[center][color=Slategray][h1]John Delaware[/h1][/color][/center]
[b][ Fleetwood Subway Station ][/b]

Even from the nondescript cover of his hazmat suit, John's stride and posture remained distinctly leisurely, hands awkwardly at his hips in a manner mimicking where his coat pockets once were, now a whole layer beneath the lead-lined and reinforced suit. Even after trying to adjust to it's feel, he - and others - still found themselves facing discomfort. His first steps were slow, deliberate thuds, a noisy gait that contrasted heavily with the lightweight maneuverability he'd prided himself on in years past. 

Closer to the front of the pack, the small Paladin stopped to rendezvous with Marvin, almost certainly about the map he had taken from the storage kit. John silently wondered to himself how the two felt about working together. While his experience with the Brotherhood proper was slim-to-none outside general rumor and speculation, it was fairly common knowledge that all chapters, regardless of region, shared a certain disdain towards mutants of any kind. This disdain trickled through generations of soldiers, spreading to the point that even non-feral Ghouls were treated as lepers at best, and abominations to be shot on sight at worst. 

[color=slategray][i]'Leper, Outcast, Untouchable, Unclean, Castaway... Pariah.'[/i][/color]

And John smirked softly under his helmet. 

Still, he found the Brotherhood's nationalistic sense of superiority vexing. The world, and all the institutions that were part of it burned up in nuclear fire centuries ago. Human, Ghoul, Super Mutant...Synth, all of them were maggots, feasting off the life that was once there, writhing in the same patch of Old World ash.

He overheard the Paladin's next words, about a three-mile trek to reach the station. On paper, a walk that distance was hardly an issue - particularly for a group like this gathered together. It was what would await them on the trip that would provide the obstacles. Any manner of beasts lurked within the Necropolis. John had heard the stories, entire Brotherhood patrols going in only to never come out, ceaseless storms that would have put the Commonwealth's Glowing Sea to shame, factors that were all the more reason he had no business traveling within. Which was exactly what any rogue Synths would be thinking. 

But then she stopped. It was sudden, alert, like when a suspicious sight or sound, just out of the corner of view processes itself in the mind. Whatever it was, John could hear it too. A hum, mechanical, but not hydraulic-based or fusion powered. It was like the inner mechanisms of a giant clock, yet it was distorted, as if the sound was filtered through a barrier. Whatever it was, it etched itself in his brain, leaving behind a God-awful ringing sound, as if the more he focused, the more his mind resisted -- or was it the sound resisting being heard? 

After moments-- no, minutes? Seconds? The Paladin came to, and John with her. Whatever it was, it put her on high-alert. Their next motivation wasn't so much "make it to the station" as it was "get away from [i]here.[/i]" John wouldn't question it, he'd have been lying if he said he wasn't eager to escape the source of the noise, himself. 

It was when one of the mercenaries recited a line from...something, something Old World, that John finally seemed himself again, his thoughts his own. The sign of present uncertainty had unbalanced him, thrown his mind off, but it returned as quickly as it had left, and John seemed none the different for it. 

[i][color=orange]"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."[/color][/i] A bit too dramatic for John's own tastes, but he supposed he wasn't one to judge. His reply was a blunt, acerbic [color=slategray]"Cute."[/color] And that was that.