Lokki was brought up in a wealthy family of three, him included, and lived in a large mansion in Los Angeles through most of his childhood. From early age he showed great potential and signs of extraordinary intelligence. At a very early age he would play with puzzles, chess and various memory games instead of classic toys most kids his age were into back then. His father, a successful doctor, had little time to spend with his son due to work but held great expectations for the young boy often referring to him as his protégé and future doctor. He was never interested in such things, however. Instead, he would see himself enjoying life to its fullest. Worry-free, laid back and peaceful life is all the boy wished for.
When Lokki was 6 he started Elementary school and very quickly adapted, rising to the top of the class and making friends thanks to his wit. He didn’t spend a lot of time studying as he did learning on his own things he was interested in like philosophy, psychology, history and geography, to name a few, but he was always among the best in his classes simply from closely paying attention in class. Although many would see him as a nerd due to his successes at education he was never picked on. He wasn’t popular but many people knew him. He was social, interesting to talk to and funny to his peers, but in sort of a mature way for his age rather than being a class clown. No one actually minded his company. He was also very clever and he had a natural gift of tricking people into succumbing to his wishes which would often make him doubt his own goodness. This sort of thinking made him read psychology and ethics. Although it initially intrigued him as a philosophical question of right and wrong he would soon plunge deeper into the study of the mind making him even more convincing in his newly found art.
He was paying close attention to the politics at age of 10 when things were rapidly becoming more and more chaotic and the world was falling into a global crisis. Only two years later, shortly after his 12th birthday, first bombs would start flooding the skies and raining upon his country over the unsuspecting citizens of west coast USA. Most people were at work when all hell broke loose. Luckily, Lokki found himself in his home at the time when the nuclear alert went off across the city. He had no other choice but to hide in the basement his father showed him a few months back in case of emergency. It was an old, dusty and damp place build during the 1950s by previous owners of the house during the Cold War. Who knew such a place would come in handy one day for the new settlers.

He grabbed all the food he could carry from the fridge, blankets, clothes and any source of entertainment he could find with him and sealed the entrance behind him. He knew nothing of his parents, their whereabouts or their fate, but knew he had no other choice but remembering his father’s instructions and bolting himself shut in the shelter under their home. Lokki would from then on be alone with his thoughts, locked in a prison that ironically keeps him safe from harm. He spent his days in the shelter day dreaming about what may have happened to his parents, his friends, his city. Days flew by, and he would at times be optimistic and at other times he would be full of anger, bitterness was eating him alive from the inside and he had nothing else to do but watch his own mind betray him and fall into chaos, collapsing under its own weight of sorrow and resentment. The safe haven was turning into an asylum.
Just when the boy was on the edge, doing his daily routine of being tantric and bashing things as a way to cope with his feelings, he discovered an old dusty magazine under one of the cabinets that were in the room. He brushed off the soot only to read the title of this strange paper – “Journey into Mystery”. It was an old comic book from 1962 that the boy would read through every night before sleep, cover to cover. That one lonely number of the magazine gave him a shred of hope and his imagination that he had felt as a child resurfaced again. He would eventually forget all about his parents and rather start fantasizing about the good life as he always used to before the catastrophe. Reading his favorite comic book the boy grew fond of a character in it. Oddly enough it was not the hero of the series but rather the villain. The story of Lokki, the trickster god, trapped in a tree coping with his feelings captured the boy’s attention as he noticed the striking similarity between the two. From then on he would take up the character’s name and call himself by it, forgetting his old life. He was ready to leave his shell and enter the new world as a new person.

He grabbed a backpack with some food, water and the comic book that turned his life around, put on a gas mask he had found in one of the cabinets and set off into the unknown. Once the boy got out, he found that the city he once knew was now ruble and the once beautiful sunny Californian sky turned into a hellish red nightmare that sent chills down his spine. He did not flinch to the horrifying scene and set out on his merry way. He had no particular goal other than finding other people. For days he would walk with his little backpack on his tiny shoulders, horrified of the eerie landscape that surrounded him for miles. No sun light protruding through the thick clouds, no cool breeze on a hot summer day, just death and destruction all around.
After nearly a week of searching he found himself in a small town in east California and there he encountered first people. It was three men and a woman, all four wearing gas masks and armed with heavy backpacks on their backs. He was frightened at first by their appearance but later on it turned out they were scavenging the surrounding. They took Lokki with them to their shelter, a large underground compound built by the government where many people took refuge during the bombings. There was close to 50 people hiding in that network of rooms and long corridors and they seemed to have found some sort of equilibrium living under those harsh conditions. Lokki was “adopted” by this society and he soon learned the word responsibility. Due to the rough life that was the consequence of the war people had strict rules and chores. It was necessary to obey them if the society was to survive. In the early months Lokki had troubles adjusting as he never truly did anything. He was his own authority for the past two years only to become a follower of a foreigner’s rules. His inner trickster would soon resurface as he became agitated by their system of doing things. He would lie, cheat, steal and bribe to get his way around. He managed to live like this for a year before the elders found out what he has been doing, avoiding his chores and threatening the stability of their little community. He was punished with increased labor as a disciplinary action.
It worked for a while, however, the old habits die hard. He would resume his mind games with the society causing disruption of their common way of life. No one actually knew what was going on and for the next two years he was the grand puppeteer in his little playground. People started working for him without even realizing it, he would steal food then re-sell it to the person he stole it from for a greater price. He wreaked havoc all around especially against people that irritated him. The interesting part of his persona was the fact that he hid his true motives and thoughts to himself and hid them skillfully behind a facade of happiness and humor. He would occasionally appear nutty which was partly due to his past experience living alone for two years and partly act, over-emphasizing his handicap to his gain. By the time he was 18 he had managed to devise a network behind everything that went on in the society and he was the man from the shadows that no one even suspected. Unfortunately such games have expiration date as he soon found out. His scheming was uncovered and fearing for his life he stole as much as he could and ran away before they could catch him.

For the next 15 years he would travel the country with a goal of reaching the East Coast, often going off route for various troubles he came across. In his travels he learned new survival tricks, lived off of mugging and tricking people into gaining things and one of the most important things he came to realize was that information was the most luxurious thing in the world. From then on he would pay close attention to any conversation, detail et cetera that he could find useful in the future. Travelling the country far and wide gave him a good insight on the state of things. He met quite a number of people during his 15 years of travel and fooled most of them for whatever caught his attention. He would be rich for a few days then left barefoot the next as if karma was following him around. At some point he was even chased by marauders on vehicles and just when he thought he was done for an unusual luck struck him. He found a shoulder rocket launcher in a middle of nowhere in the mid west US. Scratching his head wondering what it’s doing there, he did not wish to question it, picked it up and shot off a single rocket into a pack of oncoming vehicles. From then on he’s been carrying the damn thing with him calling it his lucky charm, no matter its size. He had run into trouble more times than he can count, mostly as a consequence to his way of conduct rather than running into bad people. In his travels the people would call him Loco, either out of ignorance and mishearing him or because they think it's funny because to them he simply comes off as crazy. Currently he is close to New York City, driving a tricycle with a large basket full of goodies he is interested in trading. Among these things he is carrying a military knife he found in what was once a military base in Texas and a hand gun he cheated off from some guy in a bar in Kentucky in a game of poker.

Name: James Cooper

Age: 18, almost 19

Gender: Male

Nomadic or Sedentary: Sedentary

Weapons: A sledgehammer and a machete

Skills: Virtually none. James has never handled a firearm and has no skill in using melee weapons. He can't even build a shelter. He's pretty good at scavenging, but other than that he has survived solely on luck, which he seems to have in bounds.

Unusual Traits: None, unless superhuman luck counts. That's not a mutation though, just an innate boon. It's almost as though the universe is actively trying to keep him alive.

Personality: James is a nice man, probably one of very few left. He'd still open his door to anyone and share what little he has. Except, well, he hasn't seen anyone but his parents since he was born. Fortunately, books are almost as good as people, and he regularly scavenges those from people's houses or the library. This has left him with a high level of literacy and knowledge of many things from fantasy to science fiction. Even encyclopedias and almanacs are interesting reads when they describe a world you know nothing about.
As one might expect, James is gullible and naïve. Despite his intelligence, he is an undying optimist. His limited world and continued successes in most things he tries only add to this. The world is great because that's all he's ever known it to be. Maybe a little lonely, sure, but there are books for that.

Appearance: Almost 6 feet tall and fairly gangly. Most of his clothing is well-worn but not particularly ragged. The world is his closet, but he'd still prefer to wear the same sweatshirt every day. It's comfortable and familiar, what more could you want?
Has a shock of wavy brown hair that curls erratically at the ends. He has tried desperately to tame it, and, despite the uneven cut in the back, it still has noticeable form to it. There is just enough to cover his ears, and a cluster of curls hangs above his right eye.
His face is mostly clean and gives the appearance of a fool. His ready grin and large, soulful brown eyes lend an air of easiness, relaxation, and naïveté. Still, his eyes hold a spark of vitality that so many others have lost.
Finally, his build is exceptionally thin, though not for lack of food. He may not be getting the three square meals recommended from a time before the bombs fell, but his scavenging has made sure that he rarely has to go hungry. New York City is a big place, after all.

Background: James's mother was pregnant when the bombs hit, but was safely protected in an underground bunker. The first thing James can remember, though, is the New York City apartment where he has lived his whole life. The rest of the building, like everywhere else is empty, abandoned. Many still had some sparse resources, but those were all depleted long ago in scavenging runs.
James's parents brought him up almost exactly as they would have if the apocalypse hadn't happened. They taught him morals, how to read, how to write, etiquette, housekeeping, and his most useful skill: scavenging. His father, once a smoker, died when James was 14, of lung cancer. His mother wasted away in the following years, perhaps of some unidentifiable disease or perhaps simply of the mingling of loss of hope and a broken heart. Whatever the case, James has been on his own since he was about 16, never having seen anyone but them his whole life.
He keeps his apartment just as it always was: nicely decorated and clean. He dusts semi-regularly, washes his sheets when he can, and sweeps the floor whenever he thinks it necessary. It still becomes somewhat grungy, but it's probably the best-kept apartment in all of New York City. Additionally, he has a tomato plant which he keeps for food and a very general calendar. He remembers his birthday being about at the same time the tomatoes become ripe.
A few piles of books litter his floor and there is no electricity so it is lit by a combination of candles and ambient light. All doors and windows are closed and locked at night, with the blinds shut. James can't quite remember why he does this, but his parents made sure to do it every night, so it must be important.
His pantries are always stocked with a few boxes of cereal and some canned food, found while scavenging. They aren't much, and he makes sure they last, but it's better than most. Unfortunately, he is having to go further and further to find anything while scavenging.

Alone or Accompanied: Alone

Other: The two weapons he has are used for breaking into apartments which may be locked or otherwise inaccessible. He has no idea how to use them in combat.

Name: Donatello 'Donnie' De Rege
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Nomadic or sedentary: Nomadic.
Weapons:

• An MK14, fitted with a foregrip.
• A Beretta M9.
• A survival knife.

Skills:

• He is an alright shot. Accurate, but not exactly precise.
• Pretty observant for a jumpy dude.
• He can pick a lock pretty well.
• He can climb with the best of them.
• He's a sneaky little shit.

Any unusual traits? Does it show physically?:
Donnie has mutated to possess chloroplasts within his body, allowing him to conduct photosynthesis when in the presence of water and carbon dioxide. As a result his skin is permeable, and he can absorb water and oxygen through it. His veins are greenish instead of blueish and his blood is amberish, sort of like sap.

Appearance:
Donnie is a shorter man, standing at around 5'2"-5'3", and he weighs about as much as a thrown stone. A thin, gaunt thing at first glance, but a life of surviving alone have turned him from placid little boy into a wiry, almost chimp-like young man. His head is squarish, his jaw is chiseled and his chin is cleft. His eyes seem a tad too small and his nose curves out like the beak of a vulture. His hair is black, greasy and hangs down in long, clumped strips like wet meat from his scalp. His skin is a sickly pale, with a slight tinge of green to it, enough to make him look constantly ill. He favors wearing sun-bleached torn jeans, a tight-fitting extra-extra-small t-shirt (it might be from a children's clothing store), a pair of welding goggles and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots. He's not the most fashionable man.

Brief Personality:
By every definition, a fantastic coward. Donnie has no problem with potentially avoiding any trouble he comes across, no matter the extra effort expended in doing so. Some would tell you that he has no shame, as groveling and begging are not beneath him by any means. Otherwise a reclusive individual, his family taught him to never trust anyone but the family. And when you come from a big family, you've got a lot to trust, but without that family there for him, he's suspicious of everyone and everything that he comes across. A coward and a snake.

Background:
Donnie was part of a big family, once upon a time. Mother, father, brothers, sisters. Cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents. Plenty of all of them. The family was big enough to be considered THE Family, at least at one point. Life was good, from what he's been told. A big estate, lots of privilege and a great group of friends to boot. If you asked him, he might even tell you about the time he helped the Franzetti brothers cover his sisters in punch during the big family reunion. When the bombs fell, the family grew smaller. They held ceremonies, fights broke out as calls to action came from all over and the Family divided even more. Slowly, Donnie's life fell apart and he grew into a man, trusting no one but his mother and father, and learning in his own time that to play the second banana and stay out of the limelight wasn't nearly as bad as people say it is.

He doesn't talk about his parents passing much, but he'll tell you that ever since his uncle took over the Family's business, its all gone to shit. That is why he left, you know. Left for the Big Apple, for New York, to see if he could make something of himself. A name, a home. Maybe even a new family.

Alone or with someone?:
Alone.

Other:
Despite his parentage, he's actually terrible at speaking his mother tongue, Italian.

Name: Atlas
Age: 4
Gender: Male
Nomadic or sedentary: Nomadic.
Weapons: Teeth. Claws. Standard dog stuff.
Skills:

• Helluva nose.
• Great hearing.
• Quick like a... really quick dog.
• Quick to learn.

Any unusual traits? Does it show physically?:
Atlas is smarter than your average pooch. Smarter than most pooches for that matter. Atlas is smart enough to bark along to 'Sweet Home Alabama', get you a beer and fetch the newspaper, all in time to lay down at your feet and watch the bandits try to traverse the minefield and death traps you set up earlier. He possesses a bulge in his throat, like an adam's apple, that allows him to make some rather outlandish noises.

Appearance:
Atlas is a Doberman Pinscher like any other really. He stands at around 2'4" at the shoulder. He wears a green leather collar bearing a nametag that says 'Atlas' on it.


Brief Personality:
Atlas is a cautious dog. He's not exactly one to run to the nearest human contact he can find in hopes of receiving love and gratification. He's a cluey pup, and he knows that people are prone to violence. He will stick to the shadows as he feels necessary, scavenging and taking as he can to survive. He does not get along well with other dogs. He does not know why.

Background:
Atlas was once a pack dog. He was born into, and came from a pack of dogs that has been roaming the wastes for generations, fending for itself and picking at the bones of the world left behind by the creatures that once cared for them and accompanied them. He grew up with the firm belief that he was a dog just like all of his siblings and cousins, a simple canine trying to eek out a living in this new world that had been lumped to all who still fought to survive. While he was not a dog that was well liked by other dogs, he enjoyed what time he spent with his kind. Over the course of his short life, he had been free, and he had been captured, made to fight for entertainment and sport. When he and his siblings demonstrated abilities uncharacteristic of their species, they were culled, so as to not pollute the blood of the sporting dogs. All except for Atlas himself, the smartest of the lot, who had heard the cries of the others and played possum, escaping into the night shortly after. Now he wanders the wastes of New York alone, eating and marking and hunting. And learning.

Alone or with someone?:
Alone.

Name: Hunter Lockwood

Age: 22

Gender: Male

Nomadic or sedentary: Nomadic

Weapons: wields two swords, carries a glock 17

Skills: Persuasive and manipulative, Hunter knows how to play with minds and get people to do what he wants. He's very skilled with swords. However, when it comes to guns, he can work one but he's no pro. He is very adept when it comes to strength but not so much speed. He is a very good liar as well and he is also always ahead of people when it comes to planning or thinking. When it comes to hand-to-hand combat, he is pretty skilled in this area as well.

Any unusual traits? Does it show physically?: His instincts are sharper than the average joe and he has enhanced hearing and eyesight. He can achieve night vision but not at a perfect degree. He also seems to have developed a predatory nature, often enjoying going after people. Physically his eyes resemble those of a wolf at times and his teeth seem to be a bit more sharp than a normal person's.

Brief Personality: Hunter can come off as a charming, nice person to those who are naive. He is very charismatic and will often joke around with the person he is talking to in order to put them at ease. Truly, he is a very determined person and will do anything to get what he wants. Hunter is NOT patient and has one hell of a temper that one does not want to mess with.

Background: Hunter is quite a mysterious fellow. He lived with his parents in a closed off zone down south until he was 14 years old. They neglected him a bit as he got older and he had more and more errands to run but nonetheless they were nice people. They often told Hunter what the world had been like before the war and he always dreamed of things going back to the way they were instead of hiding all the time from the monstrosity people tried to call civilization. Without much else to do in his free time, he'd learn how to defend himself from the men that would come to guard their walls from outsiders.

Things changed when his parents had another son when Hunter was 11 years old. It had been awful timing. The zone finally got raided by bandits and he and his younger brother was taken away while his parents were killed. Hunter got separated from his brother and taken into a bandit group to which he grew up to become one of the leaders. It is one of the largest groups existing and probably the most feared at the moment. He decided to call it the "Wolves" and decided to take in people who were mutating in order to create the strongest group of people there was.

However, since the group had gotten quite large, they would split up often. Going by the "White Wolf" and donning a white wolf mask, he would often lead a group of people. The rest would wear black masks. At first, it was just recruiting and stealing supplies but as Hunter got older, he became less merciful and less caring towards others. They started murdering and even leaving the heads of their victims on sticks to mark their presence and instill fear in people. However it was not him who was truly in charge. Everyone in the gang was guided by a young woman who often went by "Little Red." She called the shots and he led people on whatever crusade she wanted them to go on.

Alone or with someone?: With a bandit group