Teal — Roleplayer Guild

@thesagaofluke, that came out of nowhere.

I think your sheet meets my standards with the exception of two things that are bugging me; 

1. I'm assuming the old man you're talking about is Mr. Cheshire, right? Well, Mr. Cheshire's recruitment method in your character's bio contradicts the recruitment method that I was thinking of. He isn't the type of guy who'd meet his pawns face to face early in on the game. Not to say you mentioned "he smiled", while I stated in his bio that he wears a mask when meeting new people. Best way to go about this is completely scratch it off.

2. Second one isn't that big of a deal honestly, but leaving an arrowhead behind seems too flashy for a professional hitman. This is supposed to be a fairly realistic RP, and leaving your mark in a crime scene seems like something out of a superhero comic book. You can keep it if you want, but I can't allow your character to drop possibly compromising clues like that in the RP (if he makes it, of course)

Overall, your guy seems good. I will not give you my seal of approval yet. I'll wait and see the other sheets too. If I get more than six, I'll leave out the ones I don't like and approve the ones I do. I hope that's cool with you.

Chesterfield, Missouri

23rd of October, 2017.
14:11 P.M

Following an exhausting scavenging campaign that started at seven o'clock in the morning and ended minutes before afternoon, Jonathan walked around searching for a temporary sanctuary, safe enough for him to eat his lunch in peace. His place of choice was a mall downtown, but much to his chagrin, the exit was blocked by a herd of zombies. He didn't want to take any chances. While he often looked too much into the little details that he believed can help him survive, he always overlooked the most important course of action he should take, in that case it being getting himself familiarized with the city's layout. There were guidebooks scattered around the barren city, a few tourism-related offices that probably had the needed information. All he had to do was take a walk. But the poor bastard missed his chance. And going back was too risky. 

Mentally berating himself for his carelessness, Jon paced himself, his loyal friend Maverick sniffing the trail of footsteps a few feet behind him. He stopped to wipe the sweat of his brows as a large building laid before him. Not large in terms of floors; there was actually just one floor. Large as in wide and very extended. The words "WE'RE DOOMED" were embedded in the wall, near the front door, written with what seemed like red graffiti spray paint. The windows were planked signifying someone had fortified the place as part of some last-ditch effort to survive. Veering his sight up, Jon noticed a banner. It was already covered by the dust and nearly scraped off, but still barely readable. "Meat Processing Plant", written in yellow letters. Jon winced. Not much, but just enough to momentarily startle the mutt, who had caught up and was at that time vigorously scratching his ear. Although he understood that in an anarchic world overridden by flesh-eating monsters and armed lunatics, ethics were scarce, he still had a bad history with what his Dad called 'animal torture chambers'. His father, being the animal lover that he was, used to watch a lot of awareness documentaries concerning animal treatment in slaughterhouses. The video sequences, while horrible, were pretty standard for an adult, but would be permanently etched in the mind of a then-7 years old Jon, who was curious to see what was it that Dad was watching. It was still not enough for Jon to go vegetarian, but he would rather prefer to avoid places like that, unless there was no other choice.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, his right hand reached for an outer pocket in his backpack where his dusty scrub was crammed in. He grabbed the scrub, and put his left palm in front, repeatedly slapping the scrub against the fingerless gloves as clouds of dust formed around, forcing him to close his eyes and look away. Once the dust settled, he put on the scrub then wiggled at Maverick who had resorted to licking his balls to pass the time.

"Come on, boy!", Jon uttered, reluctantly making his way in through the front entrance.

The stench was what replaced the welcome crew in the abbatoir. It was strong and unbearable, even managing to penetrate through Jon's scrub. As he held his hand in front of his mouth, he looked down to the mutt who seemed pretty unfazed. He was always curious as to how dogs handled foul odors, what with their enhanced sense of smell and all. That was probably explained in one of those Biology classes he used to attend, but he mostly took advantage of those to take a power nap, reminisce or doodle, depending on his mood. As for the interior, there was not much to look for. There were some machines placed around, dirty white clothes smeared with dry blood and what appeared to be cows, attached to hooks, hanging upside down, and skinned. The only source of light was coming from the roof up top, which was severely damaged and needed the hand of a very skilled roofer. Or maybe two roofers. All in all, it wasn't the best scavenging spot, which was fine by him cause he wasn't looking to scavenge anything.

Walking a great deal all the way to the back, he observed around, looking for a viable way out in case a herd of zombies decided to show up. Unfortunately, the backdoor was obstructed by planks. Whoever had fortified the facility was expecting heat from all sides. In the end, his exhaustion won him over and he decided to sit down on the concrete floor, for once willing to take his chances. While the sky was pretty grim (it was Fall season after all), it still provided the needed illumination for him to mind his surroundings. The facility itself was embroiled by a dead silence, which was good. That way, Jon could hear if there were a group of zombies coming his way. And if only one figured it's way in, the facility was spacious enough for him to maneuver his way out. It was a win-win situation.

Using the wall to support himself, Jon pulled out his backpack in the front, unzipped it and then took out a can of wet dog food. He was momentarily distracted by Maverick, who was chomping on a hanging piece of cow meat as a swarm of flies buzzed around. You could tell from the stench that the meat was rotten, but Maverick didn't seem to mind. It was then that he also noticed a meat hook lodged in one of the cows. He gave himself a mental note to pick it up once he's finished with his meal. It would make a nice addition to his inventory.

Jon struggled a little bit to open the can, not because it was difficult but because he was trying to apply just the right amount of force in the pull tab to make sure that he wouldn't receive any cuts. He didn't carry around any forks or spoons, so he used his fingers. It wasn't sanitary, but if he was gonna die or worse, get infected, he'd preferred it happened by his own two hands. The young man let out his guard down and with it, his scrub, as he lost himself under the annoying crunching sounds his mouth made as he indulged in dog food. Most articles had an expiration date at which point if passed, it would go rotten. Dog food in the other hand, would gradually decrease in quality, but would still be eatable even after it's shelf life was over. Well, as eatable as dog food can be.

Jon smiled weakly as he had a trip back in the good old days. Back then, the theory of a zombie apocalypse was appealing to many. Most of them were socially awkward internet dwellers, but still. He wondered how they would feel about it now. Was there any person out there who was actually enjoying this shit? It was impossible for Jon to think of that, but then again not everyone was born like-minded. Not to count the psychological toll The Rising must have caused to certain people. He was pleasantly surprised that didn't happen to him. Unless it did happen, and he was stuck in a permanent delusional state, left to believe he had kept his sanity when in fact the truth was far off.

Yeah, he was overthinking it again.

He snapped out of his thoughts just in time to see Maverick looking far off into the distance, where Jon's view was blocked. His ears were up. That usually meant there was a threat nearby. Your usual dog would bark if he sensed a threat, Maverick would stop whatever he was doing and then scuttle to some hole nearby. Thankfully, Jon had noticed that pattern in time and had managed to use it to his own advantage. Getting up on his own two feet, slowly, Jon muttered something at the dog, motioning at him to hide behind a specific container at the far end of the facility. The dog wasn't having any of that though, and simply followed his head, heading into some unknown direction.  Whatever was coming their way, it wasn't a reanimate, as Jon had his ears peeled and he wasn't hearing any moan. He did hear some heavy breathing, however, like whoever was coming their way had some serious lung issues. "Fucking scavenger", he thought, assuming to be only one of them based on the sound of footsteps. Everything seemed to fall into place, really. The heavy breathing - probably some old hermit who couldn't bother himself to watch his nicotine intake. He had most likely followed them for quite some time, making them out to be an easy prey. Boy, was he in for an unpleasant afternoon.

He brushed his back against the wall, and then threw a peek, making sure that he'd avoid stepping into John Doe's peripheral vision. As he confirmed he was nowhere near him, Jon carefully reached for the hook, trying to pull it out of that wretched piece of meat. He found the process of pulling the hook out with one hand very difficult, so he grabbed it with his two hands and, following a brief struggle, finally acquired the meat hook. He seemed to have caused quite the commotion, as his ears picked up the footsteps sound again, this time closer..and faster. Without skipping a beat, he turned around and flailed his hook at the attacker, who seemed to have gotten close in a short time. He barely missed the head and before he could land another attack, he was thrown away into a wall in the same manner one throws a beer bottle. Dazed, reacting on instinct, he managed to hold his attacker back as whoever it was tried to lunge at him with all their might. "Old man, my ass", Jon thought, his sight still blurry due to the earlier attack. He grabbed the scavenger's head and tried to push them back, and at that hazy state, decided that the assailant was either a woman or a guy with very long hair. Unfortunately, it was none...

"MAVERICK! MAVERICK!", Jon cried out in desperation as he came to his senses, wishing that he didn't. What he initially made out to be a human, turned out to be a loose-skinned, flesh-eating abomination. His hand nearly sunk inside it's head as he tried to push it back. It was rather amazing, how a hollow creature like that turned out to be so strong. Seeing as how Maverick wasn't answering his calls for help, Jon, tears streaming down his cheeks and on the verge of vomiting, looked to his side to see the hook within reach distance. It wasn't long before the thing began clicking and gritting it's teeth, a behavior which he apparently failed to notice in the other undead. He wasn't even questioning how a zombie could get that fast. At that moment, he just wanted to survive. 

As the distance between the zombie and him grew closer, Jon gathered all of his strength in an effort to push it as far away from him as possible. Things got slightly more difficult as the zombie, which was at the time kneeling, had placed it's bony knee on Jon's leg, causing him to let out a blood curdling scream which would then echo through the facility. No telling if that was intentional or not. Still not ready to die, he did his best to ignore the stinging pain from the leg injury and put all his focus on what was standing in front of him. Or rather, above him. He barely succeeded in pushing the zombie's head to a safe distance. The timing had to be right. Quickly, he removed his hands from the  head and just as quickly got hold of the meat hook, swinging at it with his right hand, a passing sense of relief overcoming his body as the hook made contact. Jon darted up on his feet, confident that he had killed that fucker, only to learn that the swing had missed the head by a couple of decisive inches. The zombie, with a meat hook stuck up it's throat, dashed at Jon, who needless to say, was in the brink of shitting his pants. The reanimate was just as fast as during the first attack, but Jonathan had seen the second one coming and that enabled him to dodge it, albeit barely. While it didn't make direct contact, it was still enough to hurl the poor kid into the nearby wall, as he struggled to keep himself on his own two feet. Engaging a zombie in a fistfight was foolish. He needed to somehow obtain the hook and try again, do it right.

Trying to catch his breath proved to be a near impossible task for Jon as the zombie's fist attacks became relentless. He kept fumbling back in an attempt to dodge them, but while sloppy, the strikes seemed to carry a lot of strength. Amidst that parade of screaming and cursing, Jon did notice something. A window of opportunity, you could say. As soon as the zombie launched another attack, he limped at it as fast as his injured leg allowed it and took hold of the hook, and along with it, took hold of the zombie which was attached to it. It was tough, but he gathered all of his strength and dragged the zombie down the hall, which was clicking his teeth even more intensely than before. The undead, which didn't really seem to mind the hook, tried to grab Jon's foot with his left hand, but Jon was quick to stomp the arm all the while carrying that thing around, leaving a trail of blood behind. However, the zombie proved to be more savvy than expected as it launched another swing with his right hand, consequently removing the hook from it's neck as an audible crack sound was made AND throwing Jon down on the concrete floor. 

"AAARGH, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU!", Jon screamed his lungs out, crawling to the direction of the metallic hook. He stopped for a brief second to see if he still had all of his fingers. Turned out the last attack had hit his wrists, causing the fingers to numb out. He would probably feel a great deal of pain once the adrenaline rush stopped. He felt the zombie's cold, gaunt hands on his shoulders as it went for the bite. The finisher. In what can be described as luck, and a quick reaction time, Jon elbowed the zombie to the head with all his might, causing it to fall back because of the brain trauma. The pasty fucker recovered itself pretty fast, and lunged at Jon yet again. Thankfully, the young Walker had already grabbed hold of the hook and swung it for the second time, this time colliding with the brain. The zed lingered there for a couple of seconds, as if dumbfounded, and then fell on top of a disgusted Jon, blood oozing from it's cranium. 

Breathing heavily from all the exhaustion and the relief, with his eyes all welled up, Jon pushed the corpse away but didn't bother to get up, as the adrenaline was still surging through his body causing every limb of his to shake uncontrollably. He was afraid that somehow that zed transmitted the disease to him. He had no idea how the infection process worked. But he didn't stress himself that much, as he was already under a lot of stress from his earlier confrontation. He'd just have to see what would happen in the following days. 

Drained of his appetite, he willed himself up, grabbed hold of the bag, stuffed both; the can and the scrub in the bag and zipped it. He noticed Maverick who had come out of his hiding hole, sniffing the dead RA for a couple of seconds before he decided to lift his leg up and piss on the corpse. Jon let out a smirk, not the type of "I'm happy" smirk. The forced kind of smirk, where his mouth opens wide but there's no glimmer in his eyes. He'd usually be mad at Maverick for acting like a scaredy cat, but he was too exhausted for that. For the meantime, he needed to check his wounds and perhaps take a shower if he still had time. 

With that in mind, he limped to the fallen zombie, grabbed the meat hook, and then limped out to the exit, with Maverick chasing after his steps.

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