Name: Terry M Burnard

Age: 43
Occupation: Fireman.
Family life: Married. Wife, three kids all deceased.
Hair: black.
Eyes: brown.
Weight: 205 lbs.
Group: Walkers (currently with Fuad)
Appearance:


Blood type: A+
Immune: yes

Gear:
T-burn keeps a good supply of lighters flammable, rather explosive items with him. After all, fight fire long enough and you learn how to start one, to. Other then that, he has a crowbar and his hands.

Bio: Terry, or T-Burn was living the good life. His childhood was modest, but they had more than a lot of people, and he was taught to see that and appreciate it from his parents. Terry’s father was a chief at a fire station in Texas and his mother was a social worker, so they instilled in him, an only child, that a job that didn’t help anyone wasn’t worth working. At the end of the day, you find substance and worth in the people you help. Terry’s grandfather was also a fireman for the same station, though long retired.

While his mother worked a low key job that got very little recognition (albeit good pay), his father was more known through the city. He saw that and wanted it. People respected his father because he was a good man, he respected others. So as soon as he graduated high school, he asked his father to help him through fire fighter training. After talking with both his parents, they decided to go ahead and do it.

He wasn’t the largest man, not the fastest, and not the smartest, but they called him the “Bulldog” at training because no matter what Terry wouldn’t quit. He was bullheaded and he had heart.

And the tradition of a Burnard being in the local fire department carried on for a third generation. Eventually he settled down and married and had kids of his own. Two of his own children expressed interest in fire fighting (the third more interested in banging drums and wearing black clothing) so that would have made for a potential 4th generation if it hadn’t been for the awakening. His father had retired for some time, and Terry made it to Assistant Chief and after 21 years was about to retire himself.

Then the calls started flooding in. People sick. Dying. Then attacking. Violence in the streets. But not near his home.

Not immediately anyway. Then one day, there was a call to his own house and he panicked as he and the emergency response units scrambled and headed out. They arrived at the scene and before anyone could explain what happened, shots were fired. Then more shorts. He went to make his way into the house, but was blindsided to a form who bit deeply into his forearm. He struggled with the thing and they fell on his steps, Terry landing on top. He picked up and bashed the woman’s head into the stairs, repeatedly until it stopped.

It was then that he realized it was his oldest son’s girl friend. A cop grabbed him and told Terry not to go in, they were all dead.

As the chaos around him picked up, Terry sat the numb. Then, anger over took him, anger at not being there, at failing to protect his family, anger at…the whole world. He swung his axe clean into the face of the next undead that shambled by.

Since then, he’s been killing his way east, hearing of a hold out location in South Carolina.

Name: Fuad Najasir
Group: Walkers (Currently with Terry)
Age: 25
Occupation: None – former student, failed EMT training
Family life: single.
Sex: male.
Hair: brown.
Eyes: brown.
Weight: 185 lbs.
Blood type: O+.
Immune: yes.
Gear: backpack with mismatched clothes. A sawed off 12g Remington shotgun w/ half a box of shells. A crowbar. He has a “fanny pack” of various emergency medical equipment while there are other medical supplies in his main pack.
He made “armor” out of motorcycle riding gear. Instead of the whole jacket, he cut off the sleeves and legs in two different sizes: medium for the warmer weather and then XL for when it was cold and had to go over clothing. While he was bitten and almost had an arm broken, this DID save him from the bite getting to actual skin and possibly infecting him. Additionally, he found a steel gauntlet on a corpse, which he uses in the OPPOSITE hand he swings his crowbar with.

Picture:

Bio: Fuad was born in a predominantly Arab suburb of Phoenix, AZ. His family were Muslims, as was the majority of his community. He grew up fairly privileged, his father being a business executive for a computer company and his mother ran a series of Arab based shops locally.

Fuad had little problems growing up and all seemed well enough until his older brother died due to severe medical complications brought on by a pulmonary condition. He remembered his brother sobbing the night before, not wanting to die, being scared and unsure. He loathed his family for years after, as all they said were religious spoonfed crap. “It’s in Allah’s hands.” “You’ll be happier.” “You won’t suffer any more.” None of it consoled him and he had to be medicated once his heart rate wouldn’t slow.

His brother never woke up.

After that, Fuad became somewhat estranged to his family after he ceased practicing and accepting Islam into his life. At first, it was just a choice for himself, but after family resented him and made comments about it, he began having more conflict with more and more family members until he really ceased talking to anyone but his mother, father and sister. He gradually hovered in an area between deism and being an atheist, and some days agnostic. But mostly, he didn’t really care. After finishing school, he got a partial scholarship for running cross country and went away for 2 years.

Not long after, he dropped out and came home. He decided finally that he wanted to do something to help people, not just work a job to make money like his father. Now that he had grown up, he seen that while his father and mother were great providers, they were not around as parents, not good role models. They had OTHER people take him to school, make dinner, drive him around. They were always too busy focusing on money or their social image.

After fighting and almost threatening to leave forever, his father finally decided to give in and pay Fuad’s way through EMT training. He studies and practiced but the first time he took the test, he failed. He was pissed and crushed, but a few current EMTs and the instructor even said that over 80% of EMTs failed their first test, and over half still failed the second.

He was in the middle of studying for that second potentially failed test when The Awakening happened. It was horrible and he still had nightmares about it. He heard about it on the news, but it was all downplayed, but the internet, you can’t lie on the internet. He read and watched himself into a paranoia and told his family they needed to leave.

His father said they couldn’t, his mom and sister were both sick. Then, to Fuad’s amazement, his father started telling him how it was a hoax and not real, and if this alleged outbreak WAS real, then the holy and righteous would be saved. The middle of a global pandemic, and his father used it as an opportunity to throw Fuad’s lack of faith back in his face.

Later that night, he was still reading up on things when he heard arguing downstairs, then yelling. Then some crashing at the front door. He heard his father yelling and then screaming in pain. He looked down the bottom of the stairs and seen two forms over his father, one was his sister, and she was tearing into him as he screamed.

Then he looked and his mother was standing less than 10 feet away in her door way and she rushed him. He knew instantly what was happening, and why they were “sick” earlier, but it was too late now. He didn’t say anything or react, instinct just pushed her outstretched arms in the directions of the stairs, which she feel down at horrible angles, mostly on her head and neck.

Then, she hissed and started to try to crawl back up the stairs, her neck bent at a horrible angle. He threw up on the stairs. After a moment, he turned to his room, grabbed a baseball bat and the largest of the 3 set samurai sword set he had (a gift from a highschool girl friend actually) and threw some clothes in a bag. Then he opened his window and crawled down the pipe, the one he used to sneak out for years and shimmied down.

The scene around him was straight from a horror movie. It wasn’t like the movies. There were no cars peeling out. No explosions. Just people. People running. People screaming. Forms moving in the night. No houses were on fire. There was an occasional burst of gunfire, but everything going on around him was almost overwhelming. He took off at a light jog, picking up speed when he needed too, never realizing his cross country days would help him run out of the carnage.

He’d been running, walking, or driving East ever since, hearing that the Marine Base in Missouri was an infection free zone

Name: Jon Erikson
Group: CDC Group
Age: 29
Occupation: Government top secret data clerk and server technician
Family life: Single
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Weight: 185 pounds
Blood type: O+
Reason for government interest: Jon has top secret clearance to the top most tiers of the government. He is also capable of running and maintaining computer networks of top secret level.

Picture:

Bio: Via his CIA service record, Jon Erikson was born and raised in the streets of Chicago. His early childhood was typical, he grew up playing hockey and taking krav maga lessons until his parents both lost their jobs and could not afford to pay for either. He continued to train at the Krav Maga center while working to pay for his lessons by cleaning and helping maintain the grounds. His parents fought most of the time, each blaming the other for their financial situation and Jon distanced himself from both as most kids do.

Eventually his mother filed for divorce and about a month later, both were killed by a drunk driver. Because he had no extended family and no care takers, he was given to the state at age 14. His schooling lagged as he had no true guidance and motivation.

Eventually he dropped out and worked full time training and tending to the Krav Maga center. He was given a small room there and that seemed to be enough for him. His training led him to meet a handful of recruiters for the military and one day he signed up for the army. After taking an asvab test, his scores were too low to enlist.

One of the recruiters noticed his computer comprehension was through the roof however, and he then set Jon up on a government grant that allowed him to go to college for 5 years almost free. He was moved to Washington DC to learn how to institute a government top secret server from top to bottom and maintain it and it’s security.

Over the 5 years or so, his job was mostly menial data entry and systems checks although his job would take him outside the country and all over the US on a routine basis. He was trained in how to use firearms, hand to hand combat (on top of his krav maga background), first aid, outdoor survival and a myriad of other arenas that the CIA deemed necessary.

When The Awakening happened, the government started pulling in a handful of assets inside and isolating them to keep accountability. Later, when things got exceptionally bad, they put together a CDC/Homeland Security facility, called The Southern Facility where they would gather assets that they knew were immune and who would be of some value once the outbreaks ceased.

Name: Harris "GodZI77a" Godson
Group: CDC Group
Age: 22
Occupation: Former hacker; acquitted of crimes to work for gov't
Family life: Single
Hair: Sandy brown
Eyes: Hazel
Weight: 155 pounds
Blood type: B+
Reason for government interest: Harris is a (former) world renown computer hacker. His skills are unparalleled, and he also has a lot of background in computer and networks, from the ground up.

Picture:

Bio: Harris was born in a privileged home, not really knowing much hardship, aside from those that he brought down upon himself. His parents were wealthy, his father being a top executive at a global petroleum company while his mother was simply a rich, pampered socialite. The two rarely had time for him, especially as he got older, and he spent most of his time being raised by housekeepers and the such.

Because he lived in a large, relatively isolated home and was home-schooled, he took to computers and the internet after being exposed to them one time. He quickly got sucked in, doing everything from building computers, social networking and gaming to maintaining servers. At the young age of 10, he got into hacking, and if Harris was a savant in terms of computers and technology, then his prowess at hacking may have had him labeled a god.

He found him doing things not really because he needed to, but simply because he could do them. He would steal money and identities, he'd change his grades and even wrote erroneous articles in newspapers and on websites. For many years, he stuck to what one could consider low key crimes. He didn't need money, or great grades, he simply did it because he could. His parents didn't care one way or another.

Then at 13 he was exposed to the powers of actual malicious hacking and took to it. He started compromising corporate servers, hacking sensative mainframes and eventually got to the point that he was worming his way into government systems and causing chaos. These activities were not limited the the US and he was on half a dozen lists globally as a wanted criminal, even though they had no idea who he was or what he looked like. "ZIL" or "Godzilla" was his screen name and he was revered in the underground world of hacking and even was made mention in large, public online circles.

The fact that he was rich and had cash resources, then was extremely intelligent, compounded with the ease at which wireless devices would be purchased and used, he was untraceable for over 7 years. Then, just like every other successful man who falls from grace, he was brought to heel by a woman scorned.

After he posted pictures of him at a party to which she was not invited, and there was a picture of Harris with his arm around another girl, she flipped out and called local authorities to let them know about him. She wasn't thinking at the time, and simply called to tell them that he was "watching and trading a shit load of child pornography," not realizing that in doing this, the metaphorical Pandora's Box was opened.

After a simple test of his security protocols, none of which were available anywhere else, nor were the agents able to even poke a small hole in it, they realized they were dealing with someone more capable than a rich kid watching porn. They called in the FBI and had no idea that in doing so, they'd be reeling in one of the biggest catches in the history of E-Cases. What started as serving a warrant for suspicion of distributing child pornography turned into a feeding frenzy.

At 20 years old, Harris was put in prison on a myriad of hacking related crimes, ultimately given 55 years without chance for parole. At no point in his stay would he ever be allowed to touch any electronic device with any form of interface.

Prior to going to prison, he and his lawyers came up with an agreement: Harris would be released into custody, be allowed to live at home, but on a form of modified parole and house arrest. He would be monitored at all times, via multiple methods, to include 2 agents near him at all times. He was given a computer that was monitored by a modified program he created that would only allow the most basic of computer access, similar to parental filters on tvs and devices.

He was miserable and sullen, a shell of who he used to be even in spite of aiding in the closing of several investigations. He finally found interest again on Valentine's Day, when things started to go wrong. He spent the first day looking at things online in regards to this when without warning, agents came into his room and removed him.

He was driven for hours, from Illinois to Missouri, and when the vehicle stopped at a facility, an agent entered the vehicle and explained that, in light of the potential epidemic around the world, he would be moved here for future considerations. Once the situation was handled, he would be released, but an asset like him could not be jeopardized.

Harris had no idea what exactly was going on, but when he tried to fight, he was hit with a stun baton and woke up in his room. After repeated conversations with people via the comm system, it was deduced that more or less, he was stuck here, nothing he said would matter and he'd be let out eventually, and things would go back to how they were before being imprisoned.

Name:
William Renault

Group:
Walkers

Age:
19

Occupation:
None

Family:
Unknown

Eye/Hair Color:
Pale Gray/Dark Brown

Height/Weight:
5'5"/137 lbs

Blood Type:
B- (Immune to the virus)

Gear:
Will travels light- Really light. The only things he's seen to carry are the clothes on his back and his weapons, as well as a large pouch of things at his belt- Yeah, it's a fanny pack. But it's a god damn manly one, and he keeps it stocked with an impressive array of medicinal herbs, bandages, painkillers, and some small survival things- Flint and steel, a fletching kit, compass... Things of that nature. He also keeps a small journal and a few pens in an inside pocket of his jacket.

Speaking of jacket, his clothes are fairly simple- A pair of jeans, some excellently made boots, a T-shirt that was probably white once, and a tough, worn leather jacket- With a just-as-tough leather belt. All of it has seen inevitable wear and tear, but in general, for clothing worn during the apocalypse, is in pretty good shape.

His weapons are few, but well cared for- Most importantly, his bow. A longbow with a ninety pound draw of excellent craftsmanship, the wood polished lovingly, every curve and groove made with the greatest of care, painted a deep black, this bow is his main weapon for both offense and defense. He can't hit the broad side of a barn with a gun- But put him anywhere within reach of that longbow and he'll cut the tail off a rat without killing the little shit. No really. He's done it before. He keeps a full-length quiver at his hip, two dozen arrows stocked into it at all times

Other than the bow, he has a survival knife strapped to his thigh- Single edged eight inch blade, saw-tooth spine, and an edge hard and sharp enough to cut flesh like butter and bone like wood. He also has his brain and his body. Both are very useful tools, wouldn't you say?

Appearance:

Despite being short, and thus rather light, Will is surprisingly strong- He won't be winning any muscle man competitions of course, or arm-wrestling the hulk. But he draws his bow- At ninety pounds in draw weight- like it's nothing, and can out-run, out-climb, and out-punch the best of them. Most of the time.

His hair is dark brown in color, and hangs ragged and messy to about his shoulders. Though he doesn't seem to bother cutting it, as it continues to grow out. His eyes- Wild, full of instinct and a survival-driven willpower, are a light gray color, and in those few moments where he is around people -not- trying to kill him, a dry kind of humor born of waking up in what he considers to basically be hell.

He's covered in scars from the recent years- And some array of scars from before the rising. Most are small and inconsequential, but two in particular are of note. One, an obvious bite scar on his left tricep, clearly from a being of... Undead nature. The second, a ragged, blotchy scar along the back of his head, hidden by his hair. Must have been one hell of a blow- And is likely from the hit that gave him his... Problem.

History and Personality:
Will's history is.... Well, a complete and total mystery! At least before eight months ago. It was around then that, somehow, he took a bar stool to the back of the head, and woke up with no idea who he was or where he was. He found an ID in his wallet that placed him as "William Renault", but beyond that and his age, he couldn't make heads or tails of the other things listed on the card- The mysteries of Amnesia, in this case apparently also including the names of the states. Or what states were. Or governments, for that matter. Thankfully, his understanding of English remained in tact.

Along with English, he also discovered he could bring to mind a long list of things that would be useless... If he weren't surrounded by walking dead people and bandits. Botany, biology, zoology, and a lot of smartass remarks. He also found, after a chance encounter with some unfortunate bandits, that he had in muscle memory a -very- good understanding of how to use the bow he woke up with.

So, for the past year and a half, he's roamed around aimlessly, just looking for -anybody- who wasn't trying to kill him.... And maybe some key to his past.

Name: Marni Jenkins
Age: 24
Occupation: Was a naval medic, though she had given up the military life and gone for something a little more glamorous in the banking field.
Family Life: Marni was an only child, her parents living on a strict budget. When she joined the Navy she moved away from home. She’s not sure if her folks are dead, though it seems likely. Originally from Colorado.
Status: Single. There was this thing with a guy but he couldn't commit to the whole...being alive thing. yeah...Single. Definitely Single.
Hair: Sandy Blonde
Eyes: Hazel Green
Height: 5’8”
Weight: 165lbs
Group: Walker
Appearance: Marni, being a vain woman, took great care in her appearance before the outbreak. Now she tries her best to maintain a certain standard, it’s just harder to do without running water. Still her wavy blonde hair is braided back and pulled into a pony tail she likes to think of as ‘sporty’ (albeit a little shorter than she like…the ends a touch scorched) , her skin a little more weathered than it had been 9 months ago. Her physique has benefited from this whole process, where Marni was ‘fit’ before she would be categorized as ‘athletic’ now, with strong arms and a tight abdomen, who has to do cardio when they run this much? And can we talk about squats? Her ass is perfect and rock hard now… Mostly from climbing and dashing upstairs… But really, this is better than crossfit.

Her military duds are lasting the best in this world so she can been seen in her navy camo and black pea coat. Her last name stitched onto the front pocket reads “ENKINS” .

Photo:

Blood Type: O-

Immune: Fairly safe to say she is considering her exposure rate.

Gear: Marni has her standard issue military duffle bag with all the things that ought to be in there. Three changes of NWU’s (navy camos, with white crew neck undershirts, thick tall socks and cover (hat) ) along with her standard issue pea coat and her medic kit. She has a few MRE's left since they taste…Not that great. Oh and her Beretta M9 (Big hand gun).

She has her basic tool kit, her fire starting kit, a length of rope and various pocket knives. And a compact mirror…

What?! A girl has to be able to keep herself tidy…

Bio: Being an only child in a very tight budget household Marni was typically buying her clothes at second hand stores, or saving her allowances up for special sales at the outlet malls. She always wanted to be glamorous and beautiful, and she knew there was no way that would happen with her parents strict budgeting. She loved her folks, but they were so happy just going out for hikes in the mountains near their home in Denver, or being one with nature. Sure she learned how to build a fire, make a smores toasting stick and fish and hunt and camp. But who wants to pee in the woods with the bears!?

As soon as she turned 18 Marni joined the Navy and was trained as a corpsman. The income was much better than anything else she might have hoped for with no degree and her job came with a workout plan that would keep her looking fine.

After two tours and patching up men who probably would never survive Marni did not sign another contract and instead took her talents to the glamorous world of banking. Alright. It wasn’t as glamorous as Marni had hoped, but she did get to wear makeup every day, and high heels and tight skirts.

Picking out the perfect outfit was always an art for Marni. The shoes had to match the earrings and the purse, but not so much that it was tacky or too matchy matchy. Perfecting this art sometimes made her run late to work…

Searching for the mate to her Adorable Buckle tan heel with the peach colored bow and liner was certainly making her run late today. Where was the thing!? The heel peeped out from under her duffle bag and Marni lunged for it, prying it out with a victorious cry.

Really! Under the duffle! How had that happened? Really she needed to get rid of the ugly thing, taking up valuable closet space that could be used to home something much more important, like those thigh high leather boots she had been eyeing…

Tugging the shoe on Marni gave the duffle another look before heading out the door. She was around 30 minutes late as it was.
Speeding to work she listened to her ipod on shuffle rather than the news, which had been rather boring of late anyway. Parking in the back Marni was surprised to see she wasn’t the only one hustling in through the back door. Her friend Tara was meandering towards the bank as well.

“Hey girl!” Marni called as she closed her car door with a bang! Tara turned slowly to look at her. Marni slung her purse over her shoulder and clicked up the sidewalk to the waiting Tara and the back door. “Can’t believe you’re running late too! Maybe Mark won’t get so mad if we’re both …” Marni had finally looked up from putting her car keys away to see Tara’s face. She didn’t look too good, sweating and pale.

“Woah…Are you alright?” Marni asked. Tara nodded. “I think I might have the flu to be honest, but if I miss more work I’ll get written up. Shouldn’t have gotten that boob job last Christmas, it really ate into my sick days.” Marni nodded sympathetically. “But your girls are so perky now! Totally worth it!” Patting her friend on the back they made their way inside.

Luckily Mark was nowhere to be seen so Marni and Tara were able to hustle into their own offices and no one would be any the wiser to their tardiness.

An epic bidding war on a Prada purse had Marni running late for her lunch break as well and she looked up surprised to see what time it was. Normally Tara would have come to haul her off to some soup and salad joint.

Maybe she had bit the bullet and gone home sick?

Shuffling into Tara’s office Marni knocked once before entering without waiting for permission. “Hey girl you still he—“ Marni cut herself off when she saw Tara, who was …Not herself. She was staring and panting and groaning, her makeup had been sweated off and really…She was drooling.

“Tara?” Marni asked. Had she had a stroke?

That was the last coherent thought Marni had about her friend before Tara was rushing her, grabbing her arm and yanking her further into the office. “Tara! Ouch! What is wrong with you?” Tara groaned and Marni watched in horror as her friend bared her teeth and opened her mouth, leaning towards Marni’s arm.

Instinct kicked in and Marni ripped her arm away from Tara, punching the bitch in the face with her free hand. Tara’s head snapped back and she stumbled, clumsy. Marni grabbed the door handle and slammed Tara’s office door shut, holding the knob tightly and looking around in confusion. Tara seemed to have had some sort of break down, snapped and gone cannibal. She needed someone to call the police, a doctor. Somebody.

Only… Tara was throwing herself at the office door, and the loud shrieks she was making and the thumps was drawing attention. As vague expressions and other ill looking coworkers peered out (like how Tara had looked only hours ago. Under the weather, not deranged) Marni realized they were all sick. None were quite to Tara’s level yet but…

Marni had her purse already, her keys. All she had to do was get to her car and drive home. The image of that duffle bag she had been planning on getting rid of appeared in her mind. She needed to get out. Instincts said she had to flee.

So she did, bolting for the exit and not looking back as Tara broke through her office door to get at her best friend.

Marni changed out of her tight skirt and adorable tan heels and into her combat boots , blue jeans, and a polo. Time for a road trip. Time to head back to Denver and figure out what was going on.

Marni never made it to Denver. Her car ran out of gas before she ever crossed the county line. It didn’t matter, she’d just keep trekking west with her duffle bag and her berretta.

Personality: Marni can be chatty, amusing, and likable. She is a social creature and loves compliments and shiny things. But there is a part of her that is very selfish in the need to stay alive. While she wants to look smashing, she doesn’t want her head smashed in. She can make friends fairly easily but isn’t the type to stay behind and fight honorably with her comrades. She’ll doctor up an injured ‘friend’ but the first sign of illness and she’ll flee. Self-preservation is high on Marni’s list.

Name: Beatrice “Triss” White
Group: None, will update if this changes.
Age: Thirteen
Occupation: Student

Family life:
- Mother: Maria Connors, deceased after giving birth.
- Father: Aaron White, left the city with Triss, deceased.

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Appearance:



Triss, while being fairly young is still quite strong, having developed her skills and strength in competitive rock climbing and in track and field events. She stands at around five feet tall which while being no where near the average male RA, gives her surprising agility and speed to outrun and outmaneuver them.

If visible, she has a few scars on herself from encounters on her journey, be it from the RA or other people, though the more prominent one is a bite mark just above her left shoulder of human origin. Her hair is just between a deep and a light brown with slight flecks of red scattered about within it and her storm grey eyes show an unquenchable fiery determination to push on. She weighs in at about 97-100 pounds with an average, yet more toned build to her.

Blood type: O -
Immune: Yes

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Gear:
Triss is never seen without her New York Yankees ballcap or her military surplus backpack. She carries a bloodstained wooden baseball bat in her hand at most times and a small folding knife clipped to her belt, more as a tool than a weapon. Other than that, she travels quite light, having only the clothes on her back along with her light parka in her bag. Her usual clothing consists of worn out jeans that look like they've seen better days, a white (used to be white anyways) tank top, light hiking boots and her ballcap. She would also have clip on cleats on her bag, able to be attached to her boots rapidly if needed.

Along with the parka in her bag is a mountain climbing thigh harness, about 100 feet of light rope (Strong enough to support her body weight easily) wrapped up tightly and neatly and a grappling hook with folding arms. To finish off, she carries a rather unimpressive first aid kit scavenged from various sources and an aluminum water bottle clipped to the outside of her bag. A small AA battery powered MP3 player and earbuds is usually found in her pocket, for the few down times she gets.

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Bio:
Beatrice was born into a fairly well off family, living what was probably just above the average American life. She started playing sports when she was only four years old, starting with soccer in the elementary school league and moving up the competition as she got older. Though her mother died just after Beatrice was born, her father loved her dearly and raised her as a single dad for eight years, before he met another woman that would eventually step in as Beatrice’s step mother.

In these eight years, her father raised her to be less of a “girly” girl and more of a tomboy, playing more sports like football and baseball, as well as getting into competitive rock climbing. She was second to a boy two years older than her at the time, in both speed climbing and endurance climbing on open mountain courses.

After her father started dating this new woman, Beatrice became a very quiet person, and while she still actively trained and competed in her sports, she was not the same person. The counsellors called it survivor’s guilt, as the new woman reminded her of the fact her life had been what killed her mother. She became more reserved and rarely interacted with either her father or stepmother.

When the Rising started making news headlines globally, Beatrice started to worry, but life went on normally. At least for a little while.

Then one night, all hell broke loose. Beatrice woke up to screaming. A man screaming. Her father screaming. She grabbed her baseball bat and slowly opened her door. Down the hall, her stepmother was biting into her father’s bicep. Beatrice took all the guilt of killing her mother and slammed the bat as hard as she could into her stepmother’s neck with a sickening crack, killing her instantly. Her father nodded to her and they began collecting their things, before running out the door. A few other cries of pain echoed through the night, but they kept running.

A week later her father started getting sick.

Two weeks later, he was biting into the shoulder of his only child before she put him down.

Now that was both her parents she had killed.

Triss' Theme song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjW4_OlhKfo

Name: Leon Murray
Group: Walkers
Age: 25
Occupation: Office clerk
Family life: Single
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Green/Blue
Weight: 175lbs
Picture: Click!
Blood type: O+
Immune: Yes

Gear: Since it's almost winter, Leon travels in heavy coat, a black jumper, camouflage trousers and hiking boots. He also has a backpack in which he carries essentials such as a toothbrush, toothpaste, a brush, a book, and other items related to hygiene and keeping his sanity intact.

Also in Leon's possession is a fire axe he'd managed to salvage from his office, and he'd used it to cut his way through his co-workers and out to safety, sort of.

Bio: Leon was born into a fairly normal family. Two parents, two siblings. Nothing stood out during Leon's childhood. He went to school, played with friends and had a general good time. But he did spend most of his free time watching TV and playing video games, but so did most kids his age, so nothing was too alarming about what he was doing.

After leaving school with fairly average grades, he got a job at a local insurance company, and ended up behind a desk, at a computer screen for eight hours a day. He was the literal meaning of the term "9-to-5". Leon didn't mind though. He made enough money to get by and provide for himself. He had the bare essentials. An apartment, food, clothing, a bed, a TV. Everything a grown up needed to survive.

Leon felt something was wrong as soon as he heard the first reports on the radio. But he treated that day as any other. He got up, showered, dressed, ate breakfast and headed to work. The reports about the "dead rising" on the radio became more frequent as he drove to work, but he just dismissed it as conspiracy theorists having a field day.

He headed to his desk and the first three hours of the day were as normal as any other. Before he went to lunch, Leon went into the bathroom, but nothing would have prepared him for what was inside. A mutilated corpse. Blood was spattered all over the floor and the walls. There were a few, what looked like, bite marks all over his neck and torso. The crimson liquid seeped from each opening.

As he turned on his heel and made for the door, he heard a blood-curdling scream from the hallway. Leon burst out and what met him was a scene of pure chaos and brutality. His co-workers were... eating each other. It almost resembled what he'd just seen in the bathroom, with blood covering almost every inch of flooring and walls. He couldn't believe it. It was normal when he'd left his desk. It was almost as if somebody had flipped a switch and everything had gone to Hell.

Leon dashed for the exit. Luckily, the psychos were busy eating prey they'd already got their hands on to notice him. But as he was a couple of metres away, he was cut off by approximately four of his newly-turned co-workers. Leon turned once more and sprinted for the opposite hallway, hoping they weren't following him, or were at least too slow to catch up. But, again, he was cut off, so he dived into the janitor's closet and barricaded himself in with whatever he could find in there.

The fire axe that was held onto the wall had not been taken, so Leon grabbed it before anybody else could and tried to think of a plan to escape. He looked up. A window! Leon could hear the undead moaning just outside, and they were scratching and clawing against the door. He propped the bucket against the wall, stood atop it, smashed through the window with his axe and then hoisted himself through it, just as they broke inside.

He'd got about a hundred metres down the alleyway before he realised he'd actually got a pretty large cut along his thigh from cutting it on a piece of glass. Leon gritted his teeth, made it to his car and drove as far as he could, until he ended up in the country, and out of gas.

Leon tore off his sleeve, wrapped it around his gash and carried on his way, hoping to find salvation.

Personality: Leon has an every-man-for-himself mentality after witnessing the horrors of the end, but will happily work with others if it means he won't end up zombie chow. He is friendly to most, but it's normally because he doesn't want to be shot on sight. He's spent most of his adult life alone, so prefers to work by himself instead of in a group but, like before, will do so if it means something good will come of it. But he's slowly drifting away, mentally and physically, after months and months of walking on his own and staying in isolated places are beginning to take their toll on him.

Name: Nnamdi Chijindum Chikondi Obama

Group: Walker

Age: 29

Occupation: Movie Star

Family life: Single, once had relationship with a woman

Hair: Short black hair

Eyes: Dark Brown

Weight/Height: 195 lbs, 5’ 10”

Blood type: A+

Immune: Yes

Gear: Carries with him a Ruger Collector’s Series 10/22 rifle, with about 500 22LR rounds and four BX-25 25 round magazines. Also carries a hatchet as his go-to backup weapon. Has filled himself a backpack with miscellaneous survival gear and clothing, as well.

Bio: In most places within Africa, being born to a stable family is comparable to being born into royalty. In that case, Nnamdi was born as a king. He was born to a very wealthy family in Kampala, the capital of Uganda. He went to a private school where he learned many things that he had little interest in. All he cared about was movies. He loved Schwarzenegger, Stallone and Willis, he watched movies whenever he could. He longed for when his extended family visited, always knowing they could bring some sort of new movie from the West.

As Nnamdi grew older, he looked at movies differently. While he still went to school, his real study was of movies. He loved looking at cinematography and analyzing why they did what they did. He loved looking for secrets in the scenery and other nifty facts. Most of all, he loved the action heroes. By the time he left his studies, he had made quite a few friends, one of whom set him up with a few people in Wakaliwood, a budding film industry in one of Uganda’s slums.

He auditioned and became of the lead actors on the spot, mostly due to his connections rather than his acting skills. He was one of Tiger Mafia’s main men in the hit film, ‘Who Killed Captain Alex?’. Soon after the movie was finished, another was soon in the works, thanks to some help from a few of Nnamdi’s cousins. The sequel, ‘Who Killed Captain Alex AGAIN?’ was to be set in America, as a cheap zombie twist on the first movie. The movie was set to feature, “more explosions, more guns, more women, and more zombie,” as said by the film’s director to a curious airport official.

The group soon got to filming as soon as they entered America, now being able to use more real guns in wilderness settings. Filming was going as well as it could when disaster struck. The director was determined to keep filming despite the turbulent climate both within the States and abroad. It was a quiet morning when the crew noticed that the zombies shuffling around the set weren’t their expected extras.

Nevertheless, Nnamdi ran, taking with him one of the real guns they had on set, along with some of the bullets the production team had “acquired” in some city. There he was, alone, in a foreign country, with nothing but a gun and a funny accent to his name. It’s a miracle he made it this far.

Personality: Loud and boisterous, Nnamdi is a jolly fellow. Always optimistic, he is determined to look at the bright side of any scenario, interjecting bouts of comedy when he can. He often narrates any actions he does, in remembrance of his acting days. If anything, his raucous and clumsy mannerisms will be the death of him.

He is open to try anything, and will usually go with what anyone tells him to do. Although he’s smart, he can be naive at times. He thinks like an action hero and acts like one too, often feeling that he is nigh invincible and going out of his way to do “badass” and “cool” things.

He often wishes to go back to his home, but he knows that he never can.

Name: Logan Dubois
Group: Walker (Currently with Kevin Fairbanks, Stacey Schroder, and possibly others)
Age: 32
Occupation: Catholic Priest (Exorcist)
Family life: Uh, Priest with a missing/deceased brother and parents
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
Weight: 207 lbs
Picture:
Blood type: O+
Immune: No
Gear:
One change of clothes, making two work cassocks. (Black suit that priests wear with the collar.) One hiking backpack loaded with food and water supplies. (Mostly canned foods and bottled water) Three boxes of 200 communion wafers unconsecrated and able to be used as food. Remington 870 Wingmaster shotgun with 30 shells and a sling. One bible and exorcist metal. One full journal notebook and two new ones.

Bio:
Born the first of two brothers in central Louisiana in the city of Alexandria, Logan grew up going to catholic private schools. His parents divorced when he was very young due to his father’s alcoholism. His early life was filled with court trials and drunken rampages by his father.

From elementary to high school he was an athlete. He played football his freshmen and sophomore years in high school and switched to basketball for his junior and senior years. Despite this he was something of a nerd, opting to stay home to read comic books rather than go to parties and he never had any desire to experiment with alcohol or drugs due to his early childhood. Around his sophomore year in high school his dad had completely kicked his addiction to alcohol. He had become quite a holy man, and while Logan and his brother still didn’t completely trust him they visited him pretty often. Eventually his father became an actual mentor in his life.

By his senior year in high school Logan had become a pretty popular person despite his nerdy tendencies. He became a star basketball player (on a team of rich white kids with no skills, but you know, whatever) and was a part of the campus ministry team. He was also quite the lady’s man, though he always had his eye on one girl who only ever saw him as a friend. (Hence the priesthood.)

After high school he attended the University of Louisiana at Lafayette for two years majoring in computer science with a minor in world history. Eventually he decided to go into seminary (priest school) and dropped out of ULL.

When he entered the seminary he specialized in exorcisms, a subject that always fascinated him. In the six years it took him to go through seminary life, he ended up with a doctorate in demonology and theology with a masters in history and his associate’s degree in computer science. At 26 years old he became a priest in a small parish in northern Louisiana where he was the official exorcist in the diocese. (diocese=county sized area of churches) At 28 he became the chaplain of the local catholic high school, during this time his commitment to the priesthood was challenged when the girl he loved (mentioned above) got married to one of his high school friends.
Logan was giving mass during the Rising, the congregation began taking the body and blood of their neighbors. (Ha! Humorous) Logan and a few other people in the church were able to escape. A large number of people eventually made a sort of colony in the highschool. He began writing a journal to chronicle the events of this the apocalypse, something that he still does today.

The colony lasted for about four months before it was overrun by a group of bandits in the area. The battle lasted for a few hours, and the RAs that were drawn to the gunfire only made it worse. It was in this battle that Logan killed his first man. Something he was not proud of but eventually deemed necessary. Most of the survivors ran in separate directions haphazardly and Logan had no idea how many may have actually survived. He escaped with a woman in her early-twenties named Stacey Schroder (who was quite hostile to the fact that he was a priest) and a student named Kevin Fairbanks. They have been travelling together ever since. Logan and Stacey have warmed up to each other a bit since then, though neither will budge from their ends of the spectrum. He has not seen his younger brother or parents since the outbreak.

Personality:
Logan is quite a likeable man, people seem to think he is funny and charming. They also seem to think of him as a leader. He has a pretty strict moral code and has yet to rob another survivor. (Though scavenging is an obvious must.) He also tries his hardest to solve whatever conflicts come up with other survivors peacefully, and even when violence arises has a tendency to let his attacker live. He has killed three human beings, all in self-defense and in the heat of a fight. He is also prone to wisecracks and random bouts of facts that he finds interesting. (Usually pertaining to history, Star Wars, or the obvious greatest superhero ever. Perhaps even religion depending on the person, as in not Stacey.) He is also quite fearless due to his past as an exorcist (boy could he tell some stories) and is a very capable public speaker.

Name: Stacey Schroder

Group: Walkers (With Father Logan Dubois and Kevin Fairbanks, perhaps more)

Age: 24

Occupation: Cop

Family Life: Single, dead parents

Hair: Black

Eyes: Green

Weight: 157 lbs.

Picture:

Blood Type: B-

Immune: No

Gear: One backpack filled with canned foods and bottled water. Two changes of clothes, (one police uniform and two civilian outfits) One Glock 22 sidearm with three full magazines (45 bullets) two pairs of handcuffs and the key, one police Taser, one police Kevlar vest and her father’s badge. One Bowie combat knife. She also has a full bottle of shampoo, a girl needs to stay clean.

Bio:
Stacey was originally born in Chicago, Illinois. She was the only child raised in a law enforcement family so it was pretty apparent that she would become a cop when she got older. Her dad was a detective for the Vice department and had spent years chasing down the various organized crime organizations in the city. Eventually he was promoted to lieutenant of the entire department.

Before her freshmen year I high school, her dad quit the force due to differences in “philosophy” with his boss who had let yet another criminal go without trial. He thought that the CPD had become corrupt, and fairly so as the amount of bribes going through the force was staggering. He received a job offer from a small town in Louisiana a few weeks later which he accepted wanting to get as far away from Chicago as possible. This caused some controversy in the family between her father and mother but they ended up making the move.

She started high school in Louisiana with no friends and a northern accent. She played softball throughout school and had the occasional boyfriend here and there (most of which were run off by her dad) but other than that her school career was pretty average.

She went to college in state because of her pretty average grades and graduated two years ago. She returned back and became a patrol comp in her town. She had a very clean record and was considering making a move to New Orleans to become a “big city cop” like her dad was in Chicago. These plans were stopped with the Rising. She was on patrol when it happened, driving past the local church. She saw a priest and a few other people running out and stopped to rescue them. It was a tight fit but they escaped.

Her father was the man who set up a small colony in the local Catholic high school. There were about sixty survivors there and the majority slept on the gym floor. The priest that she had rescued, Father Logan, began giving mass in the small chapel on campus but that was literally the last thing she was interested in. Stacey’s father put her in charge of the “away team” which basically meant she was the head scavenger. They usually went out in groups of four or five to the local grocery or gun stores for the first few months before they had to travel further out. They had a few casualties here and there but they were generally successful.

On their way back to the school one day, they met a group from Texas who was more interested in stealing from other groups than scavenging. Their first contact went poorly, Stacey had to kill three of them and lost two of her own before the fight was over. This started a war between the two groups that lasted for the last month of the colony.

Her father died in the bandit attack and she took his badge from his corpse. The school was eventually overrun by both bandits and zombies before she made a run for it. She saved a kid named Kevin from getting his face chewed off and the two of them ran to the supply room to pack. Unfortunately they were trapped by a bandit with a shotgun held to their face. This time it was Stacey who was saved by the priest. He ran behind the man and hit him in the head with a baseball bat killing him instantly. Something that affected the priest in a very negative way.

The three eventually escaped the attack in her cruiser and have been traveling ever since. The car ran out of gas about a month ago with no station or other vehicle in site. Now the three are walking together through Missouri.

Personality:
Stacey inherited her father’s no-nonsense cop attitude and has no hard feelings showing it. She is quite nice to those she considers friends but has a hard time trusting newcomers, something her and Logan disagree on frequently. She is extremely loyal to those close to her. She has a less strict moral code than the priest and is often willing to kill those that attack them, another disagreement point. She also considers all religion as a waste of time, obviously another disagreement. She and the priest have agreed to avoid this topic, surprisingly at his request. She also likes to keep up her appearance, and has to keep her hair clean. Hence the search for shampoo and body was during every scavenging run.

Reserved for me, the greatest mofo in town.

Name: Eric Connors
Group: "Walkers" (Michael Connors)
Age: 32
Occupation: CNC Machinist, Operator
Family life
Father: Reggie Connors. Died in 2011 from cirrhosis of the liver.
Mother: Susie Connors, 58. Lives in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Lives off pension of father. Fate unknown.
Older Brother: Damien Connors, 35. Lives in Seminole Alabama. Works as a paralegal. Fate unknown.
Leech of an Ex-Wife: Jessie Landry, 31. Lives in Kansas City, Missouri. Works as a heartless bitch succubus travel agent. Deceased.
Son: Michael Connors, 10. Currently traveling with Eric Connors.
Hair: Light brown
Eyes: Dark brown
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 166lbs

Blood type: B+
Immune: No

Gear: Eric travels with everything with him, and staying mobile is his strongsuit. He takes with him a camouflaged molle pack a little smaller than full size, packed tight with camping equipment. Flint starter, solar camping lantern, rechargeable kinetic flashlight, portable radio, cast iron skillet, bed mat, waterproof tarp, weather resistant sleeping bag, Sawyer water filter, Camelbak, and anything else you'd take with you for a week-long hunting or camping trip. Along with this Eric is stocked with a few boxes of 12-gauge shells and .300 magnum ammo for his Remington 870 pump-action and Weatherby Vanguard respectively, with a rifle cleaning kit that he doesn't use as often as he should what with being on the run all the time and all. Eric crafted a shell rack for his Remington the week that he first got it and his Marlin has a 3-9x32 sight attached, and both are equipped with slings. He collects food, water, and other valuables when he can and normally has a supply that'll last at least two days of living and more if he stretches it out. Eric also has a few other odds and ends with him: half a roll of duct tape, couple screwdrivers, some batteries, and whatever tobacco products he can lay his hands on which is two cans of dip and almost a full pack of Camel Crushes right now. Eric keeps a Leatherman knife clipped to his pocket and a larger hunting knife on his pack.

Another change of clothes is packed into his bag, but it's mostly filled with other things. The one exception is socks, of which he has nearly five pairs. Eric chooses to attire himself in his camouflage hunting coveralls, hiking shoes, fur lined camouflage jacket, and cotton work gloves to keep himself warm in the cool weather and especially at night. When he isn't wearing his black knit cap, he's probably wearing his John Deere hunting hat.

Bio: Eric Connors grew up in Chattanooga, Tennesse, with his mother, father, and older brother. His father worked as a mechanic while his mother stayed home to watch the kids. During the spring and summer the boys would run around outside and play sports until they were old enough to drive around and get into trouble, and in the fall and winter their father would take them hunting, just the three of them. It wasn't a particularly exciting or eventful upbringing, but it was a happy one. Eric was a little too scrawny for the football team in high school, so he joined track instead and concerned himself with shop where he'd get to work with wood and metal. Eric always enjoyed working with his hands and began working with his father at G & L as soon as he was any good. Right before Eric left for college, his father severed most of his fingers in an accident where they were caught in a grinder at work, after which he spiraled into alcoholism.

Eric saved his money up to attend college in Aurora, Colorado at Pickens Technical College in 2003 to learn how to work with metal, changing his major from welding to working as a machinist after his first semester. He met his future wife Jessie in Denver while out with some friends of his on a trip to Denver, and the two stayed in contact and eventually grew close. Eric married her when he got her pregnant in 2007 and they moved to Colorado Springs. They had a healthy boy, Michael, named after Michelangelo which Eric swears is from the famous painter and not the Ninja Turtle. Finding work was difficult for Michael and the young family was normally strapped for cash, which wore on their relationship, but Eric did manage to find stable work by 2009 with NAMJet up in Denver. Unfortunately this was almost a 2 hour drive one way, and Eric found himself away from his family often. In November of 2011 alcoholism finally killed Eric's father and Eric. This was the final nail in the coffin for Jessie after Eric wouldn't "get over it and focus on his own damn family" and she filed for divorce. By April of 2012 the divorce was finalized and she got the kid. Eric moved back to Aurora after this to lessen the commute, and to get out of the house that he'd lived in with Jessie. He found out later that she'd been cheating on him since March of 2010.

Eric spiraled into depression and hit the bottle pretty hard himself, but didn't manage to fall as far as his old man did. The divorce was pretty rough on him, his ex-wife trying to take everything she possibly could from him while only giving him every other weekend and half the total holidays with his son. Eric occupied his time by dedicating himself to work, drinking, and the only two hobbies that would give him any sort of joy anymore: metalworking and hunting. Overtime he began to isolate himself, going out less and less with his coworkers in favor of staying home to drink or spend his weekends to himself or finding fun things for him and his son to do together. He knew that Michael resented him, that that harpy had been planting bad ideas about him in his head and it made him try his best to win his son over. They did bond over their mutual love of hunting, but Michael would always complain that he didn't do things "like Scott does" and it tore him apart to hear it.

One of those holidays he'd have with his son would be Valentine's Day, February 2017.

Eric decided to go on a hunting trip with Michael for elk out by Keystone, a few hours away. It's not like he had a date anyway, and that ice-hearted bitch knowingly gave Eric Valentine's with his son so she could get fucked all day, so he wanted to give his son something fun to do. Eric had Michael take the rest of the week off from school, they loaded up into his Jeep Grand Cherokee and off they went. They ended up spending four days in the wilderness, and despite the cold Eric thought that Michael had a pretty good time. He bagged his first bull on day two, and even though they didn't see anything on the last day Michael couldn't wait to score his kill. They loaded up on the 19th and began the long drive back to Aurora, and walked straight into the apocalypse.

The first sign that anything was wrong was the aircraft. The Air Force Academy was a ways up from where he used to live in Colorado Springs and he'd hear the jets and helicopters taking off all the time, but never like this. Never this many and never like this. There were tons of jets and helicopters overhead, often at once, but Eric didn't think anything of it at the time. Maybe some kind of multi-day airshow or military exercise, he couldn't say. But it made him uneasy. The second was when the cellphones stopped working. He'd been checking his sparingly while they were out hunting to keep the battery alive, but Michael brought it up first. No signal on day three. At all. But Eric thought that maybe they'd hit a deadzone. They're trip was almost over anyhow. Reality sunk in when they hit the roads. The I-70 was clogged with cars... but it wasn't traffic. These cars were abandoned, some were damaged, and there was a throng of people just walking. Just walking up the I-70. Warning bells were triggering, but Eric took Michael and started walking too.

He asked a few people as they walked what was going on. Apparently it was a disease, something like anthrax. People thought that it was a terrorist attack and the radio had told them to get to one of the Air Guard stations for their own safety. The people who got sick turned crazy, started trying to kill people. Eric became even more worried. He lived up by Buckley. He didn't want that on his doorstep. Georgetown looked like someone fought a war there. Half a day up the I-70 was when he turned off of it, out by Route 40. There was something like an angry mob down the road, when the marching line of people started turning in the opposite direction. Eric took Michael and headed off into the woods. They'd brought all their gear with them, they were equipped to handle it. They doubled back toward Saxon Mountain Road, where they spent the night cold and hungry. It took another day to get to Downieville, where they saw the people the other were talking about. They looked... wild. Frightening. Eric had tried to speak to one of them when they tried to grab him, but he was too quick. When they started to group together on him he was forced to shoot three of them, and then another one when he went into the gas station for help. Eric stayed away from the roads after that.

It took another few days to get to Denver, and just a second to realize that they should have never came. The place was overrun with those... things... if the abandoned military blockade hadn't warned Eric beforehand. He knew he wouldn't make it home to Aurora, but he did his best and avoided most of the sick people in order to scavenge the outskirts for supplies. From there Eric skirted Route 470, staying away from the road itself, popping into residential areas, and keeping his distance from the sick to fuel his trek to Kansas City, Missouri, where Michael's mother lived. Another place he should've never gone. It took nearly four and a half months to even get to the outskirts, and it looked just like Denver. This time, Eric went inside. It was hell. So many close calls, too many of the sick, he'd killed more people than he could count and hid for days on end in abandoned buildings waiting for a window to leave, just to make it to where Jessie lived. And he found her alright. She almost took his throat out and he had to stomp her head in. Michael had been taking everything pretty rough, but this took the cake. It took another month and a half just to get the hell out without getting killed, and for what? To see his least favorite person just one last time? He did it for Michael, on a hope that Jess was alive, but he should've known better.

There on out, Eric and Michael were making their way toward Chattanooga, Tennessee, in hopes that his Eric's mother would still be alive. If anything it'd be worth the closure, Eric didn't believe any place was 'safe' like some of the other people he'd met had claimed. Aurora, Colorado Springs, St. Louis, he hadn't been everywhere but he'd been close enough to know what places were overrun and what weren't. Fort Leonardwood was on the way, and he'd come close enough to know if this 'safe' place was what they said it was. Frankly, Eric didn't care all too much. He'd come this far by being lucky and staying the hell away from the sick people, it wouldn't be smart to risk it.

Personality: Eric is the down to Earth sort, and prefers to concern himself with matters at hand than to make guesses or assumptions. He's non-confrontational and would rather let an issue lie than get all worked up over it, and would rather just walk away from something than fight over it. A bit of a hermit, Eric keeps to himself much of the time and is very cautious around others. He's polite enough and understanding, but only giving of what he knows he can afford to lose. Eric doesn't trust easily and keeps most people at a distance, keeping himself pretty quiet within groups. He possesses sharp instincts and will go with his gut if he feels uneasy in a situation, and he usually isn't wrong. Above all he is concerned about his son and being a good father, and will attempt to set the example for him as long as he's present. Eric is also known to be steadfast in the face of anything when Michael's welfare is involved.

Name: Kevin Fairbanks
Group: Walker (With Father Logan Dubois and Stacey Schroder)
Age: 16
Occupation: High school student
Family life: Single, dead family
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Weight: 140 lbs
Picture:
Blood type: AB-
Immune: No

Gear: One change of clothes, machete, some canned foods and water, small backpack, and a whole lot of comic books.

Bio: Kevin was born into the typical suburban family, two parents, an older brother and sister, and one family dog. Out of the family, his sister got the athleticism and his brother got the smarts. Kevin was left with a fascination for all things nerdy. He was born and raised in one town and only ever left for vacation.

Throughout all of his school career Kevin was pretty average. He made plenty of friends but was nowhere near being “popular.” He made average grades and was average at sports. He had an averagely attractive girlfriend who later dumped him for a football player.

Kevin was however an excellent artist. This was often seen as his best quality by those around him. His love for the comic book industry led this push for art. His big plans after high school was to create his own comic series in college and become rich until one day he would be working for DC or Marvel.

None of his plans came to fruition however, on February 14 2017 his brother had died from the illness that had gripped him for weeks, and his sister was just coming down with symptoms. Few minutes after his brother had died and his mother had rushed to call an ambulance hoping they could save him, he tore his family apart. Kevin did not put his brother down, nor did he put down the rest of his family. He just ran.

Eventually he ended up in a colony that was being set up by a local police Lieutenant in his school. For a few months he lived there in constant guilt, something that the resident priest helped him cope with. Eventually he decided it was time he actually started pulling his weight around the colony. He signed up for a scavenging mission with the police officer’s daughter, Stacey. During this mission, Kevin was caught scavenging alone in one of the houses by a group of strangers. (After several assurances that he would be able to handle it.) After a quick argument (in which he discovered they were from Texas) he was beaten to a pulp and captured.

An hour later officer Stacey and the rest of the scavenging crew rescued him at the cost of two of their own and four dead bandits. This led to a greater conflict with the larger group of Texans that lasted for a month. Once again Kevin was hit with a wave of guilt after seeing people die fighting this other group.

When the final battle started, Kevin was saved twice from being killed, once by Stacey, once by father Logan. Both times because he failed to check a room properly before entering. He has been traveling with the two ever since, never quite being able to shake the feeling that he killed the colony.

Personality:
Kevin is… a bit of a fuckup and a coward. He has survived to this point mostly because of the safety of the colony and the people he is traveling with. When once he was ready to prove himself in the apocalypse, now he is quite reserved often letting Stacey and Logan do the dangerous work. (Something that both of the others agreed to after he had gotten them into two pretty hairy situations) He is not terribly interesting, though he gets along pretty well with Father Logan due to their shared nerdy interests. He is quite sure that Stacey hates him.

Name: Jonathan Cross
Group: Walker.
Age: 18
Occupation: A summer job as an assistant at his Father's veterinary clinic. Never had a real occupation.
Family life: Single.
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Weight: 145 Ibs
Picture:
Blood type: A-
Immune: Yes.

Gear: After Day Zero, Jonathan has made it his life duty to make sure he never runs out of supplies. While he is constantly breaking into new places, scavenging whatever that helps him refill his stock, there are few things that he considers essential to his survival. Firstly, a first aid kit. Not a makeshift one. The real deal. He never had to use it in the field. His first aid kit contains the basics; bandages, dressings, a thermal blanket, gloves, resuscitation masks, scissors, three bottles of ibuprofen, a surgical needle and a thread. Secondly, as a weapon, a meat hook. Thirdly, four large cans of Pedigree wet dog food, which are for him not for the mutt. First can tasted like shit, but he eventually got used to it. He also sports a scrub whenever inspecting new, foreign areas and/or meeting new people. That's due to his paranoia, which often borders on insanity.

Bio: It is rather amusing how a person can change overnight. Prior to The Rising, Jonathan was your average high school teenager. He spent most of his spare time procrastinating, dodging responsibilities and getting yelled at by his relatives. He not seldom skipped school in favor of hanging out with his clique, and was an overall jerk, especially to the elderly. Only time when he actually did something productive was that one month during summer when he assisted his Dad in his Veterinary clinic in downtown Manhattan. His Dad was a huge fan of dogs, but couldn't bring one home one due to his wife's allergies. So, he rescued a male stray dog, named him Maverick and decided to keep him in a basement down the clinic, providing him with a shelter and enough food. While he didn't share his dad's love for the fauna, or any of his pleasurable traits, Jonathan also couldn't help but develop a friendship with the mutt, frequently taking him out for walks and cleaning up after him. Aside from that, he also picked up a bunch of useful life skills likes stitching and cleaning a wound.

A tiny bit wiser, but still the edgy teenage dirtbag that he always made himself to be, Jonathan emerged from that summer very much unchanged. Life maintained it's steady pace. Everything was normal. Well, until The Rising, that is.

He was at home that day, complaining on social media about how Valentine's Day sucks, while the rest of his family were out for a stroll. And then, in a moment's notice, all the news feeds were flooded. Low quality videos depicting people screaming in panic surfaced. Ominous profile statuses posted all over Facebook. Dumbfounded and slightly concerned, Jon decided to look out of the window only to see nothing out of the ordinary. He was almost about to discard the signs as some sort of a weird new trend if he wasn't to receive a phone call from his father. Jon could tell he was breathless, and dead serious, as he ordered him to leave the house as fast as he could and make his way to the clinic. He complied. At the clinic, he waited at the entrance as people rushed past him, some even offering to give him a ride out of the town. But he had to wait for his family. Thirty minutes passed, an hour, an hour and a half and no signs of his relatives. That's when he decided to make himself scarce. He ran like he knew where he was going, even though he had no idea. It was not until the following day that Jonathan understood the gravity of the situation. A zombie infestation. He was stricken by a wide range of emotions; fear, confusion and even sorrow as he was faced with the prospect of never meeting any of his family members ever. For all he knew, they were either infected or dead. After shedding a stream of unmanly tears, he got back to the clinic and salvaged some goods - a first aid kit, dog food and the mutt himself, whom he found howling for help. That night he cried himself to sleep, and then woke up the other day, deprived of tears, deprived of his first world issues and with one clear objective in mind. Ensuring his own survival.

From then on, Jon moved through towns and states with his trusted four legged companion by his side. If he got lucky, he'd find a working vehicle with the keys dropped near by, which would make his trip way easier..and significantly shorter. He would pass through different towns with the hope of finding life, only to confirm that yes, they are barren. He also had a few run-ins with a bunch of zombies, but those usually ended with him and his brave guardian scampering the fuck out. Despite his naivety, Jon is very well aware that the chances of a civilization reboot are thin. All he wants is to survive, and he considers the easiest way to do that is by joining forces with the remaining human beings.

Personality: Jonathan is exactly what you wish your typical horror movie protagonist to be, and then some. While he will never admit it, he is scared shitless, though calling him out on it will probably lead to him making it clear that it's not fear but rather cautiousness. He has an unmatched sense of pride for a kid his age and won't accept any arguments unless there is evidence to them. He may be at times extremely insensitive, sometimes unintentionally but most of the times not, and is a huge wisecracker, a habit which got him in trouble numerous times in the past. While his humor only served to piss others off for his own amusement in the past, after The Rising it evolved into a coping mechanism. He will often poke humor at himself at the absence of another human individual.

Since he is not quite informed of the outbreak and how the infection process works, Jonathan is very attentive and paranoid. However, because he doesn't have much experience living on his own, most of the actions he takes to prevent infections would have turned him into a reanimate by now (if he wasn't immune). He uses contaminated water to wash a scrub, which probably contains more bacteria than your usual reanimate. His paranoia also prevents him from having a good night's sleep. In spite of his flaws, Jonathan is still a human being capable of exuding love and all those heartwarming emotions. He loves Maverick, his dog, and would probably take a bullet for him even though that mongrel is as inept as a four-legged creature can be and often gets him in trouble. He also desires human interaction, something which he took for granted before The Rising happened.

Name: Christian Joseph Darly (Chris or CJ)
Group: Walker
Age: 31
Occupation: Former Marine. Prisoner.
Family life: Most of his family was murdered.
Hair: Brown.
Eyes: Hazel.
Weight: 200 pounds.
Picture:
Blood type: B-.
Immune: Yes.

Gear: He has a pack with a mix mash of clothes. He always, always looks for socks. He has a Smith and Wesson MP15 (AR15) with (2) twenty round magazines. He has another 36 rounds in a baggie in his pack. He carries a Taurus 9mm revolver with 6 rounds chambered and 3 in the same baggie as the other ammo. He also has another baggie with miscellaneous rounds he's acquired that he cannot use immediately. He then has a hatchet, an old KBar, and a pocketknife. In another grocery bag, he has an assortment of hygiene and medical supplies. He also carries a can of WD40 and paratrooper cord, about 12 feet.

Bio: His life is a series of highs and lows, always to the extreme. Unfortunately for Chris, the lows seemed to always dominate everything else.

As a kid, he was born and raised by his parents in Indianapolis. His father worked as a manager at a chain of mechanic shops which paid fairly well and his mother worked at one of the stores as a receptionist. The both made good money and that allowed him to play football and wrestle in junior high school and take boxing lessons. Two days after taking the state championship in his weight division though, tragedy struck. While driving home from a family dinner, a drunk driver fell asleep at the wheel, cut across the median, and hit the family vehicle. Chris was asleep at the time but his parents and the other driver were all killed.

He felt like he had lost everything, and he felt alone.

Chris went to stay with his aunt and uncle who lived close by, hoping that less change would help him cope and deal with the loss. In high school, he was quiet and withdrawn and while his grades were not horrible, they paled in comparison to his grades before the accident. His uncle and aunt tried to help where they could but nothing seemed to work. The only things he seemed to enjoy were wrestling and football, but eventually football wasn’t an option because his aunt and uncle could not afford it. He stuck to wrestling and boxed when he could.

His last year of school, he struggled mentally. He was apathetic and struggling to find SOME thing in his life because he didn’t know where he was, who he was, or what he wanted to be. That all changed when he talked to Sergeant Bonders, a Marie Corps recruiter. What he laid out in front of Chris, he ate up and at that point, Chris seemed to have this light about him. For the first time in as long as he could remember, things seemed to make some sense. Even his family noticed it and while they were nervous, they were happy and supportive.

He was 19 when he went to bootcamp after spending some time in the delayed entry program, but when he got to Parris Island, he continued down a path of success and personal growth. He finally seemed to know who he was. He became an infantry man and hit fleet just in time to head over to Fallujah.

And part of him would never leave.

As Marines geared up and got ready to take back the city from insurgents, morale was high and the Marines were excited, ready to kick down doors and slay bodies. When they were sent in, they did just that, and it was a thrill ride and rush like no other. They had taken a few casualties, but so far, no KIAs.

Things were crazy and it was during the second week of combat operations where things took a drastic turn. His squad was given orders, and they did, but they didn’t know that this 3 story home was going to be one that was heavily fortified. After a fierce firefight, there were 6 Marine casualties, and Chris moved them all out of the fight, one after another, then went back in to clear the building. Succcessfully.

There were 14 insurgents inside, 9 of which Chris was personally responsible for killing. Of the 6 casualties, 4 later died of wounds suffered in the fight. Because of his actions, he was awarded the Navy Cross, the second highest award besides a Medal of Honor. People congratulated him, he had his moment of fame, and he was bitter and resented ever moment of it. Every picture. Every handshake. Every thank you. Because he was given a medal for failing to bring home 4 of his brothers.

He felt like he lost everything. He felt alone. Even with his family and friends there.

He returned home and his transition back into society was rough. He started drinking heavily and isolating himself. He wasn’t working and living off of unemployment for a few years, then finally started going to the Hospital of Veteran Affairs for treatment. It was there that he met Maggie, and his life changed forever.

She was what he was missing and she helped bring him to a new level of happiness. She was supportive but assertive and kept him moving in the direction that he needed to. Eventually, they married and had two children. He began to get closer to his family and things were great. Eventually, he started going to school and using the GI Bill, eventually landing a job at a bank.

A year later, his family decided to host a reunion and the entire family went out to California out in the mountains. It was the first time the family was together in almost its entirety since before the death of his parents. Those circumstances are what make the outcome all the more tragic.

In the late hours of the night, unbeknownst to anyone there, a cartel hitsquad was on its way to the gathering. One of the family members were directly involved with the Mexican government and was part of a group leading a push to remove the Cartels from power. Obviously, this didn’t go over to well. It was extremely uncommon that an American would be targeted in America, but tonight was one of those exceptions.

Whether the entire family was a target or not would never be known, but the silent night exploded into gunfire and screams. Chris managed to wrestle a shooter to the ground and take his weapon, shooting that man and two others before getting hit in the back of the head and falling forward. As his head swam, someone stepped over him and fired a shot.

He woke up some time later in a hospital to find out his family was dead. All of them. His wife and kids included. He survived because the shot fired at his head was at an angle, just enough to cause a ricochet and a concussion. The muzzle flash burned the skin to prevent him from bleeding and he now has a golfball sized scar on the back of his head.

He felt like he had lost everything. He felt alone, even with a nation behind him.

Eventually, he was a witness in a case, as the head of the Cartels was caught and brought to the US on various charges, prosecuted on a joint investigation by the US and Mexico. He testified as to what happened, but the truth of the matter is that there was little case there. He had not seen faces, heard anything, and was not reliable. He was there to show the terror of what the Cartels were capable of. The case was a failure and the Cartel Lord was found guilty of some parking fines and made to pay both the governments a small sum of money. The Cartel lawyer did a great job.

The lawyer and the Lord walked out, down the steps, and stood in front of cameras, answering a few questions. They shook hands, smiled, and amidst the flashes a round ripped into the head of the Cartel Lord, and another two into the lawyer. There were screams and panic, and when the area cleared, Chris stood there with his hands up in the air. He was arrested immediately.

Initially, there was fear that there would be attacks on his life, but the power vacuum created in Mexico meant that all the other Cartels were now trying to grab what they could, and it was a bloody mess. He was given a lawyer who profusely pushed him to claim insanity, or loss of control, something that would get his sentence altered and keep him out of an actual prison.

He wouldn’t have it. At every step, even when counseled by his lawyer not to, he stood up and admitted to his actions and intentions, and that he would do it again. He stated he was willing to accept whatever the sentence was. He was given 2 life sentences despite nationwide protests and even government pushes to have him acquitted.

He could have done more to get less, but he would not. He didn’t care. If he stayed out of jail, he’d just drink himself to death or do something self destructive. Looking back, he realized his life meant nothing. No good had come of it.

He had lost everything. He was alone.

He was in prison for a year when he was transferred to another prison after an altercation. It was Valentine’s Day and he had his head on the window, his mind off somewhere distant when the bus swerved violently twice and then there was a loud crash. The bus came to rest on its side and he opted not to move. He didn’t care to be free.

What good was freedom when you had nothing? What would he do? What difference did it make.

“Chris, get up. Look.” He heard the voice and he shot up, gaze moving around. There was one other prisoner but he was dead, his neck twisted violently. He looked around again. “Chris. LOOK!” He heard the voice at the back door so he went and looked, trying to see the owner of the voice.

It was the voice of his wife. When he got to the back of the emergency exit, he looked froze.

It couldn’t be. He saw his son in a car. Screaming. And some man was trying to get into the car, banding on it and screaming. Chris found a piece of metal and picked the lock to his cuffs then kicked out the emergency exit and bullrushed the car. He didn’t know what he was up against, so he just gave the man a running punch to the side of the face. To Chris’ surprise, the man just jerked, looked back at him, and attacked.

He realized then that there was screaming everywhere, helicopters flying, and things breaking all around him. The man before Chris, he wasn’t a man. He was something else. His eyes weren’t the same and he had a wound on his neck. There was blood everywhere below his chin. And he was strong, gripping Chris and pulling him in with a strength that surprised him. Instead of fighting it, he pushed forward, setting the thing off balance so that they both fell, Chris landing on the other.

Before he had a moment to react, Chris was stunned as, before he could move, the man bit into his forearm. Sheer adrenaline shot through him and he pulled back, the wound bleeding slightly, and brought a few elbow and forearm shows down onto the...thing. After all movement below him stopped, he ripped a clean part of the man’s pants off and wrapped it around his wound.

He stood up and looked around, seeing no immediate threat and then looked back to the car where his son was, only to see a young black boy there. He looked around, confused, shaking his head. He didn’t see his son. He screamed for him, looking around. He couldn’t be far.

Then he heard a shotgun cock and he turned around, seeing a man with a shotgun and a woman behind him carrying random food and drink. “Get away from my son. Now.”

He did. Without a word. He was confused and angry, standing there with no idea where he was or where to go. He didn’t see his son, or his wife. Just people fleeing, some giving chase. He opted to find a room on a 2 level apartment and barricade himself inside with some supplies and a pistol he picked up off of a dead body.

He spend the next few nights having feverish dreams and hallucinations of his family, crying and screaming. And wishing he had the courage to put the gun to his head and pull the trigger.

Personality: Chris is crazy. To a degree. He hears voices, sees images, and at times is guided by his dead family. Not only them, but his former Marines. People he has met and seen die since the Rising. They are generally manifestations of his conscious telling him what to do, or his senses making something stand out to him that is going unnoticed.

He is prone to bouts of silent depression. He is grim and dire at times also, he is a realist. He has been hardened by his experiences and what the world has become and often is at battle with himself over decisions. That is when he starts to see and hear voices, as his thoughts, instincts, and morals all clash.