While he waited for the rest of his party to get moving Harry kicked down the stabiliser on his radcycle and lifted his legs up onto the handlebars, getting himself comfortable. Pulling his rifle up onto his lap the mechanic reached down into one of the many saddlebags he had strapped to his ride and pulled out some dried meat, which he quickly started to chew. If he was going to be killed by bandits at any minute, he'd at least die with a full stomach.

Noticing the little German girl looking at him with confusion he held out one of the other meat sticks grasped in his oil-stained hand. "Turkey jerkey?"[sup][sup][@Skepic][/sup][/sup] He offered, not entirely honestly. Hell, it sounded better than 'dried out three day old thing I scraped off the road'. In his profession Harry had learnt not to waste anything. And by that he did mean anything.