The great Bear of the North sat on the vertibird, surrounded by the new squad he was forced to work with. They all looked... quite small. Except for that Golem fella. Now, [i]there[/i] was a man. A big man with a big weapon. But, despite the grudging respect he had for Golem, the Bear did not trust any of them. They were Enclave, and the Enclave were the reason he was in this mess, instead of where he should have been. Where he should [i]be[/i]. Beneath his helmet, his scarred, worn face turned into a fierce snarl, his eyes raking over the squadmates that sat in front of him. The hand gripping the gatling laser that sat next to him tightened, and it was all he could do not to just let loose right then.

[hider=Thoughts on the Squad]His thoughts temporarily turned to the other members of his team. Deathstroke. An intimidating name for a small man, but aptly given - bastard was one of the best shots the Bear had ever seen. Not to mention he was the squad leader, something that irked Bear. There had to be a reason behind it, but whatever that reason was, he didn't know. Snipers being leaders.. Back in the day, that would have never happened. But, that wasn't the only reason Bear disliked Deathstroke. He'd been allowed the dossiers of the other recruits, as they had been. The number of White Bears that their squad leader had killed was far too high for his liking, just as Bear's number of slain Enclave was likely too high for Deathstroke's liking. But, those were little bits to keep to himself.

Golem. A fascinating man, and the only one who could beat him out for strength and sheer mass. New Canaanite, though that meant nothing to him. Nothing too specific about his past, though it vaguely referred to "augments" in his body. He was only able to wonder what king of augments were in the bastard. All he knew was that the eggheads in the Enclave were interested terribly in him, and that was enough for the Bear to be suspicious of anything he did. On the bright side, he was a damn good meatshield.

Phoenix. Medic. Had a flaming sword and shot grenades. Fiercely loyal to the Enclave, if what happened to his tribe was anything to go off of. Disgusting, that. Rather than try to keep their sense of self, they meekly accepted the Enclave's foot on their necks. As useful as the man would be, and as much as the Bear would like him as a person, he would never respect him because of the cowardice his people had shown.

Winter. A stray from down south who had made a living off of luck. Luck could run out, but for now, luck would work for the Bear, so long as it applied to the whole squad as well as Winter. Other than that, he really didn't know much of him. Except that time he murdered some poor bastard for taking his chocolate. Bear hadn't stopped laughing for nearly half an hour when that happened. Got to respect a man who protects his property that fiercely, even if it was just a piece of food.

Ginger. Good man. Carried a big gun. Lost his brother a few years back. Bear knew the pain of losing family, and felt for the man, but wouldn't show it or mention it. Those were things men would carry on their own, or share of their own volition. Not something to be pulled out of them. But besides that, he was a good shot, and that was what counted to Bear in the end. Was all that mattered.

Archangel. Little woman, one of the only two part of the squad, and one of the stranger ones. Collected eyes as a hobby. Not that Bear judged her for it, but it was an odd thing to do. Nonetheless, she seemed to be one of the more jittery members. Quick to shoot, slow to ask questions, just how he liked a soldier. However, he did not respect her: With a bit of study, he had learned about the Pip-Boy and the VATS system, along with the modifications to her glasses. Used those to compensate for a lack of skill, or was she just be cautious? Either way, it was weakness to Bear. He'd just have to hope nothing breaks.

Whisper. Creepy girl, likely insane. Not to be trusted, but useful to have around, like every member of the squad. Liked to fight, liked to kill, just like him. That was where their understanding came: They killed things together, and then left each other alone. At least, that was how he treated her.

Wraith. Last member of the team. Pilot, horrible shot, but damn good with a sword. Not that sword skills were worth anything in a world of bullets and lasers. But he had never seen someone fly a vertibird better than her, and he had seen some of the best pilots in training. The fact that she was the one flying them around spoke volumes of her skill in the cockpit, and thus he was forced to trust and respect her, even if he didn't want to.

All in all, he didn't like most of them, and respected even fewer. But, they would have to do. They would [i]have[/i] to.[/hider]

But, there were more important things to do now. As their pilot had so eloquently put it, they were at the site. As much as he hated the Enclave for what they had done, mutants and ghouls were even more disgusting, and more worthy of his skills. As they all filed out, the ebony boots slammed hard against the ground, the Bear squatting under his own weight. As he stood, images flashed in his mind; snow covered fields, peppered with the burns of energy and the corpses of mutants, the lone, dark figure of the Beast standing over the fallen. A savage grin broke over his face, and he brought his weapon up to aim at the horde that was slowly approaching. As the comms linked up between them all, the gatling laser revved up. With a roar that could only be matched by a Yao Guai, the Bear let loose a torrent of destruction from his weapon at the incoming wave.

One upside to using a weapon with a lot of spread: Multiple enemies at a distance will likely all be hit at some point. Roars of pain and anger could be heard as they were peppered by the green beams. The Bear stood still, body barely feeling or responding to the recoil that his gun gave him. Several of the approaching mutants were felled by the onslaught, though the pair of rifles that kept dropping them must have done something to help with that.

At the mention of a stealth-boy, the Bear released the trigger and turned his attention in the direction of Ginger. A small shimmer moving across a few trees caught his eyes, and once more, a wave of green death sprayed the area. After a few seconds, he let go of the trigger, and the corpse of a blue supermutant was laying there. A growl left him, and he turned his attention back to the approaching numbers. "Nightkin with them, all of you watch your backs," he muttered into the comm, voice deep and gruff. "Deathstroke, you've got the best eyes. Watch for the bastards." Not his place to give commands anymore, but old habits died hard. Unlike the mutants that persistently shot at and charged them. A few [i]dinks[/i] and [i]clinks[/i] sounded as tiny bullets bounced off his armor or skidded off the sides.

A battle like this normally came once in a lifetime. The Bear had been in several like this before, and had come out of all but one victorious. This was not one he planned to lose.