Victor Phoenix

A Lonely Dog
Born in the colder outskirts of Northern America, Victor Phoenix grew up in a tribe of poachers and hunters. His father was away - sometimes for weeks, and in this time, Vic was cared for by his mother. Without much to do, young Vic spent alot of time outside, playing with his one and only friend, a mildly mutated, and crippled old hunting hound - Turner. He was old, and quite sickly. But even so, the two were inseparable. One day, while exploring the surrounding areas, Vic and Turner went a little too far. They were attacked by a pack of wild rabid Mongrels. Without hesitation, Turner jumped forward - beginning a long, and savage fight with the wild animals. At the end, Vic was safe, but Turner was gone.

Devastated by the loss of his childhood pet, Vic's mother came to his aid - telling him that even though the situation may be heartbreaking for the child, Turner's decision came out of love, and out of necessity. The dog died so the boy could live. Eventually, through time - Vic understood this, and cherished Turner's name badge well, the only thing left from his departed companion.As the years passed, weather grew colder. Crops faded off. And life got harder. At the age of 16, Vic's father died of natural causes - and he suddenly felt thrust into being the one in charge of everything. Providing for his mother. Keeping themselves fed. Safe. And warm. Trying to follow in through his fathers's footsteps - Vic tried to practice and learn hunting techniques, spending weeks out in the wild. It wasn't easy. And it wasn't fun. But after doing it for awhile? - It felt like an endless grind. A joyless experience filled with pain and uncomfortable, harsh environments. Through time however, he got used to it - and it turned into a second nature. Standing for hours. The pain and sores within his feet. And the heavy, hard feeling of exhaustion became impossible to register anymore.

Adult Life
After the death of his mother, 10 years later - Vic had a hard time breaking the habit. Even though he didn't have to do any of this anymore, he found himself going on the same long, and hard expeditions as before. At this point, it was something he honestly enjoyed - and without the grind, nothing felt right. Randomly, in a spur of the moment Vic joined in with a passing NCR Unit - feeling the need for a change. They marched south - away from the cold outskirts of Northern Montana. Even though there were others there far longer than him - Vic had an easier time passing the journey than others. It was a long and difficult trek - but eventually, they made it.

Violent Lives Ending Violently
After emptying out undesirables from several cities, they met a clan of Raiders, and ran them out of a settlement. Vic's unit decided to stay there and install themselves as sort of a temporary police force.Their stayed lasted only a few weeks. In that short time, Vic managed to make some connections - and several friends. However, after the Raiders regrouped - they decided time to reclaim their territory was long overdue. That night was the longest, bloodiest battle Vic ever had the misfortune to experience.

The fight didn't truly shock him until he got jumped by two Raiders. Both of them were... young. Younger than he was when he rolled in with the NCR. Hell, even younger than he was when his dad died. One of them must've been 13. The oldest was snatched out of the fight by a random explosion. Naturally, Vic only wanted to survive. So - he did the unthinkable. He did what was necessary, he kept repeating to himself. Turner grabbed the boys head and forced it into a puddle, holding him there until he drowned. It was something that needed to be done. That's what he kept telling himself. That it was necessary. But... that moment scared him. He didn't feel true fear since he was five years old - not until that moment.

Once the battle ended, Victor took off. He left - and knew not to ever look back again, swearing to never raise a weapon again. Ever. Whatever sick part that pushed him into this situation died during the fight. That's what Vic kept telling himself. Abandoning his identity, Vic took a new name for himself. Turner. Because sometimes, it felt like that damn dog was the only good thing that ever happened to him. The only thing that felt pure. After a brief stay in Oklahoma, he started off towards California, deciding building a farm was a good option. Something quiet. And peaceful.

Family
Eventually, he met a woman. Rosie. The two clicked - and finally - Turner found someone he could just... be with. Someone that eased his temper, and his stressful past - which he never talked about. Not at first, and even after opening up, it wasn't the full story. Even so, what was truly important to both of them was that they loved each other. Through time, they had three children. Monday. Zack. And Georgie. Finally, Turner felt at peace. Years passed - and he grew older. They grew older together. As a family.

One day, while coming back from the crops - Turner fell ill. He was bedridden for two days, passing in and out of counsciousness sporadically. Frightened by his condition, his family laid by his side until he recovered. There wasn't much else to do - besides hope for the best and fear for the worst. Their corner of the world didn't have any medics, and self-medication was basically impossible. Luckily, though - Turner came back around, and they moved on - happy and united, together.

Unfortunately - it didn't last. Not for much longer. Their lands were invaded by a passing-through biker clan of Super Mutants. Large, green giant goliaths - heavy and powerful. Three Super Mutants was all it took to take over five farms. And naturally, not wanting to risk the safety of his family, Turner agreed to surrender to the Mutants's demands, like all the others did. An absurdly high monthly rent was installed - as well as a request for meat and water. It was... alot. Definiately. But they could manage it - and it was a price worth paying considering their lives were at stake.

But the weather got harsher. Crops stopped growing, and animals started dying. The Mutants also got angrier, and less forgiving. One day, word got out that they ran over a farm who didn't pay their monthly dues - and everyone there was killed. After hearing of this, Turner and his family were shocked - and constantly afraid. That feeling of security and happiness faded off again. But deep down, Turner knew something had to be done. He remembered his dog, and his mom's words. And his reoccuring chest pains - that deep dread and feeling of something not sitting right. After giving the name badge a look, he started off towards the Super Mutant camp - stating his farm is out of stock, and that he's offering his life in exchange of his family's. Amused, the Super Mutants savagely abused his body - beating him into near death. After leaving his injured body to bleed out, they left - disappearing over the horizon. But for some reason, Turner didn't die. He pulled through - and started off home, only to find it was gone.

Rosie was dead. Monday, Zack, Georgie. They were... gone. Torn and ripped away. One of the witnesses told him the Super Mutants came back and killed them because they were bored. Turner froze - and in his bloodied, beaten state, just disappeared. With his mind and sanity gone, Turner stocked up on ammo - and limped off back towards the camp. The fight was short, and brutal. All three Super Mutants died. Before collapsing from his severe injuries himself, Turner made sure they were dead by setting their bodies on fire. Eventually, he lost consciousness - and faded off, passing out.

After noticing the flames, another farmer came by to investigate. Bob Zachary, was his name. An elderly, frail man. Him and Turner never really got to sit down and talk - and they hardly knew each other. But after he saw what Turner did - and what exactly happened, Bob took his body in and tried to heal him. For weeks, Turner was bed ridden - hardly being able to breathe, let alone stay awake or walk around. But eventually, his condition improved.

A New Life
Even though he felt detached and disconnected from the world, Turner owed Bob alot. And now, he needed a job again. After healing, Bob told Turner he had a son who's nephew was in the Caravan business. So - Turner grabbed everything he could, and started off East - becoming a Caravan Guard.

It only lasted for so long. After several trips to a couple of settlements scattered around East-Texas and Mississipi, Turner and his Caravan ended up crossing the states right towards Louisiana. Accompanying him and Bobby were two people. Estella Cameron and Ronny Estavez. Both hired guns - and both there only to make Turner's job easier. Which - they did, for awhile.

As they kept marching on towards their destination, Turner eventually warned them of possible dangers lying ahead - but Bobby didn't listen, instead focusing on saving time and using shortcuts. He ended up paying a price for that. Soon enough, while cutting through a small city several hours away from New Orleans - the Caravan Group was attacked by a gang of camping Raiders. Ronny died first - followed by Estella. As they ran away, Turner and Bobby were ambushed by two other Raiders. Turner got a few punches knocked in him, but was able to take care of his attacker relatively quickly. Bobby - on the other hand, wasn't as lucky. Before Turner was able to free him, the boy suffered several stabbing wounds to his chest and gut. It was only now revealed he's been shot also, and only managed to wing off the pain through sheer adrenaline.

Turner tried to patch Bob's wounds as best as he could - and then, carried him towards the city. A painful, long and soul-rupturing four hour march. With Bobby on his back, and every drop of sweat and hope evaporating with each step. Eventually, however - the two reached their destination, and Turner was able to carry Bobby in to a Chem&Care Clinic in New Orleans. While Marshall was being operated on, Turner had another episode - collapsing from the stress and baring weight of it all. Unfortunately, despite their efforts, Bobby passed away while being operated. Having gone through so much loss during his life, one would think someone like Turner'd get used to it. But he wasn't. Not really. He felt the same grief and pain and humility he's felt before. Every time.

While cleaning his body, Turner found a Notebook - a Journal. He decided to keep it, just in case he'd meet Bob's old man ever again. Not that it was likely - but deep down he knew that much was owed. At that same level, Turner knew with Bobby's death, all of his responsabilities were failed, again. And with the given conditions of the wilderness and the dangers of the Wasteland - bringing the body back to the Marshall's wasn't possible. So, Turner buried him in the woods outside the city - then moved on, feeling in a role as a groundskeeper and a farmer for The Wards.

Followers Of The Apocalypse
As a resident of The Wards - and an associate of The Followers Of The Apocalypse, Turner took to selecting several jobs spread across the settlement. Wasn't much. But it had to do. Least it was something to keep him occupied and off the wagon. Whatever wagon he could find, anyway - any taste or sip of booze was like a miracle at this point in his life. Inbetween farming, fixing broken items and cooking - Turner also spent his time helping the guards. One day, while looking over his crops, Turner was approached by The Ward's Medic - Stefania. Her particular interest was finding several able-bodied men to go form a search party, instructed to do so by her brother, General Octavian Aurellion.

Naturally, his refusal came as a given. But after Bobby's recent demise, Turner couldn't bare to see another young, unexperienced child go out, possibly to their death. So - he offered to take her on her manhunt, accompanied by Vincent Vega. Unfortunately, their search proved unsuccessful - save for several ghoul attacks and shady encounters.

Several days later, while returning to the Library - Turner had another episode. The room started spinning, and his vision tunnel'd - leaving behind only a fading, fuzzy and darkening image. He collapsed - and remained in a non-responsive state for several hours. Eventually, though - his condition improved, and he was able to muster up enough strength to climb his bed and go to sleep, hoping he could knock the feeling off. He did, surprisingly. But just like before - he knew - he felt that feeling deep down, something wasn't right. And as brave and courageous as he was, Turner was afraid of people seeing him as weaker. Vulnerable. So - he kept his suffering a secret, refusing to share it with anyone else.

Growing Pains
At the same time, despite his concerns - Turner allowed himself to feel more at home surrounded by all these people. The sense of a team, a group - a community, made his temper and his behaviour settle. For awhile, he became calmer. More at peace with people. Well - as much as someone like him could ever be. And yet, a sensation of constant guilt plagued him - only deepening and strengthening once his position within The Wards solidified. Finding a new home, another family - so soon after his real one was destroyed, felt wrong. It haunted his nights and ruptured his days, creeping an unsufferable amount of doubt and constant anxiety within his thoughts.

It unsettled him, and forced his mind to drift elsewhere - away from work and his responsabilities. Away from the present. It had annoyed him. A constant distraction that he couldn't shake away. The guilt. Of finding someone else. Of reattaching. Eventually - his best decision came easily. Leaving was the only thing that made sense, and welcoming an end to his life wasn't debatable. This much he knew, the old man didn't want to die farming a bunch of cabbages.