Member
Megsychan
Butteryicarus
Hedgehawk
Apoalo
Punished GN
mickilennial
Lucid Dreaming
Achronum
Izurich
Alby47Name: John Doe
Race: Robot - Mr Handy General Atomics/RobCo model
Gender: N/A, Male-Programmed
Age: Pre-War
Strength: 3
Perception: 5
Endurance: 5
Charisma: 5
Intelligence: 10
Agility: 6
Luck: 6
Unarmed -
Melee -
Throwing - 1
Guts -
Athletics -
Guns -
Energy Weapons - 3
Explosives - 1 (+2)
Medicine - 2
Piloting -
Sneak - 3
Lockpick - 3
Science - 1 (+2)
Repair - 1 (+2)
Speech - 2
Barter - 2
Survival -
Personality
Race: Robot - Mr Handy General Atomics/RobCo model
Gender: N/A, Male-Programmed
Age: Pre-War
Strength: 3
Perception: 5
Endurance: 5
Charisma: 5
Intelligence: 10
Agility: 6
Luck: 6
Unarmed -
Melee -
Throwing - 1
Guts -
Athletics -
Guns -
Energy Weapons - 3
Explosives - 1 (+2)
Medicine - 2
Piloting -
Sneak - 3
Lockpick - 3
Science - 1 (+2)
Repair - 1 (+2)
Speech - 2
Barter - 2
Survival -
Personality
Fairly banal as far as personality complexes run for Mr Handy models, John Doe can be considered remarkably independent, intelligent, and by and large curious. Without a doubt he considers himself his own owner, as the previous had voided their contract by stipulations of mismanagement or death and such a contract lacked provisions for a unit not being recovered within the mandatory 60 days. His tenure under Vault-Tec does remain a sore spot for the Mr Handy, one which he is loath to explain to any one could deem incapable of understanding. John Doe does still possess a love of books new and old, fiction and not, desiring their recovery wherever he might find it practicable while absolutely detesting those who mistreat such relics in polite company, killing those who mistreart in impolite company.
BackgroundBuilt before the end of the Great War and shipped to Vault 60, Portland city among the Northwestern Commonwealth, the Mr Handy which became John Doe was slated initially to work as a librarian for the Vault. Of course, this never came to fruition as the Vault door completely and utterly failed in its one job - closing. As such, nuclear fallout swept through the upper levels where the newest additions to Vault-Tec were still getting situated, as well as 95% of the staff, security, and maintenance personnel. This went largely unnoticed by the robotic component of Vault-Tec, as they were slated to be brought online some week afterwards once the new employees had finally stopped having heart palpitations.
Instead, they would be awoken by the desperate, wildly concerned engineers of the Vault. Put to work right quick in helping to seal the upper levels and, potentially, even seal the door, the fact that such units had never been radiation-proofed for full nuclear fallout meant that, one by one, they began to fail away and drop even as the engineers themselves began to harrow and age, rot while breathing. The Mr Handy’s began to draw straws for which would go up for what task, which would be next, as their former masters began to ghoulify before their very sensors. After seven losses, the Vault door was finally repaired, just in time for the engineers to have spoke their last word, eat their last meal, act like normal people. No, they were all gone, and what was left was two Mr Handy units and a half-working Protectron. One went to sleep, the other stayed awake, and the third meandered about aimlessly.
He took on a name, because he’d never been given a name, and set to work. John Doe read, did little calculations, did contemplations. He read through his library easily enough, read through anything and everything that the Vault-Tec employees had brought between personal libraries and design documents, handbooks, procedures. He read through it and started to work out how long it would take for the outside to be safe as far as his own operations. He read through and started to work out how long it would take for trees to grow again - fascinating things, even if he had never actually seen one with his own photoreceptors. Eventually, even though the Vault chronometers had drifted and the internal clock had failed spectacularly a few moments, the little Mr Handy worked out how to open the Vault door, too, and see what was outside. He tried to wake the other Mr Handy, but they wouldn’t come back as the BIOS failed to load core operating systems, and he tried to talk to the Protectron, but they wouldn’t talk back. Circles and circles he walked, slow, steady, and that was it. Rejected, annoyed, hurt, the Mr Handy wanted in some small way to erase Vault 60 from the map and yet…and yet some part of him couldn’t. Some part wanted to hope that there’d be a way to wake one, fix another, find someone to rent a book out to.
Emerging out into that great world, out into the Northwestern Commonwealth and the ruined lands that were once Portland, the question emerged where he might go. Surely to the north there was nothing, for Canada was an awful wasteland in the west even before the bombs fell, and yet the receivers picked up something so very faint to that south, to California, He listened to the static of radio broadcasts so distant and faint that John Doe couldn’t make out what was there, but there was surely something there. Someone, somewhere, was still operating a radio after the end of a world and John Doe wanted to meet them, see them, talk to them. Even if all the people were dead, someone had to take care of the radio towers, surely, and that at least meant robots. His path chosen, the Mr Handy flew south, south along the coast, south where so many cities had survived in part. Eventually he came upon the very frontier of a group that named itself the NCR, the Californian Republic, and that group had people and all. Elated, voraciously elated, he wanted to see more, talk more. He wanted to see humanity again, to see civilization, to see a library and maybe rent out a book.
He went further, moving through NCR territory with only the slightest of issues easily corrected by ad-hoc laser eye surgery on various bandits, raiders, and such rabble. One would think the first blind raider would send a message but news traveled slower than the Mr Handy and the dynamic soon enough got tiring. In time such issues became less common and issues of proactive salvagers, tech-savants, and a general malaise of idiots began to plague John Doe. Such was less an issue among populated settlements, more common on the road or in the dim-lit halfway-to-wreckage NCR holdings. He grew to blind far too many folks in the road while avoiding the latter issue, such places lacking value for the robot. In time, John Doe arrived in San Francisco among the Shi and Hubologists that maintained a tenuous peace with the NCR, and soon enough the Mr Handy started to at least somewhat work alongside the Shi. They lacked most of all of the characteristics which marred their ancestors, after all, and were in fact not Communists. As far as John Doe could be concerned if ever pressed, the Shi were merely a new group to the United States. They at least somewhat appreciated his technical acumen. From then on, which some minor tinkerings to his chassis and tools to better help, the Mr Handy quite consistently worked alongside the Shi in developing new plant strains that could survive the wasteland.
The Green Horizon's restoration, though, would pique John Doe’s curiosity and indeed the curiosity of the Shi at least in part. Long since subsumed in authority and strength by the NCR and protected by mutual treaties with that organization to share technology and information, the Shi were more than eager to find a new source of information, new ruins that could be in part picked through, or at least new records of information on the technology. In some way they wanted a new leg up on their erstwhile ally and quite carefully they asked John Doe to travel to Hawaii. If anything, the radiological data would be interesting they said.
EquipmentInstead, they would be awoken by the desperate, wildly concerned engineers of the Vault. Put to work right quick in helping to seal the upper levels and, potentially, even seal the door, the fact that such units had never been radiation-proofed for full nuclear fallout meant that, one by one, they began to fail away and drop even as the engineers themselves began to harrow and age, rot while breathing. The Mr Handy’s began to draw straws for which would go up for what task, which would be next, as their former masters began to ghoulify before their very sensors. After seven losses, the Vault door was finally repaired, just in time for the engineers to have spoke their last word, eat their last meal, act like normal people. No, they were all gone, and what was left was two Mr Handy units and a half-working Protectron. One went to sleep, the other stayed awake, and the third meandered about aimlessly.
He took on a name, because he’d never been given a name, and set to work. John Doe read, did little calculations, did contemplations. He read through his library easily enough, read through anything and everything that the Vault-Tec employees had brought between personal libraries and design documents, handbooks, procedures. He read through it and started to work out how long it would take for the outside to be safe as far as his own operations. He read through and started to work out how long it would take for trees to grow again - fascinating things, even if he had never actually seen one with his own photoreceptors. Eventually, even though the Vault chronometers had drifted and the internal clock had failed spectacularly a few moments, the little Mr Handy worked out how to open the Vault door, too, and see what was outside. He tried to wake the other Mr Handy, but they wouldn’t come back as the BIOS failed to load core operating systems, and he tried to talk to the Protectron, but they wouldn’t talk back. Circles and circles he walked, slow, steady, and that was it. Rejected, annoyed, hurt, the Mr Handy wanted in some small way to erase Vault 60 from the map and yet…and yet some part of him couldn’t. Some part wanted to hope that there’d be a way to wake one, fix another, find someone to rent a book out to.
Emerging out into that great world, out into the Northwestern Commonwealth and the ruined lands that were once Portland, the question emerged where he might go. Surely to the north there was nothing, for Canada was an awful wasteland in the west even before the bombs fell, and yet the receivers picked up something so very faint to that south, to California, He listened to the static of radio broadcasts so distant and faint that John Doe couldn’t make out what was there, but there was surely something there. Someone, somewhere, was still operating a radio after the end of a world and John Doe wanted to meet them, see them, talk to them. Even if all the people were dead, someone had to take care of the radio towers, surely, and that at least meant robots. His path chosen, the Mr Handy flew south, south along the coast, south where so many cities had survived in part. Eventually he came upon the very frontier of a group that named itself the NCR, the Californian Republic, and that group had people and all. Elated, voraciously elated, he wanted to see more, talk more. He wanted to see humanity again, to see civilization, to see a library and maybe rent out a book.
He went further, moving through NCR territory with only the slightest of issues easily corrected by ad-hoc laser eye surgery on various bandits, raiders, and such rabble. One would think the first blind raider would send a message but news traveled slower than the Mr Handy and the dynamic soon enough got tiring. In time such issues became less common and issues of proactive salvagers, tech-savants, and a general malaise of idiots began to plague John Doe. Such was less an issue among populated settlements, more common on the road or in the dim-lit halfway-to-wreckage NCR holdings. He grew to blind far too many folks in the road while avoiding the latter issue, such places lacking value for the robot. In time, John Doe arrived in San Francisco among the Shi and Hubologists that maintained a tenuous peace with the NCR, and soon enough the Mr Handy started to at least somewhat work alongside the Shi. They lacked most of all of the characteristics which marred their ancestors, after all, and were in fact not Communists. As far as John Doe could be concerned if ever pressed, the Shi were merely a new group to the United States. They at least somewhat appreciated his technical acumen. From then on, which some minor tinkerings to his chassis and tools to better help, the Mr Handy quite consistently worked alongside the Shi in developing new plant strains that could survive the wasteland.
The Green Horizon's restoration, though, would pique John Doe’s curiosity and indeed the curiosity of the Shi at least in part. Long since subsumed in authority and strength by the NCR and protected by mutual treaties with that organization to share technology and information, the Shi were more than eager to find a new source of information, new ruins that could be in part picked through, or at least new records of information on the technology. In some way they wanted a new leg up on their erstwhile ally and quite carefully they asked John Doe to travel to Hawaii. If anything, the radiological data would be interesting they said.
Hand-laser, Automatic, Low power
Hand-laser musket, Six crank, Beam splitter
Hand-claw
2 x Robot Repair Kit
5 x Stimpack
2 x Purified Water (Integrated filtration system)
1000 caps
Hand-laser musket, Six crank, Beam splitter
Hand-claw
2 x Robot Repair Kit
5 x Stimpack
2 x Purified Water (Integrated filtration system)
1000 caps
You are a Mr Handy produced by the finest at General Atomics. You require no food, water and are immune to poison and radiation. However, you take +1 damage from all EMP attacks. Additionally, you have three arms which can be customized to either have a claw, a buzzsaw or any small weapon which could be conceivably fitted on a robotic limb.
