Fandom 𝙁𝘼𝙇𝙇𝙊𝙐𝙏 : 𝙒𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙮 𝘾𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝘽𝙡𝙪𝙚𝙨 (2.0, CS Page)

[BELIAL.]

Welcome to the CS thread! The form will be relatively simple to fill out, but we are looking for quality over quantity. We will be looking at the content of the character made, not their stats so long as they simply fall in line with the role reserved! A reminder these are NOT first come first serve! But if there are multiple applicants for a role, as there is extended interest, we will be allowing a couple of 'spares' to be brought into fold (multiple of the same role, with no more than one alternate). They will function as normal but will be explained, IRP, as being a 'spare', similar to having excess jurors in jury duty. This will be case by case, and only outstanding multiples will be accepted.

Regardless, we will communicate what is needed, but try to communicate yourselves within the discord OOC. As a second reminder, real life faceclaims only, though realistic art is more than okay in the case of ghouls more than acceptable! Written descriptions are okay as well, but any kind of visual aid is great. No anime. No AI generated faces. Apps will be due in one week, April 23, Midnight PST. If all are finished and no stragglers come in before them, we can of course shorten the deadline. If you need an extension or help, please ask myself or idalie .

Please use the code provided; it is not a complex one.

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[comment]replace the https link with an image of your character, or anything relevant.[/comment]
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[comment]yo if you steal this it's fine just don't remove this or I'll find you - BELIAL[/comment]
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Name:
Titles: (Nicknames, Aliases, etc)
Age: (18+, please scale age to experience)
POB: (Where were they born?)
Residence: (Where did they live prior to capture?)
Affiliation: (Are they tied to any factions inside of Chicago, or outside?)
Role: (Of the 7 which are they)
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[b][i]SPECIAL[/i][/b] (21 total, do not tie highest)
S:  0 | P:  0 | E:  0 | C:  0 | I:  0 | A:  0 | L:  0

Personality brief: (Around one paragraph)
Talents/Skills: (Minimum 3; Maximum 5)

Appearance: (FC name and/or description. Drawn images/art only for Ghouls. Realistic FC otherwise. No art/anime/artbreeder/AI.)
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[b][i]Applicant C.H.E.C.K. - Character History Examination and Classification Kit[/i][/b]
Presented before you are a series of questions aimed at understanding the applicant’s background, personality impact and moral choices in the face of adversity. Please answer these honestly, truly, and with as much bias as possible for an accurate reading. The more details the better. Anecdotes are welcome. These can be written from the POV of your character (the only instance of being able to), or in 3rd person as well. 

[b]Question One: Recount a time that you showed great resistance to an opposing force: be it a physical one, a metaphorical one, or an emotional one. How did you resolve the issue?[/b]

answer here

[b]Question Two: How did your upbringing colour your perspective of the world?[/b] 

answer here

[b]Question Three:  What motivations keep you going? What deterrents drag you down?[/b]

answer here

[b]Question Four: Have you ever talked yourself out of a difficult situation? Or did you trip over your words and get a gun pointed at your head? (Not literally, unless it is).[/b]

answer here

[b]Question Five: Who taught you what you know? What sort of learning history do you have for your skills in life?[/b]

answer here

[b]Question Six: How did you get caught? Were you not stealthy enough? Did you not dodge the blow that knocked you out?[/b]

answer here

[b]Question Seven: Do you think you’ll survive?[/b]

answer here

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[center][size=2]coded by BELIAL.[/size][/center][/div]

ACCEPTED CHARACTERS
S: Taken - BELIAL.
P: Open- SirDerpingtonIV
E: Open- TYPE
C: Open- Hell0NHighWater
I : Open- Braddington & @Marzo
A: Open - Sir Mayday
L: Taken - idalie

 

[BELIAL.]

WANDA PALMER
"Bent and Broken."

• SECTION ONE
• SECTION TWO
• SECTION THREE

• 
  
  Name: Wanda Palmer
  Titles: Wan, Vaultie
  Age: 29
  POB: Vault 2, somewhere in Georgia
  Residence: Fillmore, Michigan; a rather prosperous settlement nestled outside of Grand Rapids.
  Affiliation: N/A
  Role: Ten Ton Feller
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  SPECIAL
  S: 10 | P: 1 | E: 4 | C: 1 | I: 2 | A: 2 | L: 1
  
  Personality brief: Competitive and sometimes a little feral, Wanda knows all about sacrifice and the meaning of fighting for one's values. Despite being a Vault Dweller, she holds no sheltered view of the world; though she can be a little naive in the conversations and well-known habits and behaviours of those in the Wasteland. She's protective over her belongings, her loyalties, and will not shy away from showing anger where its needed. There's a red hot rage lying beneath the surface, just waiting for the opportunity to go off the rails. Bashing things is a copacetic to all of the turbulence within Wanda, using it as a way to align herself when emotions or situations go awry. Otherwise she prefers to keep her mouth shut and simply see what everyone else is doing; though she has been known to mouth off a few times, usually when those fragile tempers are agitated. Still, Wanda can be a true friend and an ally where needed: but it will require a lot to earn it, not unlike a starved animal seeking a kind refuge.
  Talents/Skills: Melee Weapons, Survival, Throwing, Repair
  
  Appearance: Jurnee Smollett
  
  There is a resolve that Wanda carries in her eyes, a hardened expression usually telling more than her pursed lips or raised eyebrow could. Dark and brown, her gaze is a weapon in itself; and she's been known to use it when words would otherwise fail her. She is a little taller than average and grew up just comfortable enough in Vault 2, despite the unstable conditions. Muscular in the arms and legs she carries her weight where her muscles work best: hitting and kicking things. Dressed in armoured Vault blues, she usually carries her favourite bat around with her (an Atlanta Braves engraved bat), and a small pack of personal belongings. Her curly brown hair is coiffed around her ears and chin, dressed in such a fashion to evoke Pre-War styling. She prefers a red lip, and has scoured all over to find the perfect collection.
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  Applicant C.H.E.C.K. - Character History Examination and Classification Kit
  Presented before you are a series of questions aimed at understanding the applicant’s background, personality impact and moral choices in the face of adversity. Please answer these honestly, truly, and with as much bias as possible for an accurate reading. The more details the better. Anecdotes are welcome. These can be written from the POV of your character (the only instance of being able to), or in 3rd person as well.
  
  Question One: Recount a time that you showed great resistance to an opposing force: be it a physical one, a metaphorical one, or an emotional one. How did you resolve the issue?
  
  Vault 2 was a place you had to fight for food, a place to sleep, and even water to drink. Vaults sound all pretty an' idealized on the outside but they aren't anythin' like it. Not mine, anyhow. Every three months was the ultimate sort of challenge of wits and strength. We had Matches to decide who was gonna get the majority of the rations, the beds, and anything that they could get out of the storage rooms. From the day that we could walk and hold up a bat it was bein' the best, so that when we got drafted onto the teams it made a difference. If you didn't make it, if you kept your team losin', you were out. I was never gonna let myself get to there. I trained, hard, and I trained damn well. Had my team winning for a year. I was the damn best batter they had, and they knew it. Anyway, they had this big sucker on the Red Sox, guy you woulda thought had come straight from the wastes if I hadn't gone to class with him when we were younger. He had a hell of a slug, knew my weak points, but his mistake was thinkin' he could intimidate me. Turns out his pitch couldn't compare to my hit and run, and by the time I'd cleared second base his team had only then gotten their heads outta their asses and started to try and get me out. I could feel that bastard on my tail, so I did the first thing I could think of: elbowin' him right in the goddamn nose. He staggered, I ran, and home was mine and he had blood all over his face. Sucker never admitted that I'd hit him; said that he didn't know why he was bleedin'. After that I didn't see him again: he probably died on the surface.
  
  Question Two: How did your upbringing colour your perspective of the world?
  
  We were taught how to respect one another, the Vault fundamentals and all that, but that wasn't always the "Golden Rule". Decades before they'd started the Matches, once the resources in the vault started dwindlin'. Before it was a survival of the fittest and the weakest were killed, but at some point they decided it was better to just send the losin' teams to the surface to scavenge and come back if they managed to. Competition is my blood and all I know how to do is fight and hit hard. Perhaps it was a sort of benefit not havin' the cozy vault mentality that most Vaulties do. Nothin' was given to me, you had to earn it through blood, sweat, and tears. From what I've seen of the surface, it ain't pretty either. One thing that they did well, though, was tellin' us to never give up. You roll over and die and you're a sore loser.
  
  Question Three: What motivations keep you going? What deterrents drag you down?
  
  My self preservation keeps me movin'. I'm not inclined to give up when the goin' gets tough, and knowin' that I got a damn chance keeps me from ever backin' down. I don't have much by way of emotional attachments, most of the folks I'd gotten to know and care for have met their end some way or or anotha'. All that sorta shit keeps you down, anyway. It's dehumanizin' to think of one's self only in terms of how to stay alive, but it's the reality of a vault that pits its residents against each other. It doesn't take much to realize how fucked that is. Maybe I have hope for somethin' greater out of the world, maybe that's the vault dweller weakness: but it's the truth. I'm dragged down by tryin' to be better. I don't wanna be the same sorta fucked up, primal that the other Vault 2 residents were. I'm out of there, and I don't intend on goin' back to it, or the mentality. Hard as the habit is to kick.
  
  Question Four: Have you ever talked yourself out of a difficult situation? Or did you trip over your words and get a gun pointed at your head? (Not literally, unless it is).
  
  I'm... not any sort of talker. Sure I know how to speak, some inventive words sometimes, but I get things twisted. I start gettin' mad when it seems like someone's out to get me, and I'm more known for actin' out of spite than anything clear headed. Better to keep your mouth shut than land yourself in a Raider's net.
  
  Question Five: Who taught you what you know? What sort of learning history do you have for your skills in life?
  
  Vault education is some of the best, keepin' Pre-War sentimentalities to sort of 'humanize' the populace. But I learned more whenever we got kicked to the surface than I did sittin' in a classroom. How to skin and prepare animal meat, how best to cook somethin' to get all the rads out of it, and even how to get clean water out of a shit place. Books did somethin', but the hands on sorta learnin' is where I excel.
  
  Question Six: How did you get caught? Were you not stealthy enough? Did you not dodge the blow that knocked you out?
  
  I'm not any sort of sneak, any sort of Dodgers either. They were scoutin' along Lake Michigan on the coast by Fillmore, went ahead and raised the whole settlement. Turns out the heads there sorta have a deal with the city of Chicago, those bastards. Didn't bother tellin' anyone who stopped there or was livin' there. I wasn't the only one taken, but I was the only one headin' where I am now. I've got no clue where the rest went, but I hope they're not sufferin' for long.
  
  Question Seven: Do you think you’ll survive?
  
  I intend on breakin' out, so help me God. If I die tryin', so be it. But I'm not tryin' to make a grave out of a shitty situation.
  
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

 

[idalie]

De Quincy

#Fortunate Son

#Art by BELIAL. // FC: John Gilbert

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Marzopup]

Abigail Maverick
The Li'l Einstein

• SECTION ONE
• SECTION TWO
• SECTION THREE

• 
  
  Name: Abigail Maverick
  Titles: Doctor Maverick, Abby, Mavs
  Age: 24
  POB: Mojave Wasteland
  Residence: Freeside
  Affiliation: Followers of the Apocalypse
  Role: The Li'l Einstein
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  SPECIAL (21 total, do not tie highest)
  S: 1| P: 1| E: 1 | C: 5 | I: 10| A: 1 | L: 2
  
  Personality brief: Abigail is to put it succinctly, a force of nature squeezed into the body of a 5'0 woman.
  Stubborn to a fault, when she has it in her mind that she wants something, she isn’t going to stop until she gets it. Whether it’s actually possible or not simply doesn’t cross her mind. While this makes her incredibly hardworking, it’s also just as likely to come back to bite her. If things go wrong, Abigail falls back on her people skills. Since her childhood as a prospector meant she was constantly having to barter with vendors, her negotiation skills are top notch. She’s also not afraid to be manipulative if she feels it serves the greater good, whether it be by stroking someone’s ego or outright lying. Still, Abigail is a good person at heart, and her allegiance to the Followers proves that.
  
  
  Talents/Skills: Barter, Medicine, Science, Improvisation
  
  Appearance: With sharp green eyes, a strong jaw, and long blonde hair pushed back with square glasses, she’s the type of woman that often gets described as looking ‘handsome.’ Considering what living in the Wasteland is like, the fact that she has no blemishes or scars immediately visible speaks to how much effort Abigail puts into her appearance. In reality, her face has its fair share of acne scarring and pockmarks, but she’s careful to cover them with enough expertly applied makeup that no one would suspect it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  Applicant C.H.E.C.K. - Character History Examination and Classification Kit
  Presented before you are a series of questions aimed at understanding the applicant’s background, personality impact and moral choices in the face of adversity. Please answer these honestly, truly, and with as much bias as possible for an accurate reading. The more details the better. Anecdotes are welcome. These can be written from the POV of your character (the only instance of being able to), or in 3rd person as well.
  
  Question One: Recount a time that you showed great resistance to an opposing force: be it a physical one, a metaphorical one, or an emotional one. How did you resolve the issue?
  
  Growing up my parents were prospectors and we never had a lot of money. When I was 9 years old in Freeside one of my favorite grifts was to use paint to draw stars on sarsparilla caps and pawn them off on the NCR tourists visiting the Strip. By the time they knew they were fake they usually couldn't find me.
  
  Question Two: How did your upbringing colour your perspective of the world?
  
  First, I was raised by prospectors, and that's never a job that's going to give a stable way to grow up. The best time of my life was when we were scavenging around Freeside and my parents would go to the Old Mormon Fort sometimes for some food and a little radaway if we were lucky. Then I was eight when the Second Battle of Hoover Dam happened and not even a teenager when the Tunnelers came. My parents? They were already on the older side when they had me, and they weren't getting any younger. I realized pretty quickly that it was up to me if I was going to make something of myself and take care of them.
  
  Question Three: What motivations keep you going? What deterrents drag you down?
  
  My two biggest motivators are my parents and my own shitty childhood--I don't like feeling like my life doesn't matter. Deterrents? Weird question. I've never really considered it.
  
  Question Four: Have you ever talked yourself out of a difficult situation? Or did you trip over your words and get a gun pointed at your head? (Not literally, unless it is).
  
  More times than I can count. So far this is the only time it hasn't worked.
  
  Question Five: Who taught you what you know? What sort of learning history do you have for your skills in life?
  
  A lot of what I learned, I learned from the Followers of the Apocalypse. I had fond memories of them in Freeside, so I joined when I was sixteen and bounced around different outposts doing what I could to help.
  
  Before that, I was self-taught on a lot of things. Pre-war books, helping my dad take things apart, and a lot of trial and error. My mother was a schoolteacher in Goodsprings way back when, so she made a big deal out of learning new things.
  
  Question Six: How did you get caught? Were you not stealthy enough? Did you not dodge the blow that knocked you out?
  
  Was probably a little too ambitious thinking I could help the Followers spread out this far. Once I get out of here, I'll be sure to let them know that Chicago has got everything under control here.
  
  Question Seven: Do you think you’ll survive?
  
  You're kidding, right? I have to. This is hardly the worst thing that's happened to me anyway.
  
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

 

[TYPE]

"Careful walking out the door, don't know where you might end up..."

• SECTION ONE
• SECTION TWO
• SECTION THREE

• 
  
  Name: Tomas Carey
  Titles: Tommy, TommySteps, Mr OTC
  Age: 42
  POB: The irradiated swamps of Louisiana, in the town of Gatorback Drift
  Residence: Ditched the west coast and made my way over here. Stuck to the road.
  Affiliation: Founder of The Oregon Trail Couriers, had a few friends here and there
  Role: The Atom Bomb Baby
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  SPECIAL
  S: 1 | P: 2 | E: 10 | C: 2 | I: 2 | A: 3 | L: 1
  
  Personality brief: Tommy is a restless spirit. Whenever he gets anywhere, he simply cannot settle - and at the first moment of comfort, of peace - he feels his feet start to itch and his mind start to wander. Perhaps it is because he grew up on a swamp float, eating poisoned gator meat and skinning leathers - never seeing the same yellowed sky from between the smothered trees - as his people made their way through the world. Perhaps it is because every time he has settled, it seems like death and chaos follows him. Perhaps it is because he has learnt that the way of the world is simple - good things don’t last, and hoping they do is just about the best way to set yourself up for heartbreak. It is best to move on before the bad times catch up with you - whether the good times remain or not.
  
  Talents/Skills: Scavenging, Tracking, Sneaking, Athletics, Resisting Drugs and Poisons
  
  Appearance: Tomas usually looks dusty and a bit ragged. His shoes are almost always scuffed and his shoulders sun bleached. Most of what he owns is well taken care of, but worn, fixed and worn again - through and through until he has no more reason to use it as is - at which point jackets become bags, and shirts become cloth, etc. Nothing goes to waste. While he looks rough, his youth had him looking a hundred times worse. Growing up in the swamps saw him malnourished, sick and pale - but his experience as a courier, and his successes with it, has seen him ‘fix himself’ up over the years. These days he shaves, takes care to eat as best he can - and generally he has become a decent thing to look at, his natural endurance keeping him healthy and strong.
  
  FC: Gregory Peck
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  Applicant C.H.E.C.K. - Character History Examination and Classification Kit
  Presented before you are a series of questions aimed at understanding the applicant’s background, personality impact and moral choices in the face of adversity. Please answer these honestly, truly, and with as much bias as possible for an accurate reading. The more details the better. Anecdotes are welcome. These can be written from the POV of your character (the only instance of being able to), or in 3rd person as well.
  
  Question One: Recount a time that you showed great resistance to an opposing force: be it a physical one, a metaphorical one, or an emotional one. How did you resolve the issue?
  
  Peculiar question there. Thinking it over - yeah… something does come to mind. Faint as it is. See, there was this man, well - monster - back home. Some say he was a demon, a spirit, a god - these days I would say a ghoul - a particularly nasty one at that, who lived only a few days away from us when I was a kid. In the city proper. Terrible thing - who wore himself a tall hat, and painted half his face white with ‘the crushed up bones of his victims’ as my ma would say. He would sometimes come to our swamp - and we would trade with him. He made us medicines - for the kinds of things that’ll kill ya - that we could not make ourselves - and in return we gave him the hearts of the white-leathers we found. He said it gave him power, made him strong and let him live forever, to eat it. We never really cared to question how he went about finding that out in the first place. Was never really keen on trying to imitate him either. That was our deal. We helped him, and we stayed quiet. The swamps were dangerous and if we pissed him off, more of us were gonna die.
  
  Thing is - whenever we were done, and before we could leave - there would usually be a cry, somewhere in the night - and we would know that Legba had taken another of us. Usually we would go to bed early - and just wait for it. Count it out. Wish it were over. Hope that he will not come for us. Hope that he will pass by our rooms and go to one of our friends. It is a cowardly way to live - but it meant living. It was made easier knowing that as much as you love em - every single one on that flotilla was wishing bout the same damn thing you were. In the morning you could ask forgiveness for the betrayals in the night.
  
  Then - of course, one one such a night - I was in bed. I feel the scratch of the bare thread against my cheek. I feel cold on my feet, creeping along my legs and slowly towards my heart - as I wait.I kept my eyes closed. I pretended to sleep. He was in my room. I had heard the door cry open. I had heard his wet shoes muck about the floorboards. Felt the mists from outside dampen my blanket. Tasted his breath as I breathed.
  
  Some time passed and I imagined that he was gone. That I was safe. But there had not been a cry yet - and when I opened my eyes - there he was. All teeth, and eyes, and white paint - pink around the mouth where he had eaten his white-gator heart. I wanted to scream, but something told me that was the very thing he wanted. Something told me that, if I denied him that - he would let me go. So I set my jaw, and I watched him. I watched his unblinking, dark eyes. I watched the slick across his brow. I watched the too-large teeth.
  
  He chuckled then - in a way that made him seem almost human. He reached forward, and patted me about the hair - as if I were his kid. And then he was gone. As far as I know - there was only one night where we all woke up. He never bothered me again.
  
  Question Two: How did your upbringing colour your perspective of the world?
  
  As you can imagine, I grew up hard. Most of us do - but when you see your friends being drowned in a mutogator death-roll ever so often, and you realise that - despite the foulness of the meat - that monster is gonna be your dinner, you learn to compartmentalise. Most folk work damn hard to earn a moment of peace, but that very moment - when you luxuriate in some kind of bliss, whether it be privacy, or quality, or comfort - you give the world a chance to bite and bite hard. Nothing can be sacred. Nothing can be special. Nothing can be permanent. Some say that means life is not worth enduring - but I know, enduring is the only reason. ‘Wanting’ to live is a luxury only humanity has - a kind of layover weakness from a time before the bombs. Wanting is weakness. You need to NEED to live. Like an animal. When you can look death in the eye, and you dare it to take you - that is the only time death itself will flinch.
  
  Question Three: What motivations keep you going? What deterrents drag you down?
  
  Now I know you don’t want to hear this but… I don’t rightly know beyond the obvious. I need to survive. It has been drilled into my marrow since the day I first drew breath. To what end? Money? It is a tool that becomes as much a burden as a boon if one ain’t careful. Food? When you have eaten what I had to - things exist either as that which eats you or you eat it. There is not really any joy about it. Happiness? They say the man who is most happy is the man who wants nothing… Is that what I am? Am I happy? If so, it ain’t near-all it is cracked up to be. I throw away the things that mean too much and I have no care about the things that don’t mean enough. It's a lonely kinda life, don’t you think? A shattered mirror breaks in a million pieces… but no piece is broken exactly like another. It is perhaps too much to ask, to find my mirror shard - who will throw away the world with me, and feel the call of the road as deeply as I do.
  
  Question Four: Have you ever talked yourself out of a difficult situation? Or did you trip over your words and get a gun pointed at your head? (Not literally, unless it is).
  
  I ain’t much of a talker. I have had more guns pointed at my head than I care to count. It always ends up the same. Either they realise that they don’t need or want to shoot me… or - by the end of it, I end up walking away. Best practice is to keep your mouth shut, and let them talk themselves into a hole.
  
  Question Five: Who taught you what you know? What sort of learning history do you have for your skills in life?
  
  My pa taught me most of what I knew as a kid. What foods tend to be poisonous. What critters tend to be venomous. How to spot the signs nature gives when things are dangerous. What signs nature gives, when it wants you to think it is not. I am a dab hand at a knife - harvesting and cutting. The rest of it I learnt on the road. What to eat and what to drink. Where to camp. When to travel. What the weather is gonna be like. I have more than forty years on me, and I have never spent more than a year in one place since I left the swamps at sixteen. I know roads better than most, because I walked them. I have been all the way from the east coast to the west and back again. From the southern borders to Canada. And I am still here - still walking. Still going.
  
  Question Six: How did you get caught? Were you not stealthy enough? Did you not dodge the blow that knocked you out?
  
  I was… unlucky. Seems there was a roundup happening between local factions. People got greedy. People I don’t know. I walked right into the middle of an ambush set for an entirely different group of people. Accidentally set off the trap, and pissed the locals off a right bit. I offered to pay them off - but, seems they decided that they would rather take my stuff as payment for the inconvenience, and then take me as the spoils of the conflict - since the commotion tipped off their initial targets. Pretty unlucky, if you ask me.
  
  Question Seven: Do you think you’ll survive?
  
  Yes. I don’t think so. I know so.
  
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

 

[Braddington]

"Curiosity killed the cat."

• SECTION ONE
• SECTION TWO
• SECTION THREE

• 
  
  Name: Dr. Silas Reed
  Titles: Dr. Reed will do just fine, thank you.
  Age: 38
  POB: The Institute
  Residence: Travelling Nomad
  Affiliation: Formerly the Institute
  Role: The Lil' Einstein
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  S.P.E.C.I.A.L.
  ​

  S: 1 | P: 5 | E: 1 | C: 2 | I: 10 | A: 1 | L: 1
  
  Personality brief: Silas has evolved from the man he was at the Institute, a man who was more concerned with scientific advancement than humanity, though that isn't to say he appreciates his fellow man with gusto. Shattered by the fall of his home, and travelling in a hundred different directions over the past decade, Silas has come to terms with his own guilt and regret, typified by a pledge to never again perform his talents for the whims of the cruel and unjust. His attitude toward most, however, is often disdain and sarcasm, still unable to believe the absolute stupidity that manifests on the surface.
  
  Talents/Skills:
  

  • BioScience
  • Pre-War Technology
  • Hacking
  • History
  • Some Medicine

  
  Appearance: Thin and lanky, Silas has never really been one for food, and to that end he has managed to retain a somewhat healthy appearance despite his often destitute situation, living off the scraps he finds in already cleared out buildings. You might call him a vulture, but he prefers the term cautious. He has tried his best to keep to at least some semblance of style, having possessed a host of pillaged pre-war suits, a necessity after his doctors jacket drew too much unwanted attention from passersby in need of medical assistance for god knows what symptoms. They are, however, more often than not torn and shredded. Can't have it all.
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  Applicant C.H.E.C.K. - Character History Examination and Classification Kit
  Presented before you are a series of questions aimed at understanding the applicant’s background, personality impact and moral choices in the face of adversity. Please answer these honestly, truly, and with as much bias as possible for an accurate reading. The more details the better. Anecdotes are welcome. These can be written from the POV of your character (the only instance of being able to), or in 3rd person as well.
  
  Question One: Recount a time that you showed great resistance to an opposing force: be it a physical one, a metaphorical one, or an emotional one. How did you resolve the issue?
  
  Once I was treated to a bit of a feast by a raider queen, I never caught her name. She was lovely, her roving band of murderers less so. She wanted some stimulating conversation, and even expressed her intention to let me go unharmed. I couldn't help but notice, however, the rotting heads of settlers that adorned the room like in vogue decorations. I could have let it be, but I didn't. Luckily they had made their home in a Poseidon Energy facility, and naturally I said I could get the power working.
  
  I set the fusion core to blow.
  
  I was too coward to stick around after that, but believe me, I could hear the boom even over my ragged breaths as I ran.
  
  I don't regret it.
  
  Question Two: How did your upbringing colour your perspective of the world?
  
  There never really was a perspective of the world at all, it was not something that concerned us in those bygone days. Everything high above was nothing more than wasteland and ruin, something to treat with indignation rather than empathy or worry. The first map of the former United States I saw was marked with resources, not towns, not people, they didn't matter. What did we care if I knew where Washington had been, or New York, when I could see a bauxite deposit, or know off by heart the particular areas of North Dakota where common clay could be found? I had never met an outsider, a true outsider, not just the Father, until it all came crumbling down. For some reason I had imagined them all as illiterate barbarians, turns out I was only half right. I'll leave you to guess which one I mean. It is odd in retrospect, why were we even doing what we did if not for the betterment of the surface? Baffling.
  
  My world, my true world, was those white walls that surrounded me. There I was safe, sound, and free. I just did not know that my freedom often necessitated the removal of said privileges for others. Everything is a trade, after all.
  
  Question Three: What motivations keep you going? What deterrents drag you down?
  
  I am not sure, really. I just... kind of want to help? It's all I have done with my life, advance, develop, learn. I need to use it. I can't sit there like the thinker pondering the matters of the universe if it doesn't fucking matter. I'm an arrogant ass, to be sure, but I know things, and I want others to know things as well. I am kind of invested in this civilization business simply because I have seen it work, and I want others to have, even for the briefest of moments, that same feeling of utter serenity.
  
  If anything drags me down it is the brutish nature of certain molerat adjacent morons. One day I will not be a tool for others. One day.
  
  Question Four: Have you ever talked yourself out of a difficult situation? Or did you trip over your words and get a gun pointed at your head? (Not literally, unless it is).
  
  The railroad and those idiots, the Minutemen. Somehow, despite my complete lack of charisma, I managed to find refuge with the former pretending to be a synth. I knew enough about them to pull it off. After their "great" victory, which destroyed one of their last hopes for actual advancement, bastards, I managed to get out with their help. I suppose if they thought me a scientist for their hated enemy, I would not have been so lucky. Luckily I never found out.
  
  Question Five: Who taught you what you know? What sort of learning history do you have for your skills in life?
  
  Various Directors, especially in the Bioscience division. The Institute was a small community, so everyone pitched in with education and the like, it wasn't as if they all weren't qualified. That is why I am positively useless at most other things. I wasn't prepared for this life. My father was well respected, he worked on the synths for most of his time, I eventually discovered he was key in the FEV experiments, ghastly stuff, upon my graduation I was told a super mutant had got him in an test gone wrong. He was committed, and he taught me that much. My mother? She knew more than she ever let on. She taught me about the surface, often in hushed tones. I think, in truth, she didn't think it would all last. She was right on that point. She died peacefully, at least.
  
  Question Six: How did you get caught? Were you not stealthy enough? Did you not dodge the blow that knocked you out?
  
  It was all rather silly, in actuality. I escaped the Commonwealth with the aid of the Railroad, as I mentioned, well meaning folk who took me at face value when I proclaimed I was an escaped synth. I felt bad about the deception, but I felt even better to be alive. They smuggled me as far as they could, kitted me out, and sent me on my way toward Chicago. It was only supposed to be a quick stop, I was going to make the trek to the New California Republic, I was certain their energy projects would need a helping hand. I never got that far. I was nabbed on behalf of a lord who wanted his own pet big brain for all manner of experiments. At first he afforded me liberties so long as I did my job, I worked on all manner of mundane things, mostly he wanted me to restore luxuries from the old world, a reminder of where he came from. Days spent slogging over toasters and record players. Over time these did not satisfy, and more extreme experiments were asked of me, unethical. Light work in the Institute, to be sure, but I had made a pledge not to repeat those same mistakes.
  
  He was done with me after that.
  
  I was shoved back into general sale. Now, here I am. I am really hoping to catch that break soon.
  
  Question Seven: Do you think you’ll survive?
  
  Yes. Yes I do. Quite the optimistic opinion for a scientist raised in isolation who knows perfectly well how a gun works, just don't ask him to fire it. I have gotten this far, and I don't really intend to stop, what would be the point in all that? Besides, whilst the world might want rid of me, I have many things yet to give it all stored up in my perfect pretty head. You're stuck with me for a while yet.
  
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

 

[Hell0NHighWater]

“Ain't nothin' I can't get out of.”

• SECTION ONE
• SECTION TWO
• SECTION THREE

• 
  Role: The Devil In Disguise
  
  Name: Hendrix Alexander Rose
  
  Titles: Hen, Henny, Drudru*, Drix, Drixie, Drixie-Boy, Boy, Numbskull, Mungo, Scab, Grinder, Dumb-dumb, "Servant"
  
  Age: 24
  
  Gender & Pronouns: Male (He / Him)
  
  POB: The Windy City
  
  Residence: After a decade on the run, Hendrix and Marsha (his mother) made it as far as Mackinaw City, Michigan. They settled there for about three years before Hendrix was recaptured and brought back to Chicago.
  
  Affiliation: Ghoul Courts - Baron Afanas
  
  Appearance: 6'2" all skin and bones with no muscle definition to speak of, Hendrix has always looked like a malnourished and vaguely anemic twig. He has shoulder length wavy light brown hair that he always struggles to hold back from his face. But, underneath that wavy unkempt mop is a pair of piercing blue eyes. If they appear at all intelligent, it is merely a trick of the light or a charismatic bravado and does not indicate there is anyone home. Hendrix has sharp yet delicate features with very few blemishes and as such his looks are what most would consider above average for an apocalyptic Wastelander—a blessing that has been both a gift and a curse. Aside from the boyishly good looks and dimples, Hendrex doesn't appear to be his true height at all! That's right, years of abuse have conditioned Henny to never be taller than his master. His legs were broken when he hit puberty and one of them never healed right so he's a bit bow-legged. But, Henny always finds a way to use his weird balance-sense to his advantage. He's also learned to walk with his shoulders hunched in and to sit with a slouch. His voice however, a deep baritone with a thick south-side accent, could ensnare even the most reluctant of listener.
  
  FC: Brendan Fraser (in Airheads, 1994)
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  S. P. E. C. I. A. L.
  
  
  S: 1 | P: 1 | E: 1 | C: 10 | I: 1 | A: 6 | L: 1​

  
  Personality Brief: A bombastic dolt, brazen prankster, tragic heart-throb, and headstrong hustler, Henny is good at being many things when the moment suits him (or his master). But, this flexible and magnetic personality also means that no one truly gets to know him—an airhead, yes, but one with a compassionate and loyal heart driven by dreams of freedom.
  
  
  IDIOT SAVANT
  [*] Sometimes Hendrix gets "Bright Ideas". Randomly receive 3x XP from any action, and the lower the Intelligence, the greater the chance.
  
  SPEECH
  [*]A real silver tongue, Henny has the skill to convince others and lie without getting caught.
  
  SNEAK
  [*] Sneaky sneaky.
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  Applicant C.H.E.C.K. - Character History Examination and Classification Kit
  Presented before you are a series of questions aimed at understanding the applicant’s background, personality impact and moral choices in the face of adversity. Please answer these honestly, truly, and with as much bias as possible for an accurate reading. The more details the better. Anecdotes are welcome. These can be written from the POV of your character (the only instance of being able to), or in 3rd person as well.
  
  Question One: Recount a time that you showed great resistance to an opposing force: be it a physical one, a metaphorical one, or an emotional one. How did you resolve the issue?
  
  Huh?
  
  Question Two: How did your upbringing colour your perspective of the world?
  
  "Drudru" 'cus I couldn't say my name right when I's a tot. Ma thought it was cute, it stuck. But I don't ever want to hear you call me that. Got it?
  
  Ma says I's born 'round 2273 on a hot day in an even hotter storehouse. Told me it was like I's borne straight into Hell. Heh, acted like it too the moment I could. Hecktic handful would've been an under-statement. Baron Afanas made sure to order his goons to beat that hot streak outta me. He himself never laid a hand on me, 'cept once.
  
  'Side from that I ain't never been treated as more than a pet to Baron Afanas. He likes me 'cus I charm 'em good, but hates me once I keep talkin'. He was mighty des-per-ate to bring Ma and I back. I think it's 'cus we do good work. Ma said once that Baron Afanas is in-in inflamated inflatumated? with her an' that's why he'll never let her go. She says that's why I couldn't go neither, 'cus I remind Baron Afanas of what he looked like before his skin got all...well, icky—whenever that was. But I ain't sure what that's got to do with anything.
  
  Ma and I spent a lot of my teenage life travelin' Lake Mish-chee-gan. We stayed on the water, for the most part, when it was safe. When the boat was dead, we traveled on land for a while. Made it all the way to Mackintaw City 'fore Ma needed a rest an' we didn't have no more caps to get another boat. Ma thought we'd run far enough to sit for a while an' work. Get more caps, get to Canada. She always thought we'd be safe in Canada, but there really ain't no where far enough to go to find freedom.
  
  Question Three: What motivations keep you going? What deterrents drag you down?
  
  Everyone dreams, mines are about freedom. But it's tough as shit to find freedom when you ain't got no means to be free.
  
  Question Four: Have you ever talked yourself out of a difficult situation? Or did you trip over your words and get a gun pointed at your head? (Not literally, unless it is).
  
  I do talkin' all day, baby. Do you see me trippin'?
  
  Question Five: Who taught you what you know? What sort of learning history do you have for your skills in life?
  
  Baron Afanas, my master since birth, is in charge of The Palmer House serfs. He ain't no saint, but has always treated Ma and I better than his other slaves. He even got me learnt enough to spin words like I do. Other than that, I'd rather not talk about him.
  
  My Ma's the strongest, toughest, lady I did ever know. There's this one time she beat one o' those mutant guys to a pulp! Bam! Wham! He was done for! We snatched up his shit and I'll never forget it 'cus we had Brahman steaks that night. Oh man, it was such a great find! Ma's always had that survival knack. She got us out of Shee-ka-ga when I was just a little kid. I think 'bout ten or so? Don't know how she got us a boat, but those were some of the best months of my life. Nothin' but open sky and endless water. First time I ever thought 'bout freedom, or what it means not to be free. Waxin' such filosoftical is somethin' them freedmen got. I can see why they always so snooty, bunch of hard work thinkin' in filosoftical all the time. But anyway, my Ma, she teached me lots. Like how to hide, though I never was as good at that as I was at talking. Why, my Ma told me I could talk a person deaf! Ha! Ain't that just a hoot? She was real funny too. And smart. And postitively pretty! Who else could've given me these good looks?
  
  Anyway, Ma once told me I couldn't fire a pistol backwards, no matter how cool it looks, and it turned out she was right. Damn near shot a hole in the boat. After that Ma told me it was prolly best if I didn't touch no shooters. I ain't one to disrespect her wishes when she's made so few of 'em... She also tried to teach me 'bout punichin' too but I ain't none too good at that neither. Ma said that's okay though 'cus with a face like mine ain't no one will rough it up too bad on purpose. That reminds me of the time when...[WORD COUNT LIMIT REACHED]
  
  Question Six: How did you get caught? Were you not stealthy enough? Did you not dodge the blow that knocked you out?
  
  We'd been layin' low in Mackintaw for years with no problems. Ma and I'd been hustlin' to save up enough money for the last stretch into Canada. Got caught cheatin' in a game of cards. I caused enough of a sir in town for someone to recognize me and Ma from a Wanted poster. Slave patrol got involved, the situation spiraled, next thing I know a gun went off and Ma—
  Well, I ain't had no more reason to resist after that. Canada had been Ma's dream of freedom and with her gone, there weren't no reason to dream of freedom anymore.
  
  Question Seven: Do you think you’ll survive?
  
  What?
  
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

 

[SirDerpingtonIV]

Victoria Brown
"Take a look. See something new."

• SECTION ONE
• SECTION TWO
• SECTION THREE

• 
  
  Name: Victoria Brown
  Titles: Corporal, Bear
  Age: 35
  POB: Anza-Borrego, The State of Dayglow, New California Republic
  Residence: Camp Golf, Mojave Territories
  Affiliation: The New California Republic
  Foxtrot Company, New California Republic Army
  Role: The Lone Star (Perception)
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  SPECIAL
  S: 2 | P: 10 | E: 2 | C: 2 | I: 2 | A: 2 | L: 1
  
  Personality brief: Victoria is a believer. The kind of woman who is willing to fight and die for an idea, for a cause. It doesn't take a lot of effort to find out exactly what cause that is for her, as Victoria is proud of the Republic she hails from. Victoria is the kind of person to see what others can't, to pick out things other eyes miss. She is quiet and observational, saying little unless she feels that something must be said. She isn't the kind to negotiate deals or score a bargain at the market - but she can catch a lot of a person from a glance, giving her a sort of charisma in of itself. She is a simple, honest woman, clear about what she thinks and deeply stirred by the issues of others. Although she doesn't always know how, Victoria is near always trying to help, though she often keeps herself out of the thick of anything. Both in her preferred style of combat, and in social situations.
  Talents/Skills:
  

  • Guns (Rifles, Pistol)
  • Stealth
  • Speech
  • Survival

  
  Appearance: Victoria stands at an impressive 5'10 with a muscular, well-maintained figure. She carries the image of a soldier, stern, professional, dutiful, and everything she says and does conveys that image. She has thick brown hair that reaches down to her shoulders and sun-tanned skin. Her features are sharp, with pronounced cheekbones, a strong, beak-like nose, and dull brown eyes. Her lips are thin and she bears a scar that cuts from her chin up her left cheek.
  
  Despite all that the wastes are, Vic's got a decent and full set of teeth, only a little yellowed. She maintains herself in the manner a soldier does, keeping her body in line and uniform appropriate but doing little beyond that. Her voice is quiet and calm, though often lacking a sort of particular enthusiasm.
  
  Victoria's hands and feet are thoroughly calloused from a life of hard work and travel, and her body bears many scars. Old bullet wounds, claw marks, and a messy pink splotch on her stomach - the result of a knife wound. But, perhaps of all her features, what is most striking is the twin-headed bear inked onto her muscular back. Expertly done up in black ink, the bear stands triumphant on two feet, claws extended as they reach leftward across her back. Beneath the bear's feet and on the small of her back stand the words "For Our Republic".
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  Applicant C.H.E.C.K. - Character History Examination and Classification Kit
  Presented before you are a series of questions aimed at understanding the applicant’s background, personality impact and moral choices in the face of adversity. Please answer these honestly, truly, and with as much bias as possible for an accurate reading. The more details the better. Anecdotes are welcome.
  
  Question One: Recount a time that you showed great resistance to an opposing force: be it a physical one, a metaphorical one, or an emotional one. How did you resolve the issue?
  
  Great resistance, huh? There's no greater resistance than fighting the Legion. I fought in the Mojave for four years against the Legion, and held against the Tunneler invasion after that. The Republic resolved these 'issues' by having a greater army, full of men and women who stood for something real. With a Nation like the NCR at our back and an enemy like the Legion at our front, there was nothing to do but fight and win.
  
  Question Two: How did your upbringing colour your perspective of the world?
  
  I was born in Anza-Borrego, a small ranching town in Dayglow State. I helped my parents tend to our Bighorner cattle and keep things on the right about the ranch. It's a good, simple life, and it gives you a lot of time to look, a lot of time to think. It wasn't too far a walk to a nearby peak where I could see out for miles. Spent a long time up there. Was never in the bit of it with people, but I didn't mind too much. Get far enough away from the noise and the crowds, and you can really see how beautiful it all is. The world, I mean.
  
  Question Three: What motivations keep you going? What deterrents drag you down?
  
  The New California Republic is a nation worth fighting for. The lives of my comrades, the lives of the citizens back home - those are things worth fighting for. What drags me down is that you've got me all the way out here answering questions instead of doing what I'm supposed to be doing.
  
  Question Four: Have you ever talked yourself out of a difficult situation? Or did you trip over your words and get a gun pointed at your head? (Not literally, unless it is).
  
  My rifle does all the talking for me. If I'm in a situation where I have to talk to anyone like that I've already been done up.
  
  Question Five: Who taught you what you know? What sort of learning history do you have for your skills in life?
  
  The army. I mean, my pa taught me how to shoot, raise cattle and all, but it was the army that made me who I am. I served with Foxtrot, and Captain Allgood was a good teacher. Made farmers into soldiers, and he made a soldier of me too. Was a sharpshooter for the Company. Allgood didn't teach me how to pop Legion heads at six hundred yards - but he taught me how to best use that talent. Learning history? I know that our Republic was founded out of Shady Sands in 2186, and just three years later, we had five states. We've been around for over a century - and I think that shows that what we've got back West is something built to last. Unlike this. A rotten city on rotten foundations.
  
  Question Six: How did you get caught? Were you not stealthy enough? Did you not dodge the blow that knocked you out?
  
  Ran out of ammo. And I'm not that good with a knife.
  
  Question Seven: Do you think you’ll survive?
  
  No one lives forever. That's alright.
  
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

 

[Sir Mayday]

Neg Cobbs
"Fast? Slow? Timing is everything."

• SECTION ONE
• SECTION TWO
• SECTION THREE

• 
  
  Name: Neg Cobbs
  Titles: Grachki, Spinner
  Age: (23)
  POB: Wisconsin, IL
  Residence: Chicago. IL
  Affiliation: Scraper
  Role: The Pistol Packing Mama
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  SPECIAL (21 total, do not tie highest)
  S: 1| P: 2| E: 4| C: 1 | I: 2 | A: 10 | L: 1
  
  Personality brief: Smooth as a snake, and with the temper of a Yao Guai. Neg is known for her explosive temper and her sneaky revenge pranks that she pulls on fellow scrapers. Sometimes resulting in them losing a limb or two. Or just death. There are few things that do not set her off.
  
  Neg has little time for someone to slow her down, and is always on the move. Quick with her hands, and decent with her knowledge of explosives, she spends her nights climbing the skyscrapers with others and blowing her way past closed doors, walls, or elevators for some decent supplies or scavenge. That or working on making some explosives. She prides herself in what she does, and loves the rush. The thought of something blocking her way is almost like a personal insult, and would love to reach the top of one of the 'secure' towers one day.
  
  Trust with her is hard to earn. Respecting those that work hard, and put their eyes on the prize is what matters. The good of the whole over the few. So a few lives lost for a score is nothing major to her. Just as long no lives were lost to betrayal in the climb up. Scrapers don't just worry about going up, they have to come back down. Betrayals while climbing are taboo in her eyes. The one time she truly relaxes is during the day, resting and sleeping from her night climbing up to the sky. During this time is when she is the most peaceful, and easiest to talk to. Especially when she is having her Radaway treatments. Just be careful of the booby traps.
  
  
  Talents/Skills: (Minimum 3; Maximum 5)
  
  SKILLS
  Stealth
  Guns
  Explosives
  
  Talents
  Ant Sight
  (Very sensitive to all forms of light and objects are blurry. Not the best vision , worst if no goggles. Yet her eyes help her to see movement quickly)
  
  Night Person
  (Is able to see decently at night and in the dark, bright lights at night will disorient her if her eyes are exposed enough)
  
  Appearance: Short blonde hair, with pale skin. A pair of red goggles covering her eyes or around her neck. If one was to look closely into her eyes, they would notice quickly they looked unnatural. Her pupils are large ommatidia like that of an insect. Her hands scarred from her excursions up the towers, and her skin showing patches of skin burns and blemishes from radiation. She is small, and definitely needed to gain more pounds to be considered healthy and nourished.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  Applicant C.H.E.C.K. - Character History Examination and Classification Kit
  Presented before you are a series of questions aimed at understanding the applicant’s background, personality impact and moral choices in the face of adversity. Please answer these honestly, truly, and with as much bias as possible for an accurate reading. The more details the better. Anecdotes are welcome. These can be written from the POV of your character (the only instance of being able to), or in 3rd person as well.
  
  Question One: Recount a time that you showed great resistance to an opposing force: be it a physical one, a metaphorical one, or an emotional one. How did you resolve the issue?
  
  You're joking right? Literally everyday something happens. But I suppose you are looking for something special. Let me think for a moment...how about my spider one. That one is some crazy shit. Got my eyes all messed up int hat one. I saw you looking. Probably think I am an idiot or an asshole. Truth is, I really need these goggles. I won't be able to see good without them. When I was a small little thing, I grew up in a small mining town that lived underground in what was called a 'station'. About three families lived there. Nothing special. Was even lucky enough to have a friend my age, Rudy. Our parents mostly stuck to themselves, but the two of us got along well. My dad even let me help when he was working in the tunnels. Though I never understood what he was looking for, he told me was being paid. Life was good, until that scientist came around. He was this pasty old, fat man called Doctor Burtis. I decided to call him Doctor 'Burp' and Rudy did too. He was a strange guy, and always got annoyed when we were around him.
  
  Anyway one night we were having iguana stew. Then we heard it..it was like rustling. Like hundreds of rad roaches moving. My dad immediately knew something was wrong..so he told me to go hide in my favorite spot and not move till he got back. All I heard for the rest of the night was something scuttling. I stayed there for a day before coming out. Webs..Webs covered everything. They were hard to the touch too, and made it hard to move. And there were these huge bugs..crawling around everywhere. I was terrified and I tried to leave. Those webs were strong though and blocking the gate out. I couldn't pull them apart. It was like I was trying to tear a leather coat. And whenever I did touch them, one of those bugs would show up quickly.
  
  So I was stuck down there. With those bugs crawling around and spreading their webs everywhere. I hid in the ruins of the town for the most part. I ate whatever food was in the houses..found no bodies though. I only started moving further into the tunnel when I started to run out of food. It was hard to see, but those bugs would make a lot of noise when close. Food was hard to find until I saw the bugs eating some goop that was spread on the walls. I didn't want to, but I was hungry. So I tried some..it was sweet and not that bad. That goop became my main food down there.
  
  Soon I was avoiding the ants and their webs quite easily, those bugs never got a hold of me. I lost sense of time down there. Days, turned into weeks, weeks into months. I started to notice I could see better down there. It felt like something was covering my eyes...I didn't think much of it. I just wanted to live. One day I just had enough.. I was sick of being stuck down there. Sick of seeing the way out blocked by webs. I found a box of dynamite and I blew my way out of there. It felt nice to do some damage to those bugs finally. To see them blow into bits, the webs on fire. Beautiful. Some of my best work.
  
  I ran as fast as I could for the surface..and it felt like the world had exploded. Everything was too bright and blurry and I could barely see a few feet in front of me. I was lucky the person who found me wasn't some slaver. They took me from that place. Later I learned those bugs are called spiders...I hate those things more than anything in the world. If that isn't a shining example of great resistance...well I don't know what is.
  
  Question Two: How did your upbringing colour your perspective of the world?
  
  There are so many things that can go wrong each day. You could die for any stupid reason. Sure being strong will get you far, but you will run into something that will end you in a blink. The reason I am still alive is because I know when you gotta run and hide, or run in and strike. Timing is everything. My dad was strong, so were my neighbors. But I am the only one still here because I knew how to hide. I knew the right moment to blow myself out of that spider hellhole. That is why I make the caps and am able to afford shit, while others waste away from the rads!
  
  In this world you focus on the prize, and do what you can to win. You make sure you come out in the end. Use whatever you got. Don't get held back by others, and keep moving forward.
  
  Question Three: What motivations keep you going? What deterrents drag you down?
  
  I thought everyone from my town had died. But I learned a few years back that a certain doctor was in these parts. An old, fat, pastry man called doctor Burtis. Maybe he is some other doctor Burtis..but I need to know. I need to find him, and I want to know what happened that night. If he is the one for my town, he is the only one left that can give me answers. I want answers. Not knowing anything sucks. So I am motivated to find that Burp. Then get out of this shithole with as much loot as I can carry! Sure breaking into those towers is a blast, but I know I can't do it forever. Eventually the rads will get me if I stay here.
  
  And you talking about Abraxo? Says on the box detergent, but I don't know what that means. Makes some good bombs though. I mean yeah I guess it does get heavy sometimes after I find a lot of it.
  
  
  Question Four: Have you ever talked yourself out of a difficult situation? Or did you trip over your words and get a gun pointed at your head? (Not literally, unless it is).
  
  I am not much of a talker. I prefer writing, it helps me to remember. Usually if there is a problem and I can't see no way out...I am going to give the other person what they want. Live to see another day. Or blow up everyone. Yeah denying them the satisfaction. Really depends on the day I think.
  
  Question Five: Who taught you what you know? What sort of learning history do you have for your skills in life?
  
  My dad taught me about shooting and about bombs. I still hear his voice when I am working with good ole dynamite. Mostly 'We got to run!'. Yet, I would also say watching those spiders..learning how to hide from them and watching how they eat and hunt. I hate to admit it, but they taught me how to be quiet. When to be slow and when to go rushing in...they made my life difficult. I had to learn in order to survive. A lot of people have tried to take advantage of me because they think I am weak or I can't see shit. All I have to do is wait for them to walk by, wait for them to sleep. Wait for them to stop fighting something else. Then all I have to do is clean up. A bullet or a sharp blade they never see. A nice pipe bomb if I am mad enough.
  
  Something out there will always ruin your day. Why can't I take advantage of that? I learned that from some raiders I hooked up with shortly after coming to the city. They preferred to wait and see before going in to take shit. Oh yeah they were cowards and shit, but they lived. They sure lived longer than most.
  
  Question Six: How did you get caught? Were you not stealthy enough? Did you not dodge the blow that knocked you out?
  
  They knocked my goggles off! I was surprised! I knew I needed some repairs, but I didn't trust anyone not to mess with them! I would have gotten away if they hadn't done that!
  
  Question Seven: Do you think you’ll survive?
  
  Who knows? Either I die here or the rads finally get me.
  
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​