Age: "I dunno... I'm in my thirties, betcha."
Build: average height, maybe a little skinnier than he ought to be. Sinewy, hard -- like a distance runner.
Place of Birth: "Don't matter ...not there anymore. Back East."
Appearance: has the look of one who is both predator and prey (he is.) Perpetual thousand yard stare. Not much for words, but knows more than he lets on. Owns what he carries, and not much more. He has several scars on his back, keloid scars running in long lines, and a burn scar on his left shoulder and much of his left arm and flank, covering a few ruined tattoos. A barcode tattoo on his right wrist.
Weapons: Ask and find out. Definitely carries some sort of long gun.
Health: "I had the bad mumps when I was a kid. Bad gut sometimes. No cancers..."
Bio: J has wandered more days than most have held breath. From the frozen Northern Wastes to the crater lakes and the 'shens, J has seen it. He has held some jobs in his travels. Sec man, Gravedigger, Scav, 'Slinger. He's been a slave, a son, a lost soul. He don't like folks too much. Trouble tends to follow him. As he'd say (if he were prone to wordstuff... he ain't) "I stick my finger in the air, shit sticks to it." He knows his way around an engine, a weapon or three, and knows a thing or two about a thing or two. Mostly, about staying above ground.
