Rylan stared up at the wall for a few moments before being distracted by the raindrops splashing against his visor. Each one impacted and dispersed into a unique trail that would roll down his visor. In his current state of mind, high as fuck on a chem cocktail that'd kill a lesser or perhaps just smaller man. They were a beautiful sight to behold, it reminded him of the glee he felt in the countless times he had watched blood splash against the same visor as he rended the flesh of his victims into pieces to be hung outside their camp. Good times indeed.

Rylan's armor made a faint clatter with every step he took into the subway tunnels. He gently lowered his duffel bag to the ground at his feet as he took up a position leaning against the tunnel wall, acutely aware that the bag represented likely his only chance of a fix for the next few days at least. He glanced around at his counterparts, for the most part they looked the "civilised" kind, even a couple Brotherhood peons had found there way into this little mission. None of them seemed to be his kind of people except maybe the ghoul. Rylan could never get the measure of a ghoul, but by and large he liked them, squishy but not soft, easy to cut but hard to kill. It was a lesson he had learned the hard way many times, few of them were screamers, he figured having your flesh melt off must have been comparable to what he put them through.

Still though, no sign of "Pariah" not that he particularly cared. He was going in whether he got paid or not. Fifty-five was damn old for someone in his line of work and he had no intentions of seeing his body wither away like so many elder wastelanders, weak and helpless, absolutely disgusting. He was gonna die on his feet and while nothing so far had been up to the task, this little endeavor seemed to have promise, after all you don't go somewhere called "Necropolis" without expecting some death to occur. 

[color=8dc73f]"If they don't show soon I'm going in regardless."[/color] Rylan brought his rifle up and examined it one last time, once he was satisfied the action was in working order he pushed against the upper and lower blades to make sure they were still sturdily held in place, they were. [color=8dc73f]"Got shit to do, places to be, things to kill."[/color]