Jon-Paul Gahan

Character Name: Jon-Paul Gahan (pronounced "garn")

Nickname(s): Jonny, J.P., Sergeant Gahan, "Abraham Drinkin'", "The Green Dragon"

Race: Human; Caucasian

Sex: Male

Age: 30

Birthplace: Shelter Island, Irradiated Forks



Height: 5'11

Weight: 183lb

Eye Color: Blue

Hair Color: Dirty Blonde

Hair Style: Combed to the side, smooth wave

Facial Hair: Thick Goatee

Skin Color: Slightly more tanned than the other guards due to his Italian-American heritage (at least this is what he says to cover up the fact that his drinking and smoking habits are slowly killing him)

Build: Agile and muscular; the average build of your average Guard.

Distinguishing Features: Gahan's tone always seems to have undertones of anger or disdain, though bringing this up often results in him actually being angered.



Profession: Sergeant in the 69th New York National Guard.

Skills:

Guns, extensive
Energy weapons, masterful
Melee Weapons, adept

Training: Gahan was trained extensively in firearms maintenance and proper usage as a conscript, and knows how to take a rifle to it's base materials and then rebuild it. As he rose in ranks and skill and as the Guards' demand for such a weapon to be used more regularly escalated, he was taught how to use a flamethrower to the best of it's ability. Radio communications were part of his training too in order to coordinate tactics, and his melee combat training has made him an adept knife-wielder. What the Guards didn't teach him and what he learned himself was how to survive in the harsh wastelands of IF; where to look for shelter, food, water and ammo, how to create fires for warmth, how to tell if certain foods are safe to eat, etc.

Other Abilities: Apart from being a rather "skilled" card player, none.

Apparel: Guards' Regular Olive Drab Combat Armour w/ Insignia, Black Combat Boots, Olive Drab Combat Helmet, Faded Green Face Wrap

Weaponry: Flamethrower, 10mm Pistol, Combat Knife

Other Equipment: Flamer Fuel (100), 10mm Magazines (4), Stimpaks (3)



Affiliation: The Guards

Religious Belief: Atheist

Sexual Preference: Heterosexual

Relationship Status: Single

Personality: Gahan is a troubled man, to say the least. The normalisation of conflict, combat and death in the Guards has made him cold, cynical and detached. While he agrees with the views of the Guards and admires their goals to the letter, he feels they won't ever achieve them. The kinship the Guards offer have made him loyal and trusting, but only to members of the Guards; he has trouble identifying other people as normal. In terms of his leadership style, he's calculating and organised, almost brutal in the way he commands the men under him.



Jon-Paul Gahan, or J.P. to his friends, was born amongst the Guards like many other people before him, and like so many others his parents were soldiers. From birth, his expectations were set high; his parents wanted him to be an officer or a colour guard when he came of age. His early years were spent joylessly memorising every aspect of rifle management and maintenance, dismantling and reconstructing them over and over, as well as being indoctrinated into the bullshit pro-American propaganda that was spouted at him from all angles. It was a tedium, but it was nothing compared to his conscription stage in his mid-late teens, however. If he got something wrong or hesitated when questioned, his next meal would be forfeit if he was lucky or he'd get a beating from his father (the latter of which was the choice that was often preferred by his peers and betters).

Out of the hellish conscription stage came an able-bodied obedient soldier, ready to make his mother and father proud as he could. In his days as a private, his tasks were menial; often times he was a messenger for when radio communications weren't enough, or a delivery boy for when supplies had to be rationed out. It wasn't glamorous or enjoyable, but at least he wasn't getting whipped with leather belt every other day. The level of grandeur and professionalism he held while delivering concise anecdotal messages and handing out MREs to people paid off eventually, and he was placed on the front lines where he would begin fighting the tribal natives of the IF. The task of murdering people too ignorant to even know why they should fight was saddening, even for Gahan who's emotions had been crushed under the weight of a thick leather belt a long time ago. Smoking and drinking occupied most of his time away from the field, and the other men in his squad jokingly referred to him as a living flamethrower due to his chain-smoking, chronic drinking and fiery temper.

In a cruel twist of fate, his superiors, aware of the jokes surrounding him, put him under for Flamethrower Combat Training. There wasn't much to teach; the weapon did most of the work for you as long as you weren't blind or drunk, or blind drunk. The sight of tribals screaming as their flesh sizzled before their very eyes was almost entertaining in a depressing artistic sense, but it was a weapon that made short work of any raiding parties (and half of the landscape to boot). Once killing was just part of the daily grind, Gahan became fond of his weapon and even took to joining in with the flamethrower jokes about him.

As his career with the Guards advanced, it was clear that he was a natural leader in any squad he was placed in. Having already climbed the ranks to Corporal previously, he was soon delegated the role of Sergeant on the front lines. From that day fourth, he commanded the men that had once laughed about him and his habits for hours on end, burning the native tribals and their homes to ashes in the war against the Confederacy and it's sub-tribes. While his father was never truly proud of him, he was at least grateful that he was in-charge of somebody and doing his part for the good ol' US of A.