Walker Brodie

Description

The door to the cantina is pushed open by a man that looks like he's walked here from another Zone. He looks human, and the light tan complexion of his skin suggests he spends his fair share of time out in the sun. A layer of dust covers rugged clothes of various hues of brown. It's not clear what's in his back pack, but there's a lot of it, whatever it is. The stranger doesn't make a big showy entrance. Instead, he pushes the door open just far enough to get inside and quietly moves over to the woman behind the counter. Pulling the cloth down from his mouth and nose as he speaks softly to her, he reveals a clean-shaven face with a day or two of stubble and a distinct chin dimple. She nods and gives him a cup of wine and strip of spicy grilled rattlesnake. He smiles and reaches in his pocket to pay her. She shakes her head for him to stop and gently touches a metal charm hanging about his neck. He smiles and nods, then sits back on the stool, rotating to face the rest of the customers.

He shrugs the stuffed backpack off of his shoulders and nestles it on the ground between his legs and the counter. Surveying the room as he tears a piece of the snake off with his teeth, he gives you a better look at him. He's nothing to write home about, a pretty normal looking fella. Of course, with the dregs around here, that is something to write home about. The metal charm is more clear now. It's that funny medical symbol with the snakes and a stick or whatever. Probably some Bush Doctor, which may explain why he's gettin' a free lunch while you aren't. The man leans over and tussles his thick, short, light brown hair, liberating the trail dust from it and confirming that its natural color is in fact brown. As he sits back up, he seems to notice you looking at him and he stares straight at you with warm, dark brown eyes. His gaze is a little unnerving, because he's staring right at you as if he's looking for something in your head. He smiles and looks away, reaching for his cup casually and sipping his wine.

He seems friendly enough, returning greetings to people he sees, even though he doesn't seem eager to continue the conversations that people try to start with him. But that's a mystery for another time, you're done eating and its time to go. You need to report to your metal masters on your fellow humans. You get up and head for the door, nodding to the doctor fella as you pass, as the others have. He smiles grimly and nods as you walk past, as he has with the others that have passed him. Maybe you can hook up with him before he leaves. It might even be enjoyable to pump him for information. What's that humming sound? You dimly remember a machete-sized sheath on his thigh as your world explodes in a flash of pain and fades to black. A final thought passes through your mind - "So much for that Hippowhatever Oath."

History

The old cripple looks sideways at you measuring your qualifications for an answer to your questions. He seems to come to a personal decision and begins speaking. "Walker? He's a strange one that boy. He's all quiet-like usually, but he's got him a lotta axes to grind, you can count on that. He took after his daddy, Doc Brodie, what was a real good doctor. He was one of them doctors that other doctors sent people to what they couldn't save. He was that good. Anyways, young Walker learned real good from his daddy. He always picked things up pretty quick, not like me, I'm pretty thick headed for the most part." He smiles wide, revealing the dirty brown flecked nubs of teeth that his gums desperately cling to.

"Walker was still being potty trained when Overmind woke up, and he was still a kid when the Final War hit, but things like that make you grow up real fast. I don't rightly know much about what his life was like before the Zones, but I know they lived in Texas, when there was a Texas, that is. I think he mighta had one or two siblings that didn't make it through the plagues and the Bad Years. All's I really now for sure is that when his daddy started plying his trade round these parts, there was four Brodies - Walker; his parents, Scott and Margaret; and Bonnie, his little sister by two years.

"The Brodies got along all right, what with his daddy being so useful and all. They wanted for a lot less than most folks. His family wandered quite a bit, bringing healing to all sorts of folks. The whole family was in on it. The mother and sister were assistants and Walker and his daddy would do the healing business. After a spell, his daddy decides that the wandering life is not for him and he settles down to open a regional infirmary. He manages to trade for a damaged medbot and young Walker took to the challenge of getting that hunk of junk working like a rat to fried marauder. The boy was always reading them heavy books, and I mean heavy, one of those suckers would give you a concussion. Fyziks, Kimistry, Byluhjee, all that kinda perfussor stuff. Anyways, round about a year later, the kid got the thing working, with the help of a computer his daddy picked up in trade. After that, they were the next best thing to the hospitals I remember as a boy. Heck, they wuz even better, cuz they didn't charge so damn much!

"Old Doc Brodie was one of those 'rainy suns men', ya know, he knew a lotta different stuff. He would start every morning doing that chop suey kung fu stuff. Whenever I got to their place around sunrise, It was like a scene out of some cheesy movie - Doc Brodie doing this and that with his hands and legs against the backdrop of the rising sun, with young Walker following along. 'Course for all their practicing, they didn't use it much. Both of the Brodie men showed a lot of restraint and people gave them a wide berth, mostly because they wuz the only decent medical folks for miles. I only ever saw one person test Doc Brodie's skills and he was dumped on the floor before you could say 'I wouldn't do that!' Hee-hee. Young Walker was full of spit and vinegar of course and he was not as . . . um . . . reluctant to use the good offense approach, but he minded his Daddy for the most part and tried to avoid most fights. The only time I was on the receiving end of those particular skills was when I was having a particularly bad time drying out. It's amazing what a little pressure in the right spot can do, even to a crazy drunk like me!" The man laughs hard and the stench of old rotgut is a welcome cloak for the faint smell of decay from his rotting mouth and body. "They wuz both pretty good with a knife, but they were cutters after all, they damn well better be able to use a knife!" He points at you matter of factly and then calms back down and shrugs, "All in all, can't say no one ever had any real beef with 'em. They wuz real good neighbors. Took a lot of pride in their home, infirmary, and their community. Old Doc Brodie would have been running his home town if he wanted to."

"Yep, things were pretty good for them and us. A little bit of normal was creeping back into our lives and it felt good. Of course, that's when that bitch life likes to bite ya in the ass!" The old man leans towards you with a conspiratorial look.

"Well some marauders show up with wounded, telling Doc Brodie they is guerillas or something, but he knows better. Course, he's got that damn fool Hippiecrappy Oath of his and even though he knows they're a bunch of murdering thugs, he still takes care of them. Well, that worked out OK for a little while. A few weeks later, the marauders show up, healthy as can be, thanks to Doc Brodie, but they decide they want more from the Brodies, like every damn thing they got. By that time, Walker was almost a man, but he was no match for a battle hardened bandit and when he woke up, his family was dead and the infirmary razed. It didn't take much to get a posse together from the local groups that had benefited from Doc Brodie and they hunted down those marauder bastards relentlessly. Young Walker grew up fast in the days that followed. He went with the posse and insisted on pulling the trigger that killed the leader. Some of the light went out of that boy that day.

"Walker hung around for a while, continuing his daddy's work, but he resumed his nomad ways. What was it he used to say? Oh yeah, 'there are two things that stay still in this zone, corpses and soon-to-be corpses.' Yep, that boy definitely got hard fast. He wasn't very sociable after that and he was always the first to volunteer for posses. That ain't a healthy approach to life. He finally got it out of his system I think. Probably had his fill of blood. I heard tell that on his last mission with a posse from these parts, he was right in the thick of things, cutting down or shooting marauders as fast as his body would move. Heck, he was even chasing 'em down when they tried to escape. A real terror he was, but then after the fight, he's washing his hands for like five minutes, mumbling about too much blood on his hands or something. Now go figure! I think all the boy really needs is a proper introduction to my counselor here." The old man nods towards his bottle of moonshine and chuckles. "He's still a nice enough fella and he really is a true healer, he has a real gift for understanding folks. Just don't become his enemy, cuz then all bets are off."

"I think Walker is looking for something now. He seems restless and keeps talking about wanting 'purpose' and crap like that. I tried to tell him that hope and purpose were the first casualties of the Final War, but I don't think he wants to hear that. Me, I get by and when I feel a hankering for hope, then I buy a bottle of it." The old man goes silent and appears to be brooding, then he brightens up and looks at you again.

"You need to hear anything else there fella?" He asks smiling at the prospect of more alcohol for stories. You shake your head no. You've heard enough. This man's story essentially agrees with the other you heard. Walker's definitely got the potential to be a guerilla fighter. Now you just have to catch up to him to make the pitch.

Psychology

Psychological Evaluation

18YO Well Nourished White Male. Patient reported in good spirits and was cooperative.

Patient is physically and chronologically nineteen years, but has the maturity of a thirty year old. His childhood experiences in the Final War as well as the depredations of his family at the hands of marauders have hardened him and also left him with lingering mental trauma. He describes having a "sense" for people beyond that of the average person. During this analysis, the patient did show unusual perception about the staff and their emotional states. This "sense" may have increased his past emotional trauma.

Patient is not comfortable with expressing himself. He has a detached affect, which seems to lessen when the topic of discussion turns to medicine or science.

Patient reports occasional flashbacks of the violence of his childhood under stressful situations. It appears that he is self-aware of the nature of the flashbacks and he reports that he is not incapacitated by them. Such an event could not be triggered during this examination, so the trigger is not strong, but further data would be useful to assess the potential threat to his mission effectiveness. According to the patient the episodes were incapacitating in the past, but he reports that they have dramatically lessened.

The patient's attitude towards violence is strong. He appears to have a penchant for violence related to the trauma delivered upon his family by the marauders and zonegangers, and this manifests in a great hatred for marauders and zonegangers, based upon the deaths of his family at the hands of such people. His feelings towards robots are typical of most humans. He seems to have a greater hatred for "botlickers" such as the zonegangers. I am unable to ascertain the source of this, perhaps his self-described "sense" for people is related to this. It is my considered opinion that this patient would have no difficulty with using deadly force against enemy units.

I recommend Walker Brodie for active duty. If his flashbacks and post-combat trauma should worsen, he is to report for a follow up interview.

Captain Mitchell Gaines, MD

His Name

I chose Walker because it sounded cool for a nomadic post-holocaust character.

I thought Brody or Brodie would sound good with Walker and "Doc Brodie" had a nice ring to it, so I looked it up and found it strangely appropriate for the genre. The Scottish Clan Brodie's castle was attacked, sacked, and all records and charters were burned by the victors. Not unlike the ravaging of humanity by the AIs in Reign of Steel . . .

Habits

Around the campfire: If left to his own devices, Walker will for the most part sit quietly and sketch in his journal. He will listen and offer occasional remarks or a subtle joke. If engaged in conversation, he will be as talkative as any normal person.

Mannerisms: Walker is a little less talkative than an average person and when he does talk he speaks softly and smoothly. His bearing does not match his speech, as he tends to walk tall with an air of "don't tread on me." He tends to keep his gear securely wrapped up in his backpack and he has a smooth practiced walk; he tends to walk a little faster than normal on his own, but will keep pace if in a group. He shows a concern for hygiene in two chief ways; he always washes his hands before he eats and he dislikes cats because of the diseases they harbor.

Strangers: Walker is neutral towards strangers in general, but he maintains an air of intimidation as a defensive measure. If he feels comfortable or safe, this relaxes.

Quotes:

• I like cats well, actually, very well done. Can't be too safe.
• Only two things stay still out here, corpses and soon-to-be corpses
• Ya know, my Dad wouldn't dream of killing you. Too bad for you he's dead.
• Marauders? How many and when do we strike?