SUNSHINE | john hancock | fallout 4

[3] body gold

╭┅┅┫ -ˋˏ *. ❂ .* ˎˊ- ┣┅┅╮
❝ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ 'ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ
ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ
ʙᴇᴀᴛ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ғᴀsᴛᴇʀ
ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ 'ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ
ɪ ᴡᴀs ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ
sʟᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ❞
╰┅┅┫ -ˋˏ *. ❂ .* ˎˊ- ┣┅┅╯

When I attempted to sit up, an ache almost immediately bloomed in my left shoulder, but I forced myself to an upright position regardless. With my right hand, I inspected the gunshot wound and was surprised to find it properly sterilized and bandaged. Then, I ran my hand over my hair (which was situated in a messy top bun) and my face. My fingers froze beneath my right eye. The skin felt slightly raw and marred. I guess the debris from Park Street Station left a scar. I covered my left eye with a hand, and breathed a sigh of relief when I could still see out of both of them.

When I checked my wounds, I felt a surprisingly soft fabric brush against my skin. A quick glance revealed that I donned a clean, oversized flannel, along with black socks and boxer briefs.

Slowly, my sense of awareness returned. I was in a room I didn't recognize. The window blinds were closed, blocking most of the sunlight from entering the room. My movements caused a foreign presence to stir, and I heard book pages fluttering shut as the presence said, "Woah, slow down there."

The voice was deep and gravelly. A male ghoul—and based on the silky smooth way his voice carried across the room to me—a charismatic one.  A few seconds later, he lit a candle at the table, wrapping the room in a soft, warm glow. The gentle candlelight illuminated the deep grooves and ridges in his cracked skin. Where he lacked a nose, a small, upside-down heart-shaped hole filled its place. His eyes were nearly jet black, save the slightest variation in the color of his irises. They were the darkest of browns.

One of the most unexpected things I'd ever seen in the Commonwealth was this ghoul's outfit. Or. . .maybe "costume" would be a better word? Either way, he donned a red frock coat over a patriotic blue button-up shirt, an American flag tied around the waist of his trousers as a belt, and the icing on the cake: a tattered dark tricorn hat.

From head to toe he emitted the vibe of an old-timey Founding Father.

"Who. . ." My voice was barely above a whisper, so I cleared my throat and began again. "Who are you. . .?"

The ghoul smirked, tipped his hat slightly, and gave a little bow. Costume was definitely the correct word to use—he seemed to be very theatrical. "John Hancock, Mayor of Goodneighbor. Nice to meetcha." He paused for a moment, then said, "Thanks for not blowing up the front gates, by the way. Or else we would have met under a much different set of circumstances."

I narrowed my eyes, unsure if he was joking with me or threatening me. As I opened my mouth to defend my actions, a raspy chuckle bubbled from his chest.

With a wide grin, Hancock pointed at me. "No worries. I like it. Doing what needs to be done to protect someone you care about?" He nodded approvingly. "I dig that."

"That's a relief," I confessed with a smile. "Not many people do these days." After a moment, I added, "And sorry about that whole fiasco. Definitely wasn't the best way to make a first impression, but Nick needed a doctor. The guard was starting to get under my skin."

I was careful to avoid the fact that I already knew Amari. Even though I never stepped foot inside Goodneighbor, we contacted each other via dead drops on numerous occasions.

Most residents in Goodneighbor were wary and cold towards synths, and would be livid if they discovered her affiliation with the Railroad. It was a potentially dangerous and even life-threatening possibility, so it was kept quiet.