Put all WIP and Accepted Character Sheets here.

Please and thank you. =)

Appearance:

He regularily wears a camo jacket, one of the things that they had managed to scavenge from nearby places. Under that he has a black t-shirt, nothing too fancy. No necklace, as that can only be grabbed by the zombies. He has burgundy chino pants on, with black anke boots underneath. It's nothing too special and doesn't stand out much. He has a tattoo on his arm (pic included in hider).

Name: Pavlov Redd Marshall
Age: 23
Noteworthy Skills: no noteworthy skills at all. Rather useless fellow, this one.
Weapons: a hunting knife tucked into his boots, a Glock holstered and a Lee Enfield slung over his shoulder with a strap.
Personality: Pavlov is not what people generally label a calm man, and always needs something to keep him occupied and busy. He likes taking risks, believing the pay off is always higher when you take a risk. Either that or you die. He seems indifferent to the whole situation, but that is probably just the result of being in this hell ever since the Fall. For that reason he's not too good at making friends, despite being a loyal dog to who ever he is with. He's not the type to take leadership and will probably fail when this should ever happen, but perhaps if he does well enough he will get more comfortable with it.
Because he likes to take risks, he'll volunteer for the more dangerous things that need to be done around the perimeter, such as cleaning out the fences of any stragglers, clearing breached areas if the need arises, etcetera.

Because he only arrived a few months back he doesn't yet feel very comfortable in the group and considers himself a bit of an outcast. He's eager to get into the group though, and willing to work for it. He lost most of his gear before he came to the airport and hasn't yet explained why, but he feels he has to work for it to earn back gear and supplies from the airport survivor group, not willing to just take stuff from them or accept gifts.

History: Pavlov was born an American, but named a Russian because of his mothers Russian background. Mom's side of the family moved to Alaska in 1923 and slowly the families spreaded a bit more through America. His mom couldn't take the cold and the pressure of their parents breathing down their necks so moved to Kansas with her boyfriend in 1991 when she was 34, and got pregnant there. Out came Pavlov and his sister, both at once.

When he was 18 he started working at a hospital as a cleaner, not having quite the education to be a doctor or even a nurse. His mother was somewhat dissapointed but understood his wish for other things, because when she was younger she experienced the same. The father was gone by then, something Pavlov never quite forgave him for. He worked there for 5 more years, until shit hit the fan. He was pretty close to Kansas' patient zero when he came in, thinking back to that moment, he was cleaning a hallway when the green, scab covered man was wheeled in on a hospital bed. They rolled him past him and Pavlov looked into the mans eyes, seeing nothing but white.

The next day he called in sick due to slight stomach cramps. A few hours later everything went flipside and got screwed over in a matter of minutes. Pavlov was lucky to be inside his crappy small appartment, where nobody in the building ever left their appartments. He wasn't a part of the first casualties probably because he stayed home that day. Speak of luck. Once the news about the zombie outbreak hit the news, being referred to as ''some sort of infection spread by open wounds and blood'' or whatever the hell they said, Pavlov decided to pack his shit and go somewhere else. He tried phoning his sister, who had moved back to Russia, and heard something resembling a crying girl. It was obviously his sister though, marked by the characteristic hysterical sounds. They spoke in Russian for a bit, Pavlov trying his best to remember the little Russian he learned. She calmed down and said she'd go somewhere safe. Pavlov hasn't heard from her since, but then again who has heard from anyone nowadays?

Pavlov left his city and went around the rural area, scavenging supplies which were scarce now that the initial wave of looters had already passed. It was much worse in the city though. Even before the television told about the outbreak people had already panicked and started looting the shops, nothing daring to stand in their way as the cops themselves were sometimes involved in the looting as well.

Life wasn't good, but he got by. He met a few people, talking to a few, but most told him the same thing. ''Head north.'' Head north, ofcourse, yeah, that's where everyone goes. Everyone with a gun included. Pavlov didn't like that really, it would just be a slaughter. Some offered to take him in with their group but he always said no and thanked them. You never know what kinda people you're going with, could very well be cannibals. People do freaky shit when they are desperate. That's not saying Pavlov wouldn't do freaky shit, but he'd prefer not to. When he lost his gear in a presumed bandit incident where he was forced to drop his bag, he decided he needed protection in numbers and started actively looking for a community he could join. Somehow he ended up at Billings Muncipal Airport a few months before the current day (Pavlov has no idea what day it is) and again, somehow got taken in for reasons Pavlov can't understand himself. He considered himself a useless fellow mostly. He had gun experience, but never shot to kill and never on humans either. The only things that fell to his gun was animals and zombies, and he even felt some remorse for both of them. Didn't really have any other skills either. Either way, there he is, Pavlov Redd Marshal, ready to take on the world, or die trying. He'll probably die though, this is the apocalypse after all.

Dropped

Appearance: Shaggy auburn hair chopped off to just above the shoulders. (The work of a pair of kitchen shears soon after the fall and the realization that waist length hair is both impractical and unsafe.)
Large muddy brown eyes with a small pert mouth and a nose almost too small completes the rest of her face.

Having been about 20 pounds over weight before the fall, a year later she's apocalypse thin, the result of a completely different and unintentional diet and forced exercise program. The rest of Muriel has always been petite, she stands at a less then statuesque five foot two.

Name: Muriel -Muri- (pronounced Murray) Fraser.

Age: 30

Skills: Before the fall Muri was a Registered nurse with nine years of experience in ENT/ pulmonary and general medical/surgical acute care and geriatric long term care. Her skills vary from pharmaceutical knowledge, basic life saving procedures, knowledge of disease and body systems, basic first aid, IV therapy and if pressed sutures and advanced practice techniques that likely wouldn't be performed by a nurse in pre fall hospitals or nursing facilities.

Weapons: Muri carries a faded yellow 'demo hawg' that she found by luck in the back of an abandoned pickup truck. The construction and sometimes firefighting debris removing tool has a z shaped claw on one end and a heavy duty fork on the other end making it useful for both stabbing like a javelin or swinging for the fences like a baseball bat. It's smaller(36 in long )but durable light weight design is perfect for giving her the reach needed to take out the undead and the strength to make sure they are fully dispactched.

Personality: Muriel experienced an over haul when the fall began. People in survivor situations often ask "Why Me? Why did I survive over so many others" Muri never asks that question. When the time came foe fight or flight there wasn't any other choice but to survive, to fight. The extent of her subconscious decision to live instead of die has given her a tough exterior. One might describe her as ' a tough nut to crack' . Others may say she is a loner. That would be true to form even before the Fall. Muri never was one for simple acquaintances. Polite chatter about the weather or a favorite local sports team never had appealed to her. At work she was a team player but when the other girls went out after work to socialize and let loose the burdens of work , Muri would decline instead returning home to her cat ,Oscar, and a book. Later after she met Peter she began to stay in with him and Oscar, two homebodies content with the quiet life. Life after the Fall requires some degree of socialization, whether its for the safety of your person, or your mind, Muriel has come to understand this as a necessary means of survival and is content to interact with the other inhabitants pleasantly while still maintaining some personal distance.

History: Muriel Fraser is of Scottish decent, her father's father's father had immigrated to America in his twenties and generations of Fraser's had put down roots in the fertile soil. Muriel herself was born in the shadow of the Smoky Mountains and raised there until the death of her mother sent she and her disconcerted father to live in Dodge City on the farm of one of his cousins. Muriel had been a spirited carefree child before the event and after became withdrawn and introverted, sometimes not speaking for days at a time despite the constant noise and pestering of the six rambunctious children of her father's cousin. Muriel eventually settled into a routine at the farm, albeit a quiet one, and life went on as it is apt to do. Days were at first spent helping at the farm. There was always a hand needed in some aspect of the place from the planting season to the daily care of the animals. After graduating high school, Muriel stayed on at the farm as she completed nursing school. As a new graduate she accepted a position working the graveyard shift at the hospital in Billings, eventually finding a small apartment in one of the old buildings downtown that was located over what was currently a coin shop. Her life went on quietly, it was likely that most people had no idea she even lived above the little shop as her imprint on life was kept to the minimum. A day shift position eventually opened at the hospital and because there was little else she was interested in doing, she took a per diem job with a local nursing home as well. This was where she met Peter.

Peter was a mix between a Norse god and Bill Gates. Tall, blond, but with wire rimmed glasses, a nose that took up too much of his face and an anxiety disorder. Peter was a self made introvert, not caused by any sort of trauma he just generally felt disdain for a good deal of the population and preferred to spend his time either alone or with Muri. They lived together for 5 years before the Fall. If they were honest things were not perfect by any stretch of the word, but after the Fall things fell apart completely. Peter was convinced that staying home was the answer. That services would be back on in a matter of days because the lack of faith he had in the human race he'd reserved for the computers of the world who in his mind would certainly fight this battle for them. What are a massive army of undead versus a man with technology at his fingertips. And if not..then so be it, there was no faith of his own in his ability to survive without his favorite computerized companions. Muriel however had seen the damage. Having worked at the hospital she knew first hand what was becoming of people and how fast it was moving. She begged and pleaded for him to come with her, but he stayed firm in his resolve and eventually she had to leave him behind.

Perhaps being out there alone was what made her come to the realization that she was going to make it through.Heading North originally on route 46 she had to abandon her car a few miles out of town after traffic came to a dead halt, bringing with her only a messenger bag with provisions she'd brought from home, a first aid kit and a change of clothes. At first she collected things along the way, a blanket, a crowbar, anything of use she might need for the coming days, but she ended up spending most of her time hiding in and underneath cars to avoid an attack. After a week of traveling alone she came upon a group of travelers that were happy to take her into their group. Everything was still new then, they still listened for radio broadcasts and tried to communicate with loved ones and then eventually anybody who would listen. There was a sense of unease but certainly not a feeling of hopelessness. The general consensus in the group was that things would return to somewhat normal very shortly. Did America not have some of the best military forces in the world? Did they not have allies in foreign countries and technology to fix this? There were some among them that thought differently. Muriel one of them, that rather then hope for the future were more concerned with the present, food, shelter, safety.

A month went by with no improvements, food was becoming more scarce in the group, and hope was diminishing. They traveled only in the daytime, staying off the road and sleeping in whatever relative safety they could find for the night. Attacks occurred out in the open at regular frequencies, their numbers dwindled from 24, to 15, to 6. It wasn't until after the second or third month that they were attacked not by the undead but by another group of humans. They'd been out there for 3 months when the other group decided to attack and try to take what little food and items they had left. It was the first time the group had seen a casualty caused by another human, a foreshadowing of things to come. The remaining group retreated, 3 of them with Muriel included, back south again down Rt 46. It would be another month of looting cars and fighting their way through small groups of the undead before they would come to the airport to seek salvation, dirty, tired and hungry.

8 months has passed since she first entered the hanger and while the dirt and the hunger have been erased, she remains vigilant in her pursuit of survival in whatever form that may be.

Appearance:


Name: Marius Fletcher
Age: 41
Noteworthy Skills:
-Ex-Career Criminal: Marius has a host of experience in the more shunned aspect of society, whether it be the application of brutal violence and terror to knowing just how to break into whatever building, in some ways human society prepared Marius well for survival.
-Languages: Marius speaks English, Spanish and Portuguese.
-Authority: Both in the gangs and out, Marius has grown used to being depended upon, to dealing with stress and leading people through it. He rarely cracks under pressure, at least openly, and can quite readily switch to commanding people in the next moment.

Weapons:
-Model 986 Smith and Wesson Revolver.
-'Gladius' A Machete, nearing 3 foot long.

Personality:

In his somewhat advancing age, Marius has become a far more patient and gentle man, living a hot headed youth of extremes to get by, he distances himself from his past somewhat, only staying at all attached to provide the skills and mindset for him to survive. In the community in Kansas he is seen as a fairly respected figure, at worst a man with useful skills and an attentive ear, at best, a clear second in command to the community. While very rarely speaking English with any hint of his once-Mexican accent, Marius' appearance, and indeed his stories, paint him as coming from the nation to the South, however he rarely takes part in any debate as to the superiority of people from here or there, Mexico wasn't kind to him, neither was America. His general consensus were people are equally great and terrible where ever they come from. It is clear he is protective over the community, although that stems to the people and not the place, in dire circumstances Marius has often suggested leaving to secure general survival. A nomad in life, Marius has not time for last stand heroics, at least when it's over this patch of dirt or the other.

History:

Born in Norhern Mexico to a less-Anglicanised name now lost to a past no one else was present to witness, Marius struggled, as he would for most of his life, as a child. The fourth child to a family which couldn't support half that number of children, Marius' descent into crime was almost a given with the opportunities presented to him. When the Cartels came snooping for fresh grunts, Marius took the opportunity, if not, his family may very well have pressured him into doing it anyway. It wasn't long before the guilt of his actions disappeared, lost to survival and mob mentality, Marius had killed his first man within a month. That said, he generally stuck to thefts that required little in the way of such actions, his guile considered a more valuable resource then his capacity for violence. It was this that got him involved in the schemes across the border. At first ferrying illegal immigrant families in appalling conditions, he eventually permanently crossed the border himself, taking his role in the drug rings of New Mexico. Inwardly, he was relieved. While brutality was still the way of life, it had to be more contained than it was in his home nation, and so his soul began to heal some, even if to be dashed again each time he was called upon to smash in a skull.

By this point, Marius' natural charisma and ability to lead had brought him up in the ranks of operations in New Mexico. This eventually led to him being involved in joint-operations further North in the US, operations that involved other gangs, those connected to local markets that the Cartel Overlords could benefit from. In the end however, they would be outmaneuvered by the American criminals, until those who hand once stepped in with arrogance, now did their bidding more than that of the Gang bosses back home. It made little difference to Marius, he was now one of the biggest fish in a smaller organisation, and his job changed very little. As time went by, he performed less and less work himself, founding more of a legitimate life as the owner of a series of grocery shops, while helping to co-ordinate a number of drug rings, occasionally being called in to provide the intimidation he had inspired throughout his career. Despite 'settling down' he did not marry or start a family, instead becoming a key figure in his local community, a godfather of sorts that many would come to for assistance, or even just the odd friendly chat.

When the Fall came, the coalition gang that Marius was still loosely a part of became one of the more dominant gangs in the area, eventually moving into Kansas looking for greener pastures as the United States collapsed. Once more, Marius was thrown into the brutality of the front line, even if he did hold a very secure spot in the Inner Circle, the new leader an old friend, despite originally coming from the American side of the business . That said, Marius soon found his taste for the horrors he had committed in the past to have truly died and so one night, simply disappeared. He shortly resurfaced at the Airport, one of the first survivors to arrive after the very original founders, in fact, most now simply assume he's been there since those very first days, how comfortable he is with the few remaining who founded the community. Besides a few rare individuals, he never shares where he was in the time before arriving, and given how useful he is, no one seems to want to question him. Recently, one of Marius closest friends in the community, a US Park Ranger, has died, leaving a German Shepard bitch, 'Lola' for him to look after, the dog rarely being seen far from Marius' side.

Appearance:
A tall woman, just about clocking in at 5'8, with a shock of dark-red curly hair falling midway down her back. Quinn is naturally lanky but when she first arrived at the Billings camp, she was worringly thin, and sickly pale, but after spending these past few months in the camp she's gained some colour in her cheeks, some new freckles on her shoulders, as well as some thin stretches of muscle from work and regular meals.

Her features are sharp and tight, with thin lips and a slim but slightly upturned nose, her eyes are a dark hazel and a range of freckles are dotted across her face. She seems to have permanant heavy bags under her eyes, giving her face a fairly grim expression.

For clothing, she prefers fairly simply stuff, and has made a point to remain in most of the clothing she arrived at camp with, most primarily a pair of black leggings and a fairly oversized camo jacket. With these she'll wear long jumpers, shirts and vests to accomodate the weather, and on her feet she wears a pair of muddied hiking boots.

Name: Quinn Caplin
Age: 20
Noteworthy skills: Sharpshooting, coming from a hunting family.

Weapons:
.30-06 Hunting rifle, which is her weapon of choice, working best at long range whilst her short-range is maybe just slightly above average. However she also has a fire axe strapped to her back in case of close-range intervention.

Personality:
Quiet and fairly eager to keep to herself, Quinn rarely makes any attempts to intergrate herself further into the camp, shying away from movie nights and whatever other 'campfire fun' activities the community arranges. Whether this conduct is out of an honest preference for solitude or an act of self-isolation out of shame for her life before arriving at Billings is something not even Quinn gives much thought to. As far as Quinn is concerned, as long as she doesn't start any trouble, keeps to her space and works for her keep then she can carry on surviving since, from what she's seen out there, beyond the fences of Billings airport, staying inside the fences has been the best chance she's had so far.

History:
Born in the Northern-most reaches of Nebraska, Quinn grew up in a family of strong personalities where Quinn, with her scrawny frame and coy nature, felt constantly dwarfed and overshadowed by the louder, larger characters of her parents and five siblings. As she grew older, Quinn slowly come to detest her family and her entire surroundings, as ill-suited to it as she felt herself to be, and, upon recieving a scholarship to UNC in North Carolina at the age of 18, immediately packed up her life and moved state, cutting off most communication with her family.

Pursuing a degree in Civil Engineering, Quinn soon found herself buckling under the pressure and, following the trend of a handful of her classmates, sought a range of prescription drugs to help cope. Quinn soon became addicted to Oxycontin, enjoying the sedative and euphoric effects the drugs produced, and when the prescriptions soon became too expensive to purchase, Quinn took to cutting corners in neccessities such as food and rent, eventually taking to petty theft to help finance her addiction. It was on one of these quick-cash-making excursions that Quinn bore witness to the beginnings of The Fall, when the department store she was in suddenly was host to a human morphed into a rampaging monster, a slack-jawed dull-eyed beast that flung itself at a cashier, ripping the tendrils of their throat out in one drooling swipe.

Fleeing from the department store and falling into the panicking crowd, Quinn caught mere glimpses of the chaos unfolding around her, intent as she was on finding somewhere safe, eventually holling herself up in a diner. At first, the establishment housed people in the dozens but as several long hours passed, people soon filtered out to evacuate the city, or locate loved ones, lured by the sudden lull in activity outside. Soon there were only a dozen let in the building, including Quinn herself, and everyone soon had to face the responsibility of bolting the doors shut and pretending that they couldn't hear the cries of the ones who had left outside the doors, desperately pleading to be let back in.

it was here Quinn spent the first couple of weeks following The Fall where, without her usual resources, she soon found herself experiencing violent withdrawal symptoms, lashing out at her fellow survivors, and inspiring panic in them. Fearful for their safety, her fellow survivors took to locking Quinn in a supply closet for hours at a time, hoping she might at least begin to calm down and stop being a danger to herself and to others. The action only caused Quinn to tip further into a panic, and set into stone a fear of enclosed spaces and a general mistrust of people. During an attempt by the group to scavenge for food outside, a hoard of zombies broke into the building and Quinn, breaking free of the closet, took advantage of the commotion to grab some basic supplies and run. Somehow, through desperation or dumb luck, Quinn made it out of Charlotte and, out of a loss of ideas, continued on the roads heading West. Only when she found herself slowly ambling onto the highways did she realise that, unconciously, she was attempting to go home, back to Nebraska, back to the family that all of a sudden, after not giving them so much as a thought over the past months, Quinn suddenly wanted nothing more than to see, and confirm they were alive. With this goal in mind, she continued on, passing the museum of wreckage along the road of post-fall America.

The journey to Nebraska never suceeded, fueled by desperation and a slowly creeping realisation that the world was ending around her, Quinn pushed forward across asphalt and fields, hunkering down in abandoned cars during the night, and scavenging what she could when she passed through settlements. Forced to go sober, Quinn constantly found herself on edge as an offset of the withdrawal, her road being littered with the undead not helping the situation at all. A close brush with what seemed to be a group of bandits had Quinn push herself to the limit, spraining her ankle just past the border into Tennessee. She pushed on, eventually straining her ankle until the swelling made it unbareable to rest weight on. Finding herself in farming territory, and desperate for medical supplies, Quinn broke into what she assumed to be an abandoned farm lot, and was quickly discovered by the family residing there and held capture in one of the barns. Her injury making her helpless, Quinn posed no real threat to the family and slowly gained their trust, recieving medical assistance. As her ankle began to slowly heal as did Quinn slowly intergrate into life on the farm, which was well protected and well supplied. Spending three months at the farm, Quinn overcame the worst of her withdrawal and seemed set to settle into the strangely peaceful life the family had achieved during the hell raging outside their electric fence. However, complications arose, many of which Quinn is hard-pressed to talk about in the present day, and arguments with the matriarch of the family exhiled Quinn from the farm and back onto the road. Now, with less enthusiasm than she had started her journey with, Quinn continued onwards to Nebraska, her urge to see her family growing less and less with every step she took, her heart growing heavier with every mile walked away from the farm as she travelled along the Route 64 highway.

It was probably now that Quinn subconciously turned her goals away from seeking her family and sought to join a settlement, wanting to experience the safety and protection of a community, tired as she was from walking towards a family she wasn't even certain was alive anymore. As Autumn passed and Winter began to settle, Quinn turned off the 64 in Oklahoma and went North on the 56, allowing herself a little idleness due to the cold and the protection the winter seemed to offer from the zombies. Three days into her trek across Kansas, Quinn came across a bandits camp and, supplies dramatically depleted, stole into the camp. Successful in spiriting away a hunting rifle, Quinn was no queen of stealth and, despite her best attempts to cover her tracks, she soon found herself being chased across the remainder of distance to the Flint Hills when the group that had been hunting her ran into another group of bandits further along the 46, allowing Quinn to use the distraction to escape.

After some long hours of aimless wandering, Quinn eventually found herself outside the Billings Airport, and, frightened at the prospect that the bandits might still be on her trail, dropped her recently aquired rifle to the ground next to her, indicating she would not attack, and pleaded to be let into the camp. Having not been the first refugee to bargain their way in that Winter, Quinn was escorted into the Airport and taken to a makeshift holding cell where she rested for a few days. Afterwards, when no bandits came following her scent to raid the camp, Quinn asked to speak to the leader of the community, and eventually was taken to speak with Kenzy. Explaining her situation, how she was willing to work for her keep, and even admitting about her struggle with addiction to express her honesty, Quinn was allowed into the community and has spent the months since earning what trust she could, eventually getting back her hunting rifle and given patrol duty.

Appearance:

A short, slim and fit lady, with short, simple and practical black hair, Amy is a healthy person, rather than an obsessive body builder. She has small hands and feet, clearly someone with great dexterity, and clearly someone incredibly energetic from her unendingly fiddling fingers.

Her face has a large mouth with a small nose, and her eyes are a quite unusual shade of very dark green. Because she's so vain, Amy insisted on staying attractively plump throughout the apocalypse, and she hides the fact that she's gone many days without eating very well by wearing clothes that maker her look fatter than she truly is.

Amy is currently dressed in a wildly impractical, yet gorgeous looking purple dress. She keeps a more practical set of clothes in her backpack, in the form of an incredibly solid, simple black shirt and a matching pair of perfectly fitting pants. Amy made the clothes herself, though it'd be hard to tell, and they're kept in great condition because of her tailoring skills.

Name: Amy Emmerson

Age: 23

Noteworthy skills:
- Tailoring, after being forced to help feed her family from a young age.
- Cooking; she's been forced to make a lot more food from scratch, and she'd often make food for other people as well.
- Charm; Amy is good at acting likable, and she looks good, too.

Weapons: An incredibly expensive chef's knife, and an incredibly sharp titanium needle.

Personality:

Amy is incredibly sheltered, extremely confident, very polite, and above all, fearlessly optimistic. She's seen people die, the hatred in men's hearts and how destructive people truly can be when driven to desperation, but nonetheless believes that people are fundamentally good. To this end, she's friendly, outgoing and helpful, and does her best to build what she believes is a better world for everyone involved. She also works hard to remain happy, doing her best to keep a smile going. She's had some truly great moments in her life, and has felt true happiness.

History:

Amy Emmerson was born into an ordinary middle-class family, and vowed from an early age to be the best she could be. When the moved across the country, unexpected medical fees meant that they lost almost everything they had and were made homeless for a while. In their desperation after being neglected by the system, they decided to make Amy work from the age of eleven in a sweatshop, making textiles. Although they quickly recovered from their economic troubles, Amy found out that she found her first job quite interesting and had tailoring as a sort of hobby from a very young age, before quickly getting a job as a tailor and finding out that she was extraordinarily talented. Her parents died when she was 20, but in her mind, they wouldn't want her sad and mourning over their deaths, so she quickly recovered.

When the Fall begun, Amy faced a series of "miracles" that meant that meant that she would barely be exposed to the devastation that would follow. By convincing other groups to help her, Amy didn't go many nights hungry, and she managed to mostly avoid direct confrontations with zombies. She eventually decided to travel West, hoping to help the return of mankind by taking back the country, from east to west, and finally returning her beloved homeland that raised her so well. Kansas was along the way, and that's where her luck finally ran out; people stopped helping her, she looted less and less, and zombies kept growing ever more abundant. Understanding how powerless she was on her own, Amy found the airport, and managed to convince Kenzie to be let inside. Her charm and good manners meant that she quickly integrated into the community, and since, she's made Billings Municipal Airport a more pleasant place to live ever since she first moved in a few months ago.

Name: Teri Jonsen
Age: Eighteen (18)
Height: 5 ft 7 in
Weight: 136 lbs
Physical Description:
Teri has a rather well build frame. Strong legs with a flat stomach, curved sides up from the hips. She has a small yet perky b-cup chest, usually opting for a sports bra above anything having grown accustomed to the feel. She has long, wavy brunette hair that reaches down near the center of her back. She has warm brown eyes that in the right sunlight appears almost a maroon color.

Noteworthy Skills:
Exceptionally high endurance from a promising Cross Country running career in high school.

Weapons:
A small 9mm beretta she keeps tucked into the back of her pants. She is only a half decent shot with the weapon after months of practice.

Personality:
Teri is a friendly, kind girl that has no issue helping out the people around her. Though this does not take away from her enjoyment of some nice free time. She is a text book people pleasure. All you need do is ask and Teri will do her best to get it done. She is strong willed and opened minded to new ideas. She isn't much for confrontation or holding a grudge. Before the out break she had aspirations to become a psychologists. She is a good listener and does her best to keep the people around her in good spirits. Incredibly affectionate to the people close to her.

Though behind all this she is constantly terrified, trying her best not to be obvious with her constant looking around for any sort of danger. Most nights she gets little sleep as the slightest noises chill her to the core with fear. But she refuses to let people see that. She feels she has to be strong for those around her. Be a symbol to stay strong.

History:
WIP

Appearance:



Name:
Richard

Age:
20

Noteworthy Skills:
Extremely smart
Bilingual (Irish, Spanish, French)

Weapons:
A standard cooking knife
A rusty machete

Personality:
Richard has a tendency to be a little too honest with people, he's extremely realist when it comes to life and won't tell people "everything will be okay" if it's not the truth, this has gotten him in a lot of trouble before because he often criticizes people where criticism is not welcome. Being on the more introverted side, and being homeschooled most of his life, Richard isn't the best at talking to other people, at least not a normal conversation, while he is someone who likes to take charge and be a leader, if you were to ask him what his favorite color was he would get flustered and probably say "cheese", or something of the kind.
As earlier stated he is a leaderly guy, being the smart person he is he believes he knows what's best, having a very good strategic eye. He is good at mapping out a plan and helping execute it, but, he is perfectly okay with standing back and letting someone else take the lead, even if it's not his favorite thing to do.
Richard is often faced with moral dilemmas, he was raised by various nannies and teachers and not his parents, who were supposed to teach him the difference between right and wrong, since he hardly ever knew his parents he didn't, and doesn't, know the difference, and often he chooses what's best for him instead of what's best for others, getting people hurt in the process.
While he is awkward and a little shy, he's also kind of a dick, he calls people out on their faults, is selfish, doesn't like people, and all around doesn't know how others should be treated, he can be pegged as kind of an asshole. Of course, he doesn't know this, he was raised believing all of his actions were normal, but, while he may be a jerk he is a caring jerk, he only says the things he says in an attempt to better people, because he wants them to learn, the way he goes about this of course is not the best, but he tries.
He's a reluctant hero, unintentional trouble seeker, with extremely bad luck and little to no self worth, but, he looks out for the people he likes and is extremely loyal.

History:
Richard was gifted from a young age, it was apparent from grade school he was going to be someone of high status, he surpassed all of his fellow students and was in honors class from grade school up until middle school, from there is was all downhill.
His grades weren't slipping, of course, it was more that he was. Not that he was loosing his mind, no, bullies were the root of his evil, being lanky, weak, smart, with glasses and all things that pointed to being a prey, he was bullied to the point of being suicidal.
When he told his parents this, they took him out of public school and decided to homeschool him, but both were very busy individuals so instead of schooling him themselves they hired tutors, nannies, and various other teachers do it for them.

But, Richard disliked every single one of the teachers he was placed with. It was obvious they were only there for the money and not to actually teach him, until he met Susan Smith, a young Irish girl who taught in order to pay for her college tuition, Richard thought she would be like the rest, but, as time proved he was very very wrong.
On the first day of their schooling together, Susan did nothing, literally nothing, but stare at Richard, squinting and muttering to herself.
On the second day, the same thing.
Until three days in, Richard finally asked when they would be doing school, she smiled then.
"See, I knew you had it in you, you have to learn to speak up. That is your first lesson, speak up."
Richard was in awe, she was insane, she wasn't teaching him she was conning him. But, alas, his parent's would have none of his 'she's insane' talk, for they assured she was the best they could find.
School only got worse from then on, Susan came in one day, eating an apple off of the tree in his front yard, when he asked what she was doing she just yelled, "think fast," and threw the core at him. It hit in square in the face.
This happened again for three days until he finally caught the apple core.
"See, I'm teaching you how to-."
"let me guess, this fast?"
"Not really, you have to have your wits about you, now come on."

School from then on was a blur, Susan was insane, Richard was stubborn, and he was hardly learning anything, but, in a way he guessed he was learning a lot. She taught him nonsense things but he learned, and he was better off for it he guessed, but, just like the rest she left after getting paid and was off to college.
On his 16th birthday he had already graduated "high-school", and had a part time job at a science lab. Having excelled in the scientific field, from then on his life was just the same.

When 19 years old, the world changed, zombies came and he was taken away by his parents to a safe place, being as rich as they were they had this all figured out, but, alas, the rich held no stock in the world once it was falling to pieces, his father was bitten and his mother committed suicide after he turned, Richard had to kill the other of them once they turned and from then on he was on his own, he didn't seek other people because he had always done best on his own, and he avoided anyone who wanted to help him. He liked being on his own.

Appearance:
Nova is a petite girl standing at about 5’2” and weighing a mere 108 pounds. She is, by nature, very thin, with a small bone structure and a high metabolism to match. She holds hazel eyes and dark auburn hair that reaches just below her shoulders.

Before the fall, Nova would often wear articles of clothing one would find in a Goodwill department. Sweatshirts that were far too big for her, knitted leggings with unusual patterns, combat boots, and of the likes. Now, however, she wears whatever she can manage to find – i.e. a loose grey tank top, a stained black sweater, somewhat fitted jeans with several holes, and battered sneakers.

Name: Nova Penelope Wayland.

Age: Eighteen.

Noteworthy Skills: Nova is small, and can fit through many places that other are incapable of.

Weapons: Nova was never one to be great with any sort of weapons, as neither her mother nor her father bothered to teach her how to use even the smallest of knives. On her person, though, she carries a switch blade and a Beretta Px4 storm gun.

Personality: To put it simply, Nova is a very timid girl. She is not one to be very sociable or put in the efforts to get to know others. While she is not a closed person, it is very difficult for her to find anyone to be trustworthy. Before the fall, Nova was notably a very kind and warm hearted person. While she was still quite shy, upon being met, she was known to care deeply for those around her. Perhaps she cared a little too much.

After the fall, Nova shut down. Despite being incapable of being cold towards others, she has learned to protect what is her own and ward off those who threaten that. How she has come to survive this long is an utter mystery, as Nova does not know how to ultimately fend for only herself. She is not a fitted leader, and exemplifies as such even without having meant to. She lacks a strong backbone, but with each passing day, it can be said that she is gradually coming about one. Nova has the potential of surviving, but whether she’ll reach that point is unknown.

History: She was an infant conceived in hopes that the conflicts between the two lovers would end. Little did they realize, the birth of Nova seemed to only worsen their issues. The mother, of twenty-two years, was a heroin addict. She spent the many dollars intended for her baby’s necessities on that of drugs. The father, just barely twenty-five, was a raging alcoholic, and while he did not present as such at work, the minute he got home from his eleven hour shift, he grabbed the nearest cheap vodka, and began to drink away his sorrows.

Nova never saw much of her dad. Tucked away in her small room with only the spare kitchen bowls and spoons to keep her occupied, the girl was raised to be nothing more than a nuisance. Her mother, neglecting her child, tended to her friends at the many small get-togethers she would throw with the many drugs they took part in and sold. This went on for quite some time. Years of Nova deprived of both parents, years of her mother insisting to her father that she quit her drug use, and years of her father beating her mother to compensate for his shitty job.

Her father didn’t harm her until she had reached pre-school. While her father refused on many cases, he was obligated to both take and pick her up from school, as her mother did not have her license. The years prior to this, Nova had gone unnoticed by her father, as she was nothing more than the failed attempt to resolve issues they couldn’t bother to do themselves. With this, Nova was brought into a world of physical and emotional abuse, the words of “mistake” spewing from her father’s mouth. Despite being relatively sober in the morning, he still managed to be perceived as intoxicated, for his anger was often caught on the mother as well as their lone daughter.

Nova, by the time she was nine, knew her place in her home, and grew accustom to the beatings, the words, and the raping. However, it did not stop her from crying hysterically when her father was gone, and writing about it in a journal she’d acquired from a teacher at school. School in itself soon became her only escape, as those hours were times when neither her mother nor her father could reach her. She did not tell a soul, as her father had (on multiple occasions) informed her that they would put her in foster care, and there was a very good chance that she’d be thrown out and left on the streets.

In middle school, her outlet was weed. She’d run out of room in the multiple journals she had, and afraid that her father would one day find them – she hid them in a small opening behind her closet door and never wrote in one again. In all her years of middle school, weed was her only friend. Nova did not talk much throughout her school days, but had somehow managed to befriend other smokers who had stolen weed from their parents. The very little money she was given (for lunches and school supplies) Nova spent it on weed, and would smoke before and after school, as well as before she went to bed.

It was a daily routine for young Nova. She even found that the drug numbed the pain and allowed her to think of other things when her father came to her. Nova was forced to stop smoking upon reaching high school, when her parents were utterly furious about her spending their money on drugs. She was called selfish, a little bitch, as well as many other things, and although Nova so desperately ached to scream back, she could not find the courage.

Entering her sophomore year, her mother was arrested for dealing and drug usage, leaving Nova’s father as her sole caretaker. With no other women in the house, Nova became the primary solution to all his anger. Her father was smart. He did not leave bruises or other marks anywhere but her stomach, upper arms, and legs, knowing that Nova was bound to hide them (she exposed very little skin). The end of junior year proved to be both a blessing and a curse, for this was the age at which the fall occurred.

Returning home from a rather unordinary day, Nova walked through the doors to find her father leaned over some sort of animal, ripped to shreds with a pool of blood beneath them. His head perched up the moment she opened the door, and after a battle of trying to run elsewhere, she located a kitchen knife and stabbed it through his skull. He did not move after that.

The incident left Nova frightened and confused. She locked herself in her tiny little room with nothing more than that kitchen knife and enough food for forty-eight hours. The helpless girl stayed there until others came to inspect her home. She’d thought them to be burglars and hid in her closet until one man discovered her. He and his team contemplated what they were to do with the shaken seventeen year old, and after much discussion, decided to have her tag along. Their reasoning was simple. She would prove to be useful for things only a small child could do – and besides, she was bound to die eventually, right? She wasn’t fit for survival.

Perhaps they were right, but out of all of them, Nova was the only to survive. Their group had been ambushed by another pack of survivors. Nova had fled the minute she saw her friend, Isaac, hit the ground. She knew he’d been killed. Equipped with both a switch blade and a gun given to her by her team, she went on by herself.

In a span of a year, Nova had been a part of two teams, both that had the same reasoning behind her joining them in the first place. She was small, and she would not survive for very long. She thought this was the case, as well, and thought that she would die in no more than a few days. Those days turned into weeks which then turned into months. Nova prospered, while her teammates were not so lucky.

They’d been in the process of heading north, a recommendation by other groups, as according to them, there was ‘safety’. She, as well as a few others, did not think this to be even remotely true, and in an argument which she did not partake in, the group headed back the way they’d came. Nova’s group died just outside of Kansas, attacked by the very things that they could not escape.

Nova, both hopeless and angry, decided against her previous statement, taking their advice, and walking north. Famished and exhausted, she encountered yet another group. A band of people who were unlike anyone she’d ever been with, barricaded by the four walls of a local airport, where the creatures could not reach.

She’d found north.

Other:

Dropped Out.

Appearance: The Pic!
Name: James Dean Swanson

Age: 23

Noteworthy Skills: Mechanic, military training, Excellent driver, Breaking and Entering,

Weapons: Beretta-M9, Ka-bar knife, 3-ft steel pipe, lock picks.

Personality: He is an outgoing person, easily sociable with the people around him, not afraid to learn about the world that surrounds him. He is a determined man with goals, even with the world the way it is. He is picky who is loyal to, and even that has a set limit, if anything, his only true loyalty is toward himself and his aim's. He has a certain code in life which only he himself truly knows. Witty and life enjoying, he takes his life in strides, not beating his self up over the past and is eagerly looking for the future. Always the looking at the possibilities, he never give's up on hope or a way out of any situation.

History: James grew up on the streets of Detroit, with no living relatives besides his alcoholic uncle, who was his mothers older brother. He had lost his parents earlier in his life from a traffic accident and had moved to his uncles at the age of five. He was subject to many beating's for years till he was old enough to stay out on the streets,and he would stay out on the streets for months. On the streets, he saw the hard way the rule of survival of biggest predator. Wanting to get out of the hellhole he was trapped in and to work for his , he worked on the two feasible ways to get out, drug's and school. He work the books hard when he had every chance he could, while spending the rest of his time working the streets, pushing product and anything he could lay his hands on, only using his uncles place for the address and a place to hide. Doing crime for years he was introduce to the art of car boosting, and found himself enjoying much success with it, for he had a knack for vehicles and getting them to run. Turning away from selling drugs, he started boosting cars and chopping them down at connections he had made. Graduating high-school at 18, he jumped at the chance to join the army for a few years, letting him get a few more steps toward his goal's.

Spending a few years within the army, he worked till his appointed five years were up, and decided to settle down in Pennsylvania as a Mechanic. When the outbreak happen, he knew what was gonna happen, for in any crises peopled were preyed upon, and he was determined to avoid that. Packing up his belonging's, he settled out to the Midwest, relaying on making it to the mountains and a better chance to holding off against zombies and man alike in the vast ranges. Savaging and deconstructing cars he found, he was able to keep moving at a steady pace west, avoiding used roads and trying his best on the back roads. He chanced upon the airport, and upon discovering it was populated, was going to hide and wait a few days to see what type of people they were when a chance occurrence forced his hand. A small zombie horde which had snuck up on him when he had been waiting. With his arms up to show no hostility, was allowed through the gates. Its been several months since then, for he is waiting, for he knows that the way the world was coming, he would soon have to be moving again.

Appearance:

Shawn is rather tall, standing at 6'1". He has brown eyes and dark hair - usually cut short - and more often than not sports a bit of beard and a mustache. He couldn't really be bothered with shaving all that often, so he doesn't. He's not bulky, but he's not scrawny either, falling somewhere in the middle. He has what you would call 'practical muscle', developed to survive. All in all, he's rather average for the times.

Name: Shawn Tuller
Age: 21

Noteworthy Skills:
- Thief

Weapons:
- Hunting Knife
- SIG Saur P226

Personality:

There’s not much to Shawn nowadays. He’s rather cold to those he doesn’t know, distrustful of all but a select few, and honest to a fault. Blunt, is more like it. He doesn’t sugar-coat things really, or lie about anything that’s important. He has his secrets of course, and he doesn’t share those with many people either. All in all, he’s going to do his own thing and he doesn’t so much care what other people are going to do, so long as they don’t get in his way.

He’s drawn to people that remind him of his family. Whether that be a soldier – like his brother – or a girl that looks particularly like his mom or sister. Either way, that’s one of his soft points. He can sympathize with people who have plights close to his own, but can’t stand others who whine about every last thing. He’s almost always in a constant state of alert – ready to fight when need be – and the fact that people are getting comfortable with how things are irritates him as well.

History:

Shawn didn’t always live in Billings, Kansas. In fact, he was born and raised in Jacksonville, Florida. He had a mother and father, as well one older brother and one younger sister – sitting perfectly in the middle by two years on each side. Currently, they are no longer with him – victims of The Fall.

He was 19 going on 20 when it happened; home for some time from college at the local community campus. It was some holiday or occasion, so his brother was home as well, on temporary leave from the army. Tommy had enlisted straight out of high school, if Shawn remembered correctly, and he seemed to be loving it thus far. Luckily for the Tullers, Tommy’s never been deployed, but that’s not particularly unusual for where he’s stationed – or so the soldier says. Something about how his company or whatever job he had was not needed? Or maybe it was because they weren’t at war at the time? The actual reason Shawn and his family had received was now lost to the youngest son, outweighed by the memories that followed.

Two days upon returning home, Tommy got a phone call. It was some sort of higher up or somebody in power, but the gist of the message was clear. He had to go back. It was a little unsettling, especially since the older brother had often claimed that it was a very slim chance for time off to be cut short. The main reason behind this was that he still didn’t rank high enough to be of much importance unless there were some sort of crisis. Or they were at war. Either way, Tommy left that night, and that would be the last time Shawn would see him.

Despite the suspicious event of his older brother’s departure, the next several days of Shawn’s vacation was rather uneventful. It wasn’t until the last day before heading back to campus that things became weird. His younger sister, Lilly, was outside playing with the family dog when it happened. From her recount, she had heard some sort of strange noises coming from behind their fence – the side separating them from their neighbors next-door. The dog seemed upset by it, so she went up to the fence to check it out. Upon peering through a gap between panels, she claimed to see what looked like their neighbor, Mr. Jennings, only he wasn’t himself. He was slack-jawed and deformed, skin peeling and cracking in a uniform decayed manner wherever she could see skin. And he was… feasting on what appeared to be Mrs. Jennings.

Unable to contain her horror, Lilly screamed, alerting the beast who had been Mr. Jennings. As he scrambled to break through the barrier between them, she ran inside and locked the doors, pulling the curtains shut. Their parents didn’t believe her at first – who would? – but when their ghastly neighbor began scratching at their back door, it was evident she wasn’t lying. Or on some sort of hallucinogen. Their mother attempted to call 9-11 but the line seemed down, so they all did the next best thing. They jumped in the family sedan and drove off, just in time for Mr. Jennings see them out the front door. In the midst of his panic, Shawn couldn’t help but notice how easy it was for everyone to simply abandon their home.

The drove as far away as they could get, running into traffic here and there but never anything too bad. It was only the beginning of the Fall, so there weren’t too many infected at the time, but that would slowly change. Over the course of a month, Shawn and his family went from one relative’s or family friend’s house to the next. They didn’t stay very long at any location – after finding a zombified grandmother at the first stop – but at the same time, they didn’t know where they were going. Eventually, they had to abandon the car as well and continue on foot. They managed to find other groups to travel with and so found a goal to reach: Kansas.

Unfortunately, as is the way of The Fall, people die; Shawn’s mother was the first to go. It didn’t happen the way he expected it to. There were no warning signs or big swarm of the undead. There was just one. The Tullers were making their way through southern Mississippi at the time, passing through an uninhibited town. They had just parted with the last group they were traveling with, so their numbers didn’t include anyone else. It was foolish to do so, looking back at it, but they hadn’t seen a monster in weeks, so they were feeling confident. He came barreling out of an old convenience store, foaming at the mouth and possibly ‘underfed’. There was not enough time to react – the thing tackled his mother to the ground and bit at her before his father could chop the sorry bastard’s head off. Unfortunately, it was too late. The image of his mother, neck opened and gargling on her own blood, would forever be imprinted in his mind.

Without hesitation, his father reached back and brought the blade down on his wife, separating her head from her body completely. He didn’t say a word about it, and he never would, but as they left, tears streamed freely down the man’s face.

After that, things were different. Their father adopted an attitude where he cared for none but his family. They no longer traveled in groups, but instead followed ones they’d cross paths with, just out of sight. In the nights that followed, the three of them would sneak into camp and take the group’s supplies while the watch person was relieving themselves or otherwise occupied. It was a hazardous and dishonorable way to live, but it was the best way to survive. They never went hungry and they kept cleaner and better weapons. They were doing well.

But then, things started to go bad. They came across a rather small group one day – a family, it seemed, consisting of one older woman, two adult men, and a young girl. The plan was as it always was; keep your distance, follow their trail, and steal their things that night. As mentioned, the group was rather small, so only Shawn would go in. He was innocent enough to feign being lost, but old enough to handle himself if things went sour. The only problem was, the watch person did not falter. They came across groups with similar situations, and under normal circumstances, would let it go and move on. Unfortunately, they could not afford to so as they were running low on supplies.

So Shawn killed the man keeping watch. It was the beginning of a downhill ride. Once the line had been crossed, the value of life seemed to drop. Soon, instead of following groups, they would travel and set up camp outside of ‘safe’ cities – ambushing groups that went in and out. Shawn, Lilly, and their father had quickly learned to kill without hesitation and, little did they know, it would become their downfall. Despite America turning rather lawless, word still travelled and killers were still prosecuted in a sense. Other people would take the law into their own hands and attempt to hunt them down. For the most part, it was easy to avoid, but eventually death caught up with them.

The second to die was his father. The man departed from life without much struggle – his neck was slashed in the middle of one night. It was a mystery to Shawn why his killer had decided to leave him and Lilly alive, but they did. They tried to give their father a proper burial to make up for their mother’s lack of one, but quickly moved on after. Just because their father’s assassin let them live did not mean they wouldn’t change their mind and come back. It was a strange experience, entirely unlike their mother’s death. Then, there was emotion – grief, anger, guilt – but now all Shawn felt was numb. He didn’t like it.

He and Lilly fought frequently after that. She didn’t agree with how they were living and he kept telling her it was the only way. One month following their father’s death, she disappeared and almost a full year after he had left his parents’ home, Shawn was alone. Whether Lilly had died or was kidnapped or went her own way, he was not sure. Given the circumstances and how tense they had been, he assumed the last. Still, he looked for her when he could and more or less wandered aimlessly, feeling empty. With Lilly’s absence, he felt a hole in his chest that had been growing without him knowing from the day his mother had died. He didn’t know what to do, so he just did what they were originally planning on doing. As a family.

He went to Kansas.