Details subject to change based on formation of the RP plot in order to fit GM's mold for the story.
Name: John Matrosov
Gender: Male
Race: Caucasian
Physical Appearance: Long brown but greying hair and a beard with a matching tone. His face is now covered with a long scar from the beginning of his right eyebrow to just under his left cheekbone and a Pre-War eyepatch. His height is average around 5'8 and 5'9 and his build is also equally average.
Rank:(Formerly) Staff Sergeant, Currently Sergeant
Personality: A man of conflicting duties, tying his duty to the Enclave superiors with what he believes is the 'true' Enclave way. He is loyal to the Enclave, but questionably to his superiors. He tends to be philosophical about his existence and mixes a cocktail of agnosticism and cyncism to life but takes each situation as it comes. Not a grim man or shy of jokes and a good moment of relaxtion.
Possessions: Dirty and worn Enclave Uniform and Pre-War Combat Armour with the black Enclave insignia and the on the pauldrons and chest. Carries an R91 custom fitted with a night vision scope and bolt to change between semi-automatic and automatic bursts and a 10mm pistol. Also carries a pack of smokes and a Pre-War lighter. Also has his eyepatch to hide his eye socket.
Background: Born to a family from Navarro, John saw a lot of action even as a young soldier. In his forties he's become something his deceased father, an Enclave officer of renown, would be ashamed of. While not a problem soldier in terms of attitude and causing problems on the base, his frequency to conveniently 'forget' to follow through an objective or otherwise do his duty to the letter caused much headache for his superiors. He won little love from his Commanding Officer in New York City when he didn't follow through with securing a power plant when the people there saved his life after a bandit ambush. Infuriated by his 'softness for mutants' he was swiftly demoted and sent to a 'special assignment to some hotel in West Virginia. Apparently there was a bunker that was recommissioned shortly before the War and, according to High Command, was of prompt importance. Of course, soldiers doing as soldiers do, share stories when bored and the open secret was that you getting sent there was a career ending assignment. The kind of place for screw ups, people garnering the wrong people's hate, major problems and useless officers to end out their duty riding a desk. John was one of them and served out his duty constantly struggling to find supplies, given they were only resupplied every six months, even then it amounted to the surplus goods barely fit for recruits to hold a scrap car fort.
Over time, bandits came into the area but their numbers were dying off. Some died of combat injuries and others died of sickness or radiation with no medical supply and nothing nutritional to fill them. Others simply gave up on an already hopeless posting and shot or hung themselves. Eventually it was just him holding out. No one from Command cared enough and what few people did come and see what terrible situation was there simply deserted and he didn't blame them.When the normally quiet transmitters came to life broadcasting the alert for all units, he knew they were desperate, but if it meant desperate enough to yank him from a hellhole like the one he was it, it was better than this.