Name:
William Renault

Group:
Walkers

Age:
19

Occupation:
None

Family:
Unknown

Eye/Hair Color:
Pale Gray/Dark Brown

Height/Weight:
5'5"/137 lbs

Blood Type:
B- (Immune to the virus)

Gear:
Will travels light- Really light. The only things he's seen to carry are the clothes on his back and his weapons, as well as a large pouch of things at his belt- Yeah, it's a fanny pack. But it's a god damn manly one, and he keeps it stocked with an impressive array of medicinal herbs, bandages, painkillers, and some small survival things- Flint and steel, a fletching kit, compass... Things of that nature. He also keeps a small journal and a few pens in an inside pocket of his jacket.

Speaking of jacket, his clothes are fairly simple- A pair of jeans, some excellently made boots, a T-shirt that was probably white once, and a tough, worn leather jacket- With a just-as-tough leather belt. All of it has seen inevitable wear and tear, but in general, for clothing worn during the apocalypse, is in pretty good shape.

His weapons are few, but well cared for- Most importantly, his bow. A longbow with a ninety pound draw of excellent craftsmanship, the wood polished lovingly, every curve and groove made with the greatest of care, painted a deep black, this bow is his main weapon for both offense and defense. He can't hit the broad side of a barn with a gun- But put him anywhere within reach of that longbow and he'll cut the tail off a rat without killing the little shit. No really. He's done it before. He keeps a full-length quiver at his hip, two dozen arrows stocked into it at all times

Other than the bow, he has a survival knife strapped to his thigh- Single edged eight inch blade, saw-tooth spine, and an edge hard and sharp enough to cut flesh like butter and bone like wood. He also has his brain and his body. Both are very useful tools, wouldn't you say?

Appearance:

Despite being short, and thus rather light, Will is surprisingly strong- He won't be winning any muscle man competitions of course, or arm-wrestling the hulk. But he draws his bow- At ninety pounds in draw weight- like it's nothing, and can out-run, out-climb, and out-punch the best of them. Most of the time.

His hair is dark brown in color, and hangs ragged and messy to about his shoulders. Though he doesn't seem to bother cutting it, as it continues to grow out. His eyes- Wild, full of instinct and a survival-driven willpower, are a light gray color, and in those few moments where he is around people -not- trying to kill him, a dry kind of humor born of waking up in what he considers to basically be hell.

He's covered in scars from the recent years- And some array of scars from before the rising. Most are small and inconsequential, but two in particular are of note. One, an obvious bite scar on his left tricep, clearly from a being of... Undead nature. The second, a ragged, blotchy scar along the back of his head, hidden by his hair. Must have been one hell of a blow- And is likely from the hit that gave him his... Problem.

History and Personality:
Will's history is.... Well, a complete and total mystery! At least before eight months ago. It was around then that, somehow, he took a bar stool to the back of the head, and woke up with no idea who he was or where he was. He found an ID in his wallet that placed him as "William Renault", but beyond that and his age, he couldn't make heads or tails of the other things listed on the card- The mysteries of Amnesia, in this case apparently also including the names of the states. Or what states were. Or governments, for that matter. Thankfully, his understanding of English remained in tact.

Along with English, he also discovered he could bring to mind a long list of things that would be useless... If he weren't surrounded by walking dead people and bandits. Botany, biology, zoology, and a lot of smartass remarks. He also found, after a chance encounter with some unfortunate bandits, that he had in muscle memory a -very- good understanding of how to use the bow he woke up with.

So, for the past year and a half, he's roamed around aimlessly, just looking for -anybody- who wasn't trying to kill him.... And maybe some key to his past.

Name: Terry M Burnard

Age: 43
Occupation: Fireman.
Family life: Married. Wife, three kids all deceased.
Hair: black.
Eyes: brown.
Weight: 205 lbs.
Group: Walkers (currently with Fuad)
Appearance:


Blood type: A+
Immune: yes

Gear:
T-burn keeps a good supply of lighters flammable, rather explosive items with him. After all, fight fire long enough and you learn how to start one, to. Other then that, he has a crowbar and his hands.

Bio: Terry, or T-Burn was living the good life. His childhood was modest, but they had more than a lot of people, and he was taught to see that and appreciate it from his parents. Terry’s father was a chief at a fire station in Texas and his mother was a social worker, so they instilled in him, an only child, that a job that didn’t help anyone wasn’t worth working. At the end of the day, you find substance and worth in the people you help. Terry’s grandfather was also a fireman for the same station, though long retired.

While his mother worked a low key job that got very little recognition (albeit good pay), his father was more known through the city. He saw that and wanted it. People respected his father because he was a good man, he respected others. So as soon as he graduated high school, he asked his father to help him through fire fighter training. After talking with both his parents, they decided to go ahead and do it.

He wasn’t the largest man, not the fastest, and not the smartest, but they called him the “Bulldog” at training because no matter what Terry wouldn’t quit. He was bullheaded and he had heart.

And the tradition of a Burnard being in the local fire department carried on for a third generation. Eventually he settled down and married and had kids of his own. Two of his own children expressed interest in fire fighting (the third more interested in banging drums and wearing black clothing) so that would have made for a potential 4th generation if it hadn’t been for the awakening. His father had retired for some time, and Terry made it to Assistant Chief and after 21 years was about to retire himself.

Then the calls started flooding in. People sick. Dying. Then attacking. Violence in the streets. But not near his home.

Not immediately anyway. Then one day, there was a call to his own house and he panicked as he and the emergency response units scrambled and headed out. They arrived at the scene and before anyone could explain what happened, shots were fired. Then more shorts. He went to make his way into the house, but was blindsided to a form who bit deeply into his forearm. He struggled with the thing and they fell on his steps, Terry landing on top. He picked up and bashed the woman’s head into the stairs, repeatedly until it stopped.

It was then that he realized it was his oldest son’s girl friend. A cop grabbed him and told Terry not to go in, they were all dead.

As the chaos around him picked up, Terry sat the numb. Then, anger over took him, anger at not being there, at failing to protect his family, anger at…the whole world. He swung his axe clean into the face of the next undead that shambled by.

Since then, he’s been killing his way east, hearing of a hold out location in South Carolina.

Name:
Jane Langford

Appearance:


Eye Color:
Green

Height/Weight:
5'00" 106 lbs

Blood Type:
O+ (Immune)

Age:
17

Gear:
Jane is in full support of making men believe that purses are bottomless, even in these dangerous times. Her only apparent bag is a single mid-sized purse, kept close to her side... In which she stores a change of clothes, spare ammo for any gun she happens to pick up in place of makeup, a book, a jacket, food, water, a few old items of sentimental value, her phone- Because she is -determined- to find somewhere that still has power to charge it and have her gods damned music- and an entire bag of first aid supplies. Weapon-wise, she'll just use whatever small arms she comes across and has ammo for. Big guns tend to knock her over, determined or not.

Bio:
Growing up in a somewhat shitty neighborhood in New York City, New York, Jane has always been the epitome of the fiery redhead. Brought up by a caring single mother, she was taught to put her fiery ways to use with that common new yorker attitude, vicious and highly self-sufficient, growing up in the concrete jungle just -suited- her. She couldn't imagine life anywhere else. Elementary, middle, and highschool all went by with fair ease- She wasn't the smartest gal in the universe, but she was definitely up there.

But of course, things always have to go sour. When the rising began, her mother was quick to pack Jane and what few belongings they cared to take with them in the car and get the hell out of dodge, driving as far west as the little car would take them, hoping to find a safe haven -somewhere-, anywhere. And yet, even that couldn't last. When they stopped to camp out- Jane can't remember exactly where- they were fallen upon by a group of zeds. Jane made it out... Her mother didn't. From there she traveled aimlessly, one place to the next, stealing food to survive and hiding in trees to sleep. Eventually, she wound up with a pair of guys that she found to be decent and trustworthy company- Terry and Fuad, they called themselves. The Two Kings, in joking conversations. She turned out to be a fairly quick study and good shot in the realms of firearms, and has stuck with the two wherever they went since finding them.

Much to Terry's false irritation.

Name: Fuad Najasir
Group: Walkers (Currently with Terry)
Age: 25
Occupation: None – former student, failed EMT training
Family life: single.
Sex: male.
Hair: brown.
Eyes: brown.
Weight: 185 lbs.
Blood type: O+.
Immune: yes.
Gear: backpack with mismatched clothes. A sawed off 12g Remington shotgun w/ half a box of shells. A crowbar. He has a “fanny pack” of various emergency medical equipment while there are other medical supplies in his main pack.
He made “armor” out of motorcycle riding gear. Instead of the whole jacket, he cut off the sleeves and legs in two different sizes: medium for the warmer weather and then XL for when it was cold and had to go over clothing. While he was bitten and almost had an arm broken, this DID save him from the bite getting to actual skin and possibly infecting him. Additionally, he found a steel gauntlet on a corpse, which he uses in the OPPOSITE hand he swings his crowbar with.

Picture:

Bio: Fuad was born in a predominantly Arab suburb of Phoenix, AZ. His family were Muslims, as was the majority of his community. He grew up fairly privileged, his father being a business executive for a computer company and his mother ran a series of Arab based shops locally.

Fuad had little problems growing up and all seemed well enough until his older brother died due to severe medical complications brought on by a pulmonary condition. He remembered his brother sobbing the night before, not wanting to die, being scared and unsure. He loathed his family for years after, as all they said were religious spoonfed crap. “It’s in Allah’s hands.” “You’ll be happier.” “You won’t suffer any more.” None of it consoled him and he had to be medicated once his heart rate wouldn’t slow.

His brother never woke up.

After that, Fuad became somewhat estranged to his family after he ceased practicing and accepting Islam into his life. At first, it was just a choice for himself, but after family resented him and made comments about it, he began having more conflict with more and more family members until he really ceased talking to anyone but his mother, father and sister. He gradually hovered in an area between deism and being an atheist, and some days agnostic. But mostly, he didn’t really care. After finishing school, he got a partial scholarship for running cross country and went away for 2 years.

Not long after, he dropped out and came home. He decided finally that he wanted to do something to help people, not just work a job to make money like his father. Now that he had grown up, he seen that while his father and mother were great providers, they were not around as parents, not good role models. They had OTHER people take him to school, make dinner, drive him around. They were always too busy focusing on money or their social image.

After fighting and almost threatening to leave forever, his father finally decided to give in and pay Fuad’s way through EMT training. He studies and practiced but the first time he took the test, he failed. He was pissed and crushed, but a few current EMTs and the instructor even said that over 80% of EMTs failed their first test, and over half still failed the second.

He was in the middle of studying for that second potentially failed test when The Awakening happened. It was horrible and he still had nightmares about it. He heard about it on the news, but it was all downplayed, but the internet, you can’t lie on the internet. He read and watched himself into a paranoia and told his family they needed to leave.

His father said they couldn’t, his mom and sister were both sick. Then, to Fuad’s amazement, his father started telling him how it was a hoax and not real, and if this alleged outbreak WAS real, then the holy and righteous would be saved. The middle of a global pandemic, and his father used it as an opportunity to throw Fuad’s lack of faith back in his face.

Later that night, he was still reading up on things when he heard arguing downstairs, then yelling. Then some crashing at the front door. He heard his father yelling and then screaming in pain. He looked down the bottom of the stairs and seen two forms over his father, one was his sister, and she was tearing into him as he screamed.

Then he looked and his mother was standing less than 10 feet away in her door way and she rushed him. He knew instantly what was happening, and why they were “sick” earlier, but it was too late now. He didn’t say anything or react, instinct just pushed her outstretched arms in the directions of the stairs, which she feel down at horrible angles, mostly on her head and neck.

Then, she hissed and started to try to crawl back up the stairs, her neck bent at a horrible angle. He threw up on the stairs. After a moment, he turned to his room, grabbed a baseball bat and the largest of the 3 set samurai sword set he had (a gift from a highschool girl friend actually) and threw some clothes in a bag. Then he opened his window and crawled down the pipe, the one he used to sneak out for years and shimmied down.

The scene around him was straight from a horror movie. It wasn’t like the movies. There were no cars peeling out. No explosions. Just people. People running. People screaming. Forms moving in the night. No houses were on fire. There was an occasional burst of gunfire, but everything going on around him was almost overwhelming. He took off at a light jog, picking up speed when he needed too, never realizing his cross country days would help him run out of the carnage.

He’d been running, walking, or driving East ever since, hearing that the Marine Base in Missouri was an infection free zone

Name: Jon Erikson
Group: CDC Group
Age: 29
Occupation: Government top secret data clerk and server technician
Family life: Single
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Weight: 185 pounds
Blood type: O+
Reason for government interest: Jon has top secret clearance to the top most tiers of the government. He is also capable of running and maintaining computer networks of top secret level.

Picture:

Bio: Via his CIA service record, Jon Erikson was born and raised in the streets of Chicago. His early childhood was typical, he grew up playing hockey and taking krav maga lessons until his parents both lost their jobs and could not afford to pay for either. He continued to train at the Krav Maga center while working to pay for his lessons by cleaning and helping maintain the grounds. His parents fought most of the time, each blaming the other for their financial situation and Jon distanced himself from both as most kids do.

Eventually his mother filed for divorce and about a month later, both were killed by a drunk driver. Because he had no extended family and no care takers, he was given to the state at age 14. His schooling lagged as he had no true guidance and motivation.

Eventually he dropped out and worked full time training and tending to the Krav Maga center. He was given a small room there and that seemed to be enough for him. His training led him to meet a handful of recruiters for the military and one day he signed up for the army. After taking an asvab test, his scores were too low to enlist.

One of the recruiters noticed his computer comprehension was through the roof however, and he then set Jon up on a government grant that allowed him to go to college for 5 years almost free. He was moved to Washington DC to learn how to institute a government top secret server from top to bottom and maintain it and it’s security.

Over the 5 years or so, his job was mostly menial data entry and systems checks although his job would take him outside the country and all over the US on a routine basis. He was trained in how to use firearms, hand to hand combat (on top of his krav maga background), first aid, outdoor survival and a myriad of other arenas that the CIA deemed necessary.

When The Awakening happened, the government started pulling in a handful of assets inside and isolating them to keep accountability. Later, when things got exceptionally bad, they put together a CDC/Homeland Security facility, called The Southern Facility where they would gather assets that they knew were immune and who would be of some value once the outbreaks ceased.

Name: Harris "GodZI77a" Godson
Group: CDC Group
Age: 22
Occupation: Former hacker; acquitted of crimes to work for gov't
Family life: Single
Hair: Sandy brown
Eyes: Hazel
Weight: 155 pounds
Blood type: B+
Reason for government interest: Harris is a (former) world renown computer hacker. His skills are unparalleled, and he also has a lot of background in computer and networks, from the ground up.

Picture:

Bio: Harris was born in a privileged home, not really knowing much hardship, aside from those that he brought down upon himself. His parents were wealthy, his father being a top executive at a global petroleum company while his mother was simply a rich, pampered socialite. The two rarely had time for him, especially as he got older, and he spent most of his time being raised by housekeepers and the such.

Because he lived in a large, relatively isolated home and was home-schooled, he took to computers and the internet after being exposed to them one time. He quickly got sucked in, doing everything from building computers, social networking and gaming to maintaining servers. At the young age of 10, he got into hacking, and if Harris was a savant in terms of computers and technology, then his prowess at hacking may have had him labeled a god.

He found him doing things not really because he needed to, but simply because he could do them. He would steal money and identities, he'd change his grades and even wrote erroneous articles in newspapers and on websites. For many years, he stuck to what one could consider low key crimes. He didn't need money, or great grades, he simply did it because he could. His parents didn't care one way or another.

Then at 13 he was exposed to the powers of actual malicious hacking and took to it. He started compromising corporate servers, hacking sensative mainframes and eventually got to the point that he was worming his way into government systems and causing chaos. These activities were not limited the the US and he was on half a dozen lists globally as a wanted criminal, even though they had no idea who he was or what he looked like. "ZIL" or "Godzilla" was his screen name and he was revered in the underground world of hacking and even was made mention in large, public online circles.

The fact that he was rich and had cash resources, then was extremely intelligent, compounded with the ease at which wireless devices would be purchased and used, he was untraceable for over 7 years. Then, just like every other successful man who falls from grace, he was brought to heel by a woman scorned.

After he posted pictures of him at a party to which she was not invited, and there was a picture of Harris with his arm around another girl, she flipped out and called local authorities to let them know about him. She wasn't thinking at the time, and simply called to tell them that he was "watching and trading a shit load of child pornography," not realizing that in doing this, the metaphorical Pandora's Box was opened.

After a simple test of his security protocols, none of which were available anywhere else, nor were the agents able to even poke a small hole in it, they realized they were dealing with someone more capable than a rich kid watching porn. They called in the FBI and had no idea that in doing so, they'd be reeling in one of the biggest catches in the history of E-Cases. What started as serving a warrant for suspicion of distributing child pornography turned into a feeding frenzy.

At 20 years old, Harris was put in prison on a myriad of hacking related crimes, ultimately given 55 years without chance for parole. At no point in his stay would he ever be allowed to touch any electronic device with any form of interface.

Prior to going to prison, he and his lawyers came up with an agreement: Harris would be released into custody, be allowed to live at home, but on a form of modified parole and house arrest. He would be monitored at all times, via multiple methods, to include 2 agents near him at all times. He was given a computer that was monitored by a modified program he created that would only allow the most basic of computer access, similar to parental filters on tvs and devices.

He was miserable and sullen, a shell of who he used to be even in spite of aiding in the closing of several investigations. He finally found interest again on Valentine's Day, when things started to go wrong. He spent the first day looking at things online in regards to this when without warning, agents came into his room and removed him.

He was driven for hours, from Illinois to Missouri, and when the vehicle stopped at a facility, an agent entered the vehicle and explained that, in light of the potential epidemic around the world, he would be moved here for future considerations. Once the situation was handled, he would be released, but an asset like him could not be jeopardized.

Harris had no idea what exactly was going on, but when he tried to fight, he was hit with a stun baton and woke up in his room. After repeated conversations with people via the comm system, it was deduced that more or less, he was stuck here, nothing he said would matter and he'd be let out eventually, and things would go back to how they were before being imprisoned.

Name: Christian Joseph Darly (Chris or CJ)
Group: Walker
Age: 31
Occupation: Former Marine. Prisoner.
Family life: Most of his family was murdered.
Hair: Brown.
Eyes: Hazel.
Weight: 200 pounds.
Picture:
Blood type: B-.
Immune: Yes.

Gear: He has a pack with a mix mash of clothes. He always, always looks for socks. He has a Smith and Wesson MP15 (AR15) with (2) twenty round magazines. He has another 36 rounds in a baggie in his pack. He carries a Taurus 9mm revolver with 6 rounds chambered and 3 in the same baggie as the other ammo. He also has another baggie with miscellaneous rounds he's acquired that he cannot use immediately. He then has a hatchet, an old KBar, and a pocketknife. In another grocery bag, he has an assortment of hygiene and medical supplies. He also carries a can of WD40 and paratrooper cord, about 12 feet.

Bio: His life is a series of highs and lows, always to the extreme. Unfortunately for Chris, the lows seemed to always dominate everything else.

As a kid, he was born and raised by his parents in Indianapolis. His father worked as a manager at a chain of mechanic shops which paid fairly well and his mother worked at one of the stores as a receptionist. The both made good money and that allowed him to play football and wrestle in junior high school and take boxing lessons. Two days after taking the state championship in his weight division though, tragedy struck. While driving home from a family dinner, a drunk driver fell asleep at the wheel, cut across the median, and hit the family vehicle. Chris was asleep at the time but his parents and the other driver were all killed.

He felt like he had lost everything, and he felt alone.

Chris went to stay with his aunt and uncle who lived close by, hoping that less change would help him cope and deal with the loss. In high school, he was quiet and withdrawn and while his grades were not horrible, they paled in comparison to his grades before the accident. His uncle and aunt tried to help where they could but nothing seemed to work. The only things he seemed to enjoy were wrestling and football, but eventually football wasn’t an option because his aunt and uncle could not afford it. He stuck to wrestling and boxed when he could.

His last year of school, he struggled mentally. He was apathetic and struggling to find SOME thing in his life because he didn’t know where he was, who he was, or what he wanted to be. That all changed when he talked to Sergeant Bonders, a Marie Corps recruiter. What he laid out in front of Chris, he ate up and at that point, Chris seemed to have this light about him. For the first time in as long as he could remember, things seemed to make some sense. Even his family noticed it and while they were nervous, they were happy and supportive.

He was 19 when he went to bootcamp after spending some time in the delayed entry program, but when he got to Parris Island, he continued down a path of success and personal growth. He finally seemed to know who he was. He became an infantry man and hit fleet just in time to head over to Fallujah.

And part of him would never leave.

As Marines geared up and got ready to take back the city from insurgents, morale was high and the Marines were excited, ready to kick down doors and slay bodies. When they were sent in, they did just that, and it was a thrill ride and rush like no other. They had taken a few casualties, but so far, no KIAs.

Things were crazy and it was during the second week of combat operations where things took a drastic turn. His squad was given orders, and they did, but they didn’t know that this 3 story home was going to be one that was heavily fortified. After a fierce firefight, there were 6 Marine casualties, and Chris moved them all out of the fight, one after another, then went back in to clear the building. Succcessfully.

There were 14 insurgents inside, 9 of which Chris was personally responsible for killing. Of the 6 casualties, 4 later died of wounds suffered in the fight. Because of his actions, he was awarded the Navy Cross, the second highest award besides a Medal of Honor. People congratulated him, he had his moment of fame, and he was bitter and resented ever moment of it. Every picture. Every handshake. Every thank you. Because he was given a medal for failing to bring home 4 of his brothers.

He felt like he lost everything. He felt alone. Even with his family and friends there.

He returned home and his transition back into society was rough. He started drinking heavily and isolating himself. He wasn’t working and living off of unemployment for a few years, then finally started going to the Hospital of Veteran Affairs for treatment. It was there that he met Maggie, and his life changed forever.

She was what he was missing and she helped bring him to a new level of happiness. She was supportive but assertive and kept him moving in the direction that he needed to. Eventually, they married and had two children. He began to get closer to his family and things were great. Eventually, he started going to school and using the GI Bill, eventually landing a job at a bank.

A year later, his family decided to host a reunion and the entire family went out to California out in the mountains. It was the first time the family was together in almost its entirety since before the death of his parents. Those circumstances are what make the outcome all the more tragic.

In the late hours of the night, unbeknownst to anyone there, a cartel hitsquad was on its way to the gathering. One of the family members were directly involved with the Mexican government and was part of a group leading a push to remove the Cartels from power. Obviously, this didn’t go over to well. It was extremely uncommon that an American would be targeted in America, but tonight was one of those exceptions.

Whether the entire family was a target or not would never be known, but the silent night exploded into gunfire and screams. Chris managed to wrestle a shooter to the ground and take his weapon, shooting that man and two others before getting hit in the back of the head and falling forward. As his head swam, someone stepped over him and fired a shot.

He woke up some time later in a hospital to find out his family was dead. All of them. His wife and kids included. He survived because the shot fired at his head was at an angle, just enough to cause a ricochet and a concussion. The muzzle flash burned the skin to prevent him from bleeding and he now has a golfball sized scar on the back of his head.

He felt like he had lost everything. He felt alone, even with a nation behind him.

Eventually, he was a witness in a case, as the head of the Cartels was caught and brought to the US on various charges, prosecuted on a joint investigation by the US and Mexico. He testified as to what happened, but the truth of the matter is that there was little case there. He had not seen faces, heard anything, and was not reliable. He was there to show the terror of what the Cartels were capable of. The case was a failure and the Cartel Lord was found guilty of some parking fines and made to pay both the governments a small sum of money. The Cartel lawyer did a great job.

The lawyer and the Lord walked out, down the steps, and stood in front of cameras, answering a few questions. They shook hands, smiled, and amidst the flashes a round ripped into the head of the Cartel Lord, and another two into the lawyer. There were screams and panic, and when the area cleared, Chris stood there with his hands up in the air. He was arrested immediately.

Initially, there was fear that there would be attacks on his life, but the power vacuum created in Mexico meant that all the other Cartels were now trying to grab what they could, and it was a bloody mess. He was given a lawyer who profusely pushed him to claim insanity, or loss of control, something that would get his sentence altered and keep him out of an actual prison.

He wouldn’t have it. At every step, even when counseled by his lawyer not to, he stood up and admitted to his actions and intentions, and that he would do it again. He stated he was willing to accept whatever the sentence was. He was given 2 life sentences despite nationwide protests and even government pushes to have him acquitted.

He could have done more to get less, but he would not. He didn’t care. If he stayed out of jail, he’d just drink himself to death or do something self destructive. Looking back, he realized his life meant nothing. No good had come of it.

He had lost everything. He was alone.

He was in prison for a year when he was transferred to another prison after an altercation. It was Valentine’s Day and he had his head on the window, his mind off somewhere distant when the bus swerved violently twice and then there was a loud crash. The bus came to rest on its side and he opted not to move. He didn’t care to be free.

What good was freedom when you had nothing? What would he do? What difference did it make.

“Chris, get up. Look.” He heard the voice and he shot up, gaze moving around. There was one other prisoner but he was dead, his neck twisted violently. He looked around again. “Chris. LOOK!” He heard the voice at the back door so he went and looked, trying to see the owner of the voice.

It was the voice of his wife. When he got to the back of the emergency exit, he looked froze.

It couldn’t be. He saw his son in a car. Screaming. And some man was trying to get into the car, banding on it and screaming. Chris found a piece of metal and picked the lock to his cuffs then kicked out the emergency exit and bullrushed the car. He didn’t know what he was up against, so he just gave the man a running punch to the side of the face. To Chris’ surprise, the man just jerked, looked back at him, and attacked.

He realized then that there was screaming everywhere, helicopters flying, and things breaking all around him. The man before Chris, he wasn’t a man. He was something else. His eyes weren’t the same and he had a wound on his neck. There was blood everywhere below his chin. And he was strong, gripping Chris and pulling him in with a strength that surprised him. Instead of fighting it, he pushed forward, setting the thing off balance so that they both fell, Chris landing on the other.

Before he had a moment to react, Chris was stunned as, before he could move, the man bit into his forearm. Sheer adrenaline shot through him and he pulled back, the wound bleeding slightly, and brought a few elbow and forearm shows down onto the...thing. After all movement below him stopped, he ripped a clean part of the man’s pants off and wrapped it around his wound.

He stood up and looked around, seeing no immediate threat and then looked back to the car where his son was, only to see a young black boy there. He looked around, confused, shaking his head. He didn’t see his son. He screamed for him, looking around. He couldn’t be far.

Then he heard a shotgun cock and he turned around, seeing a man with a shotgun and a woman behind him carrying random food and drink. “Get away from my son. Now.”

He did. Without a word. He was confused and angry, standing there with no idea where he was or where to go. He didn’t see his son, or his wife. Just people fleeing, some giving chase. He opted to find a room on a 2 level apartment and barricade himself inside with some supplies and a pistol he picked up off of a dead body.

He spend the next few nights having feverish dreams and hallucinations of his family, crying and screaming. And wishing he had the courage to put the gun to his head and pull the trigger.

Personality: Chris is crazy. To a degree. He hears voices, sees images, and at times is guided by his dead family. Not only them, but his former Marines. People he has met and seen die since the Rising. They are generally manifestations of his conscious telling him what to do, or his senses making something stand out to him that is going unnoticed.

He is prone to bouts of silent depression. He is grim and dire at times also, he is a realist. He has been hardened by his experiences and what the world has become and often is at battle with himself over decisions. That is when he starts to see and hear voices, as his thoughts, instincts, and morals all clash.

Name: Emmerich Belle
Age: 33
Occupation: CIA Open Source Officer
Specialties:
Multilingual Fluency: English, Russian, Spanish, French, Arabic, American Sign Language
Interrogation & Interviewing
Computer Proficiency
Armed Combat
Unarmed Combat

Family Life: Married with children, biological family deceased prior to outbreak, separated from wife and children in accordance to CDC entry
Hair: Black
Eyes: Light Hazel
Weight: 190lbs

Blood Type: B-
Immune: Yes
Gear: CDC equipment, framed family photographs

Personality: Emery is driven, serious, and observant. Some might call him narcissistic, others mildly sociopathic, but in his own mind he's simply pragmatic. His relations with colleagues and family can be described as distant and forced by those that might look too closely, but to most he seems the ideal neighbor, coworker, and friend -even if he considers them a rather largely unnecessary nuisance. Many people have found him charmingly dynamic, but those that are truly perceptive or the few that have known him best can tell that he is an intensely shallow character. He has considered himself to have had very few friends in his lifetime, though many would confidently claim otherwise. Those that he does manage to connect with he values dearly. When he can be among a group of the handful of people in his life that he not only tolerates but fully appreciates as well, he is at his best. When he can talk freely and unwind from the massive charade that a vast majority of his life is, he is at his best. While he endorses the ideal "Think you before you act.", thinking too much is an issue he's become familiar with and in turn he's been known on occasion to act unpredictably simply to avoid deeper thought.

Background:
Emery's early life was somewhat abnormal. Born an only child to a well-off French Canadian and his Russian wife, he would receive a private education with a heavy focus on language and music. With a goal in mind to make their child a prodigy his parents funded his attendance in a preparatory school, where he learned Spanish to a proficient level. At home his parents took on the burden of teaching him French and Russian. Later, he was sent to a preparatory school (boarding school), where he truly discovered his passion for language and further developed it into an effective asset. Going on to double major in International Relations and Psychology, he found a solid transition after graduation as a commissioned officer in the Marine Corps. With four years of experience and a TS/SCI clearance under his belt a transfer over to a certain clandestine division within a three letter agency was a sure thing. Frequent and long deployments were nothing new, though after another few years excitement of it all began to fade. The six figure salary looked good on paper, but spending more time away from your oversized home than in it is a tad bit daunting in reality. He stepped down from operations and took on a desk job that offered him plenty of time to find himself again. He went on to pick up a Masters degree in International Affairs and a self taught near native fluency in MSA. He began to read three to four books a week, taking actual cooking lessons, learning to dance and play guitar, and even attending a few beekeeping workshops. In fact, it was the beekeeping he had to thank for meeting his brilliant wife and raising their two beautiful children. Had it not been for that chance encounter he may have never known the joys (and numerous challenges) of family life.

In short life leading up to the Rising was as close to flawless as a man could hope for, but receipt of a long term reassignment 3 months before things truly took a turn for the worse tore that bubble asunder. Mandatory separation from his wife and kids was the last thing he cared to think about, especially after being briefed on exactly why, but it was part of the job and he knew it. Assured that his family would be waiting for him upon release on Ft. Leonard Wood in Missouri, he gave his tearful goodbyes and went off.

Government Interest: Foreign Affairs; Volun'told

Name: Felix Andrew Renault
Group: CDC
Age: 29
Occupation: Formerly U.S. Army – 31K (Military Working Dog Handler), FBI-HRT
Family life: Divorced – his ex-wife has kids though (see bio)
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Green
Height/Weight: 5’11/208

Picture:

Neither of the Renault parents were very large people, but somehow Felix managed to get at least some of the genetics of his grandparents. He grew at least a couple of inches beyond his father and about half a foot over his younger brother. He received his mother’s green eyes, but without the weathering effects of alcohol or anxiety they retain a far darker pigment. From his father, he was given a defined jaw and a near-permanent scowl.

Blood type: B-
Immune: Yes

Reason for government interest: Felix lived his entire life for his country, so his patriotism and skill as an HRT Operator made him an asset to a government looking to prevent anarchy in the States.

Gear: Nothing but the weight set, reading material, and other asinine things they allowed him to have in his cell- er, “room.”


Bio: Felix was born in Maine to a very average American family. He was ten years old when his little brother was born, but the two were always close. The elder of the two tried to do as much as he could to keep his younger brother out of trouble, but William had more silver on his tongue than he did gold and his smartass attitude would always land him somewhere he didn’t want to be. Felix was early in his high school years when his parents had their divorce… It always seemed worse from the outside than the inside – mother rarely came to see them outside of holidays, but at least she maintained a bit of sobriety when she did. It wasn’t that she hated them, she was just… Not cut out for motherhood.

The father of the Renault household was a busy man, but he always seemed to have time for the boys, who seemed to be raised on opposite ends of the world, considering their polar opposite personalities, appearances, and tastes. The three managed to find enough connection in their hunting trips. When Felix was still in school, they happened often, but even after he graduated they made a point to take at least one annually for a week, sometimes more than one depending on Felix’s schedule.

After high school, Felix went to Community College for a couple of years and received an Associate’s Degree that financial assistance was happy enough to pay for. After that, much to his father’s pride, he joined the Army. It was a lot of work, but it made him happy, and he wouldn’t trade those four years for the world. He would have gladly re-enlisted, but shortly before he was due to sign his re-enlistment contract, he lost his first dog – Abel – in a firefight. An animal he would have gladly given his own life for decided that it would rather sacrifice itself for him. Felix decided to finish his Bachelor’s in Criminal Science. After finished college, he shifted his sights to Law Enforcement. After putting in a Resume with the FBI, he took his interview and they were happy to accept him. Having a security clearance before trying was certainly helpful.

After two years in the FBI, he was accepted into the HRT Program. His prior military combat experience gave him a fast-tracked leg-up, not to mention as a dog handler, he could prove to be an asset to the FBI as a whole in two regards. He only spent a year going through the training and actually getting to act as an operator before he was ordered to the CDC’s complex and, unbeknownst to him, locked away in a room with little to no explanation as to why or how long he’d be there.

Amidst all of this, Felix managed to find time for a wife. Or rather, he found time to find a wife, even if he didn’t get to keep her. He didn’t exactly find time for her after the fact, however, as apparently his life in the military and plans for the future left him a bit busy. The two of them were hardly a year into a young marriage, straight out of college, when she told him the “good” news – she was pregnant. The two hadn’t even discussed whether they wanted kids or how yet, but Felix had been lightly dodging the topic as much as he could. He found out of his own accord that he was actually sterile shortly after they got married and still hadn’t found the words to tell her. So when she said that she was pregnant, he couldn’t help but be less excited than she was. He broke the news to her and she realized she’d just been caught confessing to cheating on him. Thankfully they hadn’t been married for over a couple of years and he didn’t lose nearly as much as he thought he would have. He still had to pay for a while, but by no means was he in the hole for years, and he hasn’t spoken to her since the last check went through.

Personality: Felix is a fairly loud team player type of person. He knows how important team bonds are, especially when the shit hits the fan, and tries not to lose the sarcastic, joking side when he can help it. Much to his chagrin, his sarcasm often comes off as serious attacks against people, simply because his face isn’t the type to show that he’s joking. He’s a family man, even though he doesn’t have kids, or even a wife at this point, so he’s always remained closely connected with his father and little brother. However, he hasn’t been able to reach either of them since he was taken away. Otherwise, he’s mostly what you’d expect. Determined, hard-headed, and loves to argue, even when he knows he’s wrong.

Name: Taylor Marsha Johnson

Group: Walkers

Age: 25

Occupation: Emergency Room Nurse and part-time student (Master’s Degree in Nursing) to become a Nurse Practitioner in Psychiatry

Family life: Widowed, one 2 year-old son (Joseph Henry) who was living with her mother at the time of outbreak while she was finishing school

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Blue

Height/Weight: 5’5”/118lbs

Picture:


Blood type: O-

Immune: No

Gear: Her husband’s SIG P226 Elite SAO (9mm) with two magazines (15 rounds), a kukri machete attached to her belt, a single-strap backpack with her small supply of food or water or whatever else she can carry (currently contains a roll of duct tape, medical tape, gauze, and wound disinfectant too, though they could run out at any time)

Bio: Taylor was raised in Ohio, but moved to Chicago for school. She’d always had a love for taking care of people and thought that nursing was exactly the way to go. She’d had a rather uneventful childhood, to be perfectly honest, though if you ask her about the time her parents saw her first tattoo long after she got it, you might get a good little story.

Shortly moving out to Illinois for college, she met Derek, who had only just graduated the Police Academy. He was something special, that much she knew, and around the time that she was finishing her sophomore year, they got married. Life was getting busier, between upcoming internships at the city’s hospital and even future job opportunities, but neither wanted to be separated, so they jumped on it with stars in their eyes. After graduating, she took the first entry-level job in medicine that she was offered at the city’s major medical center. Things in the field move slowly, but she found her niche in the ER. The pressure and intensity, as well as the gore, never seemed as big a problem to her as it did for others. She felt like she fit right in. After getting acclimated there, she and Derek were more than a little surprised to find out that she was pregnant. It was a happy surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. They moved her to a different wing of the hospital during the nine months to prevent the stress from having any adverse effects, but once she got back from leave, she requested to be put back in her place.

Just as life was getting into a nice, things-are-looking-up place, Derek got a call into work and it sounded urgent. The next thing she knew, she was answering the door to their apartment, little Joseph wailing. She could not get him to calm down, no matter how hard she tried, but when she was faced with two uniformed men, staring at the ground with their hats in hand, she was almost in the same place. Respectfully, she waited until they left before she actually lost it. The first person she called was her mom, who took off of work and stayed in Chicago for about two weeks. She took Joseph home with her as Taylor insisted on continuing with work and finishing her Master’s. Now more than ever, she’d need to make sure her career actually saw itself through. Downsizing her apartment and being away from her son was likely the hardest thing of it all – she had to watch as she sold away the furniture, left behind the only home she’d ever shared with the man she loved…

Just on the precipice of finishing her degree and shortly after visiting her family in Ohio, the news of the outbreak started to spread. After a hard several months, she’s been trying to get home to Ohio, but constantly she’s being pulled away or misdirected or getting lost… Now, she’s stuck in Missouri, and still unsure exactly how she’s going to get back, having already started in the opposite direction, it seems.

American Name: David Zhang.

Chinese Name: 张勇（ Zhang Yong ）

Group: Walker

Age: 29

Occupation: Accountant

Family life: Single ( More information in bio )

Hair: Ebony

Eyes: Dark Hazelnut

Weight: One-hundred and sixty-two pounds (162 lbs)

Picture:


Blood type: AB+

Immune: Not immune.

Reason for government interest: Not applicable.

Gear: A lightweight black Jan-Sport backpack packed with a thirty-two ounce water bottle, a vagabond’s mix of clothing, duct tape, band-aids, spray-on disinfectant, a twelve-inch stainless steel butcher knife, and Glock 22 .40 caliber handgun with three-fourths worth of ammunition.

Bio: David Zhang is a first generation immigrant to St. Louis, Missouri from Beijing, China and his accent, mannerism, and behavioral patterns are obvious in this regard. In China, David was born under a small time official of the Chinese Communist Party and was granted a less than common upbringing in the latter half of the twentieth century as a middle-classed Chinese person.

Due to several communist policies, David was an only child raised in a city that was growing exponentially into the early parts of the twenty-first century. David was a smart child and was able to excel exponentially in mandated primary school and secondary school before going to college at the esteemed Beijing University for accounting.

Life was difficult but it was, at the same time, easy for him as the only worry he had in the world was keeping his family in good standing within the Chinese Communist Party, or CCP for short, and making his mother and father proud. Speeding his way through school and graduating with his bachelor degree at the age of twenty-two, David continued his way to his master’s degree, before changes began to erupt in the CCP that would affect his father and his career.

Corruption, one of the biggest issues of the Chinese government that continued even to the day of The Awakening, seemed to be inching further and further into the mind of his father. An opportunity to continue getting richer and making sure his family was able to be provided with enough to continue on the family name and, at that point, why should had he stopped the prostitutes that were willing to entertain him for a night for free?

David’s family, the only thing that he knew to keep dear, was starting to fall apart. David had few friends but no-one that was able to keep up to his family’s status within the party and his field of occupation. It was only a matter of time before the once good life of the middle-classed Chinese man David was to start crumbling down.

A few days after receiving his Master’s degree, CCTV continued to light up homes with a new headline..

FIGHTING CORRUPTION.

A few men’s face from the CCP would flash through the screen as the anchorman began to speak about the CCP’s new policy on ending corruption in the party. The CCP were starting to take down small time officials and, a few minutes into the program the picture of David’s father appeared. Shame over loomed his family name and the idea of moving to America became a topic within his household.

With the final goodbye to his loved ones, David took a one way flight to St. Louis, Missouri and began his life as an accountant at One US Bank Plaza, away from the peering eyes of those who know his shamed history.

Personality: Quiet and reserved, David has lived in the United States for three years now and has begun to become accustomed to the strange culture and environment that he planted himself. His communication in English is fair, to a point, but there are obvious signs that his mother tongue is a different language. While often stubborn, David will not often voice his opinions on such matters unless his integrity, honor, or life is at stake.