Name: Roach
Gender: Male
Age: Unknown, late twenties
Occupation and skills: Roach is a chef because that's what the faded yellow business card in his deteriorating photo album tells him he is. As for whether he's good, that's up for debate. Any of the desperate stalkers he's gone on expeditions with have had one or two close calls with starvation, only saved by meat with no discernible source cooked over a fire place made of whatever dead plants were around. Cooking up the flesh of the various deformed monstrosities the zone spits out and even the occasional human isn't an interesting skill, but it certainly is useful. Roach having a quiet nature means that no one is going to find out the source, which they find comforting.
What the rest of the zone sees him as is an average stalker with no faction and a crippling addiction to alcohol. He's got some talent for finding out stashes and artifacts, mainly out of curiosity and the thorough searching that goes into extracting some of his food. He's good with a gun too, and has killed enough of his fellow stalkers to prove it, although the same could be said for most.
Description: There isn't much to Roach to make him stand out in the zone. He keeps a gas mask that suffocates his entire head on at all times, only taking it off in the rare moments that he feels like it. There are straps and buckles to the sides, so he'll just loosen them and slide it up halfway if hunger calls. If you were to pry it off of the man the results would be underwhelming. Just another dirty looking russian man.
His eyes are your regular color of light blue and are pretty big and round, so he gets compared to insects a lot. He's got the fucked up face of your average survivor with enough scars to make friends without saying a word. And that's important, since he doesn't talk much.
Character History: Roach´s background is interesting, which is another way to say that it's a total fucking mystery. The zone is like a magnet for the lost and unexplainable after all. He had a thing going with a girl and some things going with his family and maybe some friends if he's feeling confident enough to imagine them while staring deep into the blurry photos with no answers behind them. They're in an album kept inside of a rucksack and are the only thing that keeps him up at night. It's him with so many people and all of them are either smiling, or drunk or both at the same time. He gets drunk in the zone a lot, so the smiling part is what confuses him. For the past few years they've been like a dream he could only half remember made into a cheap trinket.
The heavy thoughts of wanting to remember who he was spend their days weighing on him and yet he stays curious and even lively at times. He's the type of guy to want to do everything at least once, even if it could kill him. To him a part of the fun in getting completely shitfaced is the journey he'll go on after waking up.
His clearest memory that has never gone away is one where he's singing along with his grandfather to a soothing tune inside of a small and warm kitchen. The lyrics have been dissolved by cheap vodka and he can´t even remember the old man´s face yet the love and sincerity in their rhythm has stayed engraved inside of him. As long as that memory lingers around his heart he will never be truly happy with life in the zone. And yet, he stays, like a pig knowing that it's inside a slaughterhouse yet is afraid of the outside.
He stays silent in an odd attempt to preserve his voice as much as possible, even avoiding cigarettes and the like. A part of him wants to drink enough to forget the past and a part of him wants to relive it, so he swallows up these conflicting wants with his morning vodka and says nothing. That and, memory loss has really messed with his vocabulary. Good god, just try getting anything longer than two words out of him and you´ll see what his friends mean.
Equipment: Roach carries various knives in ranging states of degradation for the sole purpose of being used in his culinary antics. I mean sure, he carries cans of food around like any other person, but they're a nice tool for when those run out in the middle of god knows where. They
have been used to stab other moving things, but he has the decency to wipe them before and after. He also keeps several other food items, proud of being able to have a varied diet inside of a place like the zone. That´s one of the only things he´ll ever talk about on his own, is eating. What else is the pleasant kitchen in his head around there for?
The AK-47 is his weapon of choice. Enough bandits have it so scavenging for ammo is never too hard and it's powerful enough to turn a snork into paste, which matters when you get mistaken for one a lot.
Member
Kuro
Pezz570
mickilennial
