"God damn it." Dixon had really been hoping there was an electronics store tucked into the wreckage here. He looks at Hercules as if it's his fault that Dixon's prayers haven't been answered. And he shuffles on out of the Wawa to give this guy the once-over, showing up in the twilight looking worse for wear. Dixon's one of those people who lets their appearance go to shit when they're unhappy, and at the moment, blanket around him like a shawl, stubble all over his face, hair scruffy, posture bent and most obviously, face covered with nasty burn scars on his left, he's got the appearance of a junkyard dog.

Guy's already talking like a medieval knight. Great. By now Dixon would probably kill a man to find someone who shared his general context, instead of being a superhero or a living rock or a throwback paladin.

"You got a name? We got a lot of people to introduce you to."