Firecracker_

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖 - Cyberpunk Political Intrigue Roleplay

Oleksandr Tataryn

[O L E K S A N D R T A T A R Y N]
[35] | [Male] | [6’2’’] | [AB+]

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⟹ General Information

“Why the name Asahi? ‘Cause I’m always super dry!”

⬈name⬉
Oleksandr Tataryn

⬈aliases // titles⬉
Asahi, Olex

⬈sex⬉
Male

⬈age⬉
33

⬈appearance⬉
Standing at an impressive height, with the imposing augmented limbs to match, Oleksandr is always a pronounced presence wherever he goes, which works out well for him since he’s always willing to be the center of attention. Oleksandr’s hair and beard of light brown are usually in a state of disarray and overgrowth, as he doesn’t really care enough to get them trimmed on a usual basis. Like many in the Reclaim, Olex has a deep scar gash over his right eyebrow, a product of his time fighting for the Tinmen. After his eyes, the scar usually draws the most attention of people who look at him.

There isn’t really a way to describe Oleksandr’s style, as he wears whatever he finds comfortable and at least a bit functional. He never finds himself in anything as carefree as shorts or the likes, but he doesn’t exactly ever dress correctly for anything. The only consistent part of his outfit would be the pistol holster he keeps under his left arm on a constant basis. He gives the impression of someone that is aware of what kind of clothing the world he lives in demands, but isn’t scared to skirt the line when it comes to being either underdressed or underprepared.

Past his clothing, his well-maintained and fierce looking cybernetic arms and legs are always apparent, adorned lightly with ornate engravings in small areas around his joints, more so on his arms than his legs. Here and there, around his forearms and shins, there are various faint insignias, badly scratched and poorly kept, seemingly purposely so, compared to the clean, spotless look of the surrounding metal. When taking a closer look, the insignias that have lost their luster are made up of snarling robotic canines, one on either side of a flourish of swords, mimicking a peacock's tail. In the middle is a simple fist, with roman numerals representing the year of establishment for the Pioneer Dogs. All of this is sitting atop a solitary skull, missing it’s lower jaw and showing cracks around the eye sockets. The same insignia is tattooed on his left pectoral, with other random tattoos dotting his body, some bearing Tinmen insignias and slogans, or some simply works of impressive art or weapons. One notable tattoo is across the front base of his neck, reading “Man is of Flesh, God is of Metal” in small lettering. That tattoo is the most easily visible when he’s fully clothed. Some older, more well-traveled citizens would recognize them as markers of Tinmen mercs, but the insignias don’t hold much meaning to almost anyone besides Olex anymore.

Besides the scars around his augments from the surgeries that put them there, Oleksandr does have a healthy few scars around his body, resulting from his life of combative jobs and work with mercenary groups.

⬈occupation⬉
Before moving to Angel City to look for his next job, Oleksandr had shuffled between many different occupations in many of the different megaregions. His longest job was his first one, joining the Tinmen Company in the New York Seaboard Megaregion, fighting with the now disgraced ”Pioneer Dogs” Unit. They were used mostly as a tool for the large corporations to handle jobs in the still untamed badlands surrounding the region, between New York and the Derelict City. Some jobs saw the unit defending the coastlines of the region from rouge pirate ships that tried to attack the city from time to time, and many other various operations of importance to the corporations.

Since his discharge from the Tinmen, Oleksandr found himself gradually moving from region to region, picking up any jobs he could, ranging from joining a mercenary outfit taking various jobs around the Derelict City, to delivering noodles for a small restaurant on the outskirts of Greater DC. When it comes to moving from job to job, Oleksandr has probably had more than most people, since for the longest he didn’t have to worry about money, but when he got cut off from his family’s fortune, he had to be more selective of the jobs he took and how much money he was making. That’s how he found himself in the employ of a High Security Courier Service operating in Angel City. When sensitive information or important shipments need to be sent across the region, his service is the one they call on.

⇒ Psychological Profile

“I don’t tend to like people who ask too many questions, ya know?”

Affable | Hubristic | Benevolent | Impulsive | Resilient | Reckless

⬈personal goal⬉
Oleksandr is currently on the road to finding his own purpose and passion, and is determined to live his life free of the influence of any of his rich family’s own wishes or the will of the corporate overlords that rule over the city. He’s not a young man anymore, though, and he’s beginning to grow tired of the cycle of getting to a new city, working a few jobs, and moving on to the next one on the search for more opportunities. As the corporate grip on Angel City tightens, and opportunities are fading away, he’s beginning to wonder if it’s time for him to leave once again, or perhaps time for him to change.

⬈campaign goal⬉
The current political races have presented an influx of work for his courier job, and while he hasn’t joined a campaign directly, the Courier Service has been contracted by most, if not all of the political campaigns for various jobs around the city. Olex has worked, indirectly, for all of them, but has yet to lend his services directly to any candidate, although, the thought has begun to cross his mind, faintly here or there. The allure of peeking into various packages or pieces of information is strong, and he’s devilishly curious as to how important the information he moves really is.

⬈personal philosophy⬉
Having been raised by a rich and influential family that tried to make every decision for him, Oleksandr has grown to have a distaste for the rich and powerful members of society that exploit whoever they can, and by extension destests of the corporations that have found themselves at home in the many megaregions of the country. Seeing how his own family and the company his parents worked for tried to control his life, awoke him to the struggles of the people that he hadn’t met for most of his life up until he joined the Tinmen.

A part of Oleksandr is thankful that he came from such privilege so that he didn’t have to face the trials that the rest of society faces in everyday life, but it almost makes him feel dirty in a way. While he does hope that the people of the Reclaim, and further, the country could have a better shot at a fair and easy life, most of his passion is manifested in the form of hatred for the corporate overlords and their desire to control everything, from money to people.

⬈political philosophy⬉
Oleksandr has always been weary in believing that any one party has what's best for the people in mind, but he agrees with a few ideas from almost every party. He appreciates the community work and education of the HyperHuman Party and their monks, but doesn’t exactly agree with their complete devotion to their beliefs, and finds them a little too “culty” for his tastes. He also aligns himself a bit with the NTP, as he fully endorses human augmentation as one of the best ways to enhance human abilities and save lives, but their hand in hand work with corporate shills and lobbyists disgusts him and almost turns him off the party altogether. The ideals of the Pirate Party resound the most with Oleksandr, and he could easily see himself voting for Petrukov, but the secrecy behind the campaign and it’s leader’s lack of experience in the political sphere make him just as unsure in the Pirate Party as any other.

⬈secrets⬉
While Oleksandr doesn’t have many secrets that could cause real trouble, his Family name, his previous work with the Tinmen, and his support for the Pirate Party could all potentially get him in hot water with different groups of people. Tinmen aren’t well liked in most regions, as they’re viewed as violent war criminals or renegade mercs in the pockets of the corporations, so he doesn’t usually openly speak about his first job. The only way someone would know is if they recognized some of the markings or tattoos on his body, but not many people do recognize them, as they’re old and represent a unit that hasn’t been functional in the Tinmen for around a decade.

The Tataryn family is well-known and infamous, considered ruthless and cunning by most in the New York Seaboard, and well hated by many there. Since their connections run deeply in New York, his family name does bear much meaning to people outside of the three major eastern regions. Here and there, someone will recognize his name from their travels, and it usually doesn’t mean good things will happen, so he usually just goes by his nickname to keep that under wraps.

⬈fears⬉
Of the many thoughts that flow in and out of Oleksandr’s mind on a daily basis, the most recurrently haunting one is that he will live a life that amounts to nothing. A life lacking in grand purpose or passionate devotion to something worthwhile. He’s determined to prove to his family that he doesn’t need the money and power that come with affluence to make a difference, and especially wants to prove that the difference he makes can benefit everyone around him, not just a select few dragons sitting upon their piles of ill-gotten gains.

⬈reputation⬉
Oleksandr is known quite differently in the various regions around the country, but the one he has the least notoriety in is the Reclaim Zone of Angel City. He hasn’t spent much time in the Reclaim, and most of his work is fairly lowkey and not well broadcasted, so he mostly flies under the radar. He has met a few people of relative power, and has made a name for himself amongst his employers and their contractors as someone that does reliable work, but past that, he’s a relatively unknown quantity in the Reclaim.

The story is fairly the same for most of the regions he’s visited and worked in. He’s become known by his peers for his healthy work ethic and good attitude, but never stayed in one spot for long. His stays were always ephemeral, at first because of his desire to travel and constantly search for new opportunities, but more recently, it’s been to avoid the ghosts of Tinmen that have picked up his trail.

Where it does differ, however, is his home region of the New York Seaboard. The Tataryn name carries much weight in New York, as they are a family of fabulous wealth and oppressive rule over part of the Region. His parents were already well hated, but following the fallout of his expulsion from the Tinmen and the subsequent revelations of the atrocities he participated in, he was effectively shamed out of the Region, and his reputation in the eyes of the public was damaged beyond repair.

⬈likes⬉
-Various luxury liquors
-Taking a well deserved nap
-Expensive gourmet Food
-Going to target practice or practicing his martial skills
-Learning New Skills or Working a new job
-Documentaries from the Old World

⬈dislikes⬉
-Poor Quality Food
-Public Restrooms
-Communal Barracks
-Neo-Luddites
-Corporate Agents

⬈quirks⬉
-Oleksandr, even after having done a healthy amount of drinking in his life, is quite a lightweight, and gets heavily intoxicated very quickly.
-Oleksandr is very particular about his hygiene and cleanliness, and gets quickly irritated when his clothes or augments get dirty. If his augments get dirty or scratched, he has to clean them or polish them near immediately.
-Oleksandr tends to fall asleep quickly if he sits in one spot for too long.

⟹ Background Information

“Maybe it’s time that this damn country changed. It’s the same thing no matter where I go.”

To the people of the New York Seaboard that didn’t have the luxury of being born into a rich and powerful family, the birth of Oleksandr Joshua Tataryn was worth little more than a grimace or an eyeroll. His father, a chairman of the Seaboard’s political council, and his mother, a Boardmember of New York’s Amalgamation Company, had come together in a marriage that made the collective public of the Seaboard shutter and gag at the same time. The hand-in-hand work between Amalgamation and the Seaboard’s Council had long become the standard in the region, and the literal marrying of the two groups even closer couldn’t mean anything good for anyone. All of this resulted in Oleksandr’s birth meeting little fanfare past his own parents’ delight.

Despite all of that, Olex knew from a young age that he was destined for something great, something grand, even beyond his family’s more than ample means. Whether it was the world-class education he received from his private tutors, or the strict discipline he received from his parents, it felt like every minute thing that he did from day to day was getting him ready for a life of grandeur. The wide and beautiful view granted to him from the window of his luxury apartment gave him a jaw-dropping visage of a city he could envision owning one day. From the sparkling blue coast, all the way to the gargantuan, steel walls that separated the people from the savages, it could all be his. It was only when he realized that his path in life had a lot more heavy-handed guidance than he expected, that he stopped being the good obedient son his parents had come to know.

Of course, he’d been complacent with the near-authoritarian control of childhood and early teenage years, but he was led to believe it was all meant to be a sort of launching pad for his entry into the world at large. But when words like “Lawyer” or “Chair Member” began to get thrown around, it turned things upside down for him. Of course, even in the face of overwhelmingly strict rules and the ever rising expectations of him, Olex was a young man of strong will and even stronger character, and despite his parents’ iron-fisted grip on the boy, even they knew when to let a caged bird go and sing it’s own song.

At the tender age of 17 years old, Olex made his controversial choice to join the New York branch of the Tinmen, a decision he could only make with the influence of his parents, as he was still too young. Very quickly, he became enamoured with the gunmetal and cybernetic limbs, the men and women of impressive prestige, the commanding officers with limbs adorned in gold inlaid engravings, it all was very intoxicating to the young man that had known only the cleanest and most uptight of comforts for most of his life. In an instant, Olex was thrust into the most challenging physical test of his life in the Tinmen’s training camp, crushing his boyish daydreams of simple commandeering his own Exo-Suit and marching to glorious victory. Brass shell casings and mud were much different than his upbringing in fine linen and classic literature. And he loved it.

Even though he impressed his seniors with his performance in training, the clamor and the criticism that the young man had simply bought his way into the company was loud and clear. It was decided that Oleksandr would start his career with the Tinmen in the then-famous Pioneer Dogs Regiment, a regiment of Tinmen that specialized in warfare with the “uncivilized savages” that ruled the lands outside the walls of the many megaregions of America. Besides that, the Pioneer Dogs were considered one of the toughest and most violent regiments in the Tinmen, and Oleksandr doing a tour with them was considered by some to be a “baptism in flames”, and by most others to be a “death warrant.”

On the eve of his 18th birthday, Oleksandr and his fellow Dogs were summoned to service once again, and this was Oleksandr’s first true taste of what the Tinmen were all about. Long ago, part of the original walls that surrounded the city had been breached, and for decades now, a clan of Badlanders had been living out of a medical lab they’d conquered, and now it was time for the Tinmen to reclaim the building for the corporation it rightfully belonged to.

The fight was brutally violent, but thankfully short. The village had sent their most seasoned fighters to defend them, and fight they did, but even for mercs tested and hardened by the Badlands, the power of the Tinmen was overwhelming. Oleksandr tasted his first bit of true violence in this battle. Not the stabbings or shootings he’s occasionally see on television, three levels removed. This wasn’t a mugging or assault, this was a war, with all the carnage and shocking brutality that came with it. Oleksandr had been engulfed by the blood and mud, and for the first time in his still brief life, he felt free.

Of course, when he returned home for the first time, the new image he’d earned for himself didn’t do much to garner much favor from the masses. His family was one that plenty of people were already weary of, and now that he’d been branded with the ink of the Tinmen, it cast an even darker shadow on the young man. Contract killers on the bankroll of corporate fat cats didn’t exactly garner the trust of the people, and the dirty work of the Tinmen was always subject of rumors and gossip, but the public never had a clear idea of what truly went on behind the sealed files and red tape.

With every battle, and every donning of his own personal combat exo-armor, Olex became more and more interested in more than just wearing robotic weapons of war, he wanted them to be a part of his own body. Augmentations were mostly frowned upon by his parents, and the idea was usually hushed when it was brought up at home, but he was now a man of twenty-one years of age, and he had the money and freedom to do whatever he wanted.

First to go was his right arm, so that he’d have better aim and stability, and then a few months down the line was his left arm to further reinforce his skill with a weapon. Over the next two years, it was both of his legs, and then, finally, shortly before his expulsion from the Tinmen, his own heart, lungs and liver were all replaced with superior robotic replacements. Quickly, the man had become almost more metal than flesh, and it made him feel stronger than he ever had before.

All the while, though, as his body was changing, so was his mind. The campaign against feral outlanders outside the city walls became less and less gallant and brave, as more and more missions involved wiping entire villages off the map. “They pose a significant threat to the city” the corporations said, “We need to take them out at the source.” At first, only the combatants were harmed and the rest of the clans driven off, but now even the old and infirm were caught up in the slaughter. Most of the Regiment kept a “business only” attitude about the increasingly inhumane nature of the campaign, but there were a few like Olex that had grown uncomfortable. Dissent was usually handled civilly within the ranks of the Tinmen, but as it grew more and more constant, the leadership began to deal out more stringent punishment for speaking out against orders. Morale began to worsen as tensions rose between Command and the few dissenters that still spoke their mind.

Oleksandr, after having seen many of his comrades rebuked and silenced, finally did the unthinkable; he defied orders.

The Outlanders had a forward scout that had been observing the positions of the Tinmen as they advanced across the wastes, and when he was discovered, Oleksandr was ordered to shoot him before he could make his escape. Olex outright refused, as the scout was merely a child. Why the Outlanders had chosen to send a child to do their spying, he didn’t know, the idea repulsed him, but shooting him was finally a step too far. The Pioneer Dogs had shot children in the past, but Oleksandr had been able to avoid confronting reality by simply ignoring it and acting as if it didn’t happen, but he could no longer run away anymore.

The child escaped, and Olex was arrested for blatant disregard of orders. His stint in the brig wouldn’t last long, though, as it was upgraded to execution for costing the lives of his fellow Tinmen.

With the information he’d gathered, the child returned to his village, and before the Dogs were able to mount their attack, the Outlanders beat them to the punch, and exploited the weaknesses in the front, and in a stunning upset, had driven the metal-clad mercenaries back, resulting in many casualties, including the death of the very officer that had ordered the child shot.

For costing the lives of multiple soldiers, including a commanding officer, Oleksandr was sentenced to instant court marshall and a subsequent execution by firing squad, consisting of a team of his former fellow Dogs. The execution, though, obviously never happened, as his parents stepped in and saved him from his demise. Amalgamation was a frequent contractor of the Tinmen, and killing the son of a current board member would be bad for business. The promise of being blacklisted from doing business in the Seaboard was enough to dissuade the leadership from executing Olex, but there was no way to avoid him being kicked out of the Regiment for life, and he was definitely ready to leave himself.

Soon after his court marshall, a few more old members of the Pioneer Dogs deserted, running back to Seaboard, ready to talk of the atrocities they’d witnessed before they were surely hunted down. The stories of the massacres perpetrated by the Tinmen went crazy in the media, with the Company coming under much fire and scrutiny, even gathering criticism from members of the Seaboard’s Political Council and many corporations. Bad publicity for the Tinmen was never a good thing, and they were quick to prosecute the many members of the Pioneer Dogs, and attempted to sweep the whole ordeal under the rug in order to save face. Even Oleksandr’s name was outed as being a member, as many had suspected when the story first broke. His court marshall was framed more as him clashing with leadership over personal issues, and less over his moral disagreement with the slaughter of the Outlanders, and his name was cast in the flames of overwhelming criticism just like the rest of his regiment.

Rather than stay in the region and deal with the overwhelming amount of criticism from the public, he quietly snuck away from the Seaboard, deciding to lay low in the Miami Platforms until the controversy died down. That would be the last time he’d see the Seaboard, as he decided never to return, preferring to start fresh in the Platforms, staying there for a short time before moving again, this time back to the mainland, to the Greater DC Region. He caught a few errant glances here and there, but he managed to stay mostly on the downlow as he picked up small jobs. This set the trend, as he would spend the next few years moving from region to region, picking up a wide variety of jobs, never staying in any one place for very long before moving either to a different part of a region or a different region all together.

For the most part, his jobs were small time, as he was worried more about finding a job he liked over a job that paid him well. His parents continued to support him, although over time they became more and more vocal about their wishes for him to return home and pursue a different path in life. Their pleas fell on deaf ears, though, as Olex was more interested in finding interesting obscure jobs, over the stiff corporate ones his parents offered him. He wouldn’t be able to keep this lifestyle up for long, though, as after a year of one sided contact, being ignored by their son, they finally cut him off from the family’s fortune, and asserting that he would never hear from them again unless he chose to return home and respect his parents’ wishes. That would never happen.

Soon after his family’s support was cut off, a new problem presented itself: Tinmen Agents pursuing him wherever he went. The Tinmen had been able to execute most of the former Dogs that ran and leaked company secrets to the media, but Oleksandr has since been untouchable because of his parents. Now that they had effectively disowned him, though, they had picked back up on his trail, sending a trained killer every now and again, in a vain attempt to tie up the loose end that is Oleksandr Tataryn.

They would find him now at his most recent job and home, working for a High Security Courier Service deep in the Reclaim. Currently, Oleksandr has been facing an influx of work due to the Twin City Council elections.

⟹Operative Information

“These are timeless APEX beauties. Never going to go out of style or become obsolete. Technical masterpieces.”

⬈augmentations⬉
Two APEX Aegis Cybernetic Arms, Left & Right: Created for pure combat utility in mind, the APEX Aegis Arms are created with as few weak points as possible, to protect their functionality during combat. What they lack in specialized utilities, such as surgical kits in the hand, or built in weaponry, they make up for in pure durability and power. No exposed joints, fairly thick superalloy metal platings encompassing most of the augments, overwhelmingly powerful motors and servos, and a durable yet sophisticated internet communicator in the left arm, these are the pinnacle of pure strength and utility, as some of the most technically renowned cybernetics that APEX has created yet.

Two APEX Aegis Cybernetic Legs, Left & Right: These models share virtually every characteristic of their Arm counterparts, except they’re, you know, legs. Extreme power and durability, these legs are fit for anyone interested in becoming as close to a metal god as they can.

Fury Biotech Heart and Lungs: A cybernetic heart and lungs both work in conjunction to give Olex a great deal of stamina and endurance to further allow him to use his augmented limbs to even greater levels. Running at impressive speeds, for even more impressive lengths of time, or having even more stamina when it comes to carrying heavy loads over long distances. Increased lung capacity and efficiency means that Oleksandr can hold his breath for upwards of 15 minutes, on a good, deep breath, at least.

The organs themselves are graded to run on the power generated by the body for at least 50 years with no issues whatsoever, and are designed to be much more durable. They’re able to perform well even when damaged, able to sustain life even longer than natural organs could.

⬈equipment⬉
FuryTech .45 Caliber “Matsumoto” Handgun: One of FuryTech’s most popular models, the Matsumoto is reliable, fairly cheap, and can compete with even some rifles, given the right ammunition. Oleksandr doesn’t carry a surplus of weapons around on a regular basis, but he does carry his Matsumoto every single day he leaves the house. All bite and no bark, the pistol gets the job done with no issues, requiring little upkeep, with the added bonus of not having to rely on any sort of fancy batteries or experimental projections. Just classic jacketed tungsten and gunpowder. An all-around classic handgun that has totally proliferated in usage by average citizens.

FuryTech/Kriss .308 DMR: When FuryTech got ahold of the classic patents from the Kriss gun company, they did what they’re best known for, and updated a tried and true design and gave it the power the new world demands. Same as the Matsumoto he carries, the Kriss .308 isn’t the most high-tech weapon, but it doesn’t need to be. Delivering an exceptionally hard punch with it’s .308 rounds, it can punch through some of the best armor on the market, before we start talking about metal power armors. Thirty round capacity, Semi and Fully Automatic, and a suite of rails to mount whatever attachments he may need, this rifle provides the power and customizability that a seasoned soldier like Oleksandr likes have in a fight. He usually leaves this one at home, unless his work demands it, as it’s a fairly large and heavy rifle to lug around everywhere.

⬈skills⬉
Exo-Suit Training: While Military Grade Exo-Suits are difficult to come across outside of a handful of specific situations, Olex still has the handy knowledge of how to operate one, and to do it well, at that.

Seasoned Veteran: Like many other in the Reclaim, Oleksandr has had a career in combat and warfare, so he comes with all the skills that one would expect. Familiarity and skill with guns, hand-to-hand combat training, comfort in a warzone, the works. There is little in terms of battle that can rattle Oleksandr, and he’s got a good eye for making sure all his flanks are covered.

Jack of All, Master of None: Having moved from Region to Region, and done a multitude of jobs, Oleksandr has a shallow knowledge of many different trades and skills. He can be fairly useful when someone needs a man who knows a little about a lot. Of course, when specialists are needed, Oleksandr isn’t of much help, but he can at least try.

⬈flaws⬉
Reluctant Killer: Oleksandr has managed to not have taken a life ever since his desertion of the Tinmen, and it’s certainly from lack of trying. Even if he keeps his combat skills sharp, when it comes to actual fighting, he’s done his best to avoid it as much as possible. He tries to give off an air of someone that’s made peace with his past, but in truth, he’s still very afraid of harming anyone else, and would rather just rough someone up and leave them alive, but unconscious on the sidewalk than to simply shoot and run.

Impulsiveness: Given his fear of killing, that’s not to say that Oleksandr is afraid of violence, and having been well versed in the art of both, is good at knowing how to hurt someone without putting their lives in danger. Combine that with his hubristic lack of impulse control, then you have someone that will likely end up starting huge melees over his shoes getting stepped on. He’s quick to anger or annoy, and quick to punch someone in the face, and with fists that are at least a bit harder than usual, he tends to knock more teeth out than most. Not to mention the litany of rash decisions he makes, endangering his own life, and even sometimes the lives of others.

Closed Off: As a result of his nomadic lifestyle, and in spite of his affable and friendly exterior, it has been quite a long time since Olex has made a deep, genuine connection with another person. He’s had drinking buddies, work buddies, a few one night flings here and there, but none of them have ever been lasting connections that come with him as he moves around. He doesn’t even remember most of their names, and only barely their faces. While he comes off as friendly and polite almost immediately to most people, they are also quick to figure out that he is a guarded person who doesn’t quite enjoy opening up to anyone.

⬈notes⬉
None at the moment.

Relationship Table Template

Character name	Relationship
[Name of other character]	[Write out your character's opinion and relationship with the character in question.]

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖 - Cyberpunk Political Intrigue Roleplay

Tomorrow is my off day so I hope to get some good stuff done on my character! Unless Rust takes all my attention away lol

Life After -- A Zombie Apocalypse RP

we dead bois?

Life After -- A Zombie Apocalypse RP

my character! another criminal with a lone wolf attitude who might be close to perhaps turning a new leaf? hope everyone likes it

Maverick "Mack" Eshlin

maverick eshlin, a criminal born and raised in louisiana

⌝ former life

For a few years leading up to the Fall, Maverick had been an active small time criminal, and had just recently become involved with a drug smuggling operation deep in New Orleans. Quickly, though, the activity had garnered the attention of the FBI and DEA, and after some dirty work had been done, Maverick fled, leaving his old friends behind to clean up the mess. With his former associates out for his head, and law enforcement wanting to lock him up, Maverick took the best way out he could think of and headed for the Northern Border, to escape into Canada. When the virus hit and society collapsed, Maverick had barely made it into Michigan, just short of his goal of making it across the Great Lakes. He was stranded and alone, and now had to deal with the dead rising around him.

⌝ appearance

Maverick stands on slender, toned legs, with the rest of his body following suit in form and tone. Never having been the most built or muscular man, Maverick has always been on the thin, lanky side, but it’s always worked in his advantage, most of the time at least. His wiry build holds him up at a healthy five feet, nine inches tall, a well rounded height to maintain a low profile. Overall, his figure is nothing of note and doesn’t draw much attention, but that’s exactly what he wanted, and it worked well for his previous life.

His hair is now a long, overgrown mess, with only traces of the well-kempt haircut he used to have left behind. His beard has taken over most of his face, with his narrow, naturally sort of pursed lips being nearly enveloped by encroaching mustache whiskers. His eyes are slightly sunken and dark, with bags and circles he’s had since before the Fall, but which have only been exacerbated since. He has what some people have described as “Resting Bitch Face”, meaning that his neutral facial expression usually isn’t a friendly or inviting one. His eyes are narrow and distrustful, with his smile being a thing of rarity.

⌝ personality

Most would say that Maverick has a cool personality, and some would say he’s cold nearly to a fault. His line of work and general upbringing never put much value in extended and warm conversation, and so he’s learned to be mostly succinct and efficient in his speaking. Sentences one or three words in length are normality, and his usual tone of voice is unsurprisingly also lacking in energy. Maverick has barely spoken a word in years, and his lack of social interaction really shows in conversation.

None of this should be taken as an express indication that Maverick is actually a cold, heartless man. Make no mistake, he’s no street tramp with a heart of gold or some sort of soft-spoken anti-hero, but he’s still a man with a decent set of morals and an intact sense of empathy and sympathy. It’s simply that, most of the time, his desire for expediency and efficiency keep most of these thoughts away from the forefront of mind. If you scratch his back, he’ll scratch yours, but don’t expect him to be jumping in front of moving vehicles anytime soon.

Maverick is not a man of thinking, he’s more a man of action. If something needs to get done, he’ll get it done, as long as he has a solid leader in his life. His lack of strong leaders in his development years led to him always searching for someone to give him direction, for someone to please, and that’s how he fell into crime and stayed so good at it. Give Maverick directions, and he’ll follow it up to the T, anything short of throwing himself off a cliff, he’ll accomplish to the best of his ability. That’s the only way he knows how to act, and it’s what kept him alive for so long in Louisiana. The Rangers were a great chance for him to find some semblance of organization again, as he’d spent the better part of the last 5 years wandering, staying just barely alive.

⌝ biography

Born in New Orleans, Maverick spent a majority of his early life in a small suburb east of the Big Easy. His father left his life very early on, but not because he was some vagabond that couldn’t be bothered with a child by any means. His father, like Maverick would later become, was a career criminal, and decided one night to rob the wrong house, and was quickly shot and killed by the homeowner. Left by herself with a child and no job, Maverick’s mother tried her hardest to get her life together, throwing herself into multiple jobs, all while juggling the stress of raising a child alone, still in pain over the loss of her husband. Quickly, though, the pressure of a child and two jobs became too overbearing, and she reached a breaking point. What was once a little indulgence here and there to relieve stress, became crippling addiction that dictated her life more than her jobs and her child.

Maverick’s early childhood was a mess of being abandoned by his addict mother, and with no other family members she could even pass responsibility to, Maverick was truly alone. His memories are characterized by periods of hunger and sleeplessness, fighting off the fear of being alone, but even when his mother was present it wasn’t sunny. She tried her best to be the mother she knew she could be, but she had fallen so far from grace, her child learned to raise himself sooner than she could.

The pattern of abandonment and drug abuse continued for many years, that is, until the hurricane hit. In the disarray, Maverick was separated from his mother in the early hours of the morning due to the severe flooding, and was rescued just before sun up, in nothing short of a miracle for the young man. That same miracle couldn’t be replicated for his mother, though, as she remained missing, lost to the growing floodwaters. Going from refugee camp to refugee camp, his mother was nowhere to be found.

Even after all these years, Maverick has never found his mother, as she remains one of hundreds that are still considered missing to this day.

Having lost just about everything he had, from his only family, to his own few material possessions, Maverick had no means to travel anywhere to start anew. He had to drag himself back to his old life with only the clothes on his back, only now, there was almost nothing left of anyone else’s life, either. Same as his mother, a lot of his friends had gone missing or died in the floods too, so the few friends that he had, all banded together and tried their best to fend for each other.

Scavenging and thievery were the best way to get by for a while, but as reconstruction and revitalization efforts came underway, many of them were able to get steady jobs, with some slowly getting back on their feet and venturing out on their own. Others found it too difficult to continue living a shell of an old life, and either left, fell victim to addiction, or just gave up on life entirely. Those first few years after were the most difficult of Maverick’s life, but they forced him to grow up faster than he ever thought he’d have to, and molded much of who he is today.

Even when money began to flow back into the destruction-stricken area, it wasn’t always enough to keep those sinking people afloat, and just like before, many turned to crime to support themselves, Maverick being no different. It had been three years since the disaster, and Maverick was still struggling, both mentally and financially. Many of his friends had moved on and left, leaving Maverick alone once again. Seeing how many of his friends had taken to crime to support themselves, he followed suit, joining in on the ranks of petty street crime and drug dealing. Desperation and hunger make for a dedicated worker, and it wasn’t long before he caught the attention of some of the underworld’s veterans. Mack was known as a dedicated worker, who wasn’t afraid of a challenge or susceptible to the ordinary harassment or violent threats that people like him faced regularly.

Mack had ingratiated himself with the old guard, favors here and there, small time jobs from time to time. He’d proven to be reliable and honest, two traits that meant a lot, but most of all, he wasn’t a talker. Most joked that he’d never even learned to talk, and only knew how to communicate through nods and blinks. Jokes aside, his work ethic and professionalism had earned him a good name with those that it mattered with, and before he knew it, he was starting to move up in the ranks.

After a few years of hustling, just a week after his 23rd birthday, Mack was brought in on something much larger than himself. The bosses had become part of a much larger, statewide operation of smuggling drugs. No more dimebags or eight balls on street corners, this was bigger money and bigger stakes, all of which was enticing to Mack. He’d made good money off the streets, and was hungry for the chance to make even more.

The entire operation was based in the docks, where the increased amount of construction supplies coming in were used to smuggle more drugs than they had ever before. Yes, security was tight, but everyone was having a tough time, and the right people were easy to bribe. Once the cargo landed, that’s where Mack and his crew came in. They were in charge of making sure all the shipments were being broken down and transported properly and as secretly as possible. The less eyes and hands, the better, and he was thriving in the new environment. Working in the dark, quietly and diligently was the exact kind of work that he favored. As long as he kept his part of the daisy chain running smoothly, he was paid and fed well.

That was all well and good, for the moment, at least, but, large scale criminal operations like that take a lot more than a few greased palms and strong-armed snitches to keep under wraps. Distrust between the ranks began to grow. As small pawns here and there were caught and imprisoned, some were beginning to think that there was an informant in the mix. Soon, eyes fell to Maverick, and it came time to prove his loyalty.

In front of him was a single, bound man. In his hand, a loaded pistol. Behind the captive was a deep grave, dug in a filthy lot in a long abandoned part of town, and behind Maverick was a duo of criminal lieutenants, observing to be sure he could prove his loyalty to the bosses by killing someone they’d deemed expendable. When it came between Maverick’s life or the man in front of him, the choice seemed obvious and easy to him.

Not too long after it happened, it became clear that the man he killed was more than just a simple snitch, and now the docks were swarmed with police activity and surrviellance, and many of the bosses were going down with the ship. Maverick’s loyalty and hard work, however, only went as far as they could pay him, so instead of sticking around and seeing it all to the end, he fled. Mexico was too obvious a choice in his mind, and the southern border was far more secure and heavily-manned than the northern one, he imagined, so instead of south, he fled north. Even as most of his colleagues had decided to go down with the ship and keep the code of silence, Mack slipped away when the least attention was thrown his way, and made his dash for Canada.

The journey north was fraught with fear and loneliness, but if Maverick was to hang on to whatever freedom he had left, his life depended on it. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t been used to, though, and everything leading up to this point had properly prepared him to make this sort of trip. What it didn’t quite prepare him for, though, was the virus that had begun to take it’s grips on the country during his flight from Louisiana, and he found himself in the middle of Michigan when it finally all hit the fan. He wasn’t very close to any major cities, so he was spared of the initial carnage of it all, but the collapse’s effects inevitably spread wide and far, and what was a fight for his freedom turned into a fight for his life.

After the Fall, he never did leave the state of Michigan, as, after society collapsed, there was little reason to continue into Canada, where he’d probably have an even harder time surviving. Quickly, though, he found himself scavenging and surviving alone, until he found reliable stability in Wolfwater. Even now, with relative safety, Maverick desired a new sense of purpose. Crime was no longer an exception, it was more or less the norm, and Maverick had tired of running around and working only for the benefit of others who made a profit off his work. In the Rangers, he saw a chance to work with good, dependable people for a change, and for a positive goal, no less. Not so much a transformation, it was more of a “predictable transition” for the criminal. If you could call it that, at least.

⌝ gear
▣ Glock 22 .40Cal Handgun x1

- 15 Round Magazine x3
- SilencerCo Osprey Supressor x1

▣ A Medium Combat Knife
▣ Brass Knuckles
▣ Compact set of Binoculars
▣ IFAK Medkit

⌝ skills

◈ Resilient - Maverick hasn’t just used sheer luck to persevere through the hardship that’s been presented to him. He learned young that he’d have to learn how to process and deal with adverse situations quickly, and have a level head about any sort of obstacle. He may not be good at encouraging others, but he is good at keeping himself afloat and clear minded.
◈ Hardened - Crime wasn’t an easy job, and one has to put up with a lot of threatening talk and physical violence in that line of work. It will take more than a few punches or violent words to bother Maverick, which is proving fairly useful in this new world.
◈ Brawler - Having been in a fair share of fist fights and melee brawls, Maverick is well versed in the ways of an amatuer pugilist, and can use his brass knuckles to great effect. His grappling and footwork have helped him stay away from the snapping maws of infected countless times in the past, and will probably continue to do so for a while more.
◈ Criminally Skilled - Need a car hotwired? What about a lock picked? Or maybe you just need someone who can shoot guns out of moving vehicles and actually hit something? Well, all of that is in Maverick’s wheelhouse and he’s not scared to use any skills he can to survive.
◈ Terrifying Presence - Always being around the worst of the worst, and having your life threatened on a regular basis can really thicken someone’s skin and give them a look on their face that most others don’t find comforting. Combine his cold looks with his cold demeanor, and you have someone that is naturally a bit intimidating, and someone that can get downright scary when he really needs to get a point across.

⌝ flaws

◇ No Teddy Bear - On the flip side of that coin, having a mean look on your face and not talking much isn’t very conducive to making friends or having people like you. People tend to be turned away by his abrasive nature, and he’s not exactly the best at winning back through anything but great effort. He’s not good at talking himself out of situations or making good deals on trades either, unless maybe he can intimidate to get out of a tight spot.
◇ Walled Up - Maverick has gone through a lot of loss and tribulation, and it has made him unwilling to forge relationships with new people, both out of fear of making connections and plainly not wanting to be bothered with it. It even ends up making him unwilling to allow others to help him, hiding wounds and refusing assistance, even when he probably should.
◇ Self-Centered - While able to pragmatically work with and cooperate with people when it’s mutually beneficial, Maverick isn’t very willing to do things that benefit exclusively other people or actively harm his well-being for the sake of others. He’ll leave you behind, if you trip, you better get yourself up. Not the best battle buddy to have.

⌝ Other
Nothing I can think of right now.

firecracker has cooties

maverick eshlin, a criminal born and raised in louisiana

⌝ former life

For a few years leading up to the Fall, Maverick had been an active small time criminal, and had just recently become involved with a drug smuggling operation deep in New Orleans. Quickly, though, the activity had garnered the attention of the FBI and DEA, and after a botched drug deal, Maverick fled, leaving his old friends behind to clean up the mess. With his former associates out for his head, and law enforcement wanting to lock him up, Maverick took the best way out he could think of and headed for the Northern Border, to escape into Canada. When the virus hit and society collapsed, Maverick had barely made it into Michigan, just short of his goal of making it across the Great Lakes. He was stranded and alone, and now had to deal with the dead rising around him.

⌝ appearance

Maverick stands on slender, toned legs, with the rest of his body following suit in form and tone. Never having been the most built or muscular man, Maverick has always been on the thin, lanky side, but it’s always worked in his advantage, most of the time at least. His wiry build holds him up at a healthy five feet, nine inches tall, a well rounded height to maintain a low profile. Overall, his figure is nothing of note and doesn’t draw much attention, but that’s exactly what he wanted, and it worked well for his previous life.

His hair is now a long, overgrown mess, with only traces of the well-kempt haircut he used to have left behind. His beard has taken over most of his face, with his narrow, naturally sort of pursed lips being nearly enveloped by encroaching mustache whiskers. His eyes are slightly sunken and dark, with bags and circles he’s had since before the Fall, but which have only been exacerbated since. He has what some people have described as “Resting Bitch Face”, meaning that his neutral facial expression usually isn’t a friendly or inviting one. His eyes are narrow and distrustful, with his smile being a thing of rarity.

⌝ personality

Most would say that Maverick has a cool personality, and some would say he’s cold nearly to a fault. His line of work and general upbringing never put much value in extended and warm conversation, and so he’s learned to be mostly succinct and efficient in his speaking. Sentences one or three words in length are normality, and his usual tone of voice is unsurprisingly also lacking in energy. Maverick has barely spoken a word in years, and his lack of social interaction really shows in conversation.

None of this should be taken as an express indication that Maverick is actually a cold, heartless man. Make no mistake, he’s no street tramp with a heart of gold or some sort of soft-spoken anti-hero, but he’s still a man with a decent set of morals and an intact sense of empathy and sympathy. It’s simply that, most of the time, his desire for expediency and efficiency keep most of these thoughts away from the forefront of mind. If you scratch his back, he’ll scratch yours, but don’t expect him to be jumping in front of moving vehicles anytime soon.

Maverick is not a man of thinking, he’s more a man of action. If something needs to get done, he’ll get it done, as long as he has a solid leader in his life. His lack of strong leaders in his development years led to him always searching for someone to give him direction, for someone to please, and that’s how he fell into crime and stayed so good at it. Give Maverick directions, and he’ll follow it up to the T, anything short of throwing himself off a cliff, he’ll accomplish to the best of his ability. That’s the only way he knows how to act, and it’s what kept him alive for so long in Louisiana. The Rangers were a great chance for him to find some semblance of organization again, as he’d spent the better part of the last 5 years wandering, staying just barely alive.

⌝ biography

Born in New Orleans, Maverick spent a majority of his early life in a small suburb east of the Big Easy. His father left his life very early on, but not because he was some vagabond that couldn’t be bothered with a child by any means. His father, like Maverick would later become, was a career criminal, and decided one night to rob the wrong house, and was quickly shot and killed by the homeowner. Left by herself with a child and no job, Maverick’s mother tried her hardest to get her life together, throwing herself into multiple jobs, all while juggling the stress of raising a child alone, still in pain over the loss of her husband. Quickly, though, the pressure of a child and two jobs became too overbearing, and she reached a breaking point. What was once a little indulgence here and there to relieve stress, became crippling addiction that dictated her life more than her jobs and her child.

Maverick’s early childhood was a mess of being abandoned by his addict mother, and with no other family members she could even pass responsibility to, Maverick was truly alone. His memories are characterized by periods of hunger and sleeplessness, fighting off the fear of being alone, but even when his mother was present it wasn’t sunny. She tried her best to be the mother she knew she could be, but she had fallen so far from grace, her child learned to raise himself sooner than she could.

The pattern of abandonment and drug abuse continued for many years, that is, until the hurricane hit. In the disarray, Maverick was separated from his mother in the early hours of the morning due to the severe flooding, and was rescued just before sun up, in nothing short of a miracle for the young man. That same miracle couldn’t be replicated for his mother, though, as she remained missing, lost to the growing floodwaters. Going from refugee camp to refugee camp, his mother was nowhere to be found.

Even after all these years, Maverick has never found his mother, as she remains one of hundreds that are still considered missing to this day.

Having lost just about everything he had, from his only family, to his own few material possessions, Maverick had no means to travel anywhere to start anew. He had to drag himself back to his old life with only the clothes on his back, only now, there was almost nothing left of anyone else’s life, either. Same as his mother, a lot of his friends had gone missing or died in the floods too, so the few friends that he had, all banded together and tried their best to fend for each other.

Scavenging and thievery were the best way to get by for a while, but as reconstruction and revitalization efforts came underway, many of them were able to get steady jobs, with some slowly getting back on their feet and venturing out on their own. Others found it too difficult to continue living a shell of an old life, and either left, fell victim to addiction, or just gave up on life entirely. Those first few years after were the most difficult of Maverick’s life, but they forced him to grow up faster than he ever thought he’d have to, and molded much of who he is today.

Even when money began to flow back into the destruction-stricken area, it wasn’t always enough to keep those sinking people afloat, and just like before, many turned to crime to support themselves, Maverick being no different. It had been three years since the disaster, and Maverick was still struggling, both mentally and financially. Many of his friends had moved on and left, leaving Maverick alone once again. Seeing how many of his friends had taken to crime to support themselves, he followed suit, joining in on the ranks of petty street crime and drug dealing. Desperation and hunger make for a dedicated worker, and it wasn’t long before he caught the attention of some of the underworld’s veterans. Mack was known as a dedicated worker, who wasn’t afraid of a challenge or susceptible to the ordinary harassment or violent threats that people like him faced regularly.

Mack had ingratiated himself with the old guard, favors here and there, small time jobs from time to time. He’d proven to be reliable and honest, two traits that meant a lot, but most of all, he wasn’t a talker. Most joked that he’d never even learned to talk, and only knew how to communicate through nods and blinks. Jokes aside, his work ethic and professionalism had earned him a good name with those that it mattered with, and before he knew it, he was starting to move up in the ranks.

After a few years of hustling, just a week after his 23rd birthday, Mack was brought in on something much larger than himself. The bosses had become part of a much larger, statewide operation of smuggling drugs. No more dimebags or eight balls on street corners, this was bigger money and bigger stakes, all of which was enticing to Mack. He’d made good money off the streets, and was hungry for the chance to make even more.

The entire operation was based in the docks, where the increased amount of construction supplies coming in were used to smuggle more drugs than they had ever before. Yes, security was tight, but everyone was having a tough time, and the right people were easy to bribe. Once the cargo landed, that’s where Mack and his crew came in. They were in charge of making sure all the shipments were being broken down and transported properly and as secretly as possible. The less eyes and hands, the better, and he was thriving in the new environment. Working in the dark, quietly and diligently was the exact kind of work that he favored. As long as he kept his part of the daisy chain running smoothly, he was paid and fed well.

That was all well and good, for the moment, at least, but, large scale criminal operations like that take a lot more than a few greased palms and strong-armed snitches to keep under wraps. Distrust between the ranks began to grow. As small pawns here and there were caught and imprisoned, some were beginning to think that there was an informant in the mix. Soon, eyes fell to Maverick, and it came time to prove his loyalty.

In front of him was a single, bound man. In his hand, a loaded pistol. Behind the captive was a deep grave, dug in a filthy lot in a long abandoned part of town, and behind Maverick was a duo of criminal lieutenants, observing to be sure he could prove his loyalty to the bosses by killing someone they’d deemed expendable. When it came between Maverick’s life or the man in front of him, the choice seemed obvious and easy to him.

Not too long after it happened, it became clear that the man he killed was more than just a simple snitch, and now the docks were swarmed with police activity and surrviellance, and many of the bosses were going down with the ship. Maverick’s loyalty and hard work, however, only went as far as they could pay him, so instead of sticking around and seeing it all to the end, he fled. Mexico was too obvious a choice in his mind, and the southern border was far more secure and heavily-manned than the northern one, he imagined, so instead of south, he fled north. Even as most of his colleagues had decided to go down with the ship and keep the code of silence, Mack slipped away when the least attention was thrown his way, and made his dash for Canada.

The journey north was fraught with fear and loneliness, but if Maverick was to hang on to whatever freedom he had left, his life depended on it. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t been used to, though, and everything leading up to this point had properly prepared him to make this sort of trip. What it didn’t quite prepare him for, though, was the virus that had begun to take it’s grips on the country during his flight from Louisiana, and he found himself in the middle of Michigan when it finally all hit the fan. He wasn’t very close to any major cities, so he was spared of the initial carnage of it all, but the collapse’s effects inevitably spread wide and far, and what was a fight for his freedom turned into a fight for his life.

After the Fall, he never did leave the state of Michigan, as, after society collapsed, there was little reason to continue into Canada, where he’d probably have an even harder time surviving. Quickly, though, he found himself scavenging and surviving alone, until he found reliable stability in Wolfwater. Even now, with relative safety, Maverick desired a new sense of purpose. Crime was no longer an exception, it was more or less the norm, and Maverick had tired of running around and working only for the benefit of others who made a profit off his work. In the Rangers, he saw a chance to work with good, dependable people for a change, and for a positive goal, no less. Not so much a transformation, it was more of a “predictable transition” for the criminal. If you could call it that, at least.

⌝ gear
▣ Glock 22 .40Cal Handgun x1

- 15 Round Magazine x3
- SilencerCo Osprey Supressor x1

▣ A Medium Combat Knife
▣ Brass Knuckles
▣ Compact set of Binoculars
▣ IFAK Medkit

⌝ skills[center]
◈ Resilient - Maverick hasn’t just used sheer luck to persevere through the hardship that’s been presented to him. He learned young that he’d have to learn how to process and deal with adverse situations quickly, and have a level head about any sort of obstacle. He may not be good at encouraging others, but he is good at keeping himself afloat and clear minded.
◈ Hardened - Crime wasn’t an easy job, and one has to put up with a lot of threatening talk and physical violence in that line of work. It will take more than a few punches or violent words to bother Maverick, which is proving fairly useful in this new world.
◈ Brawler - Having been in a fair share of fist fights and melee brawls, Maverick is well versed in the ways of an amatuer pugilist, and can use his brass knuckles to great effect. His grappling and footwork have helped him stay away from the snapping maws of infected countless times in the past, and will probably continue to do so for a while more.
◈ Criminally Skilled - Need a car hotwired? What about a lock picked? Or maybe you just need someone who can shoot guns out of moving vehicles and actually hit something? Well, all of that is in Maverick’s wheelhouse and he’s not scared to use any skills he can to survive.
◈ Terrifying Presence - Always being around the worst of the worst, and having your life threatened on a regular basis can really thicken someone’s skin and give them a look on their face that most others don’t find comforting. Combine his cold looks with his cold demeanor, and you have someone that is naturally a bit intimidating, and someone that can get downright scary when he really needs to get a point across.

⌝ flaws

◇ No Teddy Bear - On the flip side of that coin, having a mean look on your face and not talking much isn’t very conducive to making friends or having people like you. People tend to be turned away by his abrasive nature, and he’s not exactly the best at winning back through anything but great effort. He’s not good at talking himself out of situations or making good deals on trades either, unless maybe he can intimidate to get out of a tight spot.
◇ Walled Up - Maverick has gone through a lot of loss and tribulation, and it has made him unwilling to forge relationships with new people, both out of fear of making connections and plainly not wanting to be bothered with it. It even ends up making him unwilling to allow others to help him, hiding wounds and refusing assistance, even when he probably should.
◇ Self-Centered - While able to pragmatically work with and cooperate with people when it’s mutually beneficial, Maverick isn’t very willing to do things that benefit exclusively other people or actively harm his well-being for the sake of others. He’ll leave you behind, if you trip, you better get yourself up. Not the best battle buddy to have.

⌝ Other
Nothing I can think of right now.

Life After -- A Zombie Apocalypse RP

goddammit i just finally got the spark to finish writing my character's bio and just now i finally saw @Norschtalen's app only to realize i wrote a really similar character. I'm still gonna post him when i finish the whole thing, I just hope no one thinks I tried to copy. I just hadn't even noticed the app.

now i feel dumb lol

Life After -- A Zombie Apocalypse RP

im also thinking of writing up an app, and it will def be a dude if i do, so that'll help the ratio lol

firecracker has cooties

September 26th, 2021, Sonia’s Log.

The happiest thing I can really say is, ‘At least the heat isn’t sweltering anymore.’ And that about ends the list of positive things I can mention. Everything else is pretty… discouraging, to say the least. Our stock of just about everything is running pretty thin, not to mention morale is starting to tank. Can’t say I don’t understand how sour the mood’s gotten, though.

Leaving Reno was probably the hardest thing most of us have had to do, and this fruitless venture through Nevada has been just throwing salt into the wound. Carson City, Tonopah, everything along 95 is gone, and then to see that Vegas itself had fallen really just took the wind out of our sails, so to speak. Sure, we’d lost radio contact with them some time ago, but we’d assumed it was on our end. Knowing now that Las Vegas was infected really took the wind out of our sails, so to speak.

Neither Paradise nor Henderson weren’t spared from the spread of the infection, and both were swarmed with Feral. It’s nothing short of miraculous we made it out of that area alive, if it wasn’t the Ferals chasing use out of Nevada, or the sweltering heat of the Mojave, something was always trying to kick us while we’re down, so still being in one piece is definitely something to be proud of.

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖

@Opposition When you get your next RP up, be sure to mention me, I'll be on board! If you'll have me, that is!

The Island: A Murder Mystery | Currently Accepting 1-2 More Players!

think i might write up an app for this soon.