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[center][b][color=7bcdc8]Name:[/color][/b] [url=https://youtu.be/3UglS5o5caU]Briana Argent[/url]

[b][color=7bcdc8]Age:[/color][/b] 27

[b][color=7bcdc8]Born In:[/color][/b] Chicago, Illinois

[b][color=7bcdc8]Resides In:[/color][/b] Boston, Massachusetts 

[b][color=7bcdc8]Family:[/color][/b] Younger sister, Katie, MIA. Older brother, Jeremy, MIA. Father, Calvin, MIA.

[b][color=7bcdc8]Occupation Prior To Outbreak:[/color][/b] Program leader at Soul Shelter, a refuge for the homeless, impoverished, battered people of Boston founded by Briana and her older brother, Jeremy.


[b][color=7bcdc8]Current Status:[/color][/b] [color=ed1c24]Alive[/color], [color=6ecff6]Immune[/color]


[b][color=7bcdc8]Terminus Release:[/color][/b] Initially? Home, in my apartment, watching the chaos on TV with the rest of the world. But I knew it was coming before then. I was sitting in a tiny Thai restaurant on Charles Street when I got the call. My dad was in town. But he was doing that speed-talking thing he does when he's anxious, I could hear the fear in his voice. He wanted to meet me. I told him where I was, he burst in the door minutes later, and I will never forget the look on his face when he took my fork full of pad thai, put it down, and shoved his glasses back up his nose. I'd never seen that look on anyone before. It scared the hell out of me. 
He paid my bill, literally threw the money at the waiter and dragged me out of the restaurant back to my apartment. Only after I'd locked the door and sat down, bewildered, did he tell me what was going on.

Except he didn't really tell me anything. It was too much information to process, too many details spat at lightspeed. Hours until an attack? Something about a bioweapon? Death, mutations, dead rising, Michigan, a cure, everything was explained in the USB…
All I caught before he slammed the syringe into my thigh was that everything was about to change. And then I blacked out. 
I woke up fourteen hours later to a dark apartment, no father, and a tiny USB chip on a thin silver chain wound around my hand. I called Grant immediately. I tried called my dad, but the line was disconnected, and mom's cellphone was off. Plugged in the USB, but it wouldn't open unless it was a specific computer in 'Station 7 Labs', which I could only assume was connected with the Michigan thing. 

I had the TV on when Grant arrived, waiting, watching, hoping it had been some kind of bad dream. Only after the first news reports rolled in, after the nightmarish scenes started flashing across the monitor did I tell Grant everything I knew, which honestly wasn't much. I couldn't figure out why my dad had drugged me, or why the injection site hurt like a bitch. All I knew is I needed to get to Flint, Michigan. 
We left the city, started heading west.
We have a long way to go.

[b][color=7bcdc8]Gear:[/color][/b] Grant carries most of the weapons. I had no idea how to use any of them, but I learned pretty fast. I usually keep the machete strapped to my back. My brown leather messenger bag holds a surprising amount of crap, and the USB hangs around my neck at all times.


[b][color=7bcdc8]Journal Entry One:[/color][/b]
Boston, June, 2018

It's been one hundred and twenty-four days since The Outbreak, but who's counting?

Everything happened so fast. No one knows exactly how or why the Terminus virus was released, or who pulled the trigger on the proverbial gun, but within weeks most of the world's population was gone. Not everyone died. Most that did rose immediately after, filling our streets with ravenous nightmares. We were so unprepared. No one knew what to call them or how to deal with them, and not all the methods devised in a hurry worked long term. They say everyone carries the virus inside them, even those that were seemingly immune to the airborne form. They say in some places, the animals are changing now, that the virus adapted to affect the animal kingdom, but instead of killing them it mutated them, made them faster, stronger, smarter. They say the more the animals feed on dead human flesh, the more powerful they get, so now we burn the bodies we drop.

They say a lot of things, though.

Survivors roam dead countryside and brave the dangers of the cities to resupply, their only goal to survive. Keep moving, stay vigilant, be smart. We fight the rambling dead, we fight the mutated animals, but we fight each other, too. There are no laws anymore, no judge or jury, no one to reign us in and keep us civil. Fear rules the world now. Fear of the dead, and fear of the living. It's kill or be killed, trust no one, watch your own back, and for those few that still retain some kind of humanity or moral compass, it's even harder to keep living.

…No, not living. It's not living. It's enduring.

But I refuse to just…survive. I don't have a solid plan, I don't have any idea how I'm going to get to Michigan and I have no idea exactly what I'm going to do (or what I'm going to find) when I get there. But I know it's up to me to fix this. After all…

I know who ended the world.

I know why it happened.

I know where the cure is.

And I'm going to fix it. I'm going to fix…[i]everything[/i].
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