[center][color=Slategray][h1]John Delaware[/h1][/color][/center]
[b][ Fleetwood Subway Station ][/b]
[@Polaris North] [@Dread]

[color=39b54a]"Looks like I'll be going to the front. Good luck you two."[/color]

John locked eyes with Marvin for the brief moment before he turned to join the front of the group. Though he said nothing in response to the Ghoul's farewell, he offered a nod, not dissimilar to the one he gave upon introductions minutes earlier. But something in his eyes looked different. They weren't cold or hostile, but in a way, understanding. John was never one for long, heartfelt goodbyes, especially not with people he'd just met. But this was the best he could do: an unspoken sentiment that Marvin not be the first one killed. 

And in that brief flash, the moment had faded, and John was left alone with Frankie. 

[i]“Ew, no thanks. Besides, those things will kill you, dude.”[/i]

[color=slategray]"Suit yourself. I'm banking a bullet's going to kill me before my lungs do."[/color] John replied coolly with a loose, almost unnoticeable shrug, letting the lone cigarette join its brothers in his pocket. Ignoring the brief, yet sharp sting of rejection that he, frankly, had not felt in a few years' time, John masked the wound with cynical indifference. Pushing any uncertainty to a dark, rarely-visited corner of his mind, John focused on finishing preparations. Knowing full well he wouldn't be able to keep his holster handy on the bulky hazmat suit, John drew his revolver from his hip, slowly, deliberately so as not to seem threatening. He held it in his hand awhile: a sturdy five-pounds of black-finished metal and hard plastic, it's hefty weight felt more like a steadfast comfort than a burden. 

Indeed, the Blaster had seen him through more danger than any other gun he'd used before. But he remembered how much the weight had dragged him down in his youth. It wasn't the metal, the gun itself that burdened him, but it's purpose - all the bloodshed it carried. But it wasn't the gun, was it? Guns were just tools, things, like any other object. No... the burden was him - and him alone. His gun in another man's hands: could make the difference between life-or-death. Could save a family, a settlement, maybe; wielded in defense, to protect, not for murder. 

Swallowing back hard, John moved the Blaster to his satchel with the rest of his on-hand equipment. It wasn't an optimal place for fast drawing, but it would have to do while the suits were still necessary. Making sure all hoses, tubes, and connectors were adequately sealed, John twisted the dome-like helmet on with a sharp [i]hiss[/i] signaling that a full connection had been established. 

Taking a few moments to adjust to the suit's weight, John almost immediately decided that he wasn't a fan. The suit was bulky, clumsy, engineered for protection rather than dexterity. Even the simple action of clenching his fist felt cumbersome and unwieldy, as if the suit was actively resisting motion. 

[i]“So, um... Mind sticking close by?”[/i]

Turning to see Frankie's smaller form - also suited up - looking towards him, John seemed to take a moment to process her request. Though he wasn't able to see her face past the reflective helmet, he could hear the almost sheepish tone of her voice, as if asking for help, for close company was new to her. John understood that well enough. His own work forced him to walk the lonesome road, to bear all the pain and guilt with nothing but X3's unsympathetic gaze as response. No one to trust in this world but yourself, that was the mindset he had taken and kept for so many years. But maybe he was wrong. 

[color=slategray]"I'll keep you safe."[/color] The words had left his lips before he even had a chance to process them. He hadn't said something like that since... [i]Barnum[/i]. And the factory came rushing back. The tense atmosphere: agitated cries and curses of Raiders down echoing tunnels and dark walkways; the foul smell of blood, urine, chems, and booze on stale wind; the unnerving creaks and groans of the Old World setting in its foundations. And the girl locked in her cage. And the detective come to save her. 

[b]I'll keep you safe.[/b] A foolish promise made by a foolish man. Words he couldn't keep then and can't keep now.

[color=ac00e6]"Khaliya to group, we're moving out. As I'm sure you've noticed since I'm speaking to all of you directly, your suits have a built-in short-band radio. Should be able to find the controls at the neck of your helmets, but for the sake of easy communication I would recommend leaving it on open channel."[/color]

Not realizing how long he had been silently standing there contemplating his own thoughts, John nodded once to Frankie - at least, as good a nod as he could muster given the bulk and shape of his suit - before starting behind Khaliya, adjusting his pace and position so hopefully the medic could keep an eye near or on him at all times. Indeed, not having any official instructions aside from staying alert gave John a certain level of freedom, a freedom he would keep to his advantage throughout the journey.