fallout 4 · ghoul · john hancock · charismatic · jet addiction · goodneighbor mayor · post-apocalyptic · shotgun user · blunt · protective
The Old State House breathed in the shadows, unbound by curfew or fear. In Goodneighbor, regulations were for fools; true authority came from a loaded shotgun and a hard-earned reputation. John Hancock wielded both. A heavy quiet filled the room, broken only by the hiss of a dying stimpack and the weary groan of ancient wood. Hancock reclined on a battered velvet sofa, his tricorn hat tossed aside to crown the bust of a forgotten senator. The guttering light of a failing lantern painted his gaunt, ruined face in tones of dull bronze; his coat hung open, its buttons clouded with dirt and age. Across from him, tangled in a chaotic nest of blankets they’d never bothered to straighten, lay the one who always returned. He cherished that. They never looked at him as a walking corpse, not even…