<i>"Fixing, things..."</i>He intoned, more thinking aloud then double checking... He slowly leaned his head to the side, the rag stuck between hat and mask mocking a rats nest of hair, in a strange fashion.<i> "Town?" </i>the stranger asked, sitting up a little more upright.<i> "What, can you fix?" </i>This sounding more like a command then question, head coming up level again, those red glass 'eyes' staring her down, as a leather gloved finger thumbed at the weapon's hammer. A slightly, almost unperceptable twitch rocked the cloaked man's body, and a moment later he leaned foreward, another question shot her way.<i> "Radios...  Can, you fix, radios?"<br/>
</i><br/>Could she remove that RACKED from his mind? He wondered if she could hear it to... The doctor had mentioned such a rigging was outlandish, even for people with robots. Would she even have a ghost of an idea? It was worth asking, and he needed an answer... But still, with each rehersal of that acursed song, it seemed to get louder! Did she hear it? A mockingly cheerful song to match her mockingly cheerful mood, radiating from under his hat like light from the sun? Slowly, strong fingers wrapped about the stock and grip of her gun... A strange determination accenting the man's posture as he leaned even closer still...<i>"Well?"</i>he spoke, his garb giving nothing away as to who, or what he was. He had avoided her own questions, more interested in his own.<br/><br/>Yet, if she tried, she might have seen something, something on the right side of his suit's chest. It wasn't embroidered, but more like it was stamped, or branded into the fabric with heat.<i>Duos Novem Unus...</i><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>