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My legal name is Emmanuel Okoro, Jr., though I suppose my legal name doesn't really matter much any more. My friends used to call me Manu, back when I had friends, before they died. Before I had to kill them. It doesn't matter though, call me what you want, but I guess I'll introduce myself as Manu for now. 

My name, my blood and my family comes from West Africa. Nigeria, to be exact. I have never been there myself, only heard stories from my late mother and father. Sometimes I figure it would be safer there than here, which is kind of ironic when considering the whole reason my family moved here was because they thought it would be everything the TV said it was; The American Dream. Maybe it seemed like a dream back when they booked the flight but it sure as shit ain't now. I've never seen no dream in which you have to send your pre-teen kid out on to the streets to hustle for dimes that might not even guarantee your next meal. Some promised land. Either way, I'm here, and I'm stuck here. I was born in Detroit, Michigan in the less tourist friendly side of town - about 24 years ago right about now, I don't really know to be honest, I lost track of the date a while ago.

I like to think I've got a lot going for me. I've got what some people would call street smarts. I can survive on my own, I can handle a gun and I ain't afraid to punch someone's lights out if it means I can get out of a sticky situation alive. I've done some bad thing, I'm no liar, but everything I've done is just another thing that plagues my conscious. I worry that one day I won't be preoccupied enough to block most of my regrets out my head, but right now I'm too busy keeping myself afloat to worry about what I owe the rest of the human race. Like I was saying though, I'm street smart - but I'm pretty intelligent as it goes, at least when compared to 99% of people from my neighbourhood. I actually like to read. That's the only thing I can do in my spare time. Read. The written word has taught me a lot - but in all honest, right now the street smarts are serving me better. Bit of know-how never hurt nobody anyways.

In terms of my looks, I'd say I'm respectable. I was one of the better looking in my part of town - but that isn't exactly something I'd call an achievement what with all the mutilations in my area. It goes without saying that my skin is black. I'm about six foot tall, but I've never given enough of a damn to actually measure myself. I'm in good shape, toned, and I have been for all my life - I had to work hard to survive even before the so-called 'apocalypse' came about. I also didn't mind shooting a hoop or two when I had the time. My jawline is quite distinct, but my face isn't too harsh in it's features. My hair, when grown out, is afro, but I keep it cut short 'cus it gets a pain in the ass when it's long and I don't have the time to brush that shit. I have a short beard growing on my chin, but I might shave it off if I get a chance - it's not on my priority list. My voice is deep and quite gravelly, I speak in quite a lazy way.

From where I'm from, you've got yourself to watch out for and relying on anyone else is a weakness that will probably see yourself get killed. I always wished I had grown up in a better place, but now that I've been thrown in to this shit-storm, I guess I am thankful for the preparation that it gave me. It probably saved my ass. Unfortunately it wasn't enough to prevent the deaths of my family and friends. Detroit was swarming before long. One of my most painful memories to this day was putting a bullet in the head of my friend's skull as he lost his grip on humanity. Luckily, since then, I've found it much easier to kill people. I have to face facts. I'm a murderer. That's if you can count whatever these things are as alive. If not, then I guess I'm just a mortician.

After seeing my crew die, I got the hell out of Detroit and hit the road. I wasn't going to take any risks, so I followed my rules and I trusted nobody, at least not at first. I survived in the wastelands of Michigan for a good amount of time, but it got more and more dangerous as weeks passed. I ran out of food and I ran out of ammunition. I ran out of hope. Luckily, just when I was about to give up, I caught a line that there was some place that I could go and find safety. Some guy told me who was on his way up there. It was a haven, Mackinac island. I somehow managed to make my way up there and I set up a camp near the island, scavenged for goods and sold them to the islanders for goods. I survived pretty good, but I was all by myself other than when I met with the islanders. Anyway, I left that place a couple of weeks ago - the folk were too damn cagey and, honestly, I have heard there are other places, better places. I was alone there. I'd rather die than be alone.

Anyway, here's hoping that this bullshit blows over at some point. It sounds like I'm kidding myself with that, looking at the world around me. It's nothing like it once was. Still, I can hope that some guy in a lab coat somewhere is doing something positive. Maybe.

Regards, Manu.

P.S: If you're reading this I'm probably dead. Shit.
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