[In another trash can, he found an old ruined shirt and it felt like natural material rather than manufactured. He walked and tore a strip off of it, stuffing the remaining in his back pocket as they moved away from the danger zone.]

They better have trees here. How else am I going to start a campfire to sing scout songs around?

[He moved off in search of a liquid fuel source, something to add to the bottle and make it explosive when thrown. He wasn't about to waste her grenades unless he had to and being resourceful came with the job. He frankly didn't like having to rely on anyone for everything.]

What is it you exactly do, aside from carry around explosives and hand them to random strangers?