"Ronnie, do you want something for the pain?" Quackshot called after her, feigning to fiddle with his mask to switch it to 'night vision.' His eyes were far superior to the average human eyes and could adjust to the darkness. "I have a lozenge that tastes like strawberries for pain." He followed after and quickened his pace to catch up with Jhona.

"I'm Dr. Quackshot," he said, holding out a hand tentatively to Jhona. "Alfred made it seem like you're his little duckling, but I believe you are more mature than he lets on. Perhaps you are growing into quite the mallard. But who am I to say?"

With his free hand, Quackshot took another drink from his flask through his curly straw.

Fairy tale tango with a semi, huh? Damn, Lyra thought, lucky I didn't get cybernetic mods back in my Rat days. Still, better than the skyscraper alternative, I guess. More romantic, too.

She turned to Jhona, now walking down the tunnel, patting his... sword? He has a sword? Well, this just got a lot more interesting. Shame if I do my job right he won't be needing it. Hopefully.

She started for the tunnel, as her helmet's HUD whirred to life, what sensors were still active after two years of jury-rigging coming online and feeding her information--ambient temperature, humidity, wind speed and direction (unsurprisingly nothing given the whole inside-a-building situation), dataport connection. As her helmet was trying (and failing) to register some of the more advanced systems that the armor had back in the day, she walked forward at a steady pace to try and keep up with the others, as Jhona asked a pretty nervously-worded question.

Poor bastard, she thought. Even if his dad was presumably a ThysenKrüpp shit-for-brains, still had to hurt to lose him. Between that and being trusted to a bunch of strangers? Shit... She decided it was probably for the best to answer his question.

"Well," she said, "you think this is awkward, you should've been there when Quacky and I met. I just kinda stumbled into him after taking a pop rocket without any armor--damn thing grazed me, but given those bullets are the size of a bloody freight train, I still kinda stumbled and fell onto Quacky with the left side of my abdomen looking like something out of a cheap horror flick. He didn't even flinch. Just whipped out the booze--for anesthetic," and then, under her breath, "I still associate the taste of scotch with getting shot, actually," before continuing, "and he just started working on me on a barroom table of all things. I think I tried to make small talk about the... weather, I think? While, mind you, he was stopping my dumb ass from bleeding out." She chucked a bit, despite herself, and despite the horrible situation she may or may not have been making small-talk to avoid thinking about.

"Anyway, on a more serious note," she said as she took Bianca from her back into her arms, "what do you guys figure the odds of us running into danger are? I feel like brandishing Bianca here," as she patted her rifle fondly, "out in the open may be a bit of a bad idea, but at the same time, the lines between friend and foe seem... dubious at best. Pretty sure we were jumped by gang-bangers and ThysenKrüpp, so I feel like it may be wise for me to hold up the rear a bit and maybe... 'silence' anyone who looks like they're gunna try to pull a gun on us."

"You're not dumb, Lyra," Quackshot said, closing and stowing his flask away. "And I told you the weather was a fit for waterfowl. I trust you let that wound heal properly, yes?"

He cocked his head towards her at the mention of Bianca. "You named your weapon? Jonah, Ronnie, do you name your weapons, too? Is this a common practice to name weapons in this day and age?" He pulled out one of his scalpels. "I'll call you Talon. Yes, that's a good name for you. And I'll name my forceps Beaky."

He distracted himself by trying to name all of his medical tools, personalizing them and softly cooing to them like a church dove to her chicks.

As the party made their way into the tunnel, they were surrounded by the inky blackness that only exists below the earth's surface. Though absolutely man-made, the tunnel had a naturally musty atmosphere, and the lack of airflow made it feel much smaller than it actually was. The end of the tunnel opened up in the massive underground sewer system below the development district. This particular section of the system hadn't had people in it for years, at the very least, and the silence felt tangible.

There were myths about the city's sewers, stories of failed genetic experiments being tossed into them to rot, or to hunt if they managed to stay alive. There were also stories of some gutter folk trying to start a new district in the sewer, but nobody had seen anything to prove that as anything more than rumor. Plus, if there were monsters or people in the sewers, ThyssenKrüpp would have cleared them out long before this...right?

As the party progressed into the sewers, Lyra looked around, disturbed more by the lack of visibility than the smell. Not sure if we'll be pursued, but if so, we'll be sitting ducks. Blackness aside, the quiet caverns would carry echoes pretty far, and the twists and turns of the sewers would do well to hide would-be attackers. Now whether those attackers would be ThysenKrüpp thugs, or the mutant freaks that popular legends spoke of, it didn't really matter--in either case, the group needed to watch themselves.

"Alright, hold up guys," Lyra whispered to the group. "I know we're in a bit of a hurry here, but between the shit visibility and the fact that this fucking place is so quiet that one misstep is gonna be heard by everyone within a mile, I think we should take our time. Y'know, watch our steps, make sure we're not walking right into a wall--or a trap, for that matter."

With that, Lyra brandished Bianca, and started looking through the scope. "On that note," she added, with the slightest hint of an exasperated sigh in her speech, "I think I'll use Bianca's scope to scout ahead a bit. Getting stabbed from behind is one thing, but it'd be really embarrassing to just waltz into a frontal assault." As she was saying this, her world went black again, briefly, before flashing into the blues, reds, and yellows of thermal vision, as she calmly--well, mostly calmly--surveyed the passage in front of them.

Don't be a chicken... Quackshot thought, trying not to utter a sound. He held the beak of his mask with one hand to keep any squawks or clucks contained, even though the beak was in no way connected to his actual mouth. Make them think this is my real face. 'Surprise! I'm literally a bird-face man!' He bit his lip to keep from chortling at his own sense of humor. He kept his other hand close to his scalpel, the recently named Talon, which was sheathed safely in a coat pocket.

As they walked slowly into the massive sewer room, he cocked his head around looking for anything suspicious. The darkness, his lack of proper night vision, and his usual state of paranoia made it difficult to see everything clearly. Shadows were always dancing in the corners after he and his friends had been ambushed by the shadows on the ceiling of the Plug.

"What do we do now?" he asked in the lowest whisper he could muster. It was like the soft cooing of a church pigeon in the rafters of a bell tower. "Aren't there mutant gene mods living down here? Is that a myth?"

Ronnie hummed mentally to herself as they proceeded further into the darkening tunnel. She had turned down Quackshot's painkillers. Ronnie never took painkillers or anesthesia when she could help it, even when the pain was so bad that she could hardly move. It was interesting really how painkillers affected her mods. The medicine made her mods...less, in a way. Something about the medication messed with her control and awareness of her own cybernetic limbs. The last time Ronnie took painkillers - she had been desperate and needed to keep moving - Ronnie had lost all awareness of her legs, arms, and eyes. She could still move them, sluggishly, but she couldn't feel them. It was disconcerting how suspended and limited she had felt, almost like the day she had had those limbs first removed and sold for the cybernetic ones. Thus, no painkillers. Ever. Sorry, not sorry Quacky.

Ronnie stopped when Lyra decided to scout further into the inky darkness with her scope and 'Bianca'. Cute name. Ronnie preferred her Guns of Anarchy and Blades of Wrath, each of which had their own nickname, but to each their own. Ronnie stood in the middle of the tunnel watching Lyra's back disappear further down the tunnel, out of sight because of the bends. Hearing Quackshot try to whisper was an amusement because apparently the good doctor didn't understand the concept of whispering.

"Afraid of losing it's mother, what does a chick do? Wait or follow?" Ronnie asked Quackshot in response to his question. She didn't bother whispering or commenting on the mutant gene mods.