Fallout 27 [Expanded]

Jasper is a wiry, sun-weathered man in his late 40s, though he insists he is "exactly 27 at heart." His face is lined with years of exposure to the wasteland, his skin tanned and leathery. His unkempt brown hair is streaked with gray, and his scraggly beard is uneven from years of impatient self-trimming. His clothes are an assortment of scavenged rags and pre-war garments, including an old Vault-Tec jumpsuit with the number "27" crudely painted on the back. He wears a mismatched pair of boots, one too large and the other falling apart, held together by strips of duct tape. A broken watch dangles loosely from his wrist, stuck at an impossible hour—27 o’clock.

Jasper is a mix of naivety, stubbornness, and pure eccentricity. He is wildly enthusiastic about his theories, eagerly explaining them to anyone who will listen (or who happens to be passing by). He is highly superstitious, constantly looking for "signs" that he’s on the right track, such as finding 27 bottle caps in a row or counting 27 clouds in the sky. Despite his lack of intelligence, he is oddly charismatic—his sheer determination and unshakable belief make it hard not to be at least mildly entertained by him. He is frustratingly persistent, refusing to believe anyone who tells him the vault isn’t a puzzle. He often tries to recruit others into his latest scheme, always convinced that this time, he has finally cracked the code. His optimism remains unshaken, even in the face of repeated failure. To Jasper, every failed attempt is just another step closer to victory. After all, "27 is the key—I just know it!

Jasper doesn’t remember much about his life before stumbling upon Vault 27, and if he does, he doesn’t talk about it. One day, while wandering the wasteland, he saw the massive number "27" on the vault door and became obsessed with its meaning. Over time, he convinced himself that the number was a puzzle meant for "those who could truly understand it." His theories started small—maybe it meant he had to be 27 years old—but as the years passed and the door never opened, his ideas became more elaborate. He has tried everything: waiting outside every 27th of the month, forming groups of exactly 27 people (which usually ended in disaster), and even attempting to shrink himself to "27 inches tall" by crouching and waddling up to the door. Despite years of failure, he refuses to accept that the vault door is simply locked. His latest plan involves standing in place, staring at his broken watch, and insisting, "It’s almost 27 o’clock! Any second now!"