"Thank you for that glowing recommendation of my skillset," 'Sidora rolls his eyes. "And being able to breathe underwater sounds like it could actually come in handy."

He rattles his fingers against his thigh. "Hm, can't be any harm in asking, I suppose? And what is Rad-X?"

"Hey, you know which end of a gun does the shooting, we could always use more backup. Rad-X is... uh, well, I dunno what's in it, but it prevents radiation poisoning. RadAway helps deal with the symptoms, Med-X is a painkiller, and stimpaks do some kind of... accelerated healing, probably?" She fishes out examples of each as she names them; a bottle of pills, an IV bag, and two auto-injecting syringes, the second one bulkier than the first. "There's other chems but those are the ones I go through like candy."

She leaves her demonstration on the table in favor of striding over to the bar. There's a brief moment where she looks around for someone to talk to, then just shrugs and addresses the general vicinity. "Hey... Milliways? Do you just sell drinks, or other stuff too?"

A napkin appears in front of her on the bar's surface.

Just call me Bar. I sell almost everything from almost everywhere. You will have to be more specific. Then, as an afterthought, another napkin appears beside the first. But drinks are something of a specialty. First one's on the house.

Cat stares at the napkin, eyes wide, turning the words "almost everything" over in her mouth like she's no longer sure how to make the sounds. "Bar," she says, a little unsteadily, "just how many - dimensions - do you have access to?"

It would not be feasible to commit the number to paper.

"Well hot damn," she mutters, and spins around. "Okay! Fuck the hospital, who wants to help fix the world? As a bonus, it will probably involve significantly fewer people shooting at us."

"We tried fixing our world," 'Sidora's lost all of his cheer now. "It didn't work out how we anticipated." He smiles bitterly. "How we hoped."

Epimetheus rests her spare hand on his shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly. "I doubt our solution would be implementable in their world anyway, sir."

She turns back to them. "Perhaps start at the hospital? Baby steps and all that. If Bar can synthesize the required medication to assist in this endeavour we should be well set."

"I'd appreciate an opportunity to analyse your supplies if you do not mind? It may be that it would be helpful in our world." Prometheus stops, looking sideways at 'Sidora. "Perhaps."

"Hmm." Cat makes a face. "Something that cleans up radiation could still help."

"I need that," Hancock says mildly. "What's the thing the Children of Atom have? Maybe we can, ah, vaccinate everyone who wants to keep their noses."

"Bar-"

I believe I have something matching your specifications.

"How much is it?"

In the currency of its native realm, 625 ittri. In prewar money, roughly 3.8 million dollars. In bottle caps, twenty-five thousand for one dose.

"Well, fuck," Cat says, deflating. "So much for that quick fix. Fine, brass and gunpowder medicine it is. And yeah, sure, go for it," she tells Prometheus. "Actually-" She pulls her knife out of its sheath and sets it on the table. It's a nasty, jagged thing. "I'm interested if you get anything off that. It's called Kremvh's Tooth, found it on some kind of bad trip in a mine. It'll poison you if it cuts you but I've never actually loaded it with anything.

"The hospital is... uh." She pokes at the gadget on her wrist - a small computer, it looks like - for a second or two. "Okay, no, I remember, like three different people want me to clear the place out. There's a settlement nearby that wants it as a show of good faith, the Buckethood wants, like, MRI magnets, they need four but I'm only gonna get them one and stall on the other three forever because their giant death robot is sketchy as fuck, and there's supposed to be a Railroad cache somewhere in there but who knows if we'll find it. I've never been there before but I don't think it's far from Diamond City. Uh, super mutants! Big, green, ugly, not too bright. Kill them before they kill you. Their aim is shit but they hit like a fucking freight train if they can get one in on you. If one starts beeping, it's a suicider. So far my strategy has been 'run away while firing blindly over my shoulder until the beeping stops' but that's probably not super foolproof."

She twists her mouth to the side. "Wonder if we shouldn't bring Danse, he could probably tank a mini nuke...."

"He won't if I'm with you," Hancock reminds her. She sticks her tongue out at him.

"Fascinating," Prometheus says, eyes fixed on the knife. "Epimetheus-"

Epimetheus shifts slightly, and there's a definite click somewhere near her eyes.

"Thank you," he murmurs distractedly, and both of them fall silent, gazes not quite here.

"Well, they'll be distracted for a little while," 'Sidora says, smiling again now. "But probably taking in everything you say, regardless. I really envy their multitasking algorithms. Although that is a truly awful looking dagger. Sounds rather useful in a fight though."

"Can you extort...whatever your currency is out of them in return for what clearing the hospital? That seems like something you should consider." Meanwhile, he files away the information on what they'll be facing. "Note to self: don't get hit by them. Remind Epime regularly about the damage tolerances of that chassis."

"Epime makes a pretty good tank, even in this chassis," he reaches out and absently raps his fingers off her shoulder - which gives a hollow, metallic echo. Epimetheus doesn't appear to respond at first. "This 'Danse' have a problem with you, Hancock?"

Cat waves a hand. "Yeah - well, the settlement'll back us up later if we need it, and then we can use that land to store supplies, and I like to help fix up whatever I can around the place if I've got the time, so they're paying us in goodwill. Team Giant Death Robot probably wants me to do it for, I dunno, the 'good of the cause' or something but they can shove their cause up Danse's ass so his stick'll have company, and they're sitting on a mountain of tech that for some reason they're letting me walk away with because I'm nominally working for them. Suckers. If we can find the Railroad cache we get to keep whatever's in it."

"So... we're not actually making anything off this, are we?" Hancock says, after he's done snickering at the comment about Danse.

"It's super mutants near a settlement. I will buy everyone here noodles with the caps I get just from the people they've killed."

"Charming," Hancock mutters. "Anyway, no, Danse doesn't have a problem with me. The Brotherhood has a problem with ghouls. And synths. And the Children of Atom. And most robots. And anybody with tech better than two cans and some string. And maybe some household pets. If it's not vanilla human, they want it dead." He grins suddenly. "Which was pretty damn funny when we wandered up to their mothership."

"You pretended you were going to bite people," Cat says tiredly. She's trying not to smile, though.

"Yeah, and it was hilarious. I thought what's-his-face was gonna ask you to put me on a leash."

"We met Danse before I learned all this," Cat explains. "He and two others had gotten stranded in the Commonwealth, we helped them out of a tight spot. He's not a bad person, really, he just...." She sighs. "Needs management. But I've also seen him hold up under the wrong side of a rocket launch, so. He's good for something."

"Would that translate into a problem with Epime and 'Metheus?" 'Sidora's tone is fierce, protective. "If we encounter them that is."

At that point, a voice that belongs to neither Prometheus or Epimetheus rings put. "Analysis complete."

'Sidora waits a beat, hoping one of them will fill the void, before responding. "Report, please."

"Carbon steel composite," Prometheus reports. "Inexplicably and microscopically diamond edged. Impressive craftsmanship. I would love to pay my respects to the knifesmith who made this. And acquire some tips from them." He shakes his head. "It is truly spectacular work. The next bit even more so. The knife is crafted such that there are hollow pockets within it that appear to secrete, as needed, the poison of which you have mentioned. Epimetheus?"

"It is fascinating," Epimetheus says, and someone might get the impression that if she was more human, she would be bouncing. "Someone has managed to create a poison that self replicates, almost like a virus or bacteria. But without a potential epidemic or pandemic. Which, from what little you have mentioned of your society, and the information Bar has kindly provided me with, could be absolutely devastating. The poison has a shelf-life, and when one layer wears out, another replaces it through microscopic pores in the blade. It is spectacularly well engineered."

Her attention switches to Anesidora. "Sir, frankly, we have dealt with bigoted wastes of space before. We can deal with them again. In fact, we have an almost one hundred percent record of not introducing them to the benefits of hydraulically aided punches."

"Epime, the word you're looking for is 'assholes'. Bigoted assholes."

"Huh." Impressed, Cat picks up her knife and inspects it, as though she will be able to spot the mechanism Epime and 'Metheus are describing. "Not bad for the middle of nowhere."

"Nah," Hancock says to 'Sidora. "They're not even that interesting. Those Nuka-World raiders are assholes, the tin cans are just... bland."

"Thank you for your guided tour of the Commonwealth," Cat says, faintly amused, then adds to Epime with a growing grin, "I will pay you to punch out someone in full power armor. Please. I need that in my life." She sobers. "But trust me, if I didn't know I could handle them I wouldn't be taking anyone there. To be honest I kind of pity them. They're probably the most organized, safest, and healthiest group in the States - they're out West too - but they don't do anything with it, and they're a bag of dicks regardless. Ugh." She gestures to convey her frustration. "But. Hospital first. Then we can-" The same vaguely abortive gesture. "Stage a coup or something, I don't know. Give me a minute, I'll stock up on ammo and meds."

She turns and makes her way back to the bar to do so, leaving Hancock at the table. He finishes his drink.

"People who have a problem with my guys are assholes," 'Sidora states it like it's a fact.

"I am inclined to accept the local assessment, sir," Epimetheus says. "He knows them better. Besides that, we are not necessarily going to encounter them, and if we do, it is not necessarily required that we inform them of our status. Even if there are things that will give us away, we can minimise the risk."

"Request noted, and I will certainly endeavor to accommodate it if an opportunity to do so arises. Please do inform me if I appear to be liable to punch someone you require for diplomatic purposes."

Prometheus watches Cat leave. "She does realise that it is unlikely that Bar will provide ammo? Medical supplies and such like, yes, weaponry is a definite no, ammo is a potential grey area."

He mimics stretching for no apparent reason. "Well, I am going to get out of Epimetheus' circuits and into my own chassis. If we are going to be doing combat, I think it would be better to have both of us properly attired."

"I quite agree. And it will be delightful to have all my circuits back."

When Prometheus disappears, Epimetheus produces a pistol from somewhere, quickly checks it over and stows it away again, before doing the same with a variety of other arms - knives, spare ammo, another couple of guns. All the checks are perfunctory, as though she is already very aware that her weapons are in a good condition.

And true to Prometheus's prediction, Cat comes back with several industrial-sizes bottles and packs, no ammo, and a vaguely frustrated look. "Why can I never find .308s, I swear..." she mutters, not particularly coherently. She sees Epimetheus's weapons check and nods approvingly. "Good. The only spare weapons I have are two hundred years old. Is Prometheus coming, or...?"

"Yeah, he's just getting himself a bit better attired. One robotic chassis is good, two is better. He said he couldn't be bothered moving the chassis around today, so he left it in the room and piggybacked in Epime's circuits. Also, we find that some people aren't necessarily comfortable when they realise they're around two...effectively robots. Even if they are mostly human. Give him-"

"Right here, sir, ready to go."

His chassis is not quite as sturdy looking as Epimetheus', but it still looks like it would take a beating.

"Ready, sir," Epimetheus says certainly. "If you are sure?"

"Ready when you are, Cat. Hancock."

Cat gives the room and the people in it a final once-over. "All right."

The town square she leads them to barely deserves the name; it's just the immediate area outside a subway station, with some benches and a streetlight. The cement is filthy and cracked, and the windows of the opposing building are almost all broken. The scent of smoke is strong, from both cigarettes and a nearby campfire, though it's not visible. A few of the... guards (?) standing around eye the three newcomers with suspicion, but at a wave from Hancock they relax and redirect their attention.

"I'm not dumb enough to leave my stuff lying around in Goodneighbor, so I have it all with me," Cat says, consulting the screen on her wrist. "Looks like it's... just south of here. Probably ten minutes if nothing runs into us. We can talk strategy on the way."

Epimetheus looks back at the door behind them, watches it close, and there's a hint of sadness there, but then she nods sharply, and turns her attention to the environment around her.

The...guards give her pause, but Cat does not appear concerned, and Hancock diffuses any potential problem.

She tries to tap into any local systems to see if she can access a map of her own.