Nicknames/Titles/Alias(es): Brady Model to humans, Model 7 to those who know him in the synth community. Occasionally, "Bot Boy."
Origin: Human (Cyborg, Wastelander)
Age: 26
Appearance: Brady is a bit of a lanky, scraggly fellow. He stands at a wiry 6'1" and seems flat enough to squirm through some tricky thin places. Even at his cleanest, he always looks somewhat disheveled, his long, thick black hair cascading to his shoulders and kept out his face by means of some kind of cap he's scavenged. He rarely allows his stubble to get to a full beard, but also impossibly never seems clean shaven. His eyes are a strangely light hazel-gray (disregard FC) that flitter about excitedly, and an aquiline nose frames his sharp, jaunt features. His left arm is cybernetic up to the elbow, where a genetically deformed arm is hidden beneath the mechanical replacement. It has all of three stubby fingers, but this is usually a non-issue, as his cybernetic replacement seems impressively high quality for a guy who looks like he makes his living out of looting dumpsters. (Which he literally does.) His major joints are also cybernetically replaced and enhanced, noted by a sort of band-like contraption wrapping around all the afflicted sockets. He is missing one of his premolars.
Faction: Sons of the Machine - Though Brady is human, his allegiance lies foremost to the Sons of the Machine, who raised him and protected him throughout childhood. He returns the favor as often as possible by acting as a human trade liaison and prospector for their needs. If someone doesn't want to deal with synths, Brady will usually just complete the deal himself and bring the goods back on home.
Character Audit: Brady Model 7 was a baby in a basket. (Say that three times fast.)
Abandoned and left for dead due to his genetic deformities, Brady had the luck of being discovered and adopted by a small community of Synth IIs. This was probably way better than being raised by his own parents, who Brady has zero interest in, and no clue who they are. After being named for the box of a Brady Model 7 Antique Hoverbike that he was abandoned in, the synths that discovered him took quite a liking to the babbling baby that seemed to delight in everything that he was presented with, synth or organic alike. The synth community, though a little unfamiliar with what it took to raise a human child, learned quite quickly (as synths do) and raised him with as much love as synths are capable of mustering. Brady has no gripes about his upbringing - in fact, he loves his family to death, and is a serious advocate for synth rights. Not only did they raise him, they offered him the best cybernetic repairs for his genetic deformities. Brady has known very few days hindered by his disability due to their generosity and brilliance.
Eager, excitable, and a little lacking in bodily awareness, since growing up with synths will do very little to teach you about your own mortality, Brady set out into the world on his own after kissing the cold metallic cheeks of his mom and pops goodbye at around age twenty. He makes his living prospecting, finding interesting junk and refurbishing it, usually to the benefit of the Sons of the Machine community, as well as being sort of a trade liaison for them, putting a human face to the synth community when necessary. He has an impressive lack of fear of the outside world, and whatever a synth needs, he's usually more than happy to oblige. Brady enjoys being on his lonesome, and is usually able to get out of bad scrapes with an impressive amount of stupid ingenuity. He spends most of his days traveling, trading, and wandering, but often comes back to the Sons of the Machine for whatever trade business they need, and to see his family.
Recently he has been engaging in business with a partner, Gina, who rescued him after a bad scrape that he did not get out of himself; but luck is luck, no matter who's the one distributing it. He's taken quite a shine to her and has dearly enjoyed the use of her hideout, her impressively (marketable) intelligence, but mostly, her company. She's probably due for an introduction to the big ol' synth family soon.
Fighting Style: Mr. Improvised Weapon. Brady never seems to carry the same thing on his person twice, always trading and selling and buying and fixing. He's definitely more of a flight over fight kind of guy, but does know how to cobble together something to whack someone with if the moment begs for it. Usually, this isn't super necessary, as his cyborg arm has a laser.
Miscellaneous:
KW-77H245 CYBERNETIC ARM
includes: Swiss Army Knife fingers, Photon-Beam laser, extendable arm length (up to 30 feet of mechanical rope) and storage enough for two protein bars exactly.
Origin: Human (Wastelander, Cyborg(?), Radiation Immune)
Age: 23
Appearance: Mickey is tall and well-built, but his ever-present slouch makes him seem less shapely than he truly is. Standing at a hefty 6'3", his upper-body having to do most of the heavy lifting, he is fairly muscled and toned, with strong features that seem like they might have better suited someone who didn't wear such a scowl. On Mickey, what should have been defining, confident features, seem out of place and ill-befitting such a cloud of darkness. His gray-blue eyes are striking, and seem overly clear, like they lack a certain human depth, and his short black hair is always unintentionally spiking up and jutting places Mickey doesn't want it too, though he doesn't afford much care to his appearance. From the right knee down is a cruel amputation and a crude prosthesis in its place. The lack of a proper prosthetic inhibits Mickey's movement greatly, and he is often in a considerable amount of pain due to it, though he masks it well.
Faction: Factionless
Character Audit: Dour. Mickey's been beat down in ways that are hard to fathom even in the apocalypse, and it's supposed to be hard to be creatively traumatized at this point. Alone for years after escaping a terrible fate, but almost shouldering a worse one by being alive, Mickey walks his little corner of the wasteland like Atlas carrying the weight of the world. He's been a self-imposed hermit for almost a decade, and the lifestyle has kept him breathing, though at what cost, he's not very sure anymore. He stays alive by scavenging very periodically, and almost never interacting with other lifeforms. It's getting miserable.
Beneath all this is a shockingly brilliant man, a mind that's sponge for knowledge, and, though he won't admit it, a spirit for life. Mickey might act like he has nothing left to live for, but his solitude has kept him company for an impressive amount of time, and he might have managed longer, if he weren't so easily depressed. Mickey is incredibly smart, loves to learn, and enjoys sharpening his mind and new skills. He has an affinity for working with metal, and can get rather artistic about it. He treasures every book he finds in the wasteland, and is intensely curious. He has also come into a decent amount of medical knowledge, building on his childhood experiences and learning what best suits his own body. The unfortunate part is that he's become accustomed to putting himself down in almost every way, which is a habit that desperately needs to be unlearned. Matters of his own self depreciation, however, are a topic that Mickey is not very astute about.
So, Mickey trucks on. Why, he's not sure. It just feels a little too cowardly to fling himself to the ferals at this time. He's a bit stubborn like that.
Fighting Style: Hit them from behind if possible. Finish it quick. Mickey is very strong but incredibly unagile, so this proves problematic in a lot of combat situations. He has a long, metal staff that he fashioned himself, that he uses as both a weapon and a walking stick.
