Christopher Macleod

## Chris

Age: 242

D.O.B: July 23rd 2045 (32 pre-war)

Height: 5ft 8"

Weight: 150lbs 68kg

Hair: Pale Blonde, dyed red.

Eye colour: Light blue pre-ghoul, black/silver post-ghoul

### **Biography (pre-war):**

Chris' family hail from Kirkwall, Orkney Isles, Scotland and were about as Scottish as you could get.

After emigrating to America for his father's work, Chris and his family didn't really fit in within any neighbourhood they settled in. His mother was a large, loud and brash woman who didn't associate with the more modest American family's in the richer suburbs of Boston, his father too bogged down in his work for Cambridge Polymer to care.

As the eldest son with three younger siblings (two sisters and a brother, triplets) Chris was left mostly to his own devices, being in his late teens by the time his brother and sisters were born and always had a nose for trouble.

Petty crime such as breaking into cars and sheds earned him a short stint in prison, upon being released he set his sights on bigger ventures. The speakeasy in Concord was just many of the small (and illegal) business deals he managed to stick his ore in, which was where he first met Issy, always snooping around for work and willing to lie about her age.

Chris was also an avid (and *good*) 'professional' gambler, a keen smuggler (drugs) and a pathological liar.

## **Post-War:**

*(Mentions of multiple suicide attempts, please don't read if this sort of thing bothers you, thank you xx)*

Chris was alone when the bombs dropped, and for a while thought he was the only survivor.

After scavenging for a few weeks on his own he came across other survivors, some seemingly unscathed like him, others already ghouls. The stigma of being a ghoul was less intense in the early days, most people just happy to be alive, others accepting of their fate. Most people worked together to try and rebuild or settle down, resources were scarce and wars between small factions broke out, others forming basic tribe like communities in an attempt at reestablishing order. Not one for picking sides, Chris traveled alone and offered his services for food and a place to sleep, earning his keep by either stealing resources from other settlements or his arm when fights broke out.

Chris starting turning about a month after the bombs fell, with everything in chaos it could have been sooner, but after his skin started flake off it was difficult to ignore. Despairing his fate, he took to drink and drugs, eventually trying to end his life with an overdose. Nothing worked. As a ghoul he was more tolerant of alcohol and drugs did *nothing* for him anymore, the gun he put in his mouth afterwards jammed.

Hardly one for believing in fate Chris decided that walking into certain danger was the only way he was going to end up dead and joined up with several raider gangs in the two hundred years that followed, making a name for himself as a good arm and a complete bastard, one that was difficult to kill too, much to his displeasure.

Chris was a part of the gang owned by Vic, the previous owner of Goodneighbor. After the coupe staged by Hancock, Chris barely escaped with his life and went into hiding, eventually surfacing as a member of the Triggermen, Skinny Malone's posse of thugs.