It was days like these he realized there was a serious love/hate relationship with existing.<br/><br/>Simon hadn't bothered questioning the money his employer had. This was Vegas baby, the streets were paved with gold, women, and crippling loss. He did question the shit she had him looking at though. That stuff was scary.<br/><br/>That was a weird thing to think, wasn't it? Pieces of paper are scary to you now? What the fuck would you ever do if you ran into a raider or a gecko or a deathclaw? Shit your pants and faint?<br/><br/>But this level of augmentation was something out of the old pre war science fiction books and movies that his home town had managed to salvage or find again. This was without a doubt a level of enhancement that made a man or woman half machine, the kind of pre-war holy grail that his father would sell his son for. Guess was half true already; bad example. It was also hard to wrap around what was written, as the asshole who wrote these down thought that chicken scratch was a legitimate-<br/><br/>"Doc! Tony's been shot!"<br/><br/>Simon looked up from the pile of papers that scattered an already dirty and unkempt desk. The rest of the small room he was given as an office wasn't much better, with a bed roll kept behind his desk, it looked like he camped in the cramped square.<br/><br/>He did, with relish. Hotel rooms weren't worth the money. There was also that incident in the Ultra-Luxe involving a slot machine and a vicious chest wound. A week ban from the place as it was likely it wasn't his fault.<br/><br/>But then again, it was the slot machine -he- was playing on.<br/><br/>"That's great. Really. Fantastic. I hope he's having fun." He looked back down, trying to sort the papers on his desk, and slowly looked back up, staring at the doorman.<br/><br/>"Fine damn it. I'll get my coat."<br/><br/>It was a dirty thing, something he traded off of a fellow traveler by the Mojave border. But it had character, he could tell. Something that had seen a lot of blood in its life, and with the skills he had, it was an eventuality. Maybe the coat would tell him how to deal with the assholes shooting each other.<br/><br/>They made their way down into the kitchen, and Simon dramatically slammed the wide door open as he entered. A rule he quickly figured out after leaving his home; the louder you are entering, the bigger bad ass you were. It was something he had to replicate for his continued survival.<br/><br/>"Tony. I'd not drink too much of that stuff, I have no idea how much blood you've lost and if you pass out I really don't have the technology or strength to wake you up. You know how terrible a slapper I am" Simon said, quickly grabbing a bottle of vodka and a cloth from a nearby table.<br/><br/>"Is the wound the big, red oozing hole? I don't know if you had jam with your toast today."<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>