Dead Silence -- OOC -- AYW & dman0649

[Whiskey]

Spoiler

Name: Carson “Doc” Everett

Age: 25

Blood Type: “A” Positive

Gender: Male

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: Caucasian(White)

Appearance: Carson is a tall man of six feet and two inches. He has a medium sized build with broad shoulders and normal proportions. His hair is shorn, dark black in color with traces of premature gray on his sideburns and small pockets of gray situated at random intervals across his head. His eyes match his elderly-before-his-time hair. Round, full eyes colored a deep blue/green/gray ocean-y hue, with a piercing stare if looked at in the right light – his eyes are one of the most prominent features of his face. Given his background, he has never quite lost the “Marine” standard- He keeps his hair trimmed and short, stands tall, shoulders squared. A light tan lingers on his skin. His voice is level and normal- not too high and not too deep. He keeps himself very neatly groomed, always wanting to keep a ‘clean’ ambiance about him. Carson has a bullet wound on his right shoulder from a wound long past, and a scar covering from his left shoulder to his right hip. The Rod of Asclepius is tattooed in the middle of his chest.

Personality: Carson attempts to treat everyone the same. In the world of medicine, people are people- and he keeps it that way. No matter what, Carson jokes; it’s his stress reliever. If he can’t laugh, something is detrimentally wrong, as Carson tries to find humor in most any situation. Known to have a knack for wit and sarcasm, his mouth has been, many a times, cause for getting in trouble. While not anti-social, Carson is a man who will sit back and observe before jumping to any conclusions engaging in any serious dialogue with people. He has an enormous amount of loyalty for friends and those he respects. ( I typically try and make personalities short or vague as I like to have them develop in the RP on a situation-by-situation basis as he meets different people; if that’s all the same to you, of course.)

History: Carson was born into a very well off family. In fact, well off might be an over-statement. His mother, Julianna Everett, was the CEO of a pharmaceutical company located in the midwest, and his Father, James Everett, owned the third largest petroleum company in Texas. To say the Everett family was set for life didn’t even begin to describe the family’s situation. As such, the Everett’s wanted the very best for their only child, Carson. He was given the best of everything: Medical care, education, clothes, entertainment, cars, food, everything under the sun was at his finger-tips; figuratively. And Carson hated it. Always having the rebellious gene in his body, coupled with his parents either being on business trips, VERY long conference meetings, or otherwise preoccupied with making millions of dollars, Carson had a lot of time on his hands to get into trouble and figure things out on his own.

A long history of altercations with other kids and life-changing experiences that everyone goes through during childhood, Carson knew what he wanted to do. His parents, of course, wanted him to go to college, pristine ivy league, top-of-the-line colleges that would make any resume look like metaphorical gold. Carson appeased his parents and told his parents that of course he would go to college and would apply to every Ivy League school in the book. That seemed to have shut them up.

At the age of eighteen, the exact day, Carson opened the door to the local Navy recruiter and set up his post-High School plan. In the next few weeks that followed, he had the papers all signed and preparations made. He was the newest Navy Hospital Corpsman recruit of the U.S Navy. One day, he just upped and left it all. He didn’t tell his parents where he was going, his friends, the butler- none of them. He just packed a bag and left to the Great Lakes for Basic. Carson was essentially looking for a way out, a means to escape from the life he disliked, the house he hated, and the family he despised. Carson quickly developed a sense of working for himself and becoming a man, and the Navy taught him that. Carson flew through Basic and “A” school, making a name for himself in the Navy and settling him on his career path.

After graduating “A” school, Carson signed up for Fleet Medical Service School(FMSS). From there on out, he served distinctly with honor, in the Fleet Marine Force for three years, having several deployments in major hotspots. This is where Carson earned his title “Doc”. After serving on the green side of the Navy, Carson decided he wanted something different, but he still wanted to help people. Long gone was the string of rebellion, and what replaced it was unwavering loyalty to the service, and his fellow service members. Carson, at the age of 22, was off to San Diego, California, Naval Medical Center and became a surgical technician(Not a surgeon, but helped during surgeries.) After another two years, Carson was honorably discharged from the Navy. Carson never lost his drive to help and save others and thus found employment as an EMT-Paramedic, applying his knowledge of military medicine to the civilian world.

Skills:
-Basic Naval/USMC infantry tactics
-Basic firearm training
-Strong knowledge of the human body, sicknesses, ailments, poisons, diseases and the respective cures
-Field Surgery
-Advanced First Aid
-Trauma Care
-Strong understanding of Emergency Medical techniques, operations, and skills

Attire: Typically seen in a medical scrub, or his trousers and an EMT/Blue shirt.

Personal Equipment List:
-Naval Digital NWU(Digital camouflage) trousers
-Combat boots
-Several pairs of surgical/medical scrubs
-Matte black Remington 700P chambered in 7mm Remington Magnum with a Leupold Mark IV M3 10x40mm telescopic sight mounted on the top of the rifle.
-Sig Sauer P226 chambered in .40S&W
-100 7MMRM bullets for the rifle, and several magazines for the handgun, totaling three magazines and 250 .40S&W bullets for the P226
-An advanced first aid kit
-A six inch Microtech serrated switch-blade
-Surgical bag filled with various surgical equipment, including advanced medicines, scalpels and other instruments, stethoscope, gauze, bandages, and surgical tape
-Another surgical bag filled with a mixture of medicines ranging from Tylenol to Vicodin to anti-depressants and antacid tablets.
-His main backpack filled with his clothing, toiletries, extra t-shirts and under garments, two bags of beef jerky, trail mix, a few bottles of water, a compass, basic survival tools, and any other tools necessary to help perform his job parameters. This is also where his ammunition is stored. Hidden within the backpack is a flask filled with any type of alcohol on hand.

Strengths:
-Gets things done no matter what; good work ethic
-Perfectionist
-Calm, cool, and collect
-Quick learner

Weaknesses:
-Terribly unorganized
-Arrogant at times
-Gets nervous around people
-Perfectionist

Fears: Carson has a few fears that inhibit his ability to effectively situate himself with the current predicaments.
-The fear of being alone. Despite being inclined to being quiet around people he doesn’t know, Carson is terrified of being alone. He fears that with what is happening in the world, people don’t know how to take care of themselves and sooner or later he will be left alone in the world with no one to talk to or share life with.
-The fear of intimacy. He has an unwillingness to let others get ‘too’ close, and chooses to seal off certain aspects of his life, such as his parents and some events that occurred to him in the Military.

Hobbies: Carson was an avid fisher and hunter in his childhood and often target practiced with various rifles and shotguns. Among his hunting and fishing, Carson thoroughly enjoyed classical music, plays any game(Be it poker, scrabble, or strip monopoly), and cooking.

Quirks: Carson is a pseudo OCD victim. Things have to be level and straight, clean and tidy, and especially in order. Despises even numbers. He is often seen tapping his foot or having to move in some way or fashion. Looks over his shoulder in a paranoid fashion more than the average person.

Vices: Along with his slight arrogance vice, Carson picked up the habit of drinking while in the Navy. While he claims he carries alcohol around as it has medicinal purposes, or sometimes it steadies his hands and nerves, he actually carries it about to relieve stress and tensions of his life.

Miscellaneous: Never travels anywhere without an Ace of Spades playing card.

Favorite Fruit: Tomato. Yes. It’s a fruit.

(If anything is amok or needs to changed, just let me know. ^^

[AYoungWarthog]

Carson is approved.

- - - Updated - - -

I think blood-types will be randomly generated... I don't want people to pick their blood-type then be upset if it is a bad type to have and think it wasn't fair. Anyone have complaints about that?? If not...

Here is a list of Characters So Far with their blood-types.

Daniel Adler: B+
Kenneth McPherson: B-
Carson Everett: A+

[Whiskey]

I've updated the CS in regards to the blood types. It's cool/weird you picked my actual blood type...

I don't think it'll have a substantial effect unless everyone is in need of major blood transfusions. I figured O- would be fairly useful as it's a 'universal' blood type or something medically scientificated like that.

[Charlie Sheen]

I chose O- for the same purpose, but my actual bloodtype is AB- Which I figured would have been incredibly annoying. Being that its rare especially during emergencies.... but having a bloodtype chosen for me matters little, and will only be used or noticed when its brought up. Such as when wounded, if bleeding out and requiring a transfusion, or another such medical emergency....

I feel a bit overwhelmed so far... Everyone has guns and lots of more technical skills/military training XD I hope being a basic coward with no discernible skill other than running is ok lol

[AYoungWarthog]

Everyone SHOULD be like you are Sheen. I'm a military man, but I'm getting old and once a trooper's ammo is gone he is less prepared than someone like you.

[Sir Beowulf]

Hmm. Maybe I'll be a college student who's in with the Baseball crowd. Of 'course I'll be using a bat like a bad-ass and knock some zed heads outta the park.

[Whiskey]

All my guy knows how to do is put a bandage on someone, figuratively.

Useful, yes, but realistically, Kenneth has a higher rate of survival, just due to his nature, me thinks.

Also, Warty, I can tone back things or what have you, if you want something more akin to Mr. Sheen's CS.

[Red Beret]

Name: Oliver Mercer
Age: 35
Blood Type: O+
Gender: Male
Nationality: British
Ethnicity: Caucasian

Appearance: Oliver Mercer would make a sorry excuse for a sergeant, to look at him. It's clear that he doesn't shave often, except out of obligation, and that he'd rather slouch than stand up straight. His dark hair, though kept short, is hardly regulation and often goes unwashed. Not to say he has poor hygiene, but you wouldn't think he smells as good as he does just by looking at him. There are bags under his eyes, which are a dull hazel in color, and he generally wears a bored or tired expression, though he has been known to seem exasperated when he's feeling emotional.

His skin is dark for a caucasian male. A good bit of that is the time he spent in the sun in the Army (though he doesn't really like to talk about it), and the rest comes from the factory job he'd been working up until the outbreak hit. Though he doesn't look all that impressive, both jobs have left him with quite a bit of strength, and he excels at being remarkably deceptive about it--mostly because he doesn't show it off (or care to show it off). Aside from being built rather thin, Mercer is built rather short, standing at a mere five feet, eight inches, though you'd think he was shorter than that, thanks to his posture.

Personality: As stated in the previous field, Mercer tends not to show much emotion outside of apathy until prompted to give his take on things, in which he reveals himself to be a full-blown pessimist (though if he cared to, he'd correct you and tell you that he's a "realist"). While he prefers to avoid conflict when he can, he's not a complete coward and will often choose to put those he's close to before himself.

Though this isn't a trait that's easy to provoke (he gets by on ignoring the things that would otherwise frustrate him to no end), he does tend to get exasperated with gung-ho individuals, especially military officers who don't seem to know their arse from their elbows.

History: Mercer spent his fair share of time in the British Army, long enough to earn the rank of Sergeant, anyway. Though he was never keen to talk about it, one could infer by his ability to locate things that others had squirreled away that he had spent a bit of that time working for supply. Most of the skills he brought back with him seemed to be related to the motor pool, perhaps some engineering, no one knows for sure but those who served with him, and they don't remember much about him, except for his complaining and pragmatism.

After he'd done his fair bit, though, he traded in his stripes for civilian clothing and made his way to the New World to seek a fortune away from military service. Fortunately, he was able to use some of the things he'd picked up from his service in a manufacturing plant, for a company which made forklifts. If he'd been any other person with a history as a non-commissioned officer, he might have spent his time dodging promotions, but his employers weren't fond of his pessimistic attitude and the only time they ever saw him displaying leadership was when he told a particularly annoying foreman to shut it and get on with his job. It wasn't the best example, and probably led to his being canned a week later.

Afterward, Mercer held a string of jobs, most of them dealing with the same sort of thing, and only one dealing with customers, using his old skills to perform duties as a bouncer at a local club (though he didn't stay with it long). He finally managed to get a job in New York, with a company that manufactured drills, of all things. Perhaps as much to his surprise as anyone's, he managed to stick with it... until that pesky infection business got in the way, of course.

After the Infection: The initial outbreak happened while Mercer was at work, and some might have said that he'd staged a rather valiant stand against the infected... if he hadn't been the only one to survive. He managed to escape the factory by rallying the workers and pushing into the company offices, but the doors didn't hold, neither did the morale of the others. There was a mad dash to escape the building, and Mercer managed to get out by picking up a rather convenient bit of piping and fighting them off.

From there, he slowly picked up on the local traffic, and scrounging out of homes and plundering corpses (the ones that weren't moving, anyway), he managed to find his way to the local stronghold...

Skills:
Military Service (as an NCO, to boot)
Quick Thinker (he likes to think so, anyway)
Rational Thinker (again, he likes to think so)
Scavenger

Attire:
Work Jacket
T-Shirt (somewhat too big)
Jeans (worn, stained with oil, small tear in the right leg at the calf)
Work Boots
Leather Belt
Backpack with Personal Effects

Arsenal:
Bolt-Action Hunting Rifle (looted from some poor sod)
6-Inch Hunting Knife (looted from same poor sod)
Sturdy Pipe (kept after escaping the plant)

Personal Effects:
Three Boxes .308 Ammunition (looted from the poor sod as the rifle and the knife)
Four Bottles Wal-Mart Purified Drinking Water
Rations (two days' worth by his own count)
Ibuprofen (from some poor old lady's medicine cabinet)
Iodine (also from some poor old lady's medicine cabinet)
Old Spice Deodorant (from the poor old lady's poor old husband)
Pack of Cigarettes (about seven left)

Strengths:
Deceptively Strong
Quick (when he puts his mind to it)
Loyal (when he's been won over, anyway)
Good Work Ethic (again, when he puts his mind to it)

Weaknesses:
Lethargic
Apathetic
Pessimistic (quite often described as a "downer" or a "buzzkill")
World-Weary

Fears:
Incompetent Officers
Explosions (though only when he's not sure where they're coming from)
Volunteering

Hobbies:
Complaining about things
Mechanical maintenance

Quirks:
Not many to list.

Vices:
Smoking

Miscellaneous:
Meh



My favorite fruit is you, Warty. c:

[Sir Beowulf]

Hmm. Funtip: Don't start reading a zombie webcomic. It makes you want to steal borrow all the characters.

[dman0649]

Before anyone freaks out about my history section, I have to honestly admit that I had no other way of my character knowing these three martial arts. Warty boy o'er yonder approved it, so i'm posting it. Fuck all of you.

Also, i'm the co-gm. HAHAHAHAHA. YOU'RE SO FUCKED.

Name: Maximillian Parkes

Age: 28

Gender: Male

Nationality: United States

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Appearance:

Max is a muscular and well toned gentleman who stands at 6”2 and weighs one hundred and ninety five pounds. His muscular structure is very defined; his biceps are sizeable, his legs are streamlined and rippling with strength, his pectorals and abs are well structured and very noticeable, and he uses the perfect balance of strength and flexibility to exercise. He has short, well cropped black hair, size 13 feet, rich and deep emerald eyes, and slightly pale skin. His eyebrows are thick, though not excessively, and his face is clean shaven—he prefers it to stay that way when possible. His shoulders are broad, his chin is defined, and he is an Olympic specimen of a man. He stands with confidence and elegance, and his form is both imposing and tranquil. He gives off the appearance that there is more to him than meets the eye.

Personality: Max is a gentleman. He’s calm, relaxed, and completely in control at every possible moment. He’s a natural born leader, hevily sarcastic, and a bit of a know it all at times. He speaks cryptically in certain instances, and is exactly what you would expect of an FBI agent—polite and curt, though friendly and appreciative of everything you are capable of doing. He’s a bit of a loner, though is extremely intelligent; it’s why he keeps to himself. He’s devoted to keeping future generations from facing infection, an will risk everything simply to save te f ture. All in all, Max is an athletic, unique, and trustworthy individual.

History: {I know some of this is hard to believe, but it’s all I got.}

Maximillian Arthur Parkes was born in Philedelphia, Pennsylvania on September 11th, 1989 to his parents Mariah and Jackson Parkes. Mariah was a registered nurse that worked for a free clinic in inner city Philly, whereas Jackson was a coke-fueled criminal whose only concern was how much powder was in his bloodstream at one particular time or another. The tiny family lived in the humble little district of West Philedelphia—a neighborhood which is notorious when it comes to the subject of crime and drugs. As Max grew, he witnessed the constant harassment and physical beating of his mother; a sight he wasn’t particularly fond of seeing. So when he attempted to grab the phone and call the police, Jack would rip the phone from his hands, then beat him into a stupor before tossing him onto the couch. Soon after, dear old Dad would harass Mariah a bit more, then go on the hunt for more dust—a hobby of his which took up seventy five percent of the family’s income. Mariah did the best she could for her son; put food on the table, sent him to the best school she could, and instilled morals and values within him which his father did not possess. After seeing Max endure beating after beating by the hands of his father, Mariah enrolled her six year old son in a Krav Magga dojo in one of the wealthier districts of Philedelphia. After explaining her monetary predicament, Master Hassan Har-Even took young Maxi under his wing, teaching him how to defend himself with extreme brutality. As he grew, Master Har-Even taught Max more advanced techniques; grapples, nerve strikes, proper footwork and even military approved strikes which could result in lethality—and by the time Maximillian turned 15, he was a master of Krav-Magga.

At this point in his life, Max acquired a fake ID which listed him at 19 years old, and he used money he had saved in a personal bank account (which his parents didn’t know about) to purchase a one way ticket to Shanghai, China. He had to escape the life of a poor, bedraggled an beaten teen; though he knew how to defend himself, he refused to hit his father out of respect. Before leaving, he researched miscellaneous Asian martial arts. He considered the five animal forms, Hapkido, even Shotokan, but the form which took his breath away was that of Southern Dragon Kung Fu—an elegant and powerful martial art revolving around speed and precise striking. So after saving up a bit more money to live on while he searched for an instructor, Max left the United States for China. Though he was no longer with his family, he kept in contact with his mother and master through telephone, ensuring them that he would be back when he was of age.

Max wandered through the streets of Shanghai for 2 months; 60 bitter days of surviving on scraps, drinking dirty water, and fighting for his life in miscellaneous districts. So essentially, it was rather similar to life back in Phillie. He asked of the Southern Dragon form day after day to many a soul; and after considering retreating to his home back in the states, he was taken in by a tall and wirey man by the name of Ryuka Shirimito. He was a Japenese immigrant to Shanghai who had devoted the entirety of his existence to Southern Dragon Kung Fu; he was old, though a true master. He spent four years teaching Max the way of the dragon, not to mention how to speak the miscellaneous dialects of Chinese during his stay in Shanghai. By the time Max turned 18, he was a black belt in the art.

As promised, Max retreated to his home in Philedelphia, though with a fire burning in his every nerve. Memories of his father flashed through his mind every time he threw a punch, and he lusted for revenge after a lifetime of suffering. He entered the shabby apartment in West Phillie, broke both of his father’s hands and arms, then threw him down the stairs of the apartment building before calling the hospital to take him to the emergency room. His mother was pleased that he kept up with his schooling abroad; he had been given average grades for the work he had sent home from China, and that was satisfactory enough for him. He was accepted into Penn State University, and became a Pennsylvania state police officer while majoring in Criminal Justice an Chinese. After hours of long and tireless work, Max graduated with a bachelor’s degree in both of his majors with a3.7 cumulative grade point average. He worked as a state policeman for another year, then applied to become a special agent for the FBI on his 23rd birthday. After the necessary background checks and physical assessments were administered, Max was initiated into the FBI on February 29th, 2013. Upon his initiation, he applied for the HRT (hostage rescue team), and was taken into consideration over the next two years of his employment. On July 4th, 2015, Max became a member of the FBI’s prestigious hostage rescue team. After his initiation, Max was stationed in the Phillopines to assist the bureau in gathering intelligence on the NCO. During his stay in the islands, Max was taught Escrima by several local masters, soon becoming a master himself. After three years in the Phillipines, Max was transferred to New York City, New York and placed in a key position on the FBI’s counter terrorism team. That was when everything hit the fan.

Max was issued military grade equipment, and the HRT was deployed to several locations throughout Manhattan to assist the military in controlling the infection. Most attempts to rescue civillians faild, and his unit withdrew from the city on December 29th, 2018. Though Max opted to stay behind, and continue assisting the military in it’s efforts of controlling the infection. He fought the horde for another month before fleeing the city, and taking refuge within Sing Sing State Penitentiary. He followed a lead on the NCO scientists dossier that some of the research team had been imprisoned there, and Max was reluctant to believe any of them lived. Though he had hope. So here he is today—he assisted in the fortification of the prison, directed construction of several alternative fortifications for the interior of the facility, and is now beginning discussions with the leading military personell on what their next move should be.


--After the Infection—

Skills: Close quarters combat, specialized firearms training, stealth, gathering of intelligence, leadership, speaks german and Chinese fluently, extremely physically fit, prior combat experience, infiltration combat strategy, knowledge of NYC, counter terrorism and counter intelligence, as well as in depth martial art skill. Good reaction time, strong instincts.

Atttire: Grey under armor long sleeved T shirt, urban MARPAT military camo, black tactical Kevlar vest with 7 magazines of ammunition for his .357, and 5 magazines of ammunition for his G-36C. He wears black steel toed combat boots, black shooting gloves, white wool tube socks, U.S marine combat utility belt,, Identification tags, shatterproof shooting glasses (mirrored), elbow pads, knee pads, and a black ski mask.

Arsenal: Sig .357 Automag holstered on his right thigater, , a 24 inch collapsible steel riot baton hanging on his belt, A 6 inch KA-BAR combat knife, also sheathed on his belt, an H&K G-36C equipped with red dot scope, foregrip, retractable stock, rifle mounted LED tactical flashlight, and a sound suppressor which can be removed and attached on a whim. 3 green smoke grenades, and a smaller tactical KA-BAR sheathed over his heart.

Personal Effects: A metal case containing twenty Newport 100 bold cigarettes, a stainless steel Zippo lighter with the FBI’s insignia branded on one side, black Rayband sunglasses, a military grade canteen containing two cups of purified water, 1 Maglite flashlight hanging from his belt, a black leatherbound journal filled with miscellaneous thoughts and memories, a leather wallet with his driver’s license, FBI identification and badge, Sun Tzu’s “Art of War”, and all three of his black belts as well as a black, fur filled hoodie with the monster logo and FOX logo on the front, black cargo pants, two pairs of extra socks, a pair of cut-proof gloves, and a Kevlar helmet and gas mask. All of the following are stored within his military issued rucksack.

Strengths: Max is deadly in close quarters; he is extremely accurate with most weapons up to a range of 25 feet, though his expertise with pistols allows him accuracy up to 50 feet away. His largest strengths however are within the realms of hand to hand combat. Max is a master of Krav Maga, an Israeli martial art which is commonly referred to as the most dangerous martial art in existence. Other martial disciplimnes he has mastered include Escrima, a Phillipino stick fighting form, and Southern Dragon Kung Fu, originating in China. He isn’t bad at improvising weaponry, and he’s picked up a few tricks over the years when it comes to concealing himself. For stealth and infiltration have become the largest assets in his field of work. Not to mention he has a silver tongue, a golden brain, and diamond wit.

Weaknesses: Max is dreadfully under-equipped for a survival situation of this magnitude. He can survive on his own for some time, though has no chance of fending off a larger hostile force by himself. His specialty lies in smaller weapons such as pistols, SMGs, and melee combat; he’s not the best shot at a distance, especially with assault rifles, sniper rifles, and the like. He’s a bit of a loner, and he’s unused to the idea of fighting alongside civillians. So he has a tendency to talk to them as if they have no idea what they are doing. He’s a smartass, and a bit of a know-it-all, and is too headstrong; he may not be the man in charge, but he sure as hell acts like it. Don’t dare put grenade launchers or rocket propelled grenades in his posessions, because he’ll waste it—that’s a fact.

Fears: Total extinction of humanity, becoming a zed, failing to do the best he possibly can for what remains of humanity, and claustrophobia when underground. Though his largest fear is letting down those aroundhim—if there’s something he can do to help his allies, he’ll do it. No matter the cost.

Hobbies: Card games, telling stories, drinking, smoking, exercise, playing guitar, piano, bass , and violin, listening to what’s left of his music—electricity kind of is necessary for that. Scavenging, and generally being a good Samaritan.

Quirks: Always seems to be doing something with his hands, and tends to exaggerate everything. Max is often times sarcastic, and most don’t know when he’s serious or not.

Vices: Smokes cigarettes, drinks frequently when he isn’t on duty, and is a bit socially awkward at times. He’s nice enough, but he always seems like he’s hiding something.

Miscellanious: Before Max turned to the FBI, he was a very accomplished athlete in college; he played safety for Penn State, though was never recognized as a result of their bowl suspension.