The pain from Ed's gunshot wounds made him fade in an out of consciousness, his stomach churned and he tried to lift his head out of the pool of blood around him. He heard foot steps coming towards him and he laid back down, pretending to he dead in an attempt to save his own life. He could hear two men speaking in Italian or some other language he couldn't understand. The two men left and his vision faded completely, his body going stiff.

Ed could feel himself moving, being carried. He couldn't move and his eyes wouldn't open. He was dazed, and not sure what was happening, but he was tired and he thought he might be dead. He wondered if the feeling of being carried meant he was going to heaven. He heard sirens all around, sparking panic in his chest. Where was he? Why couldn't he see? Who was lifting him? He heard the engine of a car start and he was laid down. The sirens started sounding further away, and eventually he couldn't hear them at all.

As soon as he could move again, Ed opened his eyes, squinting them as he adjusted to the light. His shirt was missing and his pants were ripped up over his wound. Both bullet wounds were cared for and patched up, and whole they hurt, he felt much better than he had back in the warehouse. He wasn't really sure where he was. It was a quaint house and the bed was warm and inviting. He flexed his muscle, wincing when it made pain ripple down his arm. He was starting to get a bit on the slender side and he determined working out some after he healed would be a good idea. He ran fingers through his red hair, musing it up. He figured this must be Gin's home. Or rather he hoped it was. He couldn't bare the thought of losing his best friend, and he knew their weren't many survivors from the blood bath earlier. "Gin?" He called softly. "Gin?" He grimaced when there was no answer. He stood, making sure he kept pressure off of his injured leg as much as he could, grimacing when it still caused him pain. He raided the closer, finding old clothes that'd clearly belonged to agree man, perhaps Gins father? It all appeared to be old as if it hadn't been worn in quite a while. He pulled off the ripped pants he was wearing and grabbed a pair of sweat pants from the closet, pulling the drawstring tight. He decided on a white tshirt that hung loose and almost to his knees.

Ed roamed the house in search of Gin or whoever else might have saved him. He didn't see anyone, but spied a fridge in the kitchen. He opened it up, grabbing a beer and a bag of chips. If he was going to be here for a while, we was going to be comfortable. His throat was dry and his stomach empty.

He made his way back to his room and slid in the bed, taking a long swig of the beer he'd acquired from the fridge. The warm liquid soothed him, warming his stomach. He spied a bloody short on the floor that wasn't his and frowned. It certainly wasn't Gin's shirt and he couldn't see anyone in the gang wearing a button up. His stomach knotted up. The only other option was that he'd been taken by a mobster. He pushed his hands up into his hair and sighed, shaking his head. "Hello?!" He called, hoping someone, anyone, would answer him. Today had been too eventful and he was ready to go back to the Wuncler estate.

Ed decided on being irritable instead of afraid. "Hey! Where tha' fuck ya at?!" He hollered. "I need a damn shower. You gonna be a good host or what?" He made a face. He was dirty and smelled like sweat. A shower was certainly in order at this point. His hair was slick with blood and grease, a disgusting combination.