Designation T-36, or "T"
New York City
On first look, T appears to be an ordinary man. White, 6 feet tall, slightly above average build, with short, disheveled brown hair and hard, hazel eyes. On closer inspection, however, you'll notice some slight differences. His expression somewhere between serious and blank. He stands tall, without a hunch. No rising and falling of the chest, no sound of inhale or exhale. A few years ago, you'd have noticed that he didn't even blink at all. If you were to put your ear to his chest and listen close enough, you wouldn't hear a heartbeat: instead, a faint hum. If you were to go one step further and see his bare chest, you'd be met with a large, torn gash in his skin, revealing he's merely composed of many parts of a very elaborate machine... Nothing more than a hollow impersonation.
When he moves, though loose and smooth like a normal man, it looks like he's already planned, counter-planned, and visualized what he'll do with every motion. His eyes, though hard and unwavering, will sometimes become vacant and soft. His average frame is deceptive, built to be extremely durable while appearing indifferent, so much so that the unenlightened man attempting to attack head-on will realize too late they're trying to harm a wall.
If you were to approach T with the intent of starting a meaningful conversation, you'd be disappointed. He's not much for idle talk. Sure, he's not entirely "robotic" in the way he speaks, but he is fairly bland. He seems more interested in studying you than talking to you. Sure, he'll respond to you, but he seems to prefer to stick to facts as opposed to personal opinions. On some matters, though, he has powerful thoughts. So maybe he's not so bland after all...
Built to Destroy
You fire off your gun like there is no tomorrow. You’ll hit your target more often, but you’ll waste your gun in the process.SKILLSActive Skill(s)
The fixing of broken equipment, machinery and electronics and also the reprogramming of robots.
Covers a variety of hi-technology skills, such as computers, biology, physics and geology.PERKI Can't Do that Dave:
Despite being a synth, most people believe you to be a person. That being said, your affinity is with machines. You have advantage when dealing with robots and mechanics.STRENGTHS
- Pain Inhibited: T cannot feel pain. He used to, but realized it wasn't a real feeling. He turned it off long ago, and hasn't reactivated it since.
- Heads Up: T's normal vision is accompanied by a basic HUD, including a targeting reticle and a technical readout of already gathered information on a person (Name/Bio, likes, dislikes, possible weaknesses, etc.) or object (general information, blueprint, composition, etc.).
- Self-Sufficient: T doesn't need to eat, sleep, breathe, or perform other normal human functions to survive.
- Numb: On the same premise on pain, T understood that none of his sensations were real, just mere simulations. He can't feel anything.
- Off-Putting: T's "uncanny valley" presence makes most people uncomfortable. He really needs to work on his normalcy subroutines...
- Flashback: Certain triggers or subtle cues may cause T to remember, in vivid detail, a previous life long since past. This can happen at any time upon seeing a trigger, and the memory can take T away from the present.
WEAPONSSawed-Off Lever Action Shotgun:
Shoot, Flip, Repeat.5.56mm Pistol:
Highly accurate, extremely deadly, and it looks pretty cool to boot . What's not to like?ARMORT's outfit:
Simple shirt, jeans, and boots, with the added protection of a hardened leather duster and kneepads, along with a red scarf.CHEMICALS
MISCELLANEOUSPhoto of... Them:
- 3 Repair Kits. Synths can't use drugs!
A picture of a happy family.Pocket Toolset:
For routine maintenance on T himself, and other delicate works.
It was a cold night in Shreve's Port.
Well, not because T felt cold. He noticed the breath coming from others was visible. His HUD read it as 40 Degrees Fahrenheit. Being considerate, he pulled his scarf over his nose to hide the fact that he didn't need to breathe. People tend to freak out.
He was running low on cash to continue living his lavish lifestyle of wandering the wasteland in search of knowledge. Problem is, The Brotherhood of Steel took a lot of it in their 'crusade', and the rest is either well hidden or somewhere dangerous. T mostly found the latter, and replacement parts for a Synth are hard to come by. Cost a fortune if in the hands of the right merchant.
T entered the bar. Bars and Taverns tended to be a good place to find paying work. Judging from the fact he could still see breath from others, he decided to keep his scarf on. He approached the bar and took a seat, greeted by the bartender.
"What can I get you, stranger?" the bartender said, cleaning a glass. T's HUD pulled up information on her: Obvious things, like hair color, approximate age, etc., but T noticed that she had a slight limp in her left leg, which his HUD highlighted as a possible weakpoint. He disabled his HUD for now.
"I am looking for work." He said, plainly. "I was hoping you would know of any leads."
She looked at him for a moment, and T knew he was being judged. She shook her head.
"Can't say that I have." The bartender replied. "Now, are you going to order a drink, or-"
She was interrupted by the sound of a man kicking in the door of her establishment. He was big, loud, and angry. The other patrons looked at him enter, and then went back to their business. He approached the bar.
"Hey, buddy, you're in my seat." The man said to T. "Get lost."
"Rand, I already told you that you ain't allowed back here." The bartender said. "You drink my beer, break my furniture, and scare away my customers. You're not welcome here."
"I'm a paying man, aren't I? I always pay for my drink. Not my fault folks get me pissed when I'm thirsty, and I'm feeling mighty parched right about now." The man, Rand, replies. "Not gonna ask again, friend. Move outta my seat."
T continued to sit. He'd already gathered enough data on Rand, and was pretty confident on what would happen next.
"Are you deaf, boy? I've got half a mind to-" Rand started saying as he gripped T's shoulder. T got up as soon as he was touched, pulling down his scarf.
"What? You have half a mind to what?" T replied, his stance unmoving. "Or do you just have half a mind in general?"
Rand was surprised at first, but started grinning. "You just made my day, pal." He said, punching T in the face. But T didn't move. Rand, again surprised, punched again, with all his might, hitting T in the face. T didn't even flinch. "What in the hell...?"
"Is that all you can give?" T said, his expression still unchanged. "I am honestly disappointed."
Rand, frustrated, tries to punch T in the chest. He's shocked when his fist goes deeper than it should, wrist-deep in T's body, his shirt bending at an impossible angle. T takes the liberty of grabbing Rand by the shoulder with one hand and grabbing his elbow with the other, pressing hard into his skin with his thumbs. Rand screamed in pain, and every patron watches the show.
"You had a broken arm fairly recently... I want to say maybe a month or so ago." T said, gripping the man. "Judging by your demeanor, either you do not accept help or nobody wants to help you. Either way, you used a stimpak or two on this arm to fix it, did you not?"
T grips the man's joints deeper, and the man reacts with pain. T has a bittersweet relationship with the feeling.
"Normally, the arm would have healed properly, almost back to normal. But let me guess: You didn't limit circulation to the rest of your body when you injected yourself, hm? A waste. Your arm's only half healed." T said, pressing hard on the man's joints, causing Rand to fall to a knee. "You will not return."
He releases Rand, and the man quickly runs out of the bar. T returns to his seat, and the patrons return to what their own regards. The bartender is stunned for the moment, but smiles.
"... You know... something just came to mind..." She said to T in a low voice, leaning in. "... There's Someone you'd ought to meet with."
Just the first thing that came to mind when I was thinking of songs.