NEW ADDITION: write a short story from your character's past so other players can get an idea of your character's personality and get in their head a little.

Name: Linda
Age: 22
Role: Scout

Equipment: Leather Armour, greying wool hood, a torn, grey patterned, cloak, bottles of purified water, a few pulse grenades, and a shot or two of Jet.

Weapons(s): Her weapon of choice is a laser rifle with a jury-rigged scope, and enough cells to last a long time, along with a .32 pistol, though she only has a few rounds for it.

Skills: Sneaking around, and hacking computers.

Appearance: With a lithe body, and just below average hieght, she would have been pretty in a different era, but instead her hair is dry and frayed, and she doesn't often bother to scrub the dirt of the wasteland off her skin. Small, slight, and almost unnaturally light on her feet, she prefers to go by the alias of 'Shadow.'

Race: Hispanic

(NEW!) History: Growing up wasn't so bad for her as a child, deep in the fortified caverns of Raven Rock with both her parents there intermittenly, though they would go out into the wasteland on the mandatory patrols... one day, the Vertibird her parents were in was shot down by Super Mutants, the details never really got back to her, but she always had hope that they had survived one way or another. After spending years training in Raven Rock, she finally left to go out into the Wasteland and find her long-lost parents. Armed with a laser rifle and a recon armour, she headed out optimistically. Soon enough, though, her supply of fresh water ran out, and unable to find any other source she tried the water of a sludgy stream. Her palatte was nowhere near degenerated enough to filter out the poisons of radiation, and she was unprepared for the effects, her tongue was burned badly, and never completely healed. Now almost mute, she rarely bothers to say anything that could be otherwise communicated, and only interacted with people when she had to deal with the wandering traders in order to get replacement parts for her rifle, using her last name so little that it has been lost from her memory.


Short story!

She took a shallow breath, her prey a few meters below her, gazing intently into a campfire. With a quick procession of steps, disloging a piece of scrap metal that clanked, clattered and fell in the opposite direction, she sprinted along the rusted iron bar. Her target turned toward the source of the noise, the worse for him. She lept. Her heartbeat seemed to slow, counting the moments as she hung in the air, arms spread, a knife clutched in her right hand. She landed on the masked raider, feet smashing into the back of his knees, her knife driving into the sweaty neck.

The soon-to-be corpse convulsed on the end of her blade, and she kicked the leather-bound torso making it flop forward off the steel edge. The next bandit was looking outward, some ten feet away, and with the commotion turned, just in time to recieve a bolt of burning light into his eye. It smouldered, and the wastelander let out a blood-curdling scream, clapping dirty hands over the waste of his eye. She shot him in the hands, burning a blackened disc through both, revealing the snow-white bone. The scream raised into a shriek, as the man reflexively drew his hands away from his face to stare, single-eyed, at the gaping holes. A third shot lanced through his skull, ending the cries.

She opened the factory doors, from where she had climbed onto the gantry, and waved the all-clear, and whispered a single word, "None."

Name: Gunnar Eriksson
Age: 34
Role: Heavy weaponry guy

Equipment: psychos, a good ol' duster, thick leather boots and a old gasmask.
Weapons(s): Minigun (can´t be a heavy weaponry guy without heavy weaponry), sawed-off shotgun and a combat knife
Skills: Blasting holes in things and break stuff.

Appearance: A 300 pound beast. He only have one eye (the right one), a big mustache and medium long hair.
Race: Caucasian.

History: Gunnar have a Swedish heritage and his ancestors were of aristocratic blood, though Gunnar don´t know that. He used to travel alot and once he saw a fight between some supermutants and the brotherhood of steel, during their firefight one of the super mutant was wearing a minigun and after it got killed Gunnar looted the minigun and some ammo from its corpse (Gunnar saw the tremendous firepower, he somehow got hypnotized by the rapid speed of the barrels and by the noise). Since then he as always had a love for big guns.
Gunnar only got his right eye left, he lost his left eye during a bar brawl when a guy punched him in the face with a spiked brassknuckles. Also Gunnar is slightly addicted to psychos.

Short Story: While he was awake he pretended to sleep just to make the raider come closer. Gunnar held his combat knife tightly against his body so the raider wouldn´t see it, the raider came closer and Gunnar heard him pick up a wooden plank just beside him. Quickly Gunnar stabbed the man in his feet, pulled him down and started smashing his head against the ground.
There was blood and pieces of the brain everywhere when Gunnar was done, he cleaned his knife with the raiders clothing and started sharpening it with a small stone and when he was done he packed his things and moved on.
Ever since he left rivet city luck hadn´t been on his side, he´d got addicted to psychos and broke his shotgun when he clubbed a wild dog to death with it. Also his ushanka* had been hit by a laser during a fight against some protectrons and it was his favorite hat.
A good thing that happened was that he found a old gasmask lying around in a ruined building wich he had recently raided for supplies.



*Ushanka is one of those russian fur hats.

Gale Richards
Age: 21
Gender: M
Race: Native American
Role: Scavenger
Skills: Reloading (Repair), Small Arms, and Barter.

Attire: Tattered brown duster, black ball cap, brown bandana, cargo pants, hiking boots, and leather fingerless gloves.
Equipment: 2x sling bags, 8x fusees, 4x smoke grenades, and an E-Tool
Weapons: 7.62x39mm SKS Carbine, a 12 gauge pump action shotgun, and a combat tomahawk.

History: Gale arrived in the Detroit outskirts at the age of 14 as part of a trade caravan from the Capital Wasteland. While the rest of the caravan moved on, he joined a small community residing in the ruins of an airport called Haven. He helped the minutemen get started, and the community no longer lives in a day-to-day struggle.
Now he balances his time between scavenging around the outskirts of Detroit and supporting the community on the homefront.


Autumn “Richards”
Age: 16
Gender: F
Race: Slavic
Role: Militia
Skills: Small Arms, Survival (tracking, evasion, etc.)

Appearance: 5'6, brunette, green eyes.
Attire: Worn grey hoodie, combat boots, faded black jeans, and her mother’s locket.
Equipment: 1 messenger bag, compass, field binocular
Weapons: 7.62x54mm Scoped Mosin-Nagant, Gerber Mark II knife, and a .45ACP M1911A1

History: Like most of Haven’s population, Autumn’s family came from the Capital Wasteland in search of a better existence among the ruins of former urban America. However, the caravan her family was traveling with was hit by raiders. Her father died during the fight, and her mother perished later from an infected shrapnel wound.
Autumn was nine when the remainder of the caravan arrived at Haven. Every survivor opted to join the community, and the newly orphaned girl ended up under Gale Richard’s tutage. Her experience with the harshness of present-day America has scarred Autumn considerably.
She’s a junior member of Haven’s militia, whose primary concern is the local population of dangerous critters, mainly dogs, ghouls, and occasional mirelurk. The minutemen generally avoid the bands of Enclave and BoS soldiers that keep the Super Mutants relatively under control.


Haven Armory:

Guards-
M240B Machine Gun (7.62x51mm/.308 Win.)

G3 (7.62x51mm)

MP5/10 (10mm)

1911 Pistol (.45 ACP)
Glock 20 (10mm)

Patrols-
Dragonov SVD (7.62x54mmR)
SKS Carbine (7.62x39mm)
M1 Garand (30-06 Springfield)

Remington 870 (12 gauge)
Mossberg 500/590 (12 gauge)

Name: Aidan Farran
Age: 25
Role: Exploding things

Equipment: A few grenades, a frag mine, a bottle of petrol and some loose explosives. Some sort of spirit - he doesn't much care what. Gauntlets, goggles and an apron for protection while mixing explosives. Anything else he just finds when he needs it or does without.

Weapons: Explosives. If they fail he has a 10mm pistol with one clip which isn't completely full, he always keeps one in the breach. He's a pitiful shot though so prefers close quarters where he can certainly handle himself and fights with whatever's to hand, if he knows there'll be fighting he tries to get a lead pipe.
Skills: The manufacture and use of explosives and incendiaries. Hitting things, hard.

Appearance: He's of normal height but strongly built. He's missing the last two fingers from his right hand where a mixture exploded while he was making it. The hand still bothers him in the cold so he often wears a fingerless glove and tapes up his wrist, in extreme cold when he needs dexterity he uses med-x. He has short brown hair. His arms are covered in burn scars from where he gets spattered with the things he works with and his clothes tend to be a bit burnt. He picks up new ones whenever he finds them.
Race: European

History: He was born in a backcountry village and grew up among the mines they laid to defend themselves. He learned a lot about explosives there and developed an obsession bordering on pyromania. He would often take his concoctions to abandoned buildings and see how much he could bring down. It was in this time that he lost two fingers and damaged his right hand, however he quickly developed sufficient dexterity in his left.

The townships water supply became slowly more erratic and the populace dwindled. One summer it failed and he and his family were forced to leave, he was sixteen. In the wilds they contracted radiation sickness and only he and one sister survived. A few years later they made it to megaton but he was encouraged to leave after taking rather too much interest in the bomb in the citycentre - it wasn't that he wanted to blow up the city, just that the fascination of the bomb drew him to it. After that he travelled around living off what he could find, making bombs and starting fires, occasionally he would do jobs where people needed them done. He developed a skill for finding what he needed in the wastes and travelled ever lighter just finding whatever he wanted. Eventually he ran into the flying bullets while needing cash and agreed to join up.

He's certainly an oddball, but most wastelanders are. He drinks heavily, but probably isn't an alcoholic. He will start fires if he sees the opportunity and feels compelled to do so, he also likes explosions slightly too much.

Background Story

Perhaps he would have left eventually, had the raiders not attacked. It was long past dusk and Aidan had been gazing at the field base since that morning. It belonged to the Enclave and normally he'd have kept well away but he'd seen a vertibird headed there with a large cargo of bombs. He'd sat there through the heat of the day, unable to leave their pull, but not daring to get too close. Then the raiders had attacked. They were fools, of course, but it had drawn almost all the guards to the opposite side of the perimeter. And in the dark he thought he could sneak through.

That he would need to get out never crossed his mind. He crawled forwards keeping in the shadow of rocks and the thin scrub which tore at his stained tanktop and faded jeans. In one hand he clutched a fuse he'd jerry-rigged. His heart beat faster as he neared the line, in the dark the guards were forbidding shadows in their heavy armour but he hardly looked for them. His eyes were fixed on the pile of crates the vertibird had delivered. When he reached the sandbags and heaped earthworks which announced the edge of the enclave base he paused the nearest soldier was a good twenty meters away, but he was no sneak. Fortune favours the bold, he breathed and leapt over the barricade. He froze but either the night had hidden him or the soldier had been looking the other way. The sound and flashes of the fighting at the other side still shattered the night. He crept on.

It was a small base so the bomb magazine couldn't be far from an edge. He'd chosen his spot so it was only a short dash from where he hid. He readied himself and sprinted. The firefight covered the sound of his feet. Then he was there. The bombs, curvaceous, smooth, beautiful. He ran a hand over one of them. There was so much he could steal here, but it was only money. This... This was art. The boom of a grenade shattered his reverie and for the first time he realised the danger he was in. With a final stroke he put the fuse on the blasting cap of one and mixed the two chemicals together. When they lit themselves, it could be a minute it might be as much as an hour, the night would be briefly light.

He ran back to the barricade but this time he wasn't so lucky. The soldier turned and shouted a challenge. Aidan barely heard it as he vaulted the sandbags and ran into the night. Laser fire flickered around him, pain blossomed in his arm but he ignored it and dived over a rocky outcrop. He looked back over it, the soldier stood, rifle ready. But Aidan hardly saw, the fuse was a good one and the first light of it catching shone from the pile of crates. An instant later fire and flames and debris burst up into the night air. The blast threw him back and he lay and cried out in satisfaction.

Name: Jonathan Guntherson
Age: 43
Role: Mechanic (Or in his words: Inventor of Extraordinary Brilliance!)

Equipment: A toolkit containing a hammer, (the small, one-handed version) a wrench, screwdriver,nails, small magnet on extendable pole (30 centimetres is the maximum length), screws. Five rolls of ducttape (30 metres of ducttape on each), a canteen filled with some crude oil.

Stuff that is not considered part of the toolkit: A labcoat that used to be white but is now a charred and tattered thing covered in stains of questionable chemicals. A pair of glasses with the glass missing. (so it's only the frame) A stainless steel watch that doesn't work and never moves passed 14:05. And don't forget the cowboy hat.
Weapons(s): .38 pistol, no ammo, carried in a holster at his hip and usually covered by the labcoat. (Not that the lack of bullets matters as Jonathan's shooting is horrible) Any other weapon is basically a part of the toolkit. (wrenches hurt!)
Skills: Building stuff. Taking apart stuff. Thinking he's a master gunslinger!

Appearance:
Jonathan is a somewhat short man with a thin frame. black hair mixed with grey struggles to cover his skull and fight the encroaching baldness. He also has a thin moustache and a long goatee.
Race: European

History:
Jonathan grew up in a village that was built right next to a Nuclear power plant that had been spared by the great war. However, general lack of maintenance combined with folks collecting shiny items from the complex machinery had caused the reactor to break down and start leaking radioactive materials, although a full meltdown was miraculously averted. The higher than average amounts of radiation has caused a large number of complications in the populace. In Jonathan's case, his brain has been damaged which makes him mentally somewhat unstable.

Regardless, Jonathan picked up his fellows love for taking apart old devices and trying to figure out how they worked. When there wasn't anything interesting left to salvage in his opinion, he simply left. A lack of money made him join up with the flying bullets where he took up the role of mechanic, charged with fixing everything that wasn't a firearm or an explosive (can't be trusted around those), or hilariously often, break things when he gets one of his bouts of mad scientist behaviour.



Edit: I tried but couldn't come up with anything. So I'll just post the robot without story. Sorry, folks.

Name: Invincible Super Robot FRIGERIZER Z!!!! (Yes, the exclamation marks are necessary)
Age: unknown
Role: robot

Equipment: A large refrigerator equiped with both a compartment for merely cooled items and one for frozen stuff. It's mostly filled by cans of old beer. (This is the main frame and it's placed lying on its back so the doors open upwards.) It's powered by a small nuclear fuel cell. Both the driver's seat (removed from a car) and controls are mounted on top of the refrigerator's door. At the front of FRIGERIZER Z are mounted a pair of mechanical arms ending in small scoops. You know, like the things you find in a sandbox.

A small dune buggy's weels and electricalengine provide locomotion. Finally, a large fan is placed (behind the driver's seat) to provide dramatic gusts of wind to anyone sitting on FRIGERIZER Z.

For controls, it is controlled by riding on top of the refrigerator and using the dune buggy's steering weel and foot pedals. The pedals have been moved to handheight next to the steering wheel. Jonathan prefers to dramatically punch the pedals instead of using his feet. And on each side of the pedals is mounted a plastic waterpistol. (No, it's not filled with flamethrower fluid, just water) The waterpistols are AGAIN flanked by a lever which controls the mechanical scoops. So yes, Jonathan never quite figured out he needs something like five/six/eight hands to control everything all at once.

Weapons(s): None (Though I suppose you could count the waterpistols)
Skills: Completely dependant on the controller.

Appearance: see equipment.

Race: robot

History:
Jonathan put this together out of scrap during his travels. It's somewhat unreliable, and he's always finding new ways to upgrade (or downgrade) it.

Name: Karelia

Age: 23

Role: Sniper

Equipment: her weapons are a sniper rifle, a 10mm pistol, and a switchblade. She's usually got jet, mentats, and cigarettes on her (if not, there are problems) as well as Fancy Lads Snack Cakes.

Skills: small guns, sneak

Appearance: Karelia is of average height and is a little too thin, probably due to heavy jet use. She has long black hair and ice cold blue eyes. She wears a pair of old ragged jeans, brahmin skin boots, and a faded black t shirt

Race: European

History: Karelia was born in a settlement near Springvale, but doesn't remember much about it. By the time she was five years old, raiders pillaged the place and Karelia was the only survivor. She was taken in by the raider gang where she did whatever labor she was told to do at the hideout for a few years. The violence and evil she witnessed from day to day nearly drove her mad at first, but with time and chems, she became accustomed to the raider lifestyle. Soon Karelia found that she had a natural affinity for guns. She was a crack shot and could generally fix anything that fired bullets. She was out on raiding parties by the time she was fourteen, and her place as a sniper in the gang was solidified.

On one such raiding party, Karelia abandoned her gang and left them to die at the hands of Regulators. She could have helped them from a distance (that was her job, in fact) but she chose to simply walk away and live her own life. Her plan didn't work out as expected; she was captured by the Regulators and was forced to live with them for a time. The Regulators treated her well enough, but she was still their captive; nobody trusted or even liked her. When Sam left the Regulators to create the Flying Bullets Company, he helped her escape, so she's been tagging along ever since.

Karelia may seem insane to some. She doesn't do so well in social situations, she's addicted to Jet and Mentats, her sense of humor is distasteful, and extreme violence seems to amuse more than bother her.

--------------
9 Years Ago...
--------------
They were all drunk, sitting around a table playing a loud game of dice. This was the abandoned house the raiders had chosen to call their home for the next few days, and Karelia knew that they wouldn't move on until it was thoroughly trashed. Her Jet was wearing off now, and reality sunk in. She watched the game intently, wanting them all to drink more before she tried to steal more chems.

"Hey, you!" one shouted at her, "Stop sulking in the corner and get me something to eat."

The command was accompanied by a bottle flying her way. She ducked in time, but her head was covered in vodka and glass shards. She glared at the man, but it was a pathetic resistance.

"Well what are you waiting for?" he moved his hand towards another bottle...

Seeing the threat, Karelia quickly stood and did as she was told. She hated being weak, she hated playing slave girl to these vile men, and most of all, she hated being scared. The next room, which was once a kitchen, held some Fancy Lads Snack Cakes which she brought back to the table.

"Don't make me wait so long next time, or you'll end up like that one back there, little girl," he pointed back down the hallway.

Karelia thought she was going to vomit. She had already seen the woman in the back room, and she had seen what they did to her. When it was all over they simply put a bullet in her head. Only the Jet let Karelia block it out and retreat inside her own mind.

"Yes, sir," she said, though the words tasted like dung in her mouth. One hand offered snack cakes, while the other swiftly grabbed a Jet inhaler sitting on the table. A huge hand gripped her arm so tight she thought it might shatter, and Karelia realized that she hadn't been as slick as she'd thought.

"What's this?" he asked, prying the drug from her hand and waving it in her face.

"I...it's..." she stammered.

"It's mine!" he shouted as he swung her by her arm and threw her across the room.

She hit the wall hard and the floor harder. Seeing stars and feeling bruises, she tried to regain her composure quickly, because the beating was far from over.

"You little thief!" he said as he stumbled in her direction, "You're gonna regret stealing from me, little girl."

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and put his face close to hers, "I think it's time we went down the hall."

Karelia's eyes widened in panic. These were the last moments of her life, she thought, and they were going to be worse than any other part of her fourteen years. She was forced into the room, and saw that nothing had been picked up. The dead woman stared up at her with sad eyes, and there was fresh blood splattered on the wall. Karelia threw up, and the man suddenly let go of her to avoid getting stomach contents on himself. As she looked up from her lunch on the floor, she noticed a pistol that someone had carelessly left on a desk. Since she was free at this moment, she ran for it, picked it up, and pointed it at her enemy.

He man changed completely at that moment. His facial expression, his tone of voice, and his general demeanor, "Okay, little girl, just put that down and everything will be fine."

Karelia grinned; now that the tables had been turned he was trying to be a little more respectful. Too little, too late. The little girl fired again and again-- long after the man had fallen dead-- and kept pulling the trigger even though the gun was only making small clicking sounds now. She looked up to see another of the raiders standing in the doorway.

"You killed Ryder," he said, no hint in his voice that said he cared, "Better find some more bullets for that thing, because you're taking his place tomorrow when we raid."

He walked away, and Karelia stood alone, staring at the gun in her hand and the man on the floor.

So when do we start the RP then?

Probably when all charachters are posted!

I know! You're waiting for me! I'll post soon...I have an idea but I must check a few things out first ok?

take your time (not too long though)

Sorry I took so long. Real life interfered, as well as a stolen bycycle. (But hey, at least they left me the front wheel and even pumped the tire before realizing it was chained to the stand!)

So um, yeah. I posted the description of the robot but couldn't think of a story. It's up in the same post as Jonathan. I'd like it if you all looked over it and tell me if it's too uber (doubt it) or too ridiculous. (More likely) Personally, I think it fits Jonathan's personality as the mad scientist.

I was thinking more along hte lines of a cannibalized Mr Handy/Mr Gutsy, but I can roll with that.

Even if it has put me in the opinion that you're clinically insane...

I was also thinking of something with some sort of AI (for those who haven't played My Handy/Mr Gutsy have fairly rudimentary AI, they can perform moderatly complex tasks and fight but couldn't come up with startagies or orders, the commonwealth (a bunch of technologically advanced folk probably based in Canada) have extremely advanced AIs to the extent that their more complex androids appear completely human, and needn't nessesarily know they are not).

But its cool as it is. Could always butcher a Mr Handy to help drive at some point...

Ok so I don't want you guys to be held up by my insane RL so I post my medic, just shortly so you can start. History and story will come later.

oh and I think I like her to be with Jonathan, to start with because she comes from approximately where he comes from..the NPP (hehe)

Name: Lexie (Alexandra) Grey
Age: 24
Role: medic, she is becoming a "doctor" mostly nuclear medicine, but also the regular thing

Equipment: worn jeans, a former light blue t-shirt, now it's rather worn and sun bleached
Weapons(s): no weapons
Skills: medical skills

Appearance: Slender, average height. Long soft brown hair. Hazel brown eyes (Picture will be posted)
Race: american

History: will be posted later

And here's my character. Now, let's get this party started!

Name: Sam Gorrose
Age: 31
Race: South American

Equipment: Pip-Boy 2500, combat armour, large leather greatcoat and sunglasses (he has to take them off in the dark, however as otherwise he falls over an awful lot).
Weapons(s): Combat Shotgun, .44 Magnum, combat knife tucked into boot
Skills: Small guns, speech

Appearance: Tall and chunky, with scruffy blonde hair and a goatee. Also has tanned skin.
Role: Team leader/contract negotiator

History: Sam's father was one of the Regulators, and as such was practically born with a gun in his hands. While he was bought up with a strong sense of justice, as Sam got older he often locked horns with Sonora Cruz over just how far they operated-she wanted to continue to hunt bounties, while Sam wanted larger operations against Raider encampments and other such places. After one argument too many, Sam took his shotgun and magnum and left, never to return.

Realising that he could put his skills with weaponry to good use as a hired gun, Sam began to work as a mercenary, eliminating targets or retrieving important or rare equipment. After he had established a network of allies and contacts and obtained plenty of caps, Sam eventually founded Flying Bullet Company, his own band of mercenaries. They aren't the best, but they'll do dirty jobs and they'll get them done well or die trying.

He just hopes he isn't one of those who dies trying.

Seeing as Colonel Mustard said I could join, here ya go. Hannah's not really a rookie, but more just new to the company. Just as a warning, I don't have too much RP experience but I'll probably pick it up along the way.

Name: Hannah
Age: 19
Role: Rookie

Equipment: Worn jeans, a light grey t-shirt that used to be black, sun-bleached blue short sleeve jacket, Red Sox baseball hat
Weapons(s): Hunting rifle, 10mm pistol, combat knife hidden on the inside of her jacket, lots of bobby pins
Skills: melee weapon, security

Appearance: Short, about 5' 1" with black hair that comes a little past her shoulders. Her skin is darker than most Hispanic people.
Race: Hispanic

History: At three years old, Hannah was found abandoned outside of Vault 101. A man by the name of Nathaniel named her Hannah and took her to the town of Megaton and raised her. He was a hard man and also an achoholic. If he was too drunk when he came home, usually very late at night, he would beat her. Hannah ran away one night, two days before her tenth birthday. Before she left, she took his hunting rifle, knowing from mant stories that the Wasteland was a harsh place.

She lived off the land near D.C, but by the time she turned 17 she became restless and wanted more. She wandered until she reached Detroit and eventually found Haven. When the Flying Bullets started to form, she realized she could put her skills to use in the company. Like Sam, she will try her hardest, but hopes that death won't come for her too soon.

I'll post up a story later if I need to.

Name: Felix Sanders

Age: 46

Gender: Male

Role: BioChemist

Skills: Trained as a pharmaceutical researcher for the Enclave, Felix has the ability to manufacture Rad-X tablets and with proper lab equipment, Rad-Away. Felix also has a basic understanding of the human physiological system, and with the proper materials, assist with addictions. Can manufacture drugs with the right conditions.

Equipment: Tattered glasses, notepads and pencils, Rad-X and Rad-Away, a broken Walkie-Talkie, sneakers, slacks, white overcoat, green t-shirt.

Weapons: A small .33 caliber magnum with five in the spool, A scalpel, and a Bottlecap Mine

Appearance: 6'0". Short cut, graying hair. Cold, calculating gray eyes. A goatee, and the day's worth of stubble. A dirty white lab coat covering a stained old green t-shirt. Tan slacks and battered sneakers complete the outfit.

Race: Caucasian, very tan.

History: Felix was born to two Enclave scientists, who were employed to come up with a permanent solution to the Mutant problem. Felix was always in the lab, mixing and creating things on his own. Under direct supervision from his father and mother, Felix grew into an accomplished BioChemist. Felix's parents both died on a Wasteland expedition. Felix was left alone at age 20, and by his 30th birthday, he had had enough of the Enclave and their totalitarian ways.

Felix left on a wasteland expedition with an Enclave soldier on his 31st birthday. When the soldier finally asked where Felix was headed, Felix shot the soldier in the head. Felix stripped the soldier of his gear, and used it to barter a way into Rivet City, where, for a time, he worked helping people with Radiation sickness. He left two years ago, forging his own path in the Capitol Wastes.

Short Story:
The smell of decay. Felix was used to this by now. But when they took the blindfold off, Felix felt the urge to vomit. Sitting on a table was a torso, and connected to that torso, was a screaming head. The raiders cut his hand ties and Felix reached into his breastpocket and retrieved his glasses. The scene came into focus, and it looked as if the torso on the table was a raider. Or what was left of one.

"Fix him, or you die." Grunted a burly raider.
"Not much to fix, I'm afraid. You might as well kill him. You are only prolonging the inevitable. Send him to a better place." Felix retorted.

For his response, the wooden end of a rifle connected with his face, sending him and his glasses reeling. After retrieving his glasses and standing up, Felix walked over to the bleeding mass. Felix removed his scalpel from his breastpocket, and made a fatal cut across the carotid artery in the raider's neck.

"He's sleeping now," Felix said, making a fake jesture of injecting the raider with an empty syringe next to the table. "I gave him some medicine, he should be fine in the morning." Felix gave his most convincing stare to the two raiders observing, and they began to converse with each other. Felix saw the torso raider's machine gun laying on the ground next to the table. Felix muttered a quick prayer and prayed that it was loaded. He then grabbed the machine and squeezed the trigger.

The sudden flash of movement caught the raider's eye, and they both turned, a moment too late. The rusty machine gun in Felix's hands spat hot metal into the sweaty flesh a few yards away. The muzzle flashes reflected off of Felix's glasses, and a cold resolve came over him.

Dropping the smoking gun to the ground, it being depleted of ammunition, Felix wiped his brow and began searching the camp for supplies.