Finally finding his feet X listened to the interactions of the motley crew (ooc: haha) assembled in the streets of Concord after the attack.  Their vocal patterns, tones, inflections, accents, word choice – these revealed a menagerie of backgrounds.  The wastelands were full of errant wanderers, desperate or entrepreneurial scavengers, demented loners, and apparently… small boys who were being inducted into propagandist cults.
He listened to the tension in some tête-à-têtes easing, some misgivings in other dialogues becoming more pronounced.  It was obvious that not everyone here was comfortable being around everyone else.

Which was unfortunate, as they would all soon have to take shelter together in close quarters.  His radiation sensors were pinging heatedly, and barometric pressure was dropping at a rapid pace.  A radiation storm was blowing in from the west.  It was going to be quite violent…