Bodger waves back.
What at first sounds like thunder turns out to be the rattle and roar of some kind of tracked vehicle. Part motorcycle, part tractor, the clanking machine seems cobbled together from anything and everything. At its controls is a stocky, bearded man in a long leather coat, his eyes obscured by goggles.
With a screech of metal the machine grinds to a halt and the man climbs down. “Oi there, Call me Bodger! There’s nothin I can’t fix, I just turn the stuff that can’t into new worky bits.” he chuckles, before taking a long drag on the odd looking cigar in his mouth.