The people you go to if you have issues (based on the characters they control)!
Description
BIRTH FACTS: Full Name: Cinneide Isaac Nashe
Gender: Male
Race: Humaniod
Ethnicity: American through and through
Eye Color: Left is silver and the right is blue
Hair Color: Black
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONS: Height: Six foot five inches
Weight: 230 pounds
Body Type: All skin and bones (mass is caused by robotic limbs)
Hair Style: Messy yet cropped
Appearance: Probably the most noted look of this man is his freakishly tall height and his bean-pole width. Well, that's if you're looking at the fellow from the back side. Now, should you glance a peek at him while facing his front-side... then people will stop and stare. His face is equipped with a VERY obvious gas mask, which, according to Cinder, is essential to his life. The long ventilation cord that comes from the mask snakes down his chest and plugs into a chest monitor. A large triangular light often catches the eye, as it's not everyday you see a man with a light for a heart.
Aside from his breathing apparatus, the male just looks like your typical guy. He has that "mafia-man" look going for him, though.
THE OTHER THINGS: Sexuality: Unknown
Age: 37
Scars: His more pronounced scar is the one that separates his head from the rest of his body. Around his neck is a nice ring of stitches that keep his human head attached to his robotic body.
Ink/Holes: The top of his left ear has three rings in it. The left side of his neck has two large holes in it caused by a Deathclaw's jaw. He likes to pretend he put them there on purpose, but everyone catches his bluff.
Attire: Cinder dons his head with a fedora, which, according to him, brings out his bad-boy charms. "A lady can't resist a man in a hat," he likes to tell himself. The remainder of his look is squared out by a black suit jacket, white button-down shirt, a slender black tie, a pair of black dress pants, a FUCK belt buckle and belt, a pair of black socks, and his lace-up steel-toed work boots. Granted, he doesn't really need to wear boots as his feet are made from the finest grade of steel. But he doesn't like people to know this, hence the boots.
Personality
THE GOOD:
He makes for an awesome guard.
AND THE BAD:
He's an ass.
He hates the world and everyone in it.
He's impatient.
He's haughty and rude.
He's an addict.
He's cold and calculating.
He doesn't care about others.
He enjoys ruining lives.
He's often called a bitter snake.
He's too aggressive for his own good.
He's blunt and inconsiderate.
He doesn't understand the limits of humans.
He's remorseless.
He doesn't comprehend pain.
He's indifferent about things that he doesn't claim to hate.
... need I go on?
Equipment
S.P.E.C.I.A.L.:
+8 Strength
+1 Perception
+9 Endurance
+1 Charisma
+5 Intelligence
+8 Agility
+9 Luck
SKILLS:
Combat: Energy Weapons, Big Guns, Melee Weapons
Active: Mechanics, Repair, Science, Traps
Passive: Deception, Gambling, Bartering (via threatening)
PERKS:
Run 'n Gun, Bloody Mess, Hand Loader, Lead Belly, Toughness, Pack Rat, Quick Draw, Plasma Spaz, Long Haul, Unstoppable Force, Jury Rigging, Meltdown, Super Slam, Rad Absorption, Nerves of Steel
BONUS SKILLS:
+ Flight. His boots (erm, legs) are equipped with rocket boosters.
+ Shield-mode. Cinder's left arm has the ability to wield a shield.
+ Steel Fist. He can punch walls down and it doesn't do much physical damage.
EQUIPMENT:
Knighthood of Blood tags
300 caps
Bobby pins (27)
Duct tape
Irradiated Scotch
Wasteland Tequila
Buffout (10)
Psycho (15)
WEAPONS & TOYS:
Shoulder Mounted Machine Gun, Alien Blaster, Laser Pistol, Pew Pew, Sonic Emitter-Robo-Scorpion, Tri-Beam Laser Rifle, Gatling Laser, Combat Knife, Dress Cane
OTHER:
Cinder has a serious drug addition. When the Psycho wears off... let's just say you don't want it to do that. Keep him stocked and happy.
History
CHILDHOOD:
Due to being born where he was, Cinder grew up a pretty normal kid. He had two parents and he even had two sisters. One was older and the other was younger. Needless to say, life was perfect. He was living in a Vault so for the majority of his youth, he thought things were safe as could be. That was until the collapse-in happened.
Fearing the fumes from the wasteland, Cinder and his sisters were put in quarantine. Little did the three of them know (as many others) that they were going to be experiments for a group of thugs known as BLOOD. BLOOD was requesting human sacrifices for a new program they were in the mist of creating - THE KNIGHTHOOD.
Most victims failed the trails. The subjects almost always experienced signs of dementia or worse, death.
About to call it quits, the head of BLOOD decided to give the final virus to one little boy - Cinneide Isaac Nashe. He was the last of his group. So far, he had made it past the first several series of the drug. With a bit of hesitation, the leader pricked Cinneide and fully expected the sixteen-year-old to fall flat on his face. But, to her surprise, Cinneide serviced. Although, it didn't come without a price. He was paralyzed from the stomach down.
After extensive surgery, Cinneide was given a new sense of hope. His lower limbs were replaced with robotic parts and part of his torso was equipped with the means of operating it. Lodged in his brain was a chip which helped to further control the actions of the legs and pelvic region.
Copying his DNA-V (DNA + the Virus) sequence, BLOOD began working on an anti-virus that would work with future soldiers. Of course, not all the selected specimen lived. But the survival rates were higher this time around, all due thanks to Cinneide's DNA-V.
By the time Cinneide was twenty-five, BLOOD had roped up enough soldiers to bring about a change. BLOOD soon became KNIGHTHOOD, which, three years later, became the Knighthood of Blood.
Serving BLOOD for nine years, Cinneide was the first soldier to be awarded an independent job. He later continued to work for the Knighthood of Blood, as he saw no need for anything else. A few times he was asked to wed, but he declined all seven offers. He had no interest in anything that fell outside the domain of the Knighthood of Blood.
Upon his thirty-second birthday, tragedy struck the male. On a mission across the wasteland, he was attacked by a Deathclaw which completely ripped his body apart. Thankfully, a squad of Blood Knights was nearby and they were able to transport him back to HQ. There he underwent a complete makeover. Seeing as his head was spared from the attack, he was given a new body. Aside from his head, the other parts saved were his right shoulder and arm and, thankfully, his heart. Everything else was made from science and engineering.
It was after this incident that Cinneide was given his new name, Cinder (it was previously Experiment 673).
For the next six years, Cinder was put in a special training program called GOD. GOD is a six-year program that creates super-soldiers. Humans are ripped apart to have their limbs and organs replaced by metal or plastic parts. It's a gruesome product, but the yield is phenomenal.
NOWADAYS:
With his training just ending a month ago, Cinder is out on his first mission after his previous accident. He's stronger than ever and colder than ever. Some say that during the surgery, they removed his heart. Although this isn't true, people still find it plausible. He's a nasty bastard that doesn't give a rat's ass about anyone or anything. He just likes his mind games, his psycho, and killing things.
So begins...
CINDER POST
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.
"Fuck this shit," Cinder flipped the table over, which sent the dice flying. As they moved through the air, he watched as a few men leaned into place their money on the dice roll. The one guy was wearing a raider's outfit and he was placing his money on 6-6-4. Another male, hardly over sixteen, was guessing it would be 1-5-3. The woman in the red silk dress was urging her pimp to pick 2-2-2. A rich snob of a man was calling it 6-4-5.
"Six. Six. Six." Cinder's two-toned eyes danced with a flame of delight as he watched the dice collide against the rumble floor. Sure enough, the first dice to stop landed on a six. The woman in red spilled her drink, which caused her pimp to go hard and, immediately, request a private room. The youngster frowned as he folded the bare remains of his money into the pot. It was now down to the three of them and two more dice were still rolling about.
The second dice bounced off the side of the bar, which brought it to the rug in the other room. Frozen in its tracts, the lad that had lost it all ran to its side to announce the land. "Six," he smiled as he watched the rich guy snort and leave.
Rushing back to the action, the boy too a seat beside Cinder, who he had been eyeing for the past hour now. Just as soon as he was seated, he jumped from his seat to watch the dice worm its way down the bosom of the woman at the bar.
Not wanting the game to lose its momentum, Cinder walked over to the woman. "I do believe you have something that belongs to us." Leaning in, he whispered in her ears, "If you can manage to flip it so it lands on a six, I'll split the winnings with you 50-50." Stepping back, Cinder winked at the woman. "Well, are you going to fetch us our dice or shall I remove it for you."
For having a handsome face, Cinder lost his attractiveness by the harshness that came from his voice and the nasty nip of no remorse that he tended to coat his words with. Cinder was not a man that could charm a woman with his lips. Not at all. It probably didn't help the guy out that his was semi-electronic sounding. It, to an extent, got annoying. Everyone could always hear him breath and exhale. Sneaking up on people, let's just say it wasn't his specialty.
Needless to say, his fellow Knights of Blood called him the "Darth Vader of the Wasteland," a nickname Cinder was not fond of. But, despite it all, Darth Vader was an appropriate nickname. After all, Cinder's voice and sounds mimicked that of the Sith Lord. Plus, they both wore a face apparatus and donned themselves in black.
Scar realized her drinking was getting slightly out-of-hand when her caps were over a thousand less than what she had, wandering into the damned city she happened to find out of luck. Speaking of luck...
She peered over at the commotion at a nearby game. She wasn't much into gambling, but the situation the players had themselves in proved to be quite the sight. She giggled at small things others said and an interesting character, not with a regular face-- to put it simply. She turned her body sideways on the stool to lean across the bar to watch them comfortably. Normally, she'd join deals like this but her drink caused tipsiness and her perception was pretty off. The bartender believe it'd be best to leave her be and not to hand out any more drinks for her. The man lost his dice in a skimpy-looking woman and he appeared to be flirting with her. She tried smiling, even if no one was around. This guy definitely caught her attention-- to bad she won't remember much in the morning. If she found a bed to sleep in, that is.
'Dumbass, getting drunk in a place like this. You're going to end up waking up next to some ghoul like last time.' She thought to herself awkwardly burying her head in her arms. Too bad for her, she was already half-way unconscious and heading for dreamland.
'Dad would be pissed. His little girl is losing her mind in a fuckin' bar in some city. Shit, I'll probably end up getting raped or something in my sleep.' She thought, angering herself. She opened her eyes again and focused back on the game. This was no time to be sleeping and definitely not the time to be caught off-guard.
CINDER POST
Sucking his teeth, he saw no point in waiting for this woman to take her sweet old time fishing the dice from her bosom. Hand snaking down her blouse, he retrieved the dice and flicked it down the bar. Watching it roll along, his eyes shifted up some and meet the rusty brown eyes of Scarlette. Sure enough, the dice fell just short of her spot, but it didn't stop Cinder from approaching her with those cold eyes of his.
"Heh," he smirked behind the mask that veiled his face. "Would you mind telling those fucktards what the final dice reads?" Leaning in close to her slender body, Cinder straddled his arms around either side of her neck. Fingers sprawled out across the bar's top, he kept his head stationed to her left, which was just out of sight for the men playing the game. "Go on, bitch," he coaxed one final time before he snatched up what was left of her drink. Downing it in seconds, he shot the glass toward the hoard of men that were now approaching his rear flank. Hissing at them, the breathing apparatus made the sound seem almost like that of steam pouring from a teapot.
Not wanting to get caught in a bar fight for winning a rigged dice game, Cinder snatched up his dice and scurried over to the door. Whirling around, he saluted the woman who was still groping herself after being man-handled by such the brute that Cinder was. As his eyes glazed over as the raw wind cast sand into his eyes, he shot his final glance over to Scarlette.
With the door slamming behind him, Cinder took off toward the left. Rounding around the backside of the building, he waited for the angered gamblers to pour out of the bar and run after him. They, of course, did as such, but in their drunken state didn't even notice that he took to hiding. Sly smile coming onto his face, Cinder sauntered back into the bar and placed his fedora on his head at a cocked angle.
"Ah, gotta love them drunken asses," he said grabbing up a stool beside Scarlette and the lady he previously harassed. "Oh, would you look at that. The bar is only full of wenches. Just my fucking luck... to be stuck with God's lesser creation... women." Now, being the man that he was, Cinder meant the women in the bar no disrespect. He just didn't know how to play nice or word things in a gentler manner. But, it was okay. For the most part, the women in this bar knew Cinder and knew that his temper, tongue, and touch was just a part of his less than nurturing upbringing.
As the female bartender brought a scotch to his hands, the soldier cackled. "Drink up, whores. We've only got one life to live so we better plaster ourselves with liquor and forget all about this fucking godforsaken hell we've been forced to endure." Cocking his head back, he downed the glass in a matter of seconds. Slamming it onto the counter, he awaited the bartender to refill his order and to continue doing so until he was forced to be dragged to the inn next door.
(Sorry for taking 20 years to reply !!)
Still slightly groggy from the close experience of a nap and a few drinks, Scar was a little unsettled from the man who approached her. Her body tensed up at his touch; it was a foreign feeling to her. She gulped nervously, listening to his almost-electronic words, "Would you mind telling those fucktards what the final dice reads?" The dice seemed to stare at her with a familiar set of numbers. It took her a moment to process what was happening. She could feel the stares of the other gamblers-- waiting for her to speak. He coaxed her and pounded the rest of her drink. Her upper lip twitched and she hid a frown.
Before she could speak, however, the glass shattered when it made impact with one of the men approaching them. The wires in her brain connected and everything was clear. The game was rigged. She quickly glanced up at Cinder before he fetched the dice and made a run for it. She chuckled, turned the stool around and caught his glance before he exited. The group went after him, foolishly, she figured. She crossed her leg over the other and casually waited. Sure enough he was back.
'Damn right.' She thought. He owed her another drink. With great slick, he sat on the stool next to her.
His words seemed somewhat rude but with his look, she didn't take them seriously like others would. She scoffed and watched him chug down. Scar gave in and nodded to the bartender, who later brought her another shot. Eventually, she held her hand out to Cinder, "Name's Scar." She hiccuped after her lousy introduction. Not a lot of wastelanders interest her enough like he did- she figured 'How often do you see guys like this?'
CINDER POST
Another drunken woman, just my luck. Cinder had a knack for finding the wrong woman. Granted, some would argue that the wrong women were actually the right ones in disguise. Either way, he wasn't too worried about the situation. Odds were, this woman wasn't going to be a threat. Hell, from the looks of it, she quite enjoyed his little game of charades.
Sliding some caps to the bartender, Cinder smirked. It was, obviously, not something one could see due to the mask that was on his face. He was probably quite the entertainment for he had a rather unusual way to down his shots. Most people would just lift the glass to their lips and thrust their head back. Not having easy-access to his mouth, Cinder had to detach the cord that hooked into a pack on his back. Seeing as he was in a bar, Cinder almost always removed it, which would leave a circular hole with a mesh-like netting over it. It was through that opening that he poured the liquid. There was a funnel-like tube that linked directly with the back of his mouth so it was impossible for anything to spill.
It was a timely process, but Cinder had since grown used to it. If it allowed him to live, he would put up with it. Besides, it made him more badass, or so he liked to believe. After all, when was the last time you crossed paths with a psychotic bastard of a humanoid? Exactly. You haven't.
Denying an offered drink, the fedora wearing brute shoved some caps Scar's way. "A promise is a promise." It was one of a great few of his "better" qualities. At least he was a man of his word. Well, sort of. He had gone ahead and jipped her of a pocket-full of caps, but he didn't give a rat's ass. But, then again, did it really matter? He hadn't formally told the woman she could earn a profit from helping him out. Eh, either way, consequences were going to happen. He really should have given a damn. Why? Well, there was always the off chance that she would follow him. Having a follower, to Cinder, was more than annoying. Not only would he feel obligated to watch out for said follower, but he would also have to worry about correcting his reputation. It never looked good to have a shadow always tagging along, especially if you were a Knighthood of Blood member.
While he moved toward the door, he could feel some eyes land on him. "What. It was their sorry ass fault they got caught up in my game. I've yet to lose. I ain't gonna start now." With one foot out the door, he cackled. "Had I lost, you'd all be fucking dead. Whimper a word about this, and I'll be sure to kill you next time I see your motherfucking ass. Got it?"
Like that, he was gone.
With the rusty door swinging behind him, Cinder made a full circle of the building before he started to ascend up the slope to the city's exit. There was no point in staying in this hellhole another night. He would just be meet with a bullet or a blade. Cutting his losses, Cinder knew it was safe to scratch this town, Overton City, from his list of "safe" places.
Under his breath, he muttered. Stopping to take one last look at Overton City, he shook his head. "Bang," he said was he pointed and clicked his gun-shaped hand at the city. "May you fuckers sleep tight."
His two-tone eyes gazed across the barracks that housed the soldiers. Interest piqued, he marched forward to eye the newest members of the KoB, the Knighthood of Blood. With trained eyes, he noted that the troops looked far less than he would have suspected. Perhaps resources were dwindling? Perhaps the projects were failing? Foot lifted to step forward, but a hand tugged him backwards. With a quick hiss, Cinder's elbow whirled around to give whoever dared to touch him a quick jab of pain to the chest. As the perp fell backward, Cinder spun around, dropped to his knees, and mounted the man. Straddling him, Cinder gave the individual a cold, hard stare.
"Cinneide Nashe," a voice came from behind the robotic man. Not shifting from his position, Cinder just smirked. Clearly the kid below him was just an assistant to the man who spoke to him. The fact that he knew his name was a dead indicator that the voice belonged to one of the higher ups. After all, so few knew his true name as most had perished already.
"It's Cinder now," he snapped back in his electronic voice. A deep exhale followed as did the automated sound of someone forced to breath. "What do you want."
The only reason Cinder came here was because he received word that he was to report to his superiors. He didn't know why, but he did obey the request. A part of him worried that this was all a ploy to decommission him, but when the man stepped around and stood before him, Cinder knew better. He was on a mission. A covert mission that only he could complete.
Grinning eyes looked the man over. "Troops not like they used to be?" No answer was needed. The truth was plain as day on the leader's face. "I suppose the Enclave is to blame?" Again, a response wasn't necessary. "You want me to infiltrate the ERO and see what the fuckers are up to?"
"No," the man said shaking his head. "It's pretty obvious you're with the Knighthood. I want you to look for someone who can go undercover. I want you to coach them. And I need you to find out the truth."
Laughing at the sound of the plan, Cinder finally rose off the quivering kid. Stepping aside so the lad could scurry away, Cinder moved up beside his boss. "Hate to break it to you, but we're getting behind the times. Our tech isn't what it used to be. Might be wise to cut our loses and join them."
"I refuse." A pang of anger flashed in the man's eyes.
Scoffing, Cinder tossed his arms in the air before turning around. "Then you'll damn us all."
He would have put a hole in the guy's head, but Cinder thought against it. He was surrounded by faithful troops. There was no way he could kill them all. And besides, he still needed the KoB around. They had a purpose in the grand scheme of things. With the word of war echoing across the land, Cinder needed one final out before he could do exactly as he pleased. The KoB would be the shield to his sword. He would eventually turn the KoB into a front line set of troops to eliminate the ERO and, with any luck, he could convert the defeated ERO soldiers to join his cause.
He wanted war.
And he would start it.
It was time to remove those who were too weak to fight from office. It was time to combine the ERO and KoB. It was time to march on Pandora and, with any luck, rally up troops and soldiers from the other distraught desert states. From there, Cinder and his armed forces would march on Washington D.C. and demand the truth. They would overthrow the government and begin a world anew. No more America. No more democracy. No more rights to freedom.
It was time for a dictator to rise. It was time to reclaim the land. It was time to win.
