[img]https://i.pinimg.com/originals/35/26/82/3526828881eb4d0c3ae437a27b8bac31.jpg[/img]

Name: Paul
Age: 31
Gender: Male

Anything of Note: He has a shit-load of gear. A well kitted battle rifle, a helmet with low-light vision and an active headset, armour covering the rest of him, several sidearms, provisions, munitions, grenades, you name some soldier-boy shit and he has it. 

Biography: Paul was once a militiaman, and if he was to be honest he'd prefer to still be one today. But one day his unit got wiped out by some fucking monstrosity. For some reason it spared him, but not before corrupting his tags to thus insure any other militiamen would think he was either dead... or worse, [i]claimed[/i]. Thus with his comrades shooting him on sight he has little other life to choose. He doesn't want to be wandering with civilian dickwads, but his choices narrow down ever more.