Scrap listened blissfully unaware as to his conversational partner's dismay. He was just happy someone had the decency to carry on a conversation for more than two minutes. Humans were strange like that. If they aren't begging for their life, they'd sooner shoot you than look at you. In a way he pitted them. They would never know the peace Unity brings. One goal, one will. Scrap had heard from some in his travels of a group of humans who sought to unify the wastes by stripping away what they were before, to unite the warring tribes and give worth to the worthless.

They reminded him of Master.

Scrap stopped a moment at the question of his own origin. There was now and before that there was Master and before that there was nothing. Nothing he could remember at least. H had tried a few times but it made his head hurt so he decided it wasn't worth the effort.

"Scrap is Nightkin. Scrap from the West. Scrap not always work. Once, Scrap hunt. Find. People, Weapons, Supplies, Scrap was Master's favorite. The others say they were Master's favorite but them dead now. Scrap is favorite." Scrap stared intently at the human's face as he spoke though his mind was elsewhere. Back at the Chapel. Back at the Vats. "Scrap is favorite..." he repeated.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt..."

Pulled from his thoughts, Scrap was greeted by a Mr. Gutsy. He was familiar with the type having fought the Enclave in the West and raided their supply lines many times. Most times he'd simply damage the combat inhibitor from stealth then mow down the frantic humans while they tried to incapacitate their rogue AI. On the occasions he was forced to fight them head on though their multitendrilled armaments packed quite a punch.

"...it seems we are the expedition's maintenance staff."
 
"Ruaaaghhh, What you mean, Gutsy? We work together? Joolie not tell me this. What you do? You work good?"