Name: Reggie "Rig" Wolfe
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Role: Mechanic
Skills: A general Mr. Fix-it. He has a knack for hack-jobs and likes to take things apart to learn how they work. His primary skills are fixing machinery, and smithing. He loves the aesthetic of a dusty garage and oily hands. He has been outside the walls before and has taken to practicing self defense, though he's no soldier. Despite his past he is a homebody by nature, and has picked up a plethora of little related skills. These include carpentry, plumbing, cooking and most things that ask you to get your hands dirty. Except killing spiders. That is NOT his job, as he is happy to remind you.
Equipment: As a mechanic he carries a wide array of tools, with belt pouches and bags to store them. When it comes to weaponry he carries a custom colt revolver. It's grip changed to fit his hand better, a smoother trigger put in place, heavily engraved to Rig's liking, and re-balanced to make sure it feels just right. Always oiled the cylinder spins with ease. For even closer range skirmishes, Rig carries a handheld variant of the pile-bunker. As used by the Armored division. Modified only slightly to reduce on weight, though this takes away from overall power. It's strength is enough to still do it's job. Break armor and hide alike.
Appearance: Reggie is a well built but not necessarily tall man. He has big hands covered in callouses, and wide shoulders. He stands at 5'4 and has a box shaped face, with a strong jawline. His cheeks are sunken in, yet his nose is slender, subtracting from his general rough look. He has heavy eyelids and almond shaped, hazel eyes. He is missing a part of his left earlobe. He keeps buzzed short on the sides, but a wild poof runs free in the middle. It's a natural blond, almost to the point of seeming white. His skin is an olive tone, and the bridge of his nose is spattered with freckles. He has thin scars tracing down his shoulders, to just above where most short sleeve shirts end.
Background: "Rig" comes from a simple background. A farm-boy who grew up working with his parents to tend to the land. It's where he learned of his skills as a mechanic, among other things. He had his eyes set on the horizon, being outside the walls, but he never had the heart to leave his family. He was the eldest brother, of a small family of four. His little sister helped where she could but she wasn't much as a farmhand.
A simple lapse in Guardian watch, a new and at the time unheard of stealth monster, and the life he knew was changed. Quietly and quickly those long leathery things made their ways through the corn fields, and into the barn, then into the house. The smell of fresh meat and easy prey must have done it. They were cat like things, much alike to the friendly Duvari Rig remembered seeing in town. But these were no herbivores, and they were not friendly. Awoken first by the sound of muffled cattle outside, Rig left his room to wake his father. As he turned the halls Rig saw a shadow slip away. Fear crawled up his spine, and electricity tinged the air. This no longer felt like his home.
Pretending to not be afraid, he made his way down the hall, past his sisters room, and into his parents. Opening the door he was met with his father slumped against the wall, the body of some....thing on his lap. Dad was holding his hand over his shoulder. His shirt was stained red, and his brow was slick with sweat. He had a hammer in his other hand, limp and pale on the floor. Mom wasn't moving. The beam of light being let in grew wider, and a shadow other then Rig's was on the floor now too, low to the ground, ready to pounce. Rig turned in time to not lose his head, only a bit off the left.
His father screamed, a struggle ensued. It wasn't long before a massive light filled every inch of the house. Rig hadn't noticed the sounds of dirt under the wheels of heavy artillery. The Armored Division was here, and soon those things weren't. Rig doesn't remember much of that night, other then that he lost his parents, and soon after the farm. Two kids weren't going to tend to it, and so it was taken. Rig left to do the only thing he knew how, fixing. His sister took off to school, she had always wanted that. Rig was thankful to the armored division, far more then some people were. So he decided helping them keep things running was the best way to go. He didn't expect his choices and experiences would take him AWAY from the city. But they did, and when offered a chance to find a weapon to wipe those fucking things off the map, Rig couldn't say no.
Other: Bugs are a no-no. So are Duvari. While he doesn't despise them, Rig refuses to ride them if there is ANY reasonable alternative. If you don't like his handiwork, you can expect some sass.
Wish: Rig has always wanted to get a motorcycle working. He's been collecting parts found everywhere for a year or two now. He has nowhere near enough to buy one, not in a million years, but he sure as hell thinks he can build one. On a larger scale though Rig has big ideas in terms of weaponry. His admittedly somewhat outlandish or unconventional ideas could help turn the tide he thinks. If they can't find that grand weapon, then maybe he can make one. He isn't schooled like other people are, so he knows he can't REALLY change things on such a large scale, but Rig has dreams of weaponizing the armed divisions with his own brand of deadly art.
Trauma: Maybe if he didn't move and let it jump his daddy would still be alive. Maybe if he was braver and turned to fight that thing his daddy could have pulled through. Maybe if he had yelled really loud he could have startled it until the Armored Division showed up. There are few days that Rig doesn't think of the night on the farm. He wonders if he could have done anything different. It plagues him. Literally haunts his dreams. He has developed an unrealistic hero complex. He doesn't agree with cutting any losses if those losses are lives.
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Role: Mechanic
Skills: A general Mr. Fix-it. He has a knack for hack-jobs and likes to take things apart to learn how they work. His primary skills are fixing machinery, and smithing. He loves the aesthetic of a dusty garage and oily hands. He has been outside the walls before and has taken to practicing self defense, though he's no soldier. Despite his past he is a homebody by nature, and has picked up a plethora of little related skills. These include carpentry, plumbing, cooking and most things that ask you to get your hands dirty. Except killing spiders. That is NOT his job, as he is happy to remind you.
Equipment: As a mechanic he carries a wide array of tools, with belt pouches and bags to store them. When it comes to weaponry he carries a custom colt revolver. It's grip changed to fit his hand better, a smoother trigger put in place, heavily engraved to Rig's liking, and re-balanced to make sure it feels just right. Always oiled the cylinder spins with ease. For even closer range skirmishes, Rig carries a handheld variant of the pile-bunker. As used by the Armored division. Modified only slightly to reduce on weight, though this takes away from overall power. It's strength is enough to still do it's job. Break armor and hide alike.
Appearance: Reggie is a well built but not necessarily tall man. He has big hands covered in callouses, and wide shoulders. He stands at 5'4 and has a box shaped face, with a strong jawline. His cheeks are sunken in, yet his nose is slender, subtracting from his general rough look. He has heavy eyelids and almond shaped, hazel eyes. He is missing a part of his left earlobe. He keeps buzzed short on the sides, but a wild poof runs free in the middle. It's a natural blond, almost to the point of seeming white. His skin is an olive tone, and the bridge of his nose is spattered with freckles. He has thin scars tracing down his shoulders, to just above where most short sleeve shirts end.
Background: "Rig" comes from a simple background. A farm-boy who grew up working with his parents to tend to the land. It's where he learned of his skills as a mechanic, among other things. He had his eyes set on the horizon, being outside the walls, but he never had the heart to leave his family. He was the eldest brother, of a small family of four. His little sister helped where she could but she wasn't much as a farmhand.
A simple lapse in Guardian watch, a new and at the time unheard of stealth monster, and the life he knew was changed. Quietly and quickly those long leathery things made their ways through the corn fields, and into the barn, then into the house. The smell of fresh meat and easy prey must have done it. They were cat like things, much alike to the friendly Duvari Rig remembered seeing in town. But these were no herbivores, and they were not friendly. Awoken first by the sound of muffled cattle outside, Rig left his room to wake his father. As he turned the halls Rig saw a shadow slip away. Fear crawled up his spine, and electricity tinged the air. This no longer felt like his home.
Pretending to not be afraid, he made his way down the hall, past his sisters room, and into his parents. Opening the door he was met with his father slumped against the wall, the body of some....thing on his lap. Dad was holding his hand over his shoulder. His shirt was stained red, and his brow was slick with sweat. He had a hammer in his other hand, limp and pale on the floor. Mom wasn't moving. The beam of light being let in grew wider, and a shadow other then Rig's was on the floor now too, low to the ground, ready to pounce. Rig turned in time to not lose his head, only a bit off the left.
His father screamed, a struggle ensued. It wasn't long before a massive light filled every inch of the house. Rig hadn't noticed the sounds of dirt under the wheels of heavy artillery. The Armored Division was here, and soon those things weren't. Rig doesn't remember much of that night, other then that he lost his parents, and soon after the farm. Two kids weren't going to tend to it, and so it was taken. Rig left to do the only thing he knew how, fixing. His sister took off to school, she had always wanted that. Rig was thankful to the armored division, far more then some people were. So he decided helping them keep things running was the best way to go. He didn't expect his choices and experiences would take him AWAY from the city. But they did, and when offered a chance to find a weapon to wipe those fucking things off the map, Rig couldn't say no.
Other: Bugs are a no-no. So are Duvari. While he doesn't despise them, Rig refuses to ride them if there is ANY reasonable alternative. If you don't like his handiwork, you can expect some sass.
Wish: Rig has always wanted to get a motorcycle working. He's been collecting parts found everywhere for a year or two now. He has nowhere near enough to buy one, not in a million years, but he sure as hell thinks he can build one. On a larger scale though Rig has big ideas in terms of weaponry. His admittedly somewhat outlandish or unconventional ideas could help turn the tide he thinks. If they can't find that grand weapon, then maybe he can make one. He isn't schooled like other people are, so he knows he can't REALLY change things on such a large scale, but Rig has dreams of weaponizing the armed divisions with his own brand of deadly art.
Trauma: Maybe if he didn't move and let it jump his daddy would still be alive. Maybe if he was braver and turned to fight that thing his daddy could have pulled through. Maybe if he had yelled really loud he could have startled it until the Armored Division showed up. There are few days that Rig doesn't think of the night on the farm. He wonders if he could have done anything different. It plagues him. Literally haunts his dreams. He has developed an unrealistic hero complex. He doesn't agree with cutting any losses if those losses are lives.
