Name: Esteban Pereyra-Mateo
Age: 28
Gender: M
Ethnicity/Nationality: Black-Hispanic/Cuban
Former Unit: Has been part of Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias (Cuban Revolutionary Armed Forces)—FAR for 12 years.
-Served in the Ejército Juvenil del Trabajo (Youth Labor Army)—EJT
-Attended Demolitions and Armoured Vehicle training courses at San Julián Air Base (MUSJ)
-78th Armoured Division Western Army, Private 1st Class, Secondary Gunner and driver
- 2nd (Pinar del Río) Army Corps, 27th Infantry Division, Sergeant 3rd class, Combat Engineer
-2 years with the Las Avispas Negras (LAN) AKA ‘The Black Wasps’.
- Left the FAR as a Sergeant 1st class
Role: Grenadier (Cross trained: Combat Engineer)
Physical Description:
Esteban is 6’1” with a weight of 180 Lbs. He is a black Hispanic with a light shade of black skin. He has a strong upper body with very broad shoulders. He is completely bald and sports a beard, short in length. His eyes are grey coloured. He has 3rd degree burn marks all over his right arm and part of the right side of his torso. He has a tattoo of El Che on his back with the words: ‘sea realista , pedir lo imposible’ written above. He usually wears a T-shirt with jeans, trainers and sunglasses. He’s not the kind of person to care about his casual clothes.
Skillset:
-Expert in Demolition and EOD
-Licence to drive AFVs such as LAVs, IMVs and Tanks
-Small Unit Tactics
-Extensive training in Judo and Karate
-Harsh jungle survival experience
-Personal knowledge of guerrilla tactics
-Trained for undercover operations
-Scored 100 on a PFT.
-Familiar with Artillery and Mass Projectile weaponry
-An apt chef
-Is fluent in Spanish, Portuguese and English. Knows only hints of French.
History:
Esteban was born and raised in the slums of Pinar Del Rio in the West of Cuba. His father abandoned his mother after finding out that he had gotten her pregnant. No one knew what became of him and he never bothered to find out. Unfortunatley, his mother was killed in 1988 during Tropical Depression One for the 1988 Atlantic hurricane season. Esteban was left in the care of his grandparents who proceeded to raise him.
Esteban’s grandfather was a retired soldier who fought in El Che’s army during the Cuban revolution during the 50s. He was fascinated by his stories of El Che and Castro. As he got older, he would be taught different moves and tactics used by the revolutionaries. He even read Che Guevara’s book on Guerrilla Tactics over thousands of times! His grandmother also taught how to cook and what kind of nutrients to take. To this day, he follows the advice of his Abuela and Abuelo to his grave.
As he got older he joined up with the EJT and then eventually, as he got older, with the FAR itself. He was in Angola a lot with both the Armoured Division and the Infantry Division, fighting alongside the soldiers there. He was one of the army’s most loyal and determined fighters and was eventually chosen for the Black Wasps. They gave him extensive training in Judo and Karate, as well as harsh survival training in the Cuban jungle. He spent a year and half undercover in Venezuela, igniting violent protests and beating random civilians while undercover, to make the protests even worse. The Black Wasps are supposed to stay undercover for 6 months and then rotate but Esteban refused to leave.
The loyal soldier finally left when he had received news that his grandfather died. This hit Esteban hard and it made him think about his life. He knew his grandfather was proud of him for being in the Cuban military but he wanted to be more than just a Cuban grunt. He wants to be something that would make his Abuelo gleeful with pride in heaven. He then heard the Centurions were hiring and decided to leave and join up. This was an opportunity which he will not miss.
Psychological Profile:
Esteban is one of the harshest and most loyal soldiers the world has ever seen but he can’t turn it off. His dedication to the job makes it difficult for him to make friends. His social skills are an acquired taste and he has no sense of humour. He comes off as cold and depressing to the soldiers but this is because he’s focused. He doesn’t mess around on missions and he always does as he is told, no matter the task. He takes pride in his country and his job but will not take shit from anyone if his country is discriminated. He doesn’t care for discrimination against his race, nationality or religion but he does care about patriotism.
Equipment:
-Head/face: Modular Integrated Communications Helmet (MICH) with NVGs attached. There’s a Marxist symbol painted in red on the helmet itself. Due to his skin color, he doesn’t need sunscreen type face-paint but he does wear a mix of green and black for camoflauge purposes.
-Body: Black combat shirt and trousers, SOV-3000 Dragon skin body armour with re-enforced ceramic plates, coloured black. PLCE All Arms Assault Vest with two ammo pouches, four utility/water-bottle pouches, two general pouches and two dump pockets. Black canteens for the pouches. He has a bandolier on his body, which holds grenade ammo for the launcher. Weapons cleaning kit, Hydration system, first aid kit, survival knife and a Radio are in his pouches. His belt is equipped with a butt pack and has survival gear, a torch, a lighter, digital watch with temperature and humidity reading and a small entrenching tool.
-Feet: Standard issue assault boots with a combat knife and spare pistol magazine attacked to the sides of the leg.
-Pack: Survival cooking equipment, C4, semtex, rope, MREs and individual ingredients, binoculars, bolt cutters, duck tape and spare clothing in different camouflages for desert, arctic, jungle and urban terrain.
-Primary Weapon: M32/Mk14 mod 0 Grenade Launcher equipped with an Armson Occluded Eye Gunsight (OEG) and weapon holster for the gun.
-Sidearm: SIG Sauer P226 with canted iron sights and an extended magazine.
-Grenades: Frag grenades, a smoke grenade and an EMP grenade.
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Most Recent Posts
ManoftheNorth said
I mean by, once the occasion arises, Moi(Me) could totally take control of the Dino's? You see I am an avid DM. I use to DM lots of things in all manners, and I know more then anyone it is nice to have someone in control of the NPCS and Enemies, without it being a "Free-for-all of control" over the enemies.
Hmmm, I did give this some thought. Obviously, NPCs can be controlled by anyone. I'll even let anyone kill off an NPC or two because I want it to be just like the novel (more bloodier and gruesomer than the films; but still in the canon of the movies) however don't go overboard with NPC deaths by dinosaur (or by man....) :P.
When it comes to the dinosaurs, I'm going to make a vote because I know how some people feel about someone else controlling their part of the story.
Do you want to control or share-control the dinosaur(s) you might be interacting with, whether in a group or on your own or do you want me or MemberoftheNorth to control them for you, to give a sense that you can't control nature (just like in the film) and that anything could happen?
Awesome sauce
ManoftheNorth said
I am actually rather interested. I often play "Hunter/Primal" characters, so a Hunter will be my profession for this RPC. I do have a question.. would you be willing to give some "DM Reign" over the Dinosaur? Say.. Moi?
Explain what you mean by DM reign?
Bump
I know the guild was down the past couple of days, so is everyone still here?
Clayton Burrows - Gas Go Markets Gas Station - Clayton Burrows
"Umm... I actually don't know? 23 or 24? Been a while since I thought of that." Answered the young girl. This came as quite a surprise to him. The girl that was pointing a gun at him didn't even look old enough to buy a scratch card, let alone alcohol. Looks can still be deceiving, even in a post apocalyptic world like this. She then proceeded to put her gun down and chuckle half-heartily. Something appeared from her face that he hadn't encountered since the beginning of the end: a youthful smile. It didn't change the way Clayton saw the world though but it was a change from what he usually finds. Everywhere he now looks, he can see the new world overwriting the world but this smile was an artifact of the old world. It represents a time of old and a time of blissful illusion. The old world had controlled freedom, the new world has absolute. "Little old to be doing the whole wandering nomad thing, ain't cha?" She said cheekily. The girl seemed cocky and playful but that's possibly a front for Clayton. He didn't care though, he just needed his tyre and be on his way.
"Aren't we all nomads in this world? Safe haven doesn't exist and you know it." He then placed his gun over his shoulder and walked right up to the girl. He was about a couple of metres away from her as she stands in a carefree stance; the kind stance teenagers usually use. He then proceeded to introduce himself. "The name's Clayton. I have no interest in being your friend or your foe. I just need a tyre for my vehicle over yond-", he turned around to shine and point at his vehicle but was interrupted by the sight of two walkers being bewildered over the vehicle which still had a whisper of warmth to it. As soon as he flashed his light over them, their attention directed to Clayton like a couple of deers in headlights. They then started to slowly waltz their way towards him and the girl. He turns his head to her. "It's probably best if you put your gun away and use something more persona-", all that was heard to make Clayton fall speechless was the sound of a car alarm coming from the direction of his pick up truck. In sudden fear, he turns around to see a hidden third walker crashing into the vehicle, causing the racket that will be heard for miles around. The irony struck Clayton, the gauges don't work but the alarm is in perfect condition; he salvaged a ranger's vehicle, he should have known.
The feint sounds of walkers were heard in the distance, steadily waking up for a midnight snack. The locals have been alerted. He looks towards the girl with great surprise in his eyes and whispers one thing:
"Shit"...
"Umm... I actually don't know? 23 or 24? Been a while since I thought of that." Answered the young girl. This came as quite a surprise to him. The girl that was pointing a gun at him didn't even look old enough to buy a scratch card, let alone alcohol. Looks can still be deceiving, even in a post apocalyptic world like this. She then proceeded to put her gun down and chuckle half-heartily. Something appeared from her face that he hadn't encountered since the beginning of the end: a youthful smile. It didn't change the way Clayton saw the world though but it was a change from what he usually finds. Everywhere he now looks, he can see the new world overwriting the world but this smile was an artifact of the old world. It represents a time of old and a time of blissful illusion. The old world had controlled freedom, the new world has absolute. "Little old to be doing the whole wandering nomad thing, ain't cha?" She said cheekily. The girl seemed cocky and playful but that's possibly a front for Clayton. He didn't care though, he just needed his tyre and be on his way.
"Aren't we all nomads in this world? Safe haven doesn't exist and you know it." He then placed his gun over his shoulder and walked right up to the girl. He was about a couple of metres away from her as she stands in a carefree stance; the kind stance teenagers usually use. He then proceeded to introduce himself. "The name's Clayton. I have no interest in being your friend or your foe. I just need a tyre for my vehicle over yond-", he turned around to shine and point at his vehicle but was interrupted by the sight of two walkers being bewildered over the vehicle which still had a whisper of warmth to it. As soon as he flashed his light over them, their attention directed to Clayton like a couple of deers in headlights. They then started to slowly waltz their way towards him and the girl. He turns his head to her. "It's probably best if you put your gun away and use something more persona-", all that was heard to make Clayton fall speechless was the sound of a car alarm coming from the direction of his pick up truck. In sudden fear, he turns around to see a hidden third walker crashing into the vehicle, causing the racket that will be heard for miles around. The irony struck Clayton, the gauges don't work but the alarm is in perfect condition; he salvaged a ranger's vehicle, he should have known.
The feint sounds of walkers were heard in the distance, steadily waking up for a midnight snack. The locals have been alerted. He looks towards the girl with great surprise in his eyes and whispers one thing:
"Shit"...
Clayton Burrows – Gas Go Markets Station – Ada Cinet
Clayton was greeted by the yell of a woman calling out to him from the gas station; it was more of a quiet yell than anything. It showed the woman was a cautious one. The voice told him to drop his weapons or she’ll shoot. Clayton couldn’t help but analyze her voice. It was calm and even unlike other survivors he’s met. It seems to show she’s climatized to the world as it is. Most would shoot or have a noticeable quiver of fear in their voices but she seems ready almost. Clayton shined his light onto the gas station and sees the face of a young woman staring back at her. Her eyes were dark and smoky; it seems she’s trying to represent a gothic look from the old world. Clayton wasn’t sure if it was for style or to represent a threatening look but the truth is he couldn’t care less; it was just something to note down.
He started walking slowly but wearingly towards the girl in the station. He pointed his rifle in another direction to show where his aim was at. For good reason, he will not walk in the dark unarmed. “I’m not going to drop my gun and I sure as hell know you’re not gonna fire yours”. His voice was gruff but low in volume; he wasn’t prepared to yell either. He kept walking very slowly, taking glances at the ground occasionally for debris. The last thing he wanted was a sharp piece of glass sticking out of his foot. “If you kill me then you might wake the locals and then you’ll be truly fucked.” He then stopped a few metres away from the girl. He isn’t going to walk any further because he understands how antsy people can get. A safe distance shows mutual respect for the other party. Clayton knew this long before the apocalypse began.
The girl in the station looks quite young; younger than most he has seen in the new world. Usually it’s the young and the old that die off but Clayton’s stubbornness showed an exception to that rule. He just needed to look around for a tyre and some supplies. He has no interest in a friend or foe. “How old are you?” He asked in curiosity. He wants to say 17 but his judgement has seen better days…much better days.
Clayton was greeted by the yell of a woman calling out to him from the gas station; it was more of a quiet yell than anything. It showed the woman was a cautious one. The voice told him to drop his weapons or she’ll shoot. Clayton couldn’t help but analyze her voice. It was calm and even unlike other survivors he’s met. It seems to show she’s climatized to the world as it is. Most would shoot or have a noticeable quiver of fear in their voices but she seems ready almost. Clayton shined his light onto the gas station and sees the face of a young woman staring back at her. Her eyes were dark and smoky; it seems she’s trying to represent a gothic look from the old world. Clayton wasn’t sure if it was for style or to represent a threatening look but the truth is he couldn’t care less; it was just something to note down.
He started walking slowly but wearingly towards the girl in the station. He pointed his rifle in another direction to show where his aim was at. For good reason, he will not walk in the dark unarmed. “I’m not going to drop my gun and I sure as hell know you’re not gonna fire yours”. His voice was gruff but low in volume; he wasn’t prepared to yell either. He kept walking very slowly, taking glances at the ground occasionally for debris. The last thing he wanted was a sharp piece of glass sticking out of his foot. “If you kill me then you might wake the locals and then you’ll be truly fucked.” He then stopped a few metres away from the girl. He isn’t going to walk any further because he understands how antsy people can get. A safe distance shows mutual respect for the other party. Clayton knew this long before the apocalypse began.
The girl in the station looks quite young; younger than most he has seen in the new world. Usually it’s the young and the old that die off but Clayton’s stubbornness showed an exception to that rule. He just needed to look around for a tyre and some supplies. He has no interest in a friend or foe. “How old are you?” He asked in curiosity. He wants to say 17 but his judgement has seen better days…much better days.
It has been 15 years since the Jurassic Park incident on Isla Nublar and 11 years since the incident on Isla Sorna. People are very well aware of the existence of the magnificent creatures on this island. With that in mind, the U.S government and Costa Rica Government are working together to try and keep these islands away from man and to prevent any of the creatures from escaping. However, a genetics company named Vita want to try and accomplish what the Hammond family and InGen could not. They want to create their very own dinosaur park. The island Isla Nublar has lain dormant for many years, with people being warned and shoved away from the island; a lucky few sometimes manage to sneak past security but they do not always come back alive…
Vita is organizing a Special team to retrieve samples from the island and to document the creatures living there. This team will be full of different professions and backgrounds, ranging from military to academic. The team will arrive by boat towards the port located on the west side of the island. This is the most important mission to the company so, Vita is gambling a lot on this. The team has been given an open chequebook for whatever they want. They’ll be equipped with the latest vehicles, weaponry, research equipment etc. The mission is highly top secret, with only a few higher ups from the Vita Corporation knowing the true details. They have managed to bribe and blackmail their path towards the island, so the US military will simply stand idle as it lets the ship go through. This mission will be dangerous and possibly fatal but it is not without merit or beauty as this is a trip of a lifetime. The team who enter it’s pernicious realm will not be the same again…
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
This is a Jurassic park RP set after the events of the first 3 films but before the events of the fourth one which comes out in May. I have no idea what year the fourth movie is set but with the technology in the film’s trailer, I will be surprised if Jurassic World was being constructed on Isla Nublar in 2008.
If this gets enough interest, then I will put the vehicles being used in the OOC but they will likely be similar to the ones used in the 2nd film (The lost world). However, if anyone has any ideas for other vehicles then step right up because any creative ideas are welcome. :) The only requirement when making a character is that they’re role and profession has to be relevant to the task at hand. Examples are: soldiers or hunters for security, palaeontologists or palaeonbotanists (professor or student) for expert advice and sample-collecting, doctors for injuries, engineers for repairs with vehicles and weapons, photographers or cameraman for documentation etc. It can be anything as long as it is relevant. We can’t exactly have a dentist or a juggler because that wouldn't make any sense on a dinosaur expedition. XD
Map of Isla Nublar
Clayton Burrows – Hill Country State Natural Area
The cold touch of a nearby draught gradually awoke Clayton from his beauty nap. The room was much darker than before, indicting night-time. As he started to come too he sees the walker hanging from the ceiling still swinging around like a circus monkey, desperate to be free and wild. He started to stand up slowly until he felt a great shot of pain hit his side. He started holding his hand on his hip and then swung around, inadvertently seeing himself in a cracked mirror. He was getting old. He looked some broken toy of a person found in a care home: damaged, unused and forgotten. He knows that he can’t simply walk into a clinic for some pain meds but it wouldn’t matter. He’s never liked visiting those clinics anyway. When you walk in, it’s just a window to your future: old and dependent. He goes to his bag and takes out some painkillers and pops them like they’re candy. A quick breeze scratched his face. The walker was getting closer; looks like determination dies hard.
Clayton grabbed his gun and backpack and walked out of outpost. He looks behind him to see the walker still inside. The air will do it good. He leaves the door open to let the fresh smell of the world welcome him. The area was still as quiet and ominous as before. It was one of those areas where it seemed like man had never set foot. Some days, Clayton thinks he was born way too late. He loved all those stories of old about the frontier. As a kid he would explore the woods nearby in search of strange new things. That fond old memory brought a rare but appreciated smile to the old man’s face. He looked around and saw the truck still in the same place at it was before; rotting to death like a trapped deer in a bear-claw. It looked liked it hadn’t been used in months. A taillight was busted, the colours were faded, dusty and one of the wing mirrors was cracked. It’s lucky it still looks driveable. Then again, park ranger vehicles were made to last.
He takes the key for the vehicle out of his jacket packet and places it in the car door keyhole. The key wasn’t budging at first but after some stiff resistance, the car opened. Inside was as empty as heaven. All there was dust. He takes his backpack off and throws it onto the passenger seat. It takes a small look around for good measure. It was extremely dark, with no lights to be seen. It was like looking into the eyes of god…nothing. Clayton must be quick. If there’s a horde around then he is finished. The outpost is made of wood; the creatures will make quick work of it. He shoves the car key into the ignition and proceeded to turn it. All that was heard for around was a deafening roar as the engine rose to life. It was a loud one which is not something to brag about in this world. The car beams were set to full already, making the dirt road in front quite clear to the human eye. He puts his foot down on the accelerator and heads on out to the undead frontier.
Clayton Burrows – Bandera TX, Main Street, opposite Gas Go Markets Gas Station
Clayton followed the road for miles now. The mileage above the steering wheel should he has driven about 15 miles now. Unfortunately most of the other gauges don’t even work. The temperature’s broken, revs broken and so has the speed gauge. Even though it doesn’t matter, a part of Clayton feels silently annoyed that it isn’t working but then again. He was domesticated by the old world into believing that every 5 miles, there’s a cop car waiting to bust him for speeding but there isn’t anymore. Not even nature cares if you decide to go 100 mile in a 20 zone. It was way too dark all around to see the environment but every so often he would see hints of abandoned vehicles and ripped out bodies. People described this place as well but Clayton sees this place as the character Oz. The curtain has been pulled away to show the true nature of reality.
Clayton had just entered the small town of Bandera, Texas. It was eerily quiet on the way in, with nothing but the sound of the engine to drown out the silence. Clayton took caution when coming in. Towns are usually the major harbour for the undead and with car engine and headlights on in the middle of the dark attracted trouble. Clayton hopes to drive through quickly. This was not a place to stop for the night. However, lady luck was not on Clayton’s side as a small but effective burst caused the vehicle to start swaying recklessly on the road. With instinct, Clayton stopped the car suddenly before he toppled upside down. Clayton hopes he hit a body because if he’s got a burst tire then nature is truly testing him. Clayton took his gun and backpack, taking a torch out of the vehicle while doing so, and stepped outside into the dark to analyze the damage of the vehicle. Just as he thought: a burst fucking tire. Clayton cursed under his breath as he quickly looked into the back of the pick up. There’s no spare tyre. This is just getting great for Clayton, he’s stuck in a dark town with the possibility of being raided by either the undead or bandits. He needs to find a tyre quick and drive out.
Clayton looks around as best as he can, he can only see fades of signs and buildings but in the bigger picture, it’s all just silhouettes. Clayton will only shine his light when necessary; he doesn’t need the attention of a light shining afar. A sign across the road was faint but he could slightly make out. It read ‘Shell’. He must be by a gas station. There may be a chance of a spare tyre around or, if lady luck doesn’t decide to sucker punch him again, there might be a mechanic’s garage nearby. There sometimes common around gas stations. He takes the keys out of the ignition, shutting the vehicle down while doing so. The engine and the beams will attract the wrong crowd if left on. He takes his gun off his arm and holds it in his right hand, proceeding to rest it on has shoulder; due to the weight of the rifle. The other hand is equipped with his torch for obvious reasons. He must be cautious when searching the station. It’s one of the most looted places in this new world. Sometimes, the true nature of the creatures of yesterday can be more terrifying than the true nature of today’s creatures.
The cold touch of a nearby draught gradually awoke Clayton from his beauty nap. The room was much darker than before, indicting night-time. As he started to come too he sees the walker hanging from the ceiling still swinging around like a circus monkey, desperate to be free and wild. He started to stand up slowly until he felt a great shot of pain hit his side. He started holding his hand on his hip and then swung around, inadvertently seeing himself in a cracked mirror. He was getting old. He looked some broken toy of a person found in a care home: damaged, unused and forgotten. He knows that he can’t simply walk into a clinic for some pain meds but it wouldn’t matter. He’s never liked visiting those clinics anyway. When you walk in, it’s just a window to your future: old and dependent. He goes to his bag and takes out some painkillers and pops them like they’re candy. A quick breeze scratched his face. The walker was getting closer; looks like determination dies hard.
Clayton grabbed his gun and backpack and walked out of outpost. He looks behind him to see the walker still inside. The air will do it good. He leaves the door open to let the fresh smell of the world welcome him. The area was still as quiet and ominous as before. It was one of those areas where it seemed like man had never set foot. Some days, Clayton thinks he was born way too late. He loved all those stories of old about the frontier. As a kid he would explore the woods nearby in search of strange new things. That fond old memory brought a rare but appreciated smile to the old man’s face. He looked around and saw the truck still in the same place at it was before; rotting to death like a trapped deer in a bear-claw. It looked liked it hadn’t been used in months. A taillight was busted, the colours were faded, dusty and one of the wing mirrors was cracked. It’s lucky it still looks driveable. Then again, park ranger vehicles were made to last.
He takes the key for the vehicle out of his jacket packet and places it in the car door keyhole. The key wasn’t budging at first but after some stiff resistance, the car opened. Inside was as empty as heaven. All there was dust. He takes his backpack off and throws it onto the passenger seat. It takes a small look around for good measure. It was extremely dark, with no lights to be seen. It was like looking into the eyes of god…nothing. Clayton must be quick. If there’s a horde around then he is finished. The outpost is made of wood; the creatures will make quick work of it. He shoves the car key into the ignition and proceeded to turn it. All that was heard for around was a deafening roar as the engine rose to life. It was a loud one which is not something to brag about in this world. The car beams were set to full already, making the dirt road in front quite clear to the human eye. He puts his foot down on the accelerator and heads on out to the undead frontier.
Clayton Burrows – Bandera TX, Main Street, opposite Gas Go Markets Gas Station
Clayton followed the road for miles now. The mileage above the steering wheel should he has driven about 15 miles now. Unfortunately most of the other gauges don’t even work. The temperature’s broken, revs broken and so has the speed gauge. Even though it doesn’t matter, a part of Clayton feels silently annoyed that it isn’t working but then again. He was domesticated by the old world into believing that every 5 miles, there’s a cop car waiting to bust him for speeding but there isn’t anymore. Not even nature cares if you decide to go 100 mile in a 20 zone. It was way too dark all around to see the environment but every so often he would see hints of abandoned vehicles and ripped out bodies. People described this place as well but Clayton sees this place as the character Oz. The curtain has been pulled away to show the true nature of reality.
Clayton had just entered the small town of Bandera, Texas. It was eerily quiet on the way in, with nothing but the sound of the engine to drown out the silence. Clayton took caution when coming in. Towns are usually the major harbour for the undead and with car engine and headlights on in the middle of the dark attracted trouble. Clayton hopes to drive through quickly. This was not a place to stop for the night. However, lady luck was not on Clayton’s side as a small but effective burst caused the vehicle to start swaying recklessly on the road. With instinct, Clayton stopped the car suddenly before he toppled upside down. Clayton hopes he hit a body because if he’s got a burst tire then nature is truly testing him. Clayton took his gun and backpack, taking a torch out of the vehicle while doing so, and stepped outside into the dark to analyze the damage of the vehicle. Just as he thought: a burst fucking tire. Clayton cursed under his breath as he quickly looked into the back of the pick up. There’s no spare tyre. This is just getting great for Clayton, he’s stuck in a dark town with the possibility of being raided by either the undead or bandits. He needs to find a tyre quick and drive out.
Clayton looks around as best as he can, he can only see fades of signs and buildings but in the bigger picture, it’s all just silhouettes. Clayton will only shine his light when necessary; he doesn’t need the attention of a light shining afar. A sign across the road was faint but he could slightly make out. It read ‘Shell’. He must be by a gas station. There may be a chance of a spare tyre around or, if lady luck doesn’t decide to sucker punch him again, there might be a mechanic’s garage nearby. There sometimes common around gas stations. He takes the keys out of the ignition, shutting the vehicle down while doing so. The engine and the beams will attract the wrong crowd if left on. He takes his gun off his arm and holds it in his right hand, proceeding to rest it on has shoulder; due to the weight of the rifle. The other hand is equipped with his torch for obvious reasons. He must be cautious when searching the station. It’s one of the most looted places in this new world. Sometimes, the true nature of the creatures of yesterday can be more terrifying than the true nature of today’s creatures.
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