Name: Unit 3-1-5-6-2 "Sgt J. Johnson"
Age: This unit was produced before the war. Roughly 285 since accepted for millitary usage.
Race: Robotic (Modified Mr. Gutsy)
Gender: Agender (Personality Matrix identified as male.)
Karma: Neutral
Faction: Factions are listed here: Wildcard
Reputation: SPECIAL: •
Strength: 5
•
Perception: 7
•
Endurance: 10
•
Charisma: 5
•
Intelligence: 13
•
Agility: 6
•
Luck: 7
Level: Everybody starts at Level 1.
Perks: Electronic Ghost, Electric Surge
Height: Roughly Seven Feet when measured from extended eye-stalk to tip of thruster arm.
Weight: Roughly 200lbs.
Body type: "This unit is lean, mean, and a commie killing machine!" The Gutsy dons rusted green paint, with the old-military star prominent on it's hull.
Hair style: "This Unit's Hair is buzzed, Hippie haircuts like yours won't do you any good on the front lines, now will it?" The gutsy doesn't have hair. (Unfortunately.)
Eyes: "Three eyes, that's one more than they usually come with, and by my calculations that's three times the chance of detecting communist spies!" The three
eye stalks protruding from the hull. [Potentially able to be used as flashlights like in the Fallout 4 Live Action Trailer?]
Skin color: "Being a U.S Marine means you have to be the best! You Have to Fight like the best! You have to Act like the best! Most importantly, you have to look
like the best." The Gutsy's paint is rather old, and is faded almost to the point of non-existence.
Other: "Mr.Gusty Unit 31562 Reporting, Sir!" The Gutsy wields the standard model, chassis, frame, pincers, eye stalks, thrusters, etc. It's weapons are either
damaged or removed completely.
Image: 
Psychical Description: The Gutsy's personality matrix is programmed to both fear and hate communism. His greatest fear is the complete collapse of American
Society. Due to his robotic origin, under the surface he is cold and calculating. His sub-routines forcing him to be efficient and effective, no matter what the cost.
Inventory: Write what you would want to start with. Ultimately it will be the Moderator the one who will chose your starting gear.
- Main Weapon: Plasma/Laser Pistol
- Secondary Weapon: Flamer
- Helmet: N/A
- Mask: N/A
- Goggles: N/A
- Clothes: N/A
- Armor: Military-Grade (Or Deteriorated) armor plating.
- Backpack: N/A
- First Accessory: Interface Port.
- Second Accessory: Eye-stalks bright enough to illuminate the distance in front of him.
- Other: Fusion Core for Power.
Defect of the Character: The Unit's personality matrix causes him to have a rather abrasive personality, though he is at his core just a robot. Logical Paradoxes, RobCo Overrides,
and the like can prove to be quite difficult. Furthermore, his programming is rather strict, if he even has a suspicion of a potential communist, it would take override codes in order to
stop him from going berserk.
Aspirations: The Gutsy's personality matrix is that of a Drill Sergeant, he is programmed to whip fresh recruits into an effective team. His goal is to single-handedly convert
otherwise incapable units/people into an effective Squadron.
Other details: The Gutsy's Personality forces him to act as All-American as possible, even if he doesn't understand what that means. He's programmed to hate anything related to
Communism, even without having a firm grasp on what communism actually is. If it's harming him, it's probably a communist. If it's useless or annoying, it's probably a communist.
Background story: The sound of hissing can be heard as the container de-compresses. The hiss and the hum of the pressurized air being sucked out into the normal atmosphere echoed throughout the empty installation. The light of the charging station flowed out, illuminating a radroach that quickly scampered out of sight due to the sudden change in it's environment. The doors finished opening with a click, the humming of the Gutsy unit powering up a cacophonous sound throughout the empty halls. It's fusion core began to warm up, the coolant systems already running to prevent over-heating. The eye-stalks of the gutsy flickered for a moment, before each lens narrowed and widened, beginning to scan the immediate area for any threats. The only trace of organic life in the room was the skeleton sitting on a nearby chair, a bottle of alcohol and a revolver with one spent casing, just one of the many stories that could be found within the wasteland. As the Gutsy's startup routine continued, his main thruster began to ignite, his interior gyroscope keeping him stable as he hovered roughly three feet off the ground. He folded up his thruster arms, still being confined to the charging station until his fusion core was completely warmed up, and his start-up sequence was completed.
At this point, his voice modulator had switched on, allowing him to verbally process his start-up routine. His processed soldier voice barking out, "Unit 31562 Online! running diagnostics." It's voice echoed throughout the empty facility. "All systems fully operational, ready for duty!" In reality, not all of his subroutines were online, a lot of hardware was missing or damaged within him, and he was in no way up to code. It had been centuries since he had been inspected by a certified RobCo technician, though faulty software allowed his systems to register him as fully functional. His standing orders were to find the nearest commanding officer in order to receive updated commands.
After a week went by of him wandering the empty military instillation, not a living soul to find. He computed that the best course of action was to download orders off of another unit. He located a destroyed Protectron who he deemed was "sleeping on the job." and connected with him. From this, he saw the Protrectron's last month of operation. He witnessed it's destruction, and several scavengers who had taken control of the Protectron beforehand. The scavengers had reprogrammed it, giving it more autonomy, so long as it followed their commands. Sgt. Johnson's firewall managed to stop most of the corrupted and infectious data from the reprogrammed Protectron, though by some luck or fortune, he had gained the autonomy it once possessed. He now had knowledge of the events that had transpired over time he was inactive, though had no idea where or what he should do now.He left the instillation, basking in the wasteland that had been created from nuclear fire. His journey began, as he picked a direction, and began floating off in said direction.
Subject: Unit 31562 "Sgt. J Johnson" 
