[hr][center][color=bc8dbf][h1]Frankie Cabrera[/h1][/color][/center][hr]
[b][ Fleetwood Subway Station ][/b]
[@Polaris North] & [@Ghost Shadow]

Frankie cringed at the cigarette. “Ew, no thanks.” She shook her head, unzipping the radiation suit, and checking each connector and hose. “Besides, those things will kill you, dude.”

The irony didn't escape her though, since whatever was lurking along the path from the tunnels into the Necropolis would kill them much quicker and with deadlier results. Or, simply the toxins in the air -especially the ones unseen- would drive each of the group members into a maddened state, possibly shorting out their own logic and turning on one another. The girl had seen it happen twice while a captive of the Raider parties, men and women who were otherwise in their right minds, slowly drifting toward the downward spiral of insanity. Brother attacking brother, tearing at each other until one was dead, and the remains, ingested as though there was no difference between normal animal consumption and outright cannibalism. The girl had no cure for such things, and had to watch as their minds were slowly eaten away until there was nothing but a husk.

Snapping out of such dreadful thoughts, she turned to John with a half-smile. “And don’t worry, I'll be fine.” She continued, knowing that the adrenaline rush of what lied ahead was enough to keep her wits about and her eyes opened.

Frankie slipped on the bulky suit, shooting Marvin a sour expression at his comment. But he was right, and as a bonus, they were hideous and smelled like something fierce. The girl gave Marvin a pat on the shoulder as he left to take up his appointed position. “Don’t die, okay?” And she meant it, even while the comment may have seemed off-handed, she was genuine in her tone. She didn't want anyone to die.

With a drawn out sigh, and realizing she was deemed the “support", and probably one of the least combat-savvy of the group, the medic began heading toward the center of the people caravan. She was certainly no stranger to being stuck behind or in the middle, but there was a bit of pride that rose up as well, essentially protesting to stop treating her like an invalid. A [i]“little girl”[/i], as was the typical response. 

Of course, even with a handgun, butterfly blade, and a rusty combat knife at her disposal, this was still the time to swallow that hotheaded pride and just survive. “So, um…” She looked over at John with a sheepish grin. “Mind sticking close by?”