A figure quietly moved through a neighborhood that at one point had undoubtedly been a bustling neighborhood filled with all sorts of people. Some good, some bad, some a bit of both, though that hardly mattered now. The lines between good and bad were a thing of the past, having long since been trampled, blurred, and smeared in the blood of those who would do anything to survive. People like the man moving listlessly through the neighborhood as if he were sight seeing. Physically speaking, the man was fairly unremarkable in appearance; his clothes were covered in a combination of dirt, tears, and sloppily sewn together patches to cover even larger tears. His face was just as rugged as his clothing, covered in bandages and scars that, while considered tame -even mundane- in this day and age, would have made most cross the street to avoid him several centuries ago. The only thing on this man that was actually worthy of being given pause was the string of severed fingers that was tied around his neck, seven in total, and all of them in various states of decay. 

The man snorted and spat onto the pavement as he approached a fenced in garage, casting a weary glance at the turret, protectron, and Mister Gutsy as they took aim at him. The man held his breath for a moment, wondering if perhaps he would be mistaken for an intruder rather than an ally. The breath would be blown out quite audibly as one by one the machines would turn away from him and resume their previous activities. "[b]Those things are going to malfunction any day now, I swear...[/b]" He muttered as he reached out and rattled the gate, "[b]Hey Brett, you in there man? It's me Dimitri! Turned out West Virginia was a treasure trove![/b]" He shouted, heedless of whomever would be around to hear. The man -Dimitri- pulled the finger necklace from around his neck, not even flinching at the scent of decay that emanated from the digits. Dimitri had long since become adjusted to the smell of rotted flesh and death, it came with the territory after all. Even if he were still squeamish about the smell, the fourteen hundred caps to be received for turning in all of the fingers was more that enough to make him put up with it for a while. Dimitri smirked as he jingled the string of fingers for a bit, pleased with his work. With seven hundred caps to be split between Brett and himself Dimitri figured that he could potentially squeeze a night or two of food and refuge out of Brett before he moved on again, maybe even a bottle of whiskey to boot if he caught Brett in a good mood.