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[b]Name:[/b] Walther Winters.

[b]Age:[/b] 43.

[b]Last Occupation:[/b] Firefighter.

[b]Birthplace:[/b] Port Morris, Bronx, New York.

[b]Appearance:[/b] As pictured above except visibly appearing much older. There are bags under his eyes, his dark black hair has touches of grey peppered in it and is now treated with much less grooming, resulting in a more untamed mane. Most of his facial hair is shaved regularly enough to the point that it remains as stubble except for when he doesn't get the chance to take care of it and his mustache is always in a handlebar fashion. Although he is getting older and he doesn't take the best care of himself, the man seems to still be in quite a bit of shape. Tanned skin is pulled tight against a strong, muscled frame. Tattoos cover the majority of the man's body, including his knuckles, none of them particularly flowing with each other. He's most often dressed in a plain or striped t shirt with the same green military jacket over top, tight jeans, and combat boots. 

[b]History:[/b] Born and raised in the Bronx as the first generation in his family to be a natural American. His grandparents on both sides were Greek immigrants and both his parents were brought to the United States at a very young age. Almost all of his years of school were insignificant in the long run as he never went on to do anything else involving his education after graduation and he didn't play any sports. Due to his interest in helping people and meeting the requirements, Walther went on to joins the ranks of New York's Fire Department and worked there up until the outbreak. Walther was married to a woman whom he had two boys and a girl with, though they later divorced and he only saw the kids on the weekends. 

When the outbreak occurred, Walther remembers it as being significantly chaotic in the city, which was being quarantined by National Guard and scrutiny toward targets was not a high priority. Between the infected and the soldiers, many people were killed and bodies filled the streets while explosions rang on almost every block. He raced to find his ex wife and his kids but the phone lines were down and by the time he reached their apartment, it had been ransacked for supplies and was empty. He never saw them again.

The first year felt just as chaotic as that first night. He had left the city and was simply traveling with no particular goal. He avoided all cities, even those that were being 'reclaimed', for fear of seeing another massacre like he did in New York. Walther found it best to stay on his feet and although he ended up with groups here and there, they would often perish or decide to settle down somewhere perceived as safe.

By the second year, Walther had found a group of people who were just as restless as he was. They drank and had fun and brought joy back into life. They didn't worry about the same struggles of scavenging that others did... because they took what they needed. The group traveled the countryside and robbed who ever came across them, taking from loners, families, and groups alike. Sometimes they found other collections of bandits and whether it was through sheer luck or skill, they conquered them as well. It was survival of the fittest.

Yet, even that came to an end after so long. One by one the members of this brigade fell to the many perils of the wasteland around them. Whether it was Infected, stronger bandits, military forces, or simple illness and starvation. In the end Walther was the only survivor and losing the few that he was close to made him not only realize the terrible things that they had done together but made him swear off joining anymore groups. 

After trying to settle down as a hermit amongst the ruins of a small town, traveling the roadside by himself, attempting to survive in the woods, and on occasion resorting to robbery like he used to, Walther finally decided that he had to find sanctuary or he couldn't bear to live any longer. Thus, he began his search for one of the cities that had been reclaimed, a safe haven that would take him. 

Now here's here, after an extensive process, working as a fireman like he used to, doing part time militia work on the side... and becoming inquisitive on a way a better way to achieve luxury through smuggling. Although most of his gear was taken by the authorities before he entered the city, he stashed some on the other side and was able to retrieve it by paying a smuggler, which sparked his interest in such an ordeal.

[b]Personality:[/b] Walther's personality has remained (mostly) unaffected by the dire struggle for survival which he's experienced. He's tough and thinks that showing a lot of emotion or attachment can be construed as a sign of weakness but he's also willing to connect with people and get to know them personally. If someone were to become close enough, he would show undying loyalty and even sacrifice himself for them. If he disagrees with someone he isn't afraid to show it and overall, he doesn't really care about people's opinions of him. Even if he's wrong or it will lead to trouble, Walther would rather make an ass of himself than admit his failure.

Walther's will to live is one of his most defining traits. It has propelled him to survive the 'apocalypse' for the last twelve years. Although he is inherently and morally good, his will to live will trump that and he will go as far as to kill an innocent person if it would save him. He could be considered mostly trustworthy until it came to down to a dire situation that looked like it had no escape.

A lot of Walther's decisions still haunt him to this day. He was always a bit of an alcoholic, drinking regularly to relax or have a good time. Now, he remembers what he had to do before entering the city and drinking helps put his mind at ease. There are few moments that go by where Walther hasn't put down a drink or two.

[u][b]Gear[/b][/u]
-M65 Drager Gas Mask.
-Large Backpack.
-Model 586 Smith & Wesson Revolver/ 23 .387 Rounds
-Model 870 Remington Shotgun/ 10 3" Shells
-Machete
-Pocket Knife
-Canteen
-Flask
-Four Cans of Food
-Two Bottles of Oxycontin 
-One Bottle of Amoxicillin