[b][i][u]Around 6 years ago
Just outside the 'Imperiu' borders[/u][/i][/b]
The engine of the old motorbike purred like a lion as Sasha gripped the pistol in her small, slender thirteen year old hands. She aimed down the slide at a scarecrow, patterned with bullet holes and missing any crows to scare. She squeezed the trigger, the bullet firing out and skimming the scarecrows face before landing succinctly in the sand behind said scarecrow. She let the gun drop to her waist, still gripping it tightly in a mixture of anger and disappointment.
[color=Cyan]"I missed again"[/color] She bemoaned, spinning on her heel to face her father. Her father was a strange man with a strange past. He said very little to anyone, but his daughter, was practically never seen without his chaperon and goggles on and was a bloody history teacher before the world went to hell. Of course, his past life was kept a secret from the members of his tribe, such knowledge would only serve to make him appear weak.
[color=LightSalmon]"Don't fret, buttercup you're getting a lot better, almost took his head off with that one."[/color]Spoke her father in his usual monotone voice reminiscent of numerous librarians and teachers around the world pre-apocalypse. All of a sudden his head shot to the left like a bloodhound that had found it's prey. His eyebrows narrowed under his goggles and he quickly mounted his bike. [color=LightSalmon]"C'mon, sandstorms a-brewin'"[/color] Sasha scurried over to the bike as she was told to. Loyalty and naivety were a package deal.

[b][i][u]Present day
The Big Nothing[/u][/i][/b]
Sasha peered through the dust covered binoculars, more akin to a telescope because of the massive crack that travelled down one of the lenses. She watched as one of the members of their makeshift 'alliance' arrived on scene, complete with obnoxious muscle car. She let her binoculars drop to her chest as she pushed herself up from the surprisingly cool sand and got onto her bike. She checked her guns, the tech 9 hung loosely at her side and the m1911 sat securely within her boot. She lowered her goggles over her eyes and revved the engine of her bike. She at least hoped the people in the alliance weren't anywhere near as mental as some of the people she'd met during her small time in the wastes. 

Sand flew and spiralled in the air as, Sasha's bike bounded across dune after dune and sped through the desert known as the big nothing. Her torn and tattered gloves gripped the handlebar tightly as she slowed and skidded into the entrance of the snapped ship. She walked it into the ship, pushing her thin scarf up over her mouth to conceal her identity in combination with her goggles. Of course, her long, curly red hair was a dead give away to anyone who knew her previously. She held her submachine gun cautiously as she spoke to the man.
[color=Cyan]"You part of the alliance?"[/color]