His stomach turning circles, Reno never got a chance to tighten his finger on the trigger. There was sudden movement, something impacted his jaw hard, sending him backwards, the flash of metal unmistakable between them as his gun snapped from his grasp. He heard loose bullets thunk gently into the sand as he landed hard on his back, sliding backwards in the silt. Taking only a few seconds for his vision to swim, he struggled to his knees and whipped round to face the man. His desperate grab for where he thought his gun had fallen was stopped as he caught sight of his opponent, swaying on hands and knees a few feet away.

He froze, his hand still outstretched but unmoving, watching as his bounty retched suddenly, his stomach heaving and body quivering with the effort. The man hardly brought up anything, but what came out looked more like glue to Reno than sea water. He let his expression show some empathy at the strained sounds the man emitted, deep throaty grunts mixed with occassional whines of forced breath.

Shortly, the retching stopped, the man spitting and spitting, trying to clear the vile substance from his mouth. It formed strings to the sand, puddling in a sticky pool. Apparantly lacking the energy to expel more, he rolled sideways, collapsing to the sand and lying on his back finally, his chest heaving with stress.

His own heart beating mercilessly, Reno sensed the man was in more trouble than in control, and he sank back cautiously onto his haunches, watching the moonlight glitter off the blood on the man's shirt. His gaze moved to his Sig-Sauer, lying broken clean in two beside the man's prone form. Leaning forward, he reached for it, almost disbelieving his eyes. At his sudden proximity the man lifted his right arm, holding a clenched fist out towards Reno as if it were a deadly weapon. Claws, Reno remembered, then shook the thought from his mind.
Impossible.
His eyes wandered insecurely back to his butchered fire-arm.

Rocking forward a little more, he ignored the outstretched arm, "let me help."
The man's only response was a snort of laughter, dark blood flecking his lips as he gasped with the apparant pain the movement caused. His arm drifted closer to the ground as he seemed to tire.
"Just walk away, bub, and maybe i won't make confetti outta your limbs...", the man's gruff response dissolved into another coughing fit, his hands grasped around his chest as he rolled sideways, heaved and spat.

Reno edged suddenly forward, his nature to reach out and try to help, "i'm not leaving you here, you need medical attention."
The man's coughs turned into a fierce growl, increasing in volume as he levered himself up into a haphazard sitting position, "I don't need medical attention..." he ground the words from his jaw, Reno rocking backwards automatically. The ferocity in the dark eyes lasted but seconds, as he collapsed sideways again, his breath whooshing from punished lungs as he fell.

"I should call an ambulance," Reno commented uncertainly, his eyes on the blood apparantly still welling from the man's wounds.
"No ambulance," the man croaked from the ground, and then Reno jumped as a sharp 'snikt' rang out and he saw three long metal claws punch through the man's knuckles. He stumbled backwards in surprise, staring at the six inch metal knives, watched rivulets of blood run their length from the cuts they had created in the flesh of the man's hand.
"What are you?!" he asked, staring into the man's half-shut eyes.
"Antisocial," the stranger ground more ferocity into the word than Reno thought possible, and then continued, "so you're leaving."

Reno rolled his eyes skywards at the rediculous nature of it all, not knowing whether to be angry or pitiful, "look Ray..."
"Logan," the man snarled.
Reno paused. Then replied, "I'm Vince Black. Logan what?"
"Isn't there a bike called the Vincent Black Knight?" Logan croaked, ignoring Reno's question.
Reno pulled an exasperated expression, "do you really want to discuss motor history while your guts bleed out through your chest?"
"Umphf," Logan grunted, Reno unsure whether it was an affirmation or an expression of disgust.

Suddenly getting tired of his soaking socks and the seaweed attempting to get intimate with his chest, Reno clambered awkwardly to his feet, "Logan, you can come to the hospital, or you can come to a motel, but you are coming with me."
The man offered no response save rasped breathing.
"Fine," Reno said, snatching his mutilated gun from the sand and muttering to himself, "you wanna die on five dollar sheets, you got it."

His hair flopped against his neck and slapped freezing water against his face as he straightened and turned to the steep sandy bank leading up the the concrete walkway above them. Shivering against the night cold he dug his heels in and made his way to the top. Rising onto the concrete surface, the breeze that has seemed to gentle before hit him and send frigid chills running through his battered body, his limbs shuddering involuntarily as he peered around for his Harley and blinked salt water from his eye-lashes.
Getting his bearings somewhat, he clenched his fists against the cold night air, and padded towards the end of the pier, and his abandoned boots. Water squelched from his socks, leaving wet footprints behind him in a trail leading from the small beach, flicking up to hit his soaked jeans.

His boots swinging from the laces in his stiff fingers, he rejoined his Harley where it sat leaning nonchalantly to the side, awaiting his return. Glancing around, the place was deserted and he came to a quick decision before lifting the saddle and rifling through his gear, finding some dry clothes. He had a way to go searching for a motel, and driving at any speed over 2mph was going to turn him into an iceblock in wet clothes.
Changing quickly and relishing the feel of warm soft material on cool skin, he wriggled as uncomfortable salt scratched his back under his shirt. Throwing on his heavy leather jacket and suddenly feeling alot more human, he leant back on the creaking leather of the replaced saddle and pulled on his boots, his feet almost numb with cold. Lacing them messily he contemplated his shot gun for a second, and then left it, heading back to the beach.

Logans left hand drew gouging lines in the sand as it twitched and cramped, illustrating the agony coursing through his body. Squeezing a handful of grit and hearing it spray as he spasmed again he took a shallow shuddering breath, his eyes squeezed shut. Fiery heat engulfed his tight chest, emanating from the bullet holes dotting his skin, hot sticky blood sliding underneath his t-shirt, cooling and crusting on his skin. He'd experienced pain before, he'd seen it rip lives apart, force people to the edge of their sanity and bring madmen back from the brink, seen it crush innocence and felt it tear up his own insides time after time.
But his healing factor always took away the edge - whisked away the pain as soon as the superficial injuries were dealt with, and more importantly whisked away any memory of how hideous the pain had been. Only in dreams did he revisit the terrifying sting of severed skin and torn muscle, only in flashbacks the sickening lurch of a tortured mind as the pain stretched to grief. Such prolonged agone that now ran his veins was unbearable, his teeth grinding so hard together that he could hear the bone eroding.

Some small measure of sense left felt vibrations in the ground, and he opened his eyes enough to see the bounty hunter back, looming with a concerned expression on his face. Through a haze of jumpled thoughts Logan decided 'concerned' and a rather obvious suednym made for a better bet than the eventual police team that would discover him.
So, when Reno reached down to grab Logan under the arms, he was surprised to feel the man try to help somewhat.
"Can you stand?" he asked, heaving the man into what could be loosly deemed an upright position.
His body weight leaning almost entirely on Reno, Logan growled, "don't need help..."
"Right," Reno pursed his lips and leant away, releasing Logan from his support. As the man fell Reno ducked his shoulders and planted them firmly under the mans stomach, pushing upwards and lifting the heavy bounty in a firemans carry.

Their muffled shouts of pain mingled as Reno's ribs protested loudly against the bounties formidable weight, and Logan's chest exploded into a firework display of agony. His sounds of pain didn't last long, as his senses swooped in on him, focusing on his erratic heartbeat as they faded away altogether and blinked out one by one.

Grunting with exertion Reno stumbled up the beach incline, grappling to keep a hold on his heavily muscled passenger. With sand sliding down underneath his boots impeding his progess, he finally hit solid concrete and lurched towards his bike, his chest complaining loudly. Hearing his breaths wheezing in his lungs, he carefully maneuavered the limp man onto his Harley and stood beside him, propping him with his side and resting for a minute. Looking down at his limp pillion-rider, he contemplated their predicament.

read part 4