Utterly Mad

Name: Des Platt
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Race: Human (humans are my fetish)

Weapon: Nordic Shortsword, complete with leather grip and round hand guard. Two UZIs, one with blueish metal and one with red. The color does not change the way they function in the slightest and it just looks cool.
Uniform: Road Warrior Breastplate: A bunch of old road signs hammered into the shape of a breastplate and tied together with leather strips. A huge red stop sign dominates the front and the rest have all had their paint removed.
Long Sleeved Shirt: It's faded, red shirt with sleeves that go down to your wrists. Pretty standard attire.
Denim Jeans: Nothing special, just some comfy jeans.
Combat Boots: Something he picked up at the local military surplus store ruins. They've got way too many straps to be reasonable, but he thinks they look cool.
General Inventory: A beat-up canteen full of some weird water-like fluid. A burnt photograph of a rock with googly eyes attached to it. The rock featured in the aforementioned photograph. A dusty silver Flippo lighter. Three used glowsticks. An ancient cherry bomb. A paperclip. Two pieces of string. A nickel.

Perks: [Quick Hands] [Rugged Good Looks]
Traits: [Observant] [High Adrenaline] [Not Quick Anywhere Else] [Not Wise] [Quick To Tire]
Skills: [SMG 3] [Sords 2] [Whiskey Drinkin' 17] [Hitting Stuff 4] [Dodging Stuff -1] [Takin' Hits 5]
Backstory: Born and raised with a family of travelling mercenaries, he picked up quickly the ways of shooting first and asking questions later (except when that question was of pay). When his father was shot down and his mother ran off with some asshole biker dude named Steve, Des was forced to forge his own way in the world with a copious amount of edge and daddy issues. Not really, of course. He got along pretty well, taking odd jobs here and there with defending towns from desperadoes and that kind of thing. This job with the Company was supposed to be his last step into the big leagues of mercenary work.