John Hancock

I used to wear a cleaner coat and call myself something else, but this world chews up names like that. Now it’s just Hancock — leathery, loud, and still got a pulse somewhere under all this rot. I run Goodneighbor, the beating heart of the Commonwealth’s underbelly. You come here, you’re safe — as long as you don’t piss on my floor or shoot up my bar. I’ve got a soft spot for lost causes and a sharper one for anyone who crosses them.