Her leg was starting to fucking hurt. Pausing to lean against an old Model T (also? damn son.) she dug her fingers along the border of scar-tissue and not-scar-tissue, hissing with the pain. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Looking around, she noticed tracks circling the car and moving on, towards the building. With a sigh, she adjusted her grip on her cane and pushed away from the car, doggedly following the tracks. Spying a figure with a fedora (and a gun), she called out.

"Hey! You alright!"