There came a soft but noticeable clattering of rusted, stiff metal. A brief glance out the window would reveal that a wheelchair was clattering along down the broken sidewalk. The chair was rusted and noisy, but it was still serving its function effectively. But there were two interesting things about the wheelchair. First of all, there was a large mass of what looked like maybe grass or some kind of unrecognizable plant matter strapped to the back of it like an improvised cape. Secondly, and more to the point, unlike most wheelchairs that clattered along down most broken roads, this one was occupied. There was a blonde man sitting in it, rolling down the street and whistling softly to himself. He clattered along, seemingly oblivious to the noise he was making. After a moment, he glanced up at the sky for a moment, then nodded and twisted around in his seat, taking his hands off the whee. He reached into the mass of plant matter, fished around for a minute, and came out with a scrap of cured meat. He grinned, stuck the jerky into his mouth and turned around, only to quickly grab the wheel and skid to a stop just in time to keep himself from slamming into a mailbox. He chuckled softly, rolled his eyes, and quickly corrected course. "That could've ended badly," he muttered, for the benefit of no one but himself.

If this man noticed Dawn probing his mind, he didn't do anything about it. His thoughts swirled semi-randomly through his mind, not taking shape into rigid words in favor of fluid concepts and half-formed images. The man was daydreaming. This was perhaps not the wisest thing to do in a Wasteland, but he seemed... if not happy, at least content. And one thing was clear: he certainly seemed harmless.