#//especially with having to adjust to the lack of counterbalance in the meantime

[vastiitas]

rough scaffolding of how he lost his arm in the ovw verse-

tldr; bounty hunters + talon overwhelm in coordination and sheer numbers at a desert industrial complex. collapses a building on himself and everyone upon being cornered with very little options left. is pinned by rubble in the aftermath. shoots his own arm off with peacekeeper or risk getting secured and/or killed. blearily manages to tourniquet it. staggers off onto a train and blacks out.

Talon engagement - result of the 60m bounty on his head (and then some). Overwhelmed by the numbers of both contractual hunters and talon forces who have made a truce to coordinate. It's at an industrial complex set out in the desert. They try to herd him and he recognizes the tactic quickly, but the pressure is disgustingly intense. Dispatching one group in order to break through the pre-meditated route is met with greater and bigger reinforcements. He is forced to comply to buy himself time, uses well-placed shots on equipment and stun grenades to shut down flanks and dispatch his pursuers.

Eventually, cornered. In a last ditch effort, he collapses a building on himself and everyone there. Comes out of it with an arm pinned beneath rubble. Tries to get it off. Fingers scraping uselessly against concrete, knuckles bloodying and fist bruising as he fights with it. Tries to leverage it, but it's too heavy - the weight crashes back down and a scream guts out of him, cut-short by the guillotine of pain.

Muscles and lungs burn from the exertion.

He tries a lot of things, but it doesn't budge.

Being buried alive was easier than this.

He hears helicopters in the distance. Doesn't know for sure if it's Talon or more bounty hunters, the law, or some benign news crew looking for the latest scoop, but reckons this isn't the dice he wants to bet on. Steadies a breath between gritting teeth, presses the barrel of his gun against the inside of his elbow. The metal is cold. He screws his eyes shut.

Six rounds empty into six consecutive blasts. Vision sears white. The ringing of a freshly discharged gun has never felt both so distant and loud at once. He staggers off to the next warehouse; blindly and blearily manages to find a medicinal kit and haphazardly binds a tourniquet. chokes down on some shitty pain killers. wishes to god he had alcohol.

He's lost his hat somewhere when the building came down. Reckons he has a concussion. He plants his bloodied serape somewhere as a point of distraction, hooks it up against one of those sand sifter things where, once the serape is tugged free, the thing tips over and dumps all of its shit on the people beneath. It's hard - he's off balance, his vision isn't quite right. He manages.

Distraction. Buy time. Make space.

Ducks out of sight, straggling for the train tracks; boots crunch on thick yard gravel. Distantly behind him, people are yelling. Startled.

Good, they fell for it.

Shakily, he rolls out Peacekeeper's cylinder and struggles to guide a bullet into its carriage between the sloppy efforts of holding it between his teeth and his thumb and forefinger. He locks his gaze onto a line of oil and gas silos, locks his wrist, and sets up the shot. The taste of iron floods his mouth as Peacekeeper cracks the bullet; her handle bucks a knock-back that slams into the meat of his palm.

Iron sings, screaming.

The world bursts into fire.

Distraction. Buy time. Buy space. Dazzle them with a show they can't ignore.

Enemy attention forced to the opposite direction, he drags himself onto one of the trains that had made the mistake of stalling for resupply. Shoves the train throttle forward smearing bloody prints all over the controls. Blacks out.