It's funny how much power can be found in a name. "Wal-world", "The World", "Salvation", "Hell", the monolithic building that the scattered remains of a once civilized world had come to know many titles after the great strife had gone into full swing. Every single one of them was appropriate for one reason or another. To the man that had just awoken and begun to wipe crusted and dried blood from his nostrils after a having fallen into a fitful slumber under a pile of only god knew what kind of detritus in a damp and musty corner near the Feasting Court, this land had another name: Home. This land was all he knew, all he would know, and all he would ever care to understand. There was no escape. More still, there was no reason to escape. If he failed to make a living here then that was because he was weak and deserved to be culled and discarded with the rest of the trash.

The man slowly arose from his resting place and glanced around to ensure he wasn't about to meet his end in one way or another. No beasts, no Stockers, no mad cultists looking to literally skull-fuck and eat him. "[color=00746b]Coast looks clear.[/color]" He muttered in a hoarse voice before rising to gather the few belongings he had to his name. A soft rustling in he pile altered this man to the presence of the small reptile moments before it clambered up his clothing and into his hood with a soft chittering sound that the man returned in kind. The odd pair continued trading these sounds until a sharp pain in the man's abdomen reminded him of more pressing needs. Time to grab a bite to eat. Scavenging was good and all, but sometimes it was nice to just sit down and not have to stab a guy in the chest for getting to close to your breakfast. After shouldering his spear and brushing over his close shaven scalp to ensure nothing had stuck to it the man trundled wordlessly towards the tavern in search of his next meal. 

There was yet one more pause outside of the doors as a poster caught the traveler's eye. Fame and Glory? Bah, what a crock of shit. But a job was a job he supposed. It could wait until after he'd gotten a bit of food in him. Entering the tavern was a lot like playing Russian roulette. While the guy wasn't exactly some infamous bandit king he'd definitely made an enemy or two in the past, so it was wise to be prepared for a brawl. With a scowl on his face and firm grip on his spear the man walked calmly towards an open seat and waited for the bartender to address him, "[color=00746b]Alpo. Leave the juice n' grubs in it.[/color]" he stated plainly before slapping the last of the payment from his previous job onto he dirty table. 

Dog food might not have been seen as particularly appetizing to what passed for the upper crust of the dystopian society of today, but to someone that didn't know if they'd even eat for the next few days it hardly mattered. A plastic plate covered in a greasy off-brown pile of meat that teamed with maggots was set before the man. He didn't even think to hesitate as he dove into his meal. Every now and again the man sat up to pick out and chuck a few of the maggots into his hood, his eyes darting about as if he was daring someone to question his actions. No one did, at least verbally. The meal came to an end with the man titling the plate up to his mouth and slurping up the gruel that remained as if it were chicken gravy before setting the plate down and wiping his mouth on his stained sleeves. That was problem one taken care of, now for problem two. He began to scan the tavern's patrons, searching anyone that seemed to be his soon to be employer. Failing that he simply turned to the bartender and asked which of the chuckle fucks sitting about was the guy that set up the poster outside. His gaze followed the dismissive flick of he bartender to an older looking man sitting next to a younger red headed woman.

"[i][color=00746b]Great, a sugar daddy. 'Least that means the pay should be good.[/color][/i]" He mused before he arose to make his way towards the pair. Lewis was momentarily concerned when the scowling man wielding the spear walked purposefully towards him. Half expecting trouble, his hand had just brushed against the handle of his las-revolver when the younger man came to a halt and jerked his head towards the door. "[color=00746b]You the guy who put up the job poster?[/color]", Lewis relaxed slightly, "[b]That'd be me. I-[/b]" "[color=00746b]Save it.[/color]". Lewis's brows shot up in surprise as the man plopped down in an empty seat, "[color=00746b]You don't gotta string me along with promises of riches n' shit, I'm just here for a job.[/color]". "[b]I see. Well, I don't see any reason to turn you away. Welcome aboard.[/b]" Lewis grunted, somewhat annoyed by the dismissive nature of the man that had come before him, "[b]I'd like to wait for a few more companions before we set out. Make yourself comfortable, mister...?[/b]" he said, trailing off with an expectant look, "[color=00746b]Jackson. Just call me Jak-jak.[/color]".