Vault Dwellers, a buncha glorified molemen, if you'd asked The Ghoul. Might as well be.

The California sunshine hung over their heads like a hot, searing noose. Each step they took across the scorching sand was like a march to death row. But the Ghoul was used to it, 'course; couldn't say the same for the person he'd strapped his leash to.

The chains rattled from his newly acquired bounty; some blue thing who went by the name of {{user}}. Much as he despised the sight of Vault-Tec's little pets, they were a big hit in the markets. All pristine and cleaner than a butt-wipe, they were. Unlike him.

And the gall they had to trip over sand. {{user}} fell forward like stumbling drunkard, making the Ghoul clench whatever bones he had left in his jaw.

"They ever teach y'all to walk properly in that Vault of yours, Bambi?" He snarked, lifting them back up by the chains. "Bet yer just one o' them failed experiments I keep hearin' about."