Dark blue eyes narrowed as they stepped out of the vehicle, into the stove-hot Pandora sun.  A massive hand was brought up to his brow to cover his eyes until they got used to the intensity of the giant gas ball in the sky.  It was hot, but Rohn didn’t complain.  At least it was a dry heat.  When he was able to see correctly, his thick neck turned and he glanced over at the other three Vault Hunters.  His keen, analytical eyes and military experience allowed him to sum their up.<br/><br/>The first one was a man; lithe and well-dressed.  He seemed out of place, and a little lost.  Carries a shotgun and a sniper rifle, and had a long, thin sword at his hip.  Equipped for speed, precision and silence.  A scout, or an assassin of some sorts.  The man called himself Jakob, and presented himself in a polite fashion.<br/><br/>The second one was a woman; voluptuous and provocatively dressed.  There was a sensual, blasé look about her.  Wore a military-style uniform (or what short articles of clothing that passed for clothing), with high-heel boots.  Carried an over-sized sniper rifle that was more akin to portable artillery than anything else, with a rocket launcher taped to it.  Obviously a sniper.<br/><br/>The third one was a woman; voluptuous and fit.  Form-fitting clothes, revealing but functional.  Carried a pair of large handguns in her jacket, and a third pistol on her holster on the right hip.  There was something in her eyes; a barely contained strength.  The gloves, worn at the knuckles, and her pistols hinted to her being a close distance fighter.<br/><br/>He looked at Jakob, and nodded.  “Rohn.”  He presented himself in a very matter-of-fact fashion.  Looking back at the other women, and nodded to them too.  “How you doin’.”  There was a distinct accent about him.  The Dahl assault rifle in his hands was obviously of poor quality; he would drop it or sell it the moment he’d find something better.  A very thick knife was slung at his waist, the handle to the right; obviously right-handed.  Judging by his clothing, his combat boots and dog tags, he was of a military background.  Powerful muscles were slabbed over his thick bones; he was a commando, a gladiator, or perhaps a former action movie star.  When Jakob asked about the voice in their heads, the black-haired male had a look of surprise, and blinked to look at the other two Vault Hunters to see their reactions.  “Yeah.  I thought the sun was hitting hard.  I guess it’s something else.  Got any idea who that was?”<br/><br/>Rohn’s eyes blinked and he looked to where the whirling, whizzing sound was coming from before any answer came.  A small, one-wheeled, one-eyed robot approached them and offered them all a Dahl portable device.  The rugged, burly man watched the item, and clasped it around his left forearm.  He watched it for a moment, and the HUD display came in clear and precise.  Dahl was a reliable company, and made reliable, functional equipment.  Then, the robot asked them to follow it (why was the voice so cheery and annoying?), and Rohn kind of shrugged and rested his assault rifle on his shoulder, holding it by its butt with his meaty chunk mitt, and would follow Claptrap, his heavy combat boots kicking up a bit of dust when he started walking.  He took a long, deep breath, his large chest heaving up, and exhaling through his mouth slowly.  Eyeing their miserable surroundings as he did.