In a distant pile of rubble hardly fit to be called a house any longer, a rather colorful individual - bright purple Mohawk and a leather jacket adorned with countless patches - quietly hides in the shade of a barely standing shack at the end of the road of the mostly deserted settlement, roughly sixty meters from the new arrival.
A fairly well-maintained bolt action rifle in hand, he lies in the darkness, sights hovering over the potential threat… safety still on.
Pondering his current position as one befitting of an ambush, he mutters to himself "How to get their attention without them flipping out and shooting at me… Someone with a bandage for a head… probably on edge twenty-four seven… Hope one of the others answers that callout."