'Roadkill' is just a tad on the tall side at 5'10" and has an athletic and lithe form from years of tough life in the wasted West. He is only 26 years old but the years of sun exposure and tobacco use make him look like he is somewhere in his early 30s. His weathered face houses a pair of hardened, icey eyes that seem quick to take stock of a man. He wears his hair cut short in a utilitarian style and has been sporting a beard for as long as he could grow one since razors are hard to come by these days.

Roadkill wears a gray sleeveless shirt smudged with engine grease under a worn leather jacket and matching leather pants. The jacket and pants have been reinforced with scavenged bits of metal and athletic equipment to enhance the sturdy material's protective qualities. The filed down butt of a sawed off shotgun protrudes from a modified holster on his right leg and an SA Commando frequently dangles from a hook on his pistol belt.


Ian was 13 years old when the bombs dropped. His father was a cop in their home town of Davenport, Iowa and his mother was a teacher at a Catholic school across the river. Davenport was bombed into oblivion along with the rest of the Quad Cities due to the proximity of the Rock Island Arsenal (home to the North's power armor program). Luckily Ian and his dad were on a camping trip in rural Iowa when the bombs fell. Unluckily, his mother was not with them.

Ian had always looked up to his father as the model of what a man should be. The man had served two tours in the war with his Army reserve unit and he faced down lawlessness and disorder on a daily basis even when he was working his civilian job. He and Ian were close and he had worked hard to instill good values into his son. His last words to the boy as he lay dying from radiation poisoning were, "Keep it going. Do what's right son. I know we taught you well."

Ian tried to live by those words but found himself victimized and abused at every turn. He was just a frightened boy without any parents trying to scrape by. Eventually he banded together with other similar youths for protection but without adult guidance or authority in their lives they quickly descended into lawlessness and banditry. Ian lived like this for many years. He told himself that he was doing the things he was doing out of necessity. He scorned his fathers teachings as foolish idealism but secretly his words still haunted him and the evil acts he was committing were eating him up inside.

One day he was riding his motorcycle by himself, miles away from the gang hideout, when he wrecked his bike and badly hurt his leg. The wound became infected and he thought that this was the end, he was finally getting payback for all those years of wickedness.

Ian woke from his fever fueled delerium to discover that he had been rescued by a passing trucker who had given him antibiotics to fight the infection. Ian was shamed by the kindness of the trucker and his tales of something called "The Convoy" that was working to reunite the scattered settlements of the West. Here they were making a living and doing something good for the world while he had been preying on similar communities and outlying homesteaders all these years. Again, the words of Ian's father came back to him and he decided to amend his ways. Ian rode with 'Fast Eddie' for a while and learned the trade from him. Unfortunately Eddie got himself killed when he got in a fight with a syker over a Junkyard whore.