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 In high school, he was quiet and withdrawn and while his grades were not horrible, they paled in comparison to his grades before the accident.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.
Blizz
