A World Beyond Our Most Terrible Nightmares |OOC|

[Sarpedon]

IC Thread



April 23, 2016. That was the day our lives changed forever. That was the day of The Event. No one has any idea what really happened, but suddenly, at thirteen-fourty-eight, there was a light. A blinding blue flash. It radiated outward from the approximate centre of North America, and expanded to wash over the whole continent. Not long after that it disappeared, leaving only horror in its wake. On the outer edges of The Event's area of effect, were the survivors, everyone at the centre was dead now, and those far enough away not to die, but still close enough to feel the blue light wash over them, were now horrible mutants. Some, mostly the children, have psychic powers. Most of the rest were rendered into a kind of zombified state. They retain basic motor control and muscle memory, and are capable of using weaponry to some degree, but have no memories of their lives, feel no pain, and a relentless hunger. Only destroying their brain seems to kill them, though severing the spinal column is just as effective. The animals in the aptly-named "Mutant Zone" became all kinds of horrible. They all crave flesh, preferring that of the unafflicted, and most can shrug off injuries that would drop a much larger creature. Elongated teeth and claws are common. Increased strength and heightened senses are not unheard of. Some can even pull off a chameleon-esque active camouflage. Further mutations, like extra limbs and things described as "magic powers" are not exactly rare. The world is now a dangerous place.

Even more dangerous because of the ammunition shortages. With all the fighting going on and the lack of manufacturing, ammunition is all but gone. Now there are people roaming the streets with all kinds of guns, but you never can tell who has bullets to spare and who is bluffing. And to top it all off, the light from The Event hasn't gone away. Every so often there will be another flash, more blue light. It's usually a sphere about ten feet in diameter. They show up anywhere, out of nowhere, and anything inside is dead when the light fades. For the most part, though, the danger lies in those looking to exploit this apocalypse, especially the ones who actually have ammunition, as well as with the myriad of beasts unleashed on the world. At least, that's the way it was, right up until a few days ago.

Six days ago, the radio broadcasts started. On all frequencies, the same message was repeated once each hour for the first twenty-four hours. Since then, it plays every six hours, the same message: "Come, experience the re-birth of man. The New World Order awaits you." This immediately triggered a rush of survivors toward the beacon. Everyone wanted to see the new world order, and get the hell out of this wasteland. That quickly turned into a battle royale. Everyone suddenly turned on one another, everyone. No one was safe, it was as if they were being mind-controlled. Whatever the New World Order was, it wouldn't be very large, that was clear. The remaining survivors, scattered, tired, traumatized, and running low on supplies, are all seeking some escape from this wasteland. Some head toward the beacon, others head for the coast, but even as they travel, hope is the thing in shortest supply, and with each passing day there is even less. There are some smaller groups are determined to stay where they are, however, content to scavenge from the dead, believing that someone or something with be able to rectify the chaos. To each their own...



CS:

Name: What shall we call you? Hmm?

Age: How old are you, eh?

Gender: This should be an easy one...

Appearance: I can't see you too well, come over here...

Pre-Event Occupation: What did you do before this mess?

Gear: What does it have in its pocketses?

Mutations(optional): Aww, poor muffin got caught in the mutie zone... What happened? What was it like? WHAT ARE YOU?!

Bio: Tell me about yourself...

Pretty basic, give us a rundown on your character. The more work you put into it, the better. If you must post pictures to illustrate points, please link them, don't just embed them in your post, I will appreciate it. Gear can just be point form, makes things easier, though don't be shy about adding descriptions. Apparel, on the other hand, should be described. And remember! Have fun! Fun is important.





Me:
Name: James O'Connor

Age: 26

Gender: Male

Appearance: Jimmy is about five feet and nine inches tall, though if you were to ask him, he would vehemently tell you he is "five-nine-and-a-half". He has faded blue eyes that make him look like he isn't always focused, even when he most definitely is, and his short mop of dark hair doesn't help his distracted look, it's obvious he hasn't done anything with it in a long time, and even when he tries, he seems to be stuck with perpetual bedhead. His fair skin is interrupted with the occasional scar, most notably the half a glasgow grin on the left side of his face. Other than all of that, he seems to be a fairly unspectacular person, not someone you'd remember passing on the street if you didn't get a really good look at him. He's gotten a lot thinner since the event. Barely able to find enough to eat, let alone get to a working gym, has resulted in a smaller, more compact, and much determined version of Jimmy.

Pre-Event Occupation: Night-shift manager at the local gas station/convenience store, and avid outdoorsman.

Gear and Apparel: Jimmy usually wears his "outdoors outfit" while scavenging amongst the ruins of a fallen civilization. A pair of heavy, tan cargo pants tucked into a pair of black, well-worn combat boots. A once-white t-shirt covered by another, grey long-sleeved t-shirt and then a black hoodie, underneath a soviet-style greatcoat that comes down to about the tops of his boots, complete his typical look. He also carries gloves and a poncho, should the conditions require either of those. Beneath his coat he wears a load-bearing vest he scavenged from the dead, it holds most of his smaller gear. And on his back is his camping backpack that carries the rest of his gear, fitted with a quick-detach system in case he needs to get away more than he needs his stuff.

Backpack:
Sleeping pad
Paracord - approximately one hundred feet, plain black
Khukri - one-piece construction, carbon steel, two feet long, paracord-wrapped handle. It is strapped to the outside of his pack for greater accessability.
A black tarp
Most of a CBRN suit(missing the left glove)
Three one-litre water bottles
Rain poncho - non-reflective OD Green

LBV:
Zippo - silver, engraved with "IRA" on one side, and an Easter Lily on the other
Flint and striker
Crank-charged flashlight
Basic first aid kit - band-aids, anti-biotics, anti-septics, bandages
Several granola bars
Leather gloves - black

Belt:
Ka-Bar - combo edge, black anodized blade, Kraton G handle

Pockets:
Leatherman Crater - c33Tx, black anodized blade
Wire for setting snares

Mutations(optional): None! Jimmy is mutation-free!

Bio:

Jimmy was born in Northern Ireland, to a Catholic family. Needless to say, his childhood was riddled with conflict. He grew up with his father teaching him to fight, and to shoot, though he quickly discovered he much preferred blades to bullets when it came to combat. And after watching his father being gunned down by government troops, he decided really didn't like guns. He wasn't against them, however, as everyone needed some way to fight off their oppressors, he just didn't like them. That turned out to be a good thing, though, since firearms usually meant paperwork, and paperwork left a trail. Seeing that his father was an IRA member, and his family had supported them for as long as they had been around, paper trails were not exactly a good thing. With violent operations winding down, though, the IRA was happy enough to ship what was left of the O'Connors to America, where they had some sympathizers. The stateside supporters of the IRA got James' mother a job that paid cash, and found him a school that they said was safe. "Safe" however, is a relative term. Safe from people who ask to many questions does not mean safe from bigger, stronger kids with nothing to do but beat on the smaller ones.

Jimmy, however, was one of those remarkably talented children, able to give as good as he got to boys half-again his size. He earned some respect in the schoolyard, and eventually realized that he and the bullies were all on the same IRA-supporting side. After that, he wound up terrorizing other children they suspected were not so sympathetic to their friends overseas. As he got through school, doing okay despite his constant detentions and threats of expulsion, he perfected the art of fighting, and his group of schoolyard bullies began to blossom into a full-on street gang. That didn't fly with their parents however, who were more concerned about supporting those fighting for a free Ireland than establishing control of a neighborhood in the US. And things were brought to a halt soon enough, when another gang decided that these new kids were infringing on their turf. They showed up one night, while the boys were hanging out, and a fight broke out, resulting in several injuries, two dead rivals, and left Jim with his signature, permanent sneer.

After that, it was time to relocate again. After another move, Jimmy was told to get his act together and go get a job. He found one, working at a self-serve gas station and convenience store, usually late. He also spent a good deal of time in the woods. Often he'd borrow a hunting rifle, or just go out and set snares, but all of his endeavors were meant to support his family and the IRA. Having never lived in the greatest of neighborhoods, and spending so much time the woods, Jimmy was never without some means of self defense, be it from people or animals, or the elements. So when his gas station got held up by a pair of street thugs in need of free gas, he was able to beat them off, injuring one before they ran off. That incident, known to most as "incident number one", was what got him promoted to night manager, since the old one quit, claiming mental trauma. "Incident number two" got him a significant raise. After starting work early on Friday, and seeing extensive sales of snacks, Jimmy estimated there had to be almost two hundred dollars in the register. Two hundred dollars that a trio of thugs demanded from him at gunpoint.

But since "incident number one" the owner had installed a shotgun underneath the counter, and it turned out that the airsoft pistols the thugs were holding were not terribly effective at causing bodily harm. James was more than happy to show the thugs how a real gun worked when they got a bit distracted. The owner was unable to find anyone else willing to work the night shift after that, but Jim stayed on, happily defending the convenience store from a slowly escalating series of raids. He wasn't scared, though many thought he should have been.

But then things started to slip. First there was a police raid on the IRA-owned apartment complex, where they confiscated James' extensive collection of blades, as well as imprisoning the rest of his family. He had been out checking snares at the time, so he didn't have the rifle he usually borrowed from the IRA veteran across the hall. At the same time, it meant he was nowhere that anyone might think to suggest, and he was never picked up by the police, because then The Event happened. Afterward, during the rioting and looting and the general chaos, Jimmy found what he thought to be the remains of his family. He refused to give up hope, however, believing them to have escaped somewhere, and he set about scavenging. He outfitted himself with as much as he could carry comfortably, but failed to find what he felt were sufficient ammunition stocks for any kind of firearm he could lay his hands on. and since he had never much liked them anyway, he was fine with that. Blades were much more personal and intimidating anyway.


Accepted People:
Me
Blazion
Hadrada
sartorous

[Blazion]

Hullo! I thought I'd just post to say I'm interested, and currently mulling over what kind of character I desire.

However, I do have a question. As there is a section for mutations, is it just a simple yes / no to having psychic powers or is it possible that some of those that have mutated still retain their rational mind? I doubt it will affect my CS, as the character I've tentatively settled on and started writing out doesn't have any mutations either way, but I'm curious.

Cheers!

[Commander Kalic]

I have another question, where are we supposed to be starting geographically?

[Sarpedon]

geographically, I haven't quite decided yet, probably somewhere on the west coast, but I'm cool with suggestions and stuff if you're looking for something specific.

As for mutations, the idea is to fill in the field with whatever you like, whether you have psychic powers, or a third arm, or laser eyes, describe your mutation, and we'll see if it flies. Laser eyeballs probably won't fly...

[Blazion]

The laser eyeballs could probably fly if they also mutated wings.

Anyway, finally finished my character. The background is a little bit more out there, I honestly have no idea why I wanted to go with it but it lodged itself in my mind and insisted on being written out. Should you desire a more normal route of character I can scrap her for another or edit the background.

---

Name: Zoey Ryder

Age: Twenty-three.

Gender: Female.

Appearance: Stands at a tall 5’11’’, with an athletic frame that’s slowly becoming leaner the longer this madness goes on. Zoey is also rather pale, more often getting sunburnt than any sort of tan when she wanders too long in the heat. As such the small burn along the left side of her jaw is noticeably dark compared to the rest of her skin and rather ugly. She has light red, almost orange hair that goes down to her shoulder blades, held back in a ponytail more often than not with a simple light blue hairband – the same color as her eyes. Having abandoned most of her clothes for more supply room, Zoey only has the clothes on her back. Said clothes consist of a white button-up shirt covered by a well-worn hooded black jacket, blue jeans and black sneakers. A plain brown-strapped digital watch is on her wrist, the glass cracked. Her clothes are rather plain admittedly, the most noticeable part being the fact she wears two ties – one red, the other blue. Even though she dumped most of her clothes, Zoey kept the two ties loosely around her neck should the situation arise where she needed a makeshift rope.

Pre-Event Occupation: College student, with a side job as a cashier.

Gear
Container: Dark-blue backpack

• A fire-breathing kit, containing one reserve canteen of fuel and two extra torches.
• First Aid kit, a duplicate design of the fire-breathing kit as they came in a joint set. Safety first!
• Plastic water bottle.
• A pack of chips with questionable freshness.

Pockets

• Useless cellphone.
• Metal lighter.
• Leather wallet.

Belt

• Hunting knife, strapped on clumsily. It's a fixed blade model, the blade itself only six inches long and set into a wooden, black-polished handle. It has a dark-brown leather sheathe with 'Buck Knives' pressed into it.
• The main reserve of fuel from the fire-breathing kit, half empty, and tied to her belt with a shoelace.
• A well-made torch, bundled at one end, tucked into the straps holding the belt down.

Mutations: None.

Bio: Just before The Event Zoey was just a standard college student studying business, working as a mere cashier in her off hours. She was admittedly a little odd, however this was due to the fact that Zoey was born and raised in what was becoming a dying breed; one of the last traveling circuses in North America. Her mother was the Ringleader and owner of Ryder Family Circus, raising her daughter in the environment since she was born. As such Zoey grew up around performers, traveling almost constantly around the country. She was very social as well, making temporary friends easily with any children visiting ‘her home’, and earning the affection of more than one performer who were happy to show the little one bits and pieces of the less dangerous acts. Much to her mother’s chagrin however, Zoey took to one of the most dangerous acts – fire breathing.

It seemed that Zoey was intent on taking a liking to danger however, as even when her mother tried to turn her focus elsewhere when she was young Zoey instead asked to be learn from the trapeze artists. Exasperated, her mother relented – at least then there were safety nets and she would start off small. By the time she was a teenager Zoey was fairly proficient at it, but still never stopped wanting to learn from the fire breathers. After a small incident where the headstrong teen tried her own hand at breathing fire one of the performers finally began to teach her the art. Up to her departure from the circus Zoey took great joy in assisting the fire breather with his work, and learning under him.

As much as performing and circus life was a part of her however, Zoey wasn’t neglected from formal education. When she was young tutors were hired, paid handsomely to travel with them. Maybe it was the setting she was taught in, but Zoey never was particularly book-smart. Still, she did well enough and when she sat her high school exams scored high enough to be accepted into a small community college on the west coast. Initially she was against the idea of course, but her mother insisted – perhaps because although the business did well a traveling circus couldn’t be her whole life.

It turned out to be a lucky move, as when The Event occurred Zoey was safely tucked away in her school’s dorm rooms for her final year, while the Ryder Family Circus was much further inland to the blinding blue light. After the initial shock Zoey packed her things fully intent on traveling inland to find her family. Whatever hope she had for finding them alive and well was quickly extinguished when she ran into her first mutant, barely escaping with relatively minor injuries. A passing group of other survivors, having banded together at seeing the mutants or having escaped themselves with little to no mutations took pity on the despairing young woman and allowed Zoey to travel with them. It was rather comforting to Zoey, being back in a traveling group after the revelation that her family couldn’t have possibly made it.

Of course the camaraderie and peace within the small group was shattered the very day the broadcasts started.

Having been out scavenging Zoey can only guess how the fight started, but when she returned it was to most of the group slaughtered; their supposed leader picking everyone’s supplies off the bloody bodies with a background soundtrack of the broadcast echoing out once more. As soon as he turned his gaze to her Zoey could practically feel that desperation radiating off of him, and then knew it was him or her. By chance she was holding one of her torches as the hour had gone late, along with the fuel used to light it. The same desperation he held settled in Zoey’s stomach, and she had to disregard the normally strict conditions for her act, as when her once-comrade approached she put the canteen of fuel to her lips before turning to him, and just before he raised his gun turned what was once her favorite performance into a deadly, make-shift weapon of flames that engulfed his face and shoulders whole.

She survived, but Zoey has no doubt his dying screams would haunt her.

Needing to get away from the reality of what she just did, what just happened, Zoey quickly scavenged the supplies off the now dead group members and took off once more. Although she now keeps her limited supply of fuel strung to her belt along with a torch and lighter on the other she thinks she’d hesitate to use the surprising combination once again. Perhaps that desire to not do it, and to not cross paths with those crazed by this world, is what led her to where she is present day; skirting around cities with no real purpose in mind other than survival and avoiding the monsters, not all of which are mutants.

[Sarpedon]

oh, jesus... someone else got their character done before me... lol, better get on that...

It looks good so far, but I'll give zoey a better look once I'm free this evening.

[Commander Kalic]

Or, are we supposed to be fresh off the event? I figured it was more stalker esque where we had suits and weapons and what not.

[Sarpedon]

this starts little while after the event, enough time to have scavenged suits and weapons and such from the dead if that's what you're into.

[Sarpedon]

okay, my character is done, let's give Zoey I good looking over!

Edit: not too over the top, and a very interesting background... I like her, so for now we'll say accepted!

[Blazion]

Huzzah! Thank you, and Jimmy is quite interesting as well! Hopefully more shall join soon.