Ping Li, a name given to him in a desperate attempt to preserve his family's pre-Drop heritage

50

Male

Ping Li is a chinese man standing in at 5"11 whilst weighing around one hundred and eighty pounds. His hair, once a shiny jet black, is now balding, the hair amid his head thinning severely, exposing his scalp. His skin is leathered by age, his face mired by wrinkles. He has a black eye patch strapped over his left eye from an incident where whilst fixing a car battery he accidentally opened the wrong valve, and battery acid spouted upwards into his eye. The accident left him having lost all sight in his left eye, and due to a lack of true medical help, he uses an eyepatch to cover up the horrible disfigurement that the acid has left him. Just above his lips lies his scraggly moustache, which is often shoddily shaven, although many times is just left unkempt.

Whilst Ping is not brauny by any means of imagination, he has a somewhat of a muscular build, at least more than you would expect from a fifty year old. Deep gashes and gnarled scars riddle his body, engraved deep in his skin. His hands are rough and calloused, and his body is spotted with leathery patches and burns from his exposure to allergenic chemicals and thermal burns from his line of work.

Commonly, Ping can be seen wearing a simple (albeit oft dirty) wife-beater, a pair of loose pants, and combat boots. Although, Ping did have to have his left leg amputated and replaced with a prosthetic leg (which he fashioned by himself), due to a scavenging incident in a mine field. The prosthetic limb functions just as well as any other leg, although, does come with a few downsides. For one, the prosthetic can be noisy if not properly oiled, and secondly, it can "choke up" sometimes, and subsequently lock up. These two flaws are partially Ping's fault, for fashioning himself his own prosthetic rather than getting professional help. But then again, it wasn't like there was much of anyone else who he could get help from.

Before the Drop, Ping Li's Great Great Grandfather was an obstinate immigrant, coming from China, stubborn in his quest for a better life in America. Those days are long gone however, and all that's left of the once chivalrous and honorable lineage is Ping. Ping was born into the apocalypse, conceived by his mother Asura Li, who is now long dead, fallen victim to the many perils of the wasteland that is now America. His mother met an American man, whom she does not even remember his name any longer. With the sole interest of bearing another kin to succeed her in life, she conceived Ping with a nameless man. As ill-advised as it may sound, continuing the parentage was important to his mother; it was something to give her purpose, to keep her struggle ongoing amidst the turmoil of the wastes. It was all she could do, as she did not trust herself to continue if she did not have reason to. With a child in her arms, she hopped from settlement to settlement, looking for a home. Eventually, she settled on the quaint settlement of Eden.

Whilst growing up a lone woman, attempting to raise a child nonetheless, in this dangerous new world was imprudent and difficult, however, Ping's mother was a tough and smart woman. In order to allow Ping to be successful in his life, she recognized he would need a skill which he could abuse for gain. Not many would take pity on a child growing up, and it was every man for himself in this world. With Ping's interests in mind, his mother set him up with a friend of hers who she had met when she moved to Eden who was an engineer / mechanic of sorts in the settlement, and Ping began an apprenticeship, if you will, at the ripe age of ten.

The man who promised Asura that he would not only look after her child but also teach him everything he knew about his trade was a man named Ralph. Ralph was a no nonsense scavenger and scrapper, however, he was known around town as a mechanic. He would scavenge vehicles from along the highways, at least the ones that were still intact, and haul them back to his shop for refurbishing. Ralph actually made a name for himself by being able to "revive" cars. Ralph learned all he knew about cars from his father, who in turn had preserved knowledge from Ralph's grandfather. Many thought him crazy to persist with such obsolete technology -- "Besides Ralphie, even if you could get the damn thing to work, where you going to get oil for it? -- viewing automobiles as something that they would not be able to enjoy the luxury of, at least not until the distant future. However, Ralph perservered, and lo and behold, in no time he got his first car working: a 2006 Ford Pickup Truck.

Asura was eventually killed by a roving group of bandits, and Ralph became Ping's primary care taker. Whilst his mother's death perturbed Ping, he was perhaps too young to fully process the emotional consequences of his mother's departure. In spite of this, Ping would go on to, later in life, regret the fact that he did not spend enough time with his mother. In the mean time, Ralph taught Ping all he knew about vehicles. More importantly, he taught him the little inconsequential things that in the end turn out to be so important to survival. Ralph made sure Ping knew all the nuances of being a mechanic in the apocalypse: the best places to siphon gas for your cars, how to shoddily but effectively piece together car-parts under the hood in order for a finished product, the easiest way to transport cars back to your makeshift shop to work on, how to hotwire a car (because it's not like people just left their keys around in the Drop), what makes a salvageable car, and the list goes on. Ralph and Ping worked their chop shop out of a large tent they made out of sticks and tarp. They would drag cars into the tent (with the help of a few clamps and hooks), and begin dissecting it under the hood.

By 20, Ping was a full time post apocalyptic mechanic. The skill that the duo possessed was a rare and valuable one, one that the paramilitary group that ran Eden, the Masks, recognized. They saw great value in functional (albeit a bit cheapjack and jerry-built) automobiles, as they could not only use them for scavenging runs and scouting trips, but also useful as tools of war. Because of this, the Masks personally financed their "operation," always making sure the two were well fed, and even received partial treatment in the face of the law, in exchange for "donating" vehicles to the Masks. This exchange that the two groups had worked out, allowed Ralph and Ping to drop all scavenging and scrapping activities to devote full time to this new profession. It was no longer a hobby, it was something that they could survive on.

Countless hours were spent in the improvised chop shop, tampering with motors, oiling engines, checking scales, and the like. Spurned by his new found passion for creating and fixing, Ping began pursuing other fields of engineering and mechanical repair. He spent hours scouring what little literature he could find, devouring every scrap of knowledge he could find. He combed through ruins and cities, looking for trivial things like manuals or perhaps even finding intact books in libraries, in an attempt to become consummate in knowledge of engineering. Whilst there was not enough information surviving the Drop, at least from what he could find, Ping became a rather handy fix-it man, offering help to those who needed it in Eden.

Time passed, and with it came old age. Before Ping knew it, he was pushing 50, and Ralph was pushing 80. Perhaps it was a testament to Ralph's durability and longevity, as not many get to say they lived a full eighty years in the wastes. In any case, after a long streak of prosperous good-will toward the Masks, Ping and Ralph have become trusted by the paramilitary group. They had been approached to head up a convoy to this supposed Angel City, and to go along to make sure nothing went awry with the trucks and jeeps that were transporting the members of the convoy. Ping had heard of the rumors, but he knew the validity of them was in dispute. Eager to get out there and do something different, Ping agreed, however ultimately settled that Ralph would have to stay in Eden, for he was becoming too old for such travel.

Years went by, and with them went by Ping's youth. Before Ping knew it, he was pushing fifty years old, and Ralph was pushing eighty years old. Perhaps it was a testament to Ralph's durability and longevity, as everyone doesn't have the fortune of being able to say they survived eighty years in the wastes. After countless long years of prosperous relations and good will between the duo and the Masks, the two had built up a solid trust between the two groups. Perhaps it was because of this trust that the Masks approached Ping and Ralph about financing, or better yet spearheading, a convoy to go South and put to rest the Angel City rumors once and for all. Ping was ecstatic; he had been stuck in Eden for years and was excited to finally be doing something different for a change. Ralph ultimately decided to stay in Eden for his old age was beginning to catch up with him, however Ping delivered a resounding yes to the Masks.

Growing up in the apocalyptic wastes can have a negative effect on even the sincerest of people, and Ping was not exactly jovial in the first place. Ping is a strict, no nonsense leader, not one to put up with trivialities and sentimentality. That is not to say he is incapable of feeling compassion or empathy, that is just to say his pity is just not doled out in bushels. He feels empathy and extends his regards to those that he deems need the support, however if he believes someone is being privileged he will tell them to get over themselves. In that same vein, he has a tendency of being rather blunt, whether the situation at hand calls for it or not. If he thinks that you're full of shit, so to speak, he will come right out and tell you. This is both a gift and a curse, as some people view it as insensitive, whilst others view it as honesty.

Suffice it to say, many might think Ping is stone cold and emotionless. However, due to his past with his mother and Ralph, he recognizes how important it is that someone is there for you in the hardest times of your life. He tends to have a soft spot for those who go through deaths of loved ones, and he tries to be as kind as he can when he encounters such a situation. However, as stated before, Ping has been through a lot as a child, and he can view a lot of people's whining and grumbling as a weakness. In a way, it has made him judgmental, quick to jump the gun on his perception of people. Ping himself is never one to complain, and if he feels any pain or discomfort, he will keep that to himself. He does not see it fit to display his unwanted complaints to other, but more so that he despises it when others do it to him.

He always has a pack of cigarettes (scavenged and given to him by the Masks to keep him happy as a part of their car supply deal) which he obsessively smokes. He recognizes it's probably doing a pretty toll on both his lungs and his age, and he really should get around to quitting, but in the mean time, he just indefinitely post-pones it. He carries an assortment of nuts, bolts, spark plugs, mufflers, car batteries, oil and gas, engines, and other spare car parts which he keeps unkemptly organized in a large tool box. However, at his immediate disposal, he carries a utility belt around his waist which has a monkey wrench slung to his waist, a hammer, a ratchet and a couple of sockets, a screwdriver and a few nails, nuts, and bolts in a leather pouch. He carries a small hand held Taurus .40 (a small-ish pistol). He's not an ace crack-shot with it, but he knows how to use it. A gas mask is slung over his right shoulder and strapped by the inhalation pipe to his waist. This gas mask is capable of filtering out most basic poisons and even radiation (albeit for a short amount of time). Ping has never actually used it for these purposes, however. He mostly just uses it whilst he is repairing one of his vehicles as a precaution, learning from when he blew his eye out when he wasn't wearing protection. Last but not least, he wears a knee brace which helps keep pressure and weight off his prosthetic leg.

As you might have already heard, Ping is pretty good at this whole mechanics thing. Ping has been working automobiles and vehicles all his life, for the better part of thirty years. When you spend thirty years devoting your time to a single activity, you tend to become rather gifted and polished in that field. He knows the underside of a car's hood like he knows the back of his palm. Hotwiring cars, replacing batteries, figuring out why the engine keeps stalling, turning a seemingly wrecked car into useful parts, transfusing parts to make a Frankenstein car, et cetera et cetera -- you name it, he can probably do it. As a result of thirty years in the field of mechanics, not only does Ping a very good mechanic, but he also has a wide variety of knowledge on an eclectic number of engineering subjects. For instance, he knows how to fix a gas leak (thanks scavenged carbon monoxide safety pamphlet!) or take for his instance his knowledge on how to wire electricity throughout a circuit (thanks scavenged college textbook!). He has become a pseudo-handyman and he is damn well proud of his quasi-electrician abilities and his extensive knowledge in other repair systems.

Solomon Nash

23

Male

Soloman stands 6'2, his frame is very lean, he's barely over 140 pounds which causes him to appear quite skinny. He's not a total twig and has some muscle on him, none of it is from working out but rather strenuous activities such as climbing and loads of walking. He doesn't eat very often, his lifestyle not affording him the luxury of three daily meals, he's just happy to eat everyday.

His eyes are a hazel shade, his dark brown hair trimmed short. He has taken to growing a unkempt beard. His body shows the signs of years of work, cuts on his hands, bruises on his arms, a burn on his chest and a noticeable scar near his left eye. His skin has been tanned by the piercing sunlight. If he were to clean himself up then he might be considered an attractive man, but he doesn't care about that.

Solomon always wears the same outfit, not being able to carry bundles of clothes with him. Over his form he wears what can best be described as sand colored rags, pieces of clothing he has molded into something that shields him from the heat. Underneath that he wears a brown longsleeve shirt, stitched together camouflaged combat pants and worn but sturdy brown boots. On the belt of his pants are compartments which he keeps useful items, he also wears a backpack which contains more items. He also has a strap for his rifle which is often shielded by his rags. His style of clothing is devoted to helping him move quickly and avoid attention.

Solomon was born in the wilderness, on the road, both of his parents nomadic merchants that traded for a living. He was an only child, the post apocalyptic world a place that is not ideal to have a big family in, especially when traveling as much as his parents did. His birth brought the two closer together as they now had an even greater reason to strive for better lives.

Even from a very early age Solomon was quiet boy, always cautious of others. Schools weren't exactly a thing so he was instead taught what his parents saw as the 'essentials'. He learned how to lay traps to catch animals, plant seeds to grow food, scavenge resources from the land, the best lessons one could be given if they found themselves stuck in the endless deserts. He still remembers the day his father showed him how to use a rifle, how it was described to him as something you should only use when you absolutely must.

His childhood was relatively simple, he was constantly moving around, from settlement to settlement, strange place to another. His parents were decently successful at what they did, he always had at least one meal a day and they never ran out of water. Things were pretty okay for a while, until an eventful day during Solomon's ninth year when bandits raided his family's caravan. They came out of the sand it seemed, launching from each side in bold and terrifying moves. Explosions rang off around as both of his parents fired shots at the raiders.

Solomon was curled into a ball the entire time, his hands over his ears, tears forming in his eyes from the shear chaos of it all. His mother was killed by the attackers, a bullet to her neck as her husband finished off the bandits before he held her as she bled out in his arms. The event deeply affected Solomon, both he and his father were in tears as they buried her corpse in the sands.

From that point on his father was his only caretaker, he fought on in his life as merchant, Solomon forced to help out more as he grew older. His father died six years after his mother, a sickness ending his life. The now teenager only able to watch as his last remaining family weakened week by week until he collapsed. He buried his father, then sold off or traded away the caravan. He wasn't destined for that type of life, he was too young, too weak.

Solomon wandered around after that, never staying in one place for too long as he just looked for safety from the horrors of the dune filled lands. He took jobs in different places as a scavenger, picking away precious materials from other places then bringing them back for payment, often times food. It was dangerous work, sometimes bringing him into conflict with bandits, though he was quick enough to get away with his life.

He has recently ended up in Eden, the prospect of escaping to a better life where he doesn't have the constantly fight for survival filling him with hope. While not keen of having to go with a group, he trusts they are people like him that just want to reach Angel City and survive.

Solomon is a loner, he has been for as long as he can remember. It's something he's become willingly, too many run ins with bandits and people of ill repute have left him extremely cautious around others. He's only joined the expedition because it's the safest way to Angel City, if it even exists. He's very quiet when he is around others, even in his motions, it seems that his footsteps are silent too. He never speaks first and tries to avoid being the center of attention when in a group. His answers or often 'yes' or 'no' or are very short sentences.

He has not had a lot of positive interaction with others, not being able to recall the last friend he had. He's not unable to make friends, or care for others, he would very much be able to do both of these things. His lifestyle just doesn't allow for it. Most of his conversations have been with merchants who he haggles with. He can speak fine English but does not know how to read, it was not something he was ever taught.

Soloman's main weapon is a bolt action rifle which is fitted with a 4x magnification scope. It's chambered in .308 caliber and he knows his way around it, he's by no means an ace shot but can hit targets reliably. On his belt he carries a sizable knife which he always keeps sharp. He's often seen clenching a sturdy wooden stick which he walks with. It's also an efficient tool for scavenging and a decent non lethal melee weapon.

Other tools that he carries are a set of medium sized bolt cutters, a metal pot, three feet of sturdy rope, a compass, a band of medical gauze, goggles and a one liter canteen of fresh water. In a couple of his pouches on his belt he keeps food, pieces of fruit and foods which he has scavenged. He also keeps a set of leather gloves in one of his pockets.

Theme song: Iron Maiden - The Nomad