The Clockwork Man mulled it over.

[i]This man is a sociopath, but he could be useful[/i] 

Realising this, he sat around in complete silence for a little while, his magic permeating the ship below and around him. Slowly, the small self-replicating nano-mites in the very metal that coated the exterior of the transport began to reactivate, spreading the metal thin and even parasitically absorbing some pieces of scrap close to the hull. Almost unnoticeably, the many breaches in the craft’s exterior began to repair themselves, not unlike how the Clockwork Man’s own ‘wounds’ had healed.

As darkness descended once more on the scrap plains, grinding metal announced that something else was awakening when sensible souls were preparing themselves for sleep. The Broken Ones, the many damaged machines from the Great Machine War, began their nightly battles, attempting to destroy all ‘foreign’ forces. The Clockwork Man for once decided to think about that situation.

To his mind, it was likely that the area he was currently in had been a great battle-field, hit with powerful long-range weaponry, the machines here had broken free of their restraints and fought to the bitter end. Now, the surviving side could recognise only the other broken as friend, and foe was anything else unlucky enough to be walking the wastes at night. It was a chilling thought, or at least it would be if George was still human.

With a resigned inward sigh the Clockwork Man fell forward onto his feet, pushing himself up as he drew his pistol with his right hand incredibly quickly. He flicked open the barrel, which resembled a sawed off shotgun in design, ensured he was fully loaded and then looked around intently.

“We have company.” Was all he said, as with his powerful lens eyes he could see out into the relatively complete darkness. He assumed his foe could do the same, but if he could not there was always the dim light emanating from the inside of the space-craft.

Three shots rang out, and three of the land based wolf like scouts fell crippled to the Scrap-field, a fitting resting place for their ilk. Three more bullets were loaded into the pistol almost immediately afterwards, even as the Clockwork Man counted down in his head.

Three more shots rang out in the darkness, and the light of the muzzle flash revealed a circle of broken and haunted machines closing in.