blood make much more sense!!"
"Do we want to keep arguing with the brightly wrapped mystery while he's hanging upside down, visible to all around here on the highest part of the nearby wasteland, or do we want to say this is out of our paygrade and leave before we learn all the answers we probably don't want?"
".... Point. Uh. If this is a trap it's a garbage one that we already fell for, cut our losses and cut him down to interrogate on our way to Jeneora?"
"Oh, shut it, I value your tactical contribution, I absolutely want you to tell me if and when I'm being a dumbass."
"... Eh. If it's dumb it's the kind of dumb that might end up being worth it, with all the holes in his story and the things that don't add up. Could go either way."
"I am now filled with distrust and apprehension and doubt all of my decisions and also choices."
Vernon snorts, then gets to getting the brightly wrapped mystery down. But first he begins with checking him for weapons or bombs or the like before he gets anywhere near their vehicle.
"We'll give this back to you if your story ever starts making sense."
But, yes, this gun is getting taken from him. Why was it even left with him in the first place, actually? Just another question for their brightly wrapped mystery.
And then: their new friend can be lowered down from his perch (onto the long dried, too-large bloodstain), have his bindings retied to make sure he's not about to wiggle free, and then into the backseat he's (gently) dumped. It is nonetheless significantly more comfortable than hanging upside down in the hot sun.
"They left him armed?" says the easily distracted boss-lady, who had been investigating the blood stain itself. She sounds more offended than anything else. "Aren't people here supposed to loot and scavenge relentlessly."
"Yeah, thank you."
Into the car they all go.
"Do you want some water or something before I ruthlessly interrogate you?"
