Nickname: Boss
Age: 36
Race: Human
Sexuality: Straight.
Karma: Mercenary
Past Occupations: Slave, Prospector, Caravan Guard
Current Occupation: Mercenary
Alliance(s): Redfields Caravan Company
S.P.E.C.I.A.L.:
Strength: 6
Perception: 7
Endurance: 6
Charisma: 4
Intelligence: 5
Agility: 6
Luck: 5
Perks: Gunslinger, Daddys Boy: Shotgun Surgeon, Finesse, Rapid Reload, Iron Fist, Toughness, Medium Sized
Appearance: Boss stands at about six foot even with a rather muscular frame and a set of hazel brown eyes. His face looks like it might have been handsome once upon a time but years of constant fighting have left his facial features scarred and battered. For the most part his features match his body frame; rough. From his constant five o clock shadow to the way his nose looks permanently broken there isnt anything about him that the fragile feature having forever been cracked to the right side-a permanent gift from a particularly “friendly” super mutant named Bo-jack. He keeps his brown hair cut short in no particular style and is rarely seen not wearing his armor. However on one or two special events he has broken out his “special occasion suit”, which is in all honesty just an old world fashion atrocity and the butt of many jokes among his fellow mercenaries.
Armor: His (medium)armor is a personal creation made mostly of old world leather reinforced with small strips of scrap metal. The large metal piece on his shoulder is removable and rarely worn. By far the large dirty and patch riddled duster is his most recognizable feature, although the dirty green goggles atop his head and tan scarf he keeps wrapped around his neck almost come in at a close second.
Equipment: 2 bottles of dirty water, 1 carton of Big Boss Cigarettes, 2 Fancy Lady Snacks, Machete (sheathed against left leg), 23 shotgun shells with 2 drum magazines (¾ slugs ¼ buckshot), 2 Stimpacks, .44 Magnum, 15 magnum bullets.
Likes:
-Cigarettes, especially the old world Big Boss brand.
-Caps
-Fist Fights
-Whiskey (after a job)
-Fancy Lady Snacks (but he wont admit that)
-Radaway Radio
Dislikes:
-Slavers
-Plasma Weapons
-Robots
-Caesars Legion
-Radiation
Personality:
Boss is a man who like many has a very shady past but these days he's simply trying to make an honest living, because of this he is often closed off and reserved to those outside of his mercenary group. When he does interact with outsiders, often while on the job or trading, he can come off as harsh and almost cold-his words often blunt and to the point. Those that do know him however are well aware that most of this just stems from his extremely driven personality; when he's on a job or trying to barter its all cold cut business-he will chase his goals like a madman. He's also known for having a fairly dry sense of humor and spouting out monotone sounding sarcasm-which again, doesn't help his personal skills while interacting with new people at all. When he is off the job and hanging around with his merc pals he is much more laid back and sociable.
He's not the type to go out of his way to help those in need but at the same time when confronted with an actual moral decision he normally makes the “right” choice.
History:
Nobdy was born in the far NorthWest of Colorado in a Wasteland very similar to the one he now resides in, both he and his mother Slaves of a large Caesars Legion Training camp. Being a male slave in the culture that was the Legion made Nobdy a prime target for constant beatings and mistreatment, on his eigth birthday he was given a machete and sent to the training pits-a place slaves went to die in an attempt to “Better the future fighting force of Caesar.” Most slaves didn't survive the first few days of fighting that occurred in the pits but those that did would only return time and time again until finally cut down in combat. Probably not surprisingly this became an anger outlet for years of mental and physical abuse: many of Caesars Legions trainees fell beneath his crudely crafted blade.
This was his life for about eight years, his muscles growing strong with use as his body became equally scarred and broken. Around the time he was sixteen the final local tribes were conquered under Caesars banner, after that it wasn't long before The Legion began pushing further West in yet another campaign of conquest. About halfway through his sixteenth birthday his own large settlement began to move away-they'd apparently received orders to set up base further West.
Now, most people have never seen a Legion Camp pack up and move across the Wasteland but it is not an entirely organized process to say the least. Sometimes they cant take everything, sometimes they can't find everything they want to take, and then sometimes they just don't want to bother moving the cargo. Apparently Nobdy fit into the last category, a fact made apparent as the camp left with Nobdy still locked in a cage like an animal. Luckily for him the cage was made of thick wood-breakout attempts mainly deterred simply by the Legions presence. But now that there were no guards there was nothing stopping Nobdy from breaking out with his two bare hands.
His first few days of freedom were a complete blur-having literally never left the camp his whole life almost everything he experienced was brand new and exciting. Even the vast number of things trying to kill him he found interesting. When he finally came to terms with the fact that he was now a free man he just kind of...set off in a random direction, scavenging buildings along the way for loot, supplies, and tradeable items. For about three years he made his way West without knowing it, arriving in the Chicaghoul area wasteland around the time he was Nineteen. When he hit Lake Michigan he assumed he had reached the Ocean, this made him quit walking, turn around, and start walking again. It was just by chance that on his way out of the Chicaghoul Wasteland he met a man named Joseph Redfield. They'd met in a bar in some town called Bilgewater and needless to say they hit it off over a few beers. Redfield explained to Nobdy how he ran a caravan company, a line of business that could always use another hand holding a gun. Honestly Nobdy took the job more out of curiosity then anything else-he and three other men were to transport two heavily packed Brahmin to Craterside City the next day. Now three important things happened on this little adventure that made Nobdy decide to stay here, if only for a little while.
1. He got paid to kill people. And not just kill people, but kill people trying to kill/rob other people. Something about the work felt slightly rewarding.
2. It was the most caps he'd ever received in one sitting
3. It was the first thriving City he had ever seen-and with a pocketful of caps the world was his oyster.
For about twelve more years he continued to run Caravans throughout the Wastes, eventually building up quite a name for himself by word of mouth with other Wasteland Wanderers. By the time he was about to turn thirty two he had survived enough caravan runs that he had more caps then he knew what to do with, a problem only made worse by his ever growing boredom of Caravan protection-after all one could only walk behind a two headed cows ass for so many years before it got old.
Clearly wanting a change of pace he toyed with the idea of retiring, but he disregarded that thought almost immediately. He wasn't the type that could just sit still and grow old. No, he needed new adventures and experiences-while still raking in the caps of course. He was drunkenly explaining all this to an old caravan buddy when his friend recommended a mercenary company. Nobdy couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that, after all mercenary groups weren't necessarily uncommon around the area and the work could be way more varied then anything else.
He looked into joining a few local crews but the groups always seemed to either be to extreme for his taste; literally willing do ANYTHING for caps, or they seemed to force the actual mercenaries to give “kickbacks” to the company: which basically in Nobdy's mind was total bullshit.
So he said fuck it, he'd be a one man Mercenary company and any and all caps made by mercenaries on a job would be split up equally-of course the math was really easy in the beginning when it was just him. This new mercenary company had started simply on Boss's good reputation for completing jobs but overtime the one man company somehow attracted other Mercenaries and Wasteland Wanderers both seedy and upstanding alike.