Another nod. Yes, radios. Atlas worried, you see. Could always be found fretting if he hadn't heard from the other man for a notable length of time -- less than concerned for his safety, fearing the loss of a beloved lackey above all else. Johnny, he-- ... he was tolerable. Did what he was told to, followed direction like an absolute charm. Never before had he whipped a man into shape quite as quickly as he had Johnny here. Afraid to even speak around him while he was preoccupied with something, no matter how menial the task.
Professionally trained, he was.
Now, if only all of his fellow human beings chose to be wise and took a leaf from Johnny's book, the world might've been a better place for him.
At long last, Atlas took the screwdriver back in hand, leaving his mouth free to talk once again. And to sneer.
"Aye, radios, lad. For me an' you both in case th'worst comes t'happen, which considerin' our luck will happen at least once or twice in th'comin' months."
Atlas tossed him a brief glance over his shoulder, lips thinned considerably.
"Don't suppose you worked with these before?"