L'odeur faible de l'eau salée a brossé les narines de Joe pendant qu'il voyageait vers la mer. Il se rapprochait, mais n'avait pas encore trouvé de lanterne. Que se passera-t-il si je saute la lanterne? Ça pourrait finir par se battre. Peut-être un nouveau butin. Les pensées de Joe ont été écourtées par une faible lumière qui bobait au loin. Mais je ne veux pas commencer du mauvais pied avec mes nouveaux employeurs.

Joe a soupiré comme l'homme s'était cogné devant lui. Juste un vagabond, probablement un caravaneur. Mais il avait ce dont Joe avait besoin. Sinon, Joe ne l'aurait même pas dérangé. Dure chance.
"Mais, il fait trop sombre! Si je vous donne ma lanterne, ce sera une condamnation à mort pour m-" il a été coupé par le bruit du pistolet de Joe cocu.
"Si tu ne me le donnes pas, ce sera une condamnation à mort pour toi. Maintenant, soit mets-le par terre, soit je l'arrache de ton cadavre." Joe a demandé.
Le visage de l'homme a contorsé, face à une mort certaine ou probable. Tout comme les larmes commençaient à se former, son expression changea. La peur a été remplacée par la colère, et ses mains tremblantes autrefois ont maintenant embrayé la lanterne avec des nœuds blancs.
"Très bien! Prends-le!" Il cria, et jeta la lanterne aux pieds de Joe. La lanterne s'est cassée, répandant le feu et faisant tomber Joe. Joe a entraîné ses cheveux croisés sur le dos de l'homme, mais a caché son arme au lieu de tirer. Perte d'une balle. Il a pensé, en plus, il a des tripes. Oughta rend les mirelurks heureux.

Joe a passé devant la sentinelle, qui semblait ne pas lui donner l'esprit. Néanmoins, il était tendu. Ce n'était pas comme les autres boulots. Il y avait deux hommes qui parlaient dans la porte, et ce qui ressemblait à deux femmes dans la maison. L'un des hommes tenait une lanterne sanglante, et regardait gravement hors de sa place, par rapport aux autres. Joe ne pensait même plus que des vêtements aussi gentils existaient.
Joe jeta sa lanterne brisée, brûlée aux pieds des hommes, annonçant sa présence.
-- Alors, quel est le salaire?
Name: Joseph "Joe" O'Connor
Allegiance: Gunners (former)
Unaffiliated Mercenary(current)
Race: Human


Mostly like this, but longer facial hair and a few more scars, most notable of which is a large gouge that goes from underneath right eye to chin, that goes over the mouth.
Sex: Male
Age: 30
Inventory:
Apparel
Dirty T-shirt, jeans, boots
Full Gunner armor set, though the green paint is mostly faded and the Gunner symbols have been scratched away
Military rucksack, worn on back
Weapons
Semi-automatic combat rifle with reflex sight and bayonet, slung over abdomen when not in use
9mm pistol, unmodified, kept in hip holster
Two combat knives, one kept in sheathe located on chest, and one hidden in boot
Misc.
5.56 ammunition, 50 rounds
9mm ammunition, 20 rounds
One fragmentation grenade
Two stimpaks
Alcohol (One bottle of whiskey, one bottle of vodka)
450 bottlecaps
Backstory:
Joe used to be a Gunner. He didn't take pleasure in the job, but it was something he was good at. That, and it kept caps in his pocket and booze in his belly. Things were going fine in the Commonwealth, he had been stationed in a more populated area. That meant there was almost always an income of food and caps, given willingly or otherwise. Until one day, a new recruit opened fire on a lone passerby, under no orders to do so. What came next could only be described as a massacre. One man took on what was basically a fortress, and came out mostly unscathed. The stranger took everything of value, leaving the once thriving station desolate. Joe alone survived because he was out on patrol, thus the meager supplies he now carries.
Afterward, Joe denounced the Gunners, angrily scratching the symbols off his armor. They were supposed to be elite, yet they were taken down by one man. Joe then became a wanderer himself, mostly shunned by civilization, due to the armor, which still looked like the standard Gunner green. He took what jobs he could get, he wasn't picky. He couldn't afford to be. One week, he might be saving a child for weeping parents, the next he could be taking those same people into slavery. As long as he got paid. And Joe always made sure to get paid.
His latest job was the protection of a wealthy traveling merchant. At one of his stops, he overheard a conversation about something that came over the radio. Someone was recruiting travelers from all over the Commonwealth, something about stopping the Brotherhood's return. Joe was ambivalent towards them. He was human, after all, and not hoarding forgotten tech. But the mission was apparently going to be risky, and risky meant a hefty payday. So, once his contract with the merchant expired, he set off in search of who put out the call.
Personality:
Joe is reserved, and values strength. He doesn't communicate much, except to negotiate a contract or bark orders when they pertain to the safety of his client. He is quick to dismiss someone who shows signs of weakness. While not particularly intelligent, he maintains a cool head under pressure. He thrives in the battlefield, making shrewd use of his supplies. Not prone to making friends, because caring about others in battle makes you sloppy, and being sloppy makes you dead.