Sometimes the small pleasures in life are the sweetest.

He lives. I breathe. I want. Him. Always. Fire to my ice. Ice to my fever. -Mac

Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does job applications anymore?” “I do.” I squint at it, then him. “What are you paying me?” I angle. “Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does money anymore.” I snicker. First sign of any sense of humor he’s shown. Then I remember where I am and why. I wad it up and throw it at him. It bounces off his chest.

What are you? A man with a rope? Ha-ha.

I don't believe Barrons is out to destroy mankind. I don't think he particularly cares much for mankind, but I don't think he has any deep-seated desire to see us all wiped out.

Goor or evil, right or wrong, he mattered to me.

Air ye deaf, lass?" I think. He might have called me a hairy jackass