Days Passed Away


Sonic expert
Jan 25, 2009
Wii Online Code

The world of Days Passed Away is set in post-zombie-apocalypse America. The RP has an 'in medias res' beggining, which means it begins in the middle of the action. Characters you take control of has already experianced their fair share of the chaos that comes with the devistation of a zombie apacolypse.

In August of 2012, the United States suffers a home-front attack from China, a war started over financial debt between the two countries. The attack on the coast of California/Oregon was short lived until the Chinese military was forced to retreat. The months that ensued were spent in preperation of a third world war, one that never came.

In fear that this war would be settled within their country, the United States government invested an ungodly amount of funds into research on bettering their military power. One of these was the billions of dollars given to a company called BioCorp, a company with a bad reputation and history of dealing in secretive and wicked experiments.

The funds were put towards research of a formula that could potentially enhance the performance of soldiers and make them somewhat "super human." The scientist experimented on animals with what they had created. The animal testing was a success. High increases in intelligence, strength, speed and indurance was apparent in the test subjects. They began human testing shortly afterward. During the human testing, the animal subject began to die out of mysterious causes. Their bodies were considered contaminated and were burned in a biohazard safe environment.

The human testing was performed on BioCorps personally hired B.C.C.O. agents, hired mercinaries paid to work in secret to deal in BioCorps hidden buisness deals. Their jobs included assassinations, threats and blackmail. The mercinaries showed the same results as the animal subjects and was kept under close servailence to watch for any signs of the formula causing any negative side effects or signs of possibly killing the subjects.

The side effects began to show. Anger, suicidal/homocidal tendancies, insanity and deterioration of immune system began to surface within the mercinaries. The cause was found out to be a synthetic ingrediant within the formula, now considered a virus. Necroenza, a compound added to the formula for a sort of "fast healing" effect to make for near invicibility in subjects was being thuroughly studied and was taken out of the formulas finished project.

A compound was created to fight back the Necroenza, dubbed Lebenamien. The formula was not a cure, but a substance created to subside the Nercoenza temporarily and would have to be taken regularly to aid in the subject with negative side effects.

The finished formula was ready for mass production that December. Then something happened. The raw Necroenza was stolen by agents of one of BioCorp's rival companies. Mistaken for a copy of the completed formula, the rival company sent in stealth agents to retrieve the virus. They made their way out of the BioCorp company headquaters before anyone noticed. BioCorp retaliated with sending in their best mercenaries, the ghost level B.C.C.O.s lead by their two top soldiers, Geist and Ghoul, to retrieve the dangerous compound.

Vial Industries, the company who had stolen the Necroenza, began human testing on the raw compoud immediatly, their findings were nothing less than terrifying. Within two hours, their subjects either killed each other, themselves, or died out from illness. A short hour after the subject had died, much to the horror of the Vial Ind. workers, they were back to their feet, still deceased.

The zombified test subject violently tried to escape, a few workers were attacked in the process. The virus spread quickly throught the laboratories of Vial Ind. and the area was quarantined off from the rest of the company.

The B.C.C.O. agents snuck into the corporations facility and infiltrated the labs, not expecting to see what they had found there. Reports came into BioCorp of the virus causing the dead to be reanimated into mindless undead that devour the flesh of the living. The agents successfully retrieved the stolen virus and destroyed all traces of what had happened, or so they thought.

The lower levels of Vial Ind. was still closed off and contained infected subjects. When the BioCorp clean-up crew arrived later that night to ensure all evidence was swept under the rug, they found the lower level laboratories. They were killed by the undead waiting for them there and the subjects escaped.

December 12, 2012, mass chaos engulfed the streets of New York City. The zombies were loose on the streets and the virus was spreading at an unfathomable rate. The U.S. military issued an order to quarantine the whole city. When the troops arrived, the city was in ruin and the military was overpowered by the undead.

The virus spread to the surrounding states. Canada and Mexico quickly closed their borders, not allowing anyone to escape in fear of it spreading to their land.

December 25, 2012, the entire contaniental United States was swarmed by the living dead.

The United Nations set a plan forward and issued a quarintine of a national level. January 3rd, 2013 they set of tactically placed EMP blasts within the United States, killing all electronic devices of any scale within North America, ensuring that vehicles, planes, radios, ect. would be rendered useless.

The United States of America, as a nation, no longer existed.

Months after that what use to be the U.S. government attempted to organize ways to keep the country intact and find a way to overcome the catastrophy, all in vain. The country was thrown into complete anarchy.

The government dissolved and the military along with it, people were left to fend from themselves against not only the dead but from crime and cruelty. Massive amounts of gangs arose from the anarchy, some causing chaos, others being hired to protect towns in return for ruling over the town they protect, being allowed to do whatever they please to the town, and its people.

BioCorp stayed intact throughout the chaos, its leader, a man who sees only profit and loss, was determined to find a way to benefit from this calamity. BioCorp began recruiting ex-military personel to build their B.C.C.O. into a full military sized force. Their goal, somehow use the virus, alter it, into a way to control the people of the land and build a new nation of their own.

In reaction to the madness, gangs, zombies, and B.C.C.O., many people that were high in power in the military befoe the apacalypse built Pulse, a purely military orginization with the goal of aiding humainity, rebuilding America, stopping BioCorp and wiping out the undead presence completely.

Both BioCorp and Pulse's presence eventually became strongest in Texas, which is where the RP takes place.

-Enemies of everyone-

Reanimated/Dead Heads: Otherwise known as zombies these are the living dead brought back to life with the Necroenza virus. This catagorey is of the most common type. Slow moving zombies are not a threat at all from afar, but up close they will not hesitate to attack and bite. The dead heads are most dangerous when they appear in large groups, which they do often.

Reanimated/Runners: Not as many in numbers as the dead heads the runners dont need a group to be a threat. Due to the rare occurance of the virus not deteriorating the muscular system of the infected, the zombie keeps its physical prowress amoungst it keeping the ability of agility. Runners are fast and they never tire. When they spot a potential meal they immediatly lock on to them and charge in a full sprint.

Mutant/Brute: Brutes are highly rare, thankfully. In a very rare few the virus doesnt kill the infected, rather it gives it the beneficial effects of the formula like super strength and near invincibility, though the virus takes away all sense of the person and only anger and the need to feed on human flesh are present in its mind.

Reanimated/Screachers: a rare reaction to the virus only found in a small amount of females who become infected, screachers are a type of undead that only feed on things already dead but not infected, making them scavengers. What is threatening about these zombies is how they come to gaining a meal. If they spot a living human, or large animal, they will let out a terrible blood curddling scream, drawing attention in the area and other zombies soon after.

Reanimated/Angels: These may or may not be just myth, spread by tales from survivors. If they are real, then they are the rarest of reanimated. All tales of "angels" consist of a dire situation befalling upon some unlucky soul and just when all seems hopeless an undead child shows them a path to safety. Angels are unconfirmed as an actual type seeing as no proof of their existance has ever been put forth.

Bandits/Gangs: Violent humans they rape, plunder and pilage. They are armed with whatever they could find, guns included. Some gangs are not as bad as others, but a "good" gang probably doesnt exist. Some gangs occupy a town and offer to protect it from other gangs and undead in return they are free to do as they please within the town and own it.

-Types of Playable Characters-

Survivors: These are the once American people just trying to live to see the next sunrise. Most of them have set some sort of goal for themselves to help them keep moving on. A lot of them have picked Dallas, rumored safe haven protected by Pulse, to be that goal. Your survivor doesnt have to have this goal. Make them do whatever you want, make them fight for themselves or others, whatever your choice, they have free structure. (Ex. Trent, Jessie)

Pulse soldier: Soldiers of Pulse are highly professional military personel that fight for the benefit of humanity and the rebuilding of America. Pulse soldiers have mission based structure, given a mission by higher command and expected to see it through. (Ex. Ramirez)

B.C.C.O.: Extremely skilled mercenaries highered by BioCorp to aid in their cause. B.C.C.O. troops have a job based structure, able to accept or refuse jobs set by BioCorp.

B.C.C.O. Ghost Soldiers: Best of the Best, the ace cards of BioCorp. The Ghost level soldiers are a handful of soldiers that have proven to be loyal to BioCorp even though they are just mercenaries. All Ghost level soldiers are infact infected with Necroenza but have access to the rare Lebenamien that keeps them from turning. Also Ghost soldiers hold somewhat "super human" abilities in strength, speed, intelligence and overall fitness. (Ex. Geist, Esper)

All Ghost levels are named after another word for "ghost." Example:
Ghoul (now open after death of Samson)

Or whatever you come up with

Each Ghost level soldier specializes in some sort of specific field of expertise.

Example: Geist is the assault expert, experianced in standard military battle drills and a pro with the assault rifle class weapon and a balanced range of abilities. Esper is a Spy Ghost level, able to disguise herself for intel purposes.

Other classes your Ghost level soldier can specialize in:
Heavy Weapons (High power guns)
Explosives (Grenades, rocket launchers, grenade launchers, claymore mines)
Field Scientist (combative scientist who uses things like feremones that make a target become the center of attention to zombies, guns that fire rounds that infect enemies, maybe even a device that temporarily controls zombies? Be creative)
Combat Medic (the best medic BioCorp has to offer, along with being a highly skilled mercenary)
CQC (expert in hand-to-hand combat, also expertises in blades)

Or again whatever you come up with. Only one Ghost level per RPer.

Follow all of my rules and the forums rules alike.
-No Double Posts
-No Bunnying (Controlong characters or elements that arent yours to control)
-No Godmodding (making youre character too powerful or invincible, or survivng something they absolutely shouldnt)
-If your character is bitten and isn't a Ghost level B.C.C.O. then start finding a way to kill them off or allow them to turn into a reanimated. Note: once they turn into a reanimated you have no control over your character and their reanimated self becomes a "fair character" (a character anyone can decide the fate of)
-The golden rule of zombie fiction, characters don't use the z word!



-Trent Westwood
Name: Trent Westwood

Alias: None

Age: 17

Alliance: Survivor

Appearance: A young white male. Brown shaggy hair and blue eyes. He wears a white t-shirt and a red and white football letterman jacket. Tightish bluejean pants and black Converse shoes.

Weapon of choice: Trent prefers to use a baseball bat, shotgun or hunting rifle, but will use any means necessary to stay alive

Personality: Trent is a generally non-violent person. Raised right and taught to be respectful, however this is all thrown away when it comes time to protect Jessie, his girlfriend who he holds dearest in time as dark as these. When seeing Jessie in danger his personality turns to that of a ruthless protector who will lash out at anyone who threatens her. Hes responsible and usually good at calculating his odds, though every now and then he shows a bit of recklessness in attempts to keep what he has. He also holds his dog, Rosco, almost as near and dear to him as Jessie due to the dog rescuing him before.

Biography: Trent was the quaterback for his highschool football team, the Eagles. He carried the title without getting a big head over it. The night his team won the semifinals and he asked Jessie out is the night of the terrible accident that would end the country. The first zombies he had to slay was what use to be Jessies family, leaving him forever feeling as if he owed it to her to protect her, which would lead to him falling in love with her. For almost a year they stayed within their hometown, defending themselves, but eventually decided to head for Dallas, which is where we find them now in the story.

-Jessie Laughlin
Name: Jessie Laughlin

Alias: none

Appearance: Jessie is a young teenage girl. Slim build, pretty face. Her hair is blonde and past shoulder length but usually kept back in a pony-tail and her eyes are a bright blue. She usually wears a baby blue tank-top shirt and grey pants that reach to the middle of her shins, along with black tennis shoes.

Weapon of choice: usually small magnum pistols since she took a coarse on handling them. Mostly she uses whatever she can find though.

Biography: Jessie was a straight-A student throughout highschool and didn't take too much to sports, though she managed to make sure to stay excellently fit herself. She found it odd to see a football jock like Trent fall for a brainy girl like herself, but it became mutual shortly after figuring out Trent wasn't the usual meathead football player. The night of the incident, Trent had asked her out in which she happily agreed to. After the football game Trent offered her a ride home in his fathers pick-up truck since her parents never answered her calls that night. Arriving home to their horror Jessies parents were killed and brought back to life as undead. Since then Trent and Jessie have been fighting to survive.

Personality: Jessie is increadibly intelligent and mature for her age. With this she often second-guesses Trents decisions, usually for good reason. Trent looks to her not only as a girlfriend but also as a secondary "common sense." Jessie also has a problem with being a "damsel in distress." She goes out of her way to prove to Trent that she can hold her own, and at some points have saved Trent from certain death from time to time. She admires Trents bravery and his constant willingness to protect her, which over the year since the incident has made her fall for him even more.

-SPC Rameriez
see prolouge part 2

Name: Unknown

Alias: Geist

Alliance: B.C.C.O. (Ghost level assault)

Appearance: Black military uniform with black gloves and boots. Dark gray IBA bullet proof vest with two grenade pouches, one flashbang grenade pouch, 3 magazine pouches that fits two mags per pouch, and a special pouch exclusive to Ghost level troops that holds 7 syringes of Lebenamein. He wears a full gas mask on his face with dark crimson lenses and a black kevlar helmet. He sports a yellow and black B.C.C.O. patch on his right shoulder.

Weapon of choice: Geist is an assault class Ghost, meaning he is most familiar with assault rifles, pistols, and small explosives like grenades. His weapon of choice is the SCAR assault rifle.

Personality: Geist is cold and straight to the point. He doesn't see good or evil, only the mission/job. A psychoanalysis stated that "All human emotions had left him. Its as if his 'human side' no longer exists and only a 'soldier side' remains." While most mercenaries only aid BioCorp for the pay, Geist is completely loyal to the company and it's leader. He doesn't act unless he feels it would aid his mission and will see to it that the mission is complete no matter what, even at the cost of his own life.

Biography: Geist is one of the first two mercenaries to be a part of the B.C.C.O., along with Samson which at the time was codenamed Ghoul. He is the most trusted member of the B.C.C.O. and respected amoungst all of the mercenaries. He is the center of talltales around the BC mercs and highly infamous amoung the Pulse soldiers. He specializes as an assault class ghost.

Prolouge: See "A Job To Do" (Preview 3)


see prolouge part 3

-Maya Dreavus
Name: Maya Dreavus

Gender: Female

Alias: None

Age: 18

Alliance: Survivor

Appearance: A beautiful young woman with long black hair, with purple streaks in it. She has blue eyes, and a very pale face. Her breast size is about average, not really big but not flat either. She wears a white top, and has a black leather jacket with white diamond patterns over it. She wears a red skirt with black diamond patterns that reaches down to her knees, and under this she wears short white sweatshorts. She wears black tennis shoes.

Weapon of choice: A pure black katana with a big red diamond on the end of the hilt. Skilled at throwing knives as well, as such she carries some with her.

Biography: Shortly after she was born, her parents dropped her and her older brother Grey off for adoption, being unable to care for them themselves. Eventually, they were adopted by a wealthy middle aged woman named Lotta Dowe (If you get it, please don't kill me :p).

Maya and Grey lived in Lotta's mansion, filled with luxuries. This would be great, if Lotta didn't make them sleep in the shed outside and work them to death. Maya was constantly working around the house, in the garden, doing errands, etc. Grey had to do a lot of the same, but in his free time, he made some cash by taking jobs that required a lot of physical labor. Lotta, of course, took half of his profit. Lotta treated them horribly in general, and threatened to throw them in the streets if they defied her.

Nighttime was the only time Maya had to relax, as she was working the rest of the day. She snuck out every night and hung out with her friend Chrys. She and Chrys were very close. Chrys also taught Maya swordplay, since she was skilled with it. During this time, Maya also came to appreciate the night and darkness, due to the freedom it granted her. Unlike most kids, she wasn't remotely scared of the dark, she actually was comforted by it.

One day, Grey brought forward his plan to run away. Apparently, he had obtained enough cash (some stolen from Lotta) to manage him and his sister for a while. Maya said her goodbyes to Chrys, who couldn't go with them because she lived there and didn't have the means or motive to run away. Maya took with her some food, water, and a red crystal necklace that used to belong to her mother. She wore the necklace at all times as a memento.

Grey had enough money to purchase a small house, and lived there with Maya. He had taken an interest in science, and acquired enough skills to get into BioCorp and work for them. Over the years, he climbed up the ranks, moving way beyond his mere worker status.

However, when the zombies started to overrun the country, Maya and Grey were forced to move into a hotel near the BioCorp building that offered protection. Grey started to get highly involved in the Ghost Soldier project, and eventually became a Ghost Soldier himself. Maya noticed how strange he started to act as a result, he was acting irrational and more aggressive. One day, when she was about to go to bed, he tackled her while naked and forced off her shirt. She realized that he was attempting to rape her, and out of pure fear, she took the red crystal on her necklace and shoved it into his throat, killing him.

Maya realized that she had just murdered an important BioCorp emplyee, as well as her own brother. While crying due to the later fact, she gathered some stuff and ran outside to escape. Due to the quarantine, she wasn't able to travel far at all, and was captured within the next few days.

She was in jail for a while. However, one day, the gates keeping the zombies out mysteriously were opened, forcing the jail to release the prisoners for their safety. In the panic, Maya noticed Chrys, who she had not seen for years. Chrys explained that she had opened the gates, because she had hear about Maya's containment on the news. In the inevitable chaos, the two friends were separated. Maya couldn't afford to look for Chrys at this time, and made a run for it.

Maya has three major goals from this point on. One, get revenge on BioCorp. Two, help rid of the zombies. And three, find her lost friend Chrys.

Maya is a fairly normal teenage girl, though she obviously is struggling with quite a bit of depression. She loves the night, and functions best during moonlight.

-Glem Oremek
Name: Glem Oremek

Gender: Male

Age: 24

Alliance: Pulse (But really himself)

Biography: Not much is known about his past. However, he did used to work for the government, as a scientist specializing in robotic development.

To prepare for the war against China, the US was trying to find ways to improve their military. Glem told them about his robotic suit project, a project that aimed to create cheaply made robotic battle suits for soldiers. When asked to see how far the project was, the government saw how laughably pathetic the prototype suits were, shrugging Glem off and not funding the project. They instead invested highly into BioCorp, which Glem considered a rival.

Glem, in actuality, was a madman. Despite working for the government, he desired chaos, and planned to take them down one day. The robotic suits he was trying to develop had a secret evil purpose. Glem was working on a computer program, that, when/if the suits were ever created and mass produced, would take control over every single suit on the globe. This, of course, would give him enough power to cause severe damage and chaos worldwide. Sadly, the robotic suit project was far from finished. Without the government funds to support it, it was moving along at snails pace.

When BioCorp's actions gave rise to swarms of zombies, the lab he worked at was in danger. Glem and his team had just discovered a crucial piece to the project. When the scientists that worked for him tried to escape with the newly acquired data in an attempt to save it, Glem killed them, wanting to ensure that only he knew the details. He then escaped.

Although he enjoyed the chaos, Glem found the zombies a problem. He blamed BioCorp for the zombies, as well as taking the funds he wanted put into his project. He joined Pulse for two reasons. 1, to help destroy BioCorp and the zombies. 2, to work behind the scenes and thwart Pulse's plans to rebuild America.

Personalty: Pretty sadistic and flamboyant, only cares about himself. Manages to contain a calm facade sometimes. He will kill to get what he wants.

He also knows a lot about technology. Not really a personality aspect, but it's worth note.

Appearance: He wears a blue tuxedo with diamond patterns with matching jeans. He's handsome and has blonde hair.

Weapon of choice: A machine gun with a blade attached to the side of it. The blade is made out of pure diamond.

Mr. MR:

-James Nolen
Alias: Jim or Axe

Age: 47

Alliance: Survivor
Most consider him a bandit
He sees himself as a guy trying to survive

Appearance: He is a white male. He has gray and white hair and brown eyes. He wears an old and tattered hide jacket with a black shirt underneath, a loose and faded pair of blue jeans (darkened at the bottom), brown boots, and a hunter’s belt complete with a machete sheath, small loops for shotgun rounds, and a small pouch. He also carries a canteen, which is attached to a long leather band around his shoulder.

Weapon of choice: Jim is infamous for using a fire axe. He will use guns when the risk becomes too great and also carries a revolver in one of his various inside jacket pockets. He also carries a machete but uses it only in situations in which he can't use his axe.

Personality: Jim is cold as the situation and as calculating as he is cold. Because of reputation, bandits keep their distance. He will do almost anything to survive. He will not kill innocent women nor children. He prefers to work alone but he will work with others in order to survive, making him a viable mercenary or hired thief. He knows most of the tricks of his trades. His trades include; tracking, hunting, various hand to hand combat styles, knife fighting, fencing, and thievery. He is not greedy but he is not above taking something he can get even though he does not currently need it. He will not abandon his client unless it is for his survival. Although he is keen on his survival, he is willing to sacrifice his life.

Biography: As a teenager living in a rough part of the city, he was paranoid about being attacked on the street. Because of this he studied hand to hand combat and knife fighting. When he was seventeen, his parents were killed by a robber. He was forced to live with his grandparents in the country. There he learned hunting from his grandfather. He enjoyed it a bit too much and started poaching dangerous animals when he was twenty-four. The sport became too easy for him, so he became a private bodyguard at the age of thirty to learn the ways of how people kill and how to protect himself from killers. He still retained his paranoia throughout his life and so he hired a hacker to delete his identity. He called himself James Nolen from then on and became a mercenary.
At the age of forty-six China attacked. He happened to be in Northern California at the time. The area he was at was surrounded and he was taken to a concentration camp. He never tried to escape because he knew it would be futile. The first ones to try were captured and gunned down in front of the rest. Eventually China withdrew, taking the prisoners to their ships. Jim knew they were going to be held hostage and his background was going to be looked into. If the Chinese government found nothing they were sure to kill him. He waited patiently for a moment to escape. It never came. Instead they were released onto the shores they were taken from. This puzzled him but he soon figured out why.
Many of the "escapees" died to bandits trouble. During his first encounter with bandits, he grabbed the nearest weapon, which was a fire axe. He used that to fend off the bandits. Word spread about him and his axe. Jim realized that they were afraid of it. He used that fear to his advantage and managed to keep his reputation which kept him alive.

Without Turning Back
A cloud of ash came up after each footfall. He looked up and stopped. Before him was a sea of black. He was getting closer. He continued to walk for an hour. Step after step. The smell of burning petroleum permeated his nostrils. He looked up. What stood before him now used to be a gas station. He remembered all the fuss; Soaring gas prices, OPEC. He chuckled. How little it mattered now. He walked through it maintaining his path. After an hour or so he looked up again. In the distance he could see houses towards the east. He stopped and headed towards them. "Now we're getting somewhere" he said under his breath. The sound of crunching ash was replaced by the hollow sounds of concrete. He turned his head to the side. There was a marking on each of the doors. He said them as he walked by, "X X X X X X X X X." The markings where made with red and white spray paint. Some of the markings were just an "X". Others where a circle with an "X" on top of them. He continued, "X X X X X X O." He stopped. He shifted his direction pulling out an old fire axe and moved towards the "O". On approach he check the sides of the house. "Pretty spaced out." he muttered stepping on the porch, "It should be alright." He lightly turned the door handle. The handle turned. He gripped his axe tightly and opened the door. The hinges announced his entry with a loud creaking noise. He paused for a moment. Voices could be heard from upstairs. He could not hear the words very well but he could hear the stress and annoyance in them. They knew he was inside. He bent low and quickly entered. A quick glance around showed him the stairs were behind the kitchen which came down on the living room. He entered the kitchen. He could see the zigzagging pattern of the underside of the stairs. He heard footsteps. They were heading for the stairs. Dust from the ceiling came down on him with each step. It seemed only one was sent to investigate. He quickly calculated the number of steps it would take to climb down the flight, 13. He had about 7 seconds. One, he quickly glanced at the cupboards, all where open. Two, he quietly made his to the kitchen table. Three, he grabbed the vase. Four, quietly made his way back. Five, he made his way to the living room. Six he hurried to a blind spot right next to the stairs. Seven, he threw the vase across the room. Startled, the footsteps unloaded two bursts from a shotgun at the direction of the sound. His presence was confirmed. He quickly jumped out and swung his axe. The axe found its mark on the robbers head. He quickly placed his boot on the robbers face and dislodged his axe, he had no time to lose. He quickly made his way up the stairs. Just before he reached the top he saw the tip of a double barrel shotgun. He bent low, grabbed the barrel with one hand, and pulled using his body weight. The robber was pulled down to the ground. Still holding on to the barrel he rammed the axe's head into the robbers neck. The robber fired one shot before he received a swift kick to the temple. The second robber was unconscious. A third robber rounded the corner. He had two options. He could charge him with his axe or use the shotgun from the second robber. He chose the second one. He quickly snatched the gun from the second robbers hands, turned the shotgun while pumping it, and fired. The third robber fell without a word. He heard a voice, "Did you get him?" He picked up his axe and opened the door. The fourth robber dropped a sac of provisions on the floor making a load crack. The robber glanced at his gun which was laying on the opposite wall and glanced back at the intruder who was shaking his head. The robber said to words, "James Nolen."

"Yup, that's me." he said raising his axe. He brought the axe down with great momentum. The fourth robber fell to the ground. Jim searched the robbers body taking a cigarette box and a lighter. He then wiped the axe head on the robbers shirt, took the bag of provisions, and walked towards the stairs. Jim glanced down at the third robber and stooped down taking a can of beer from the robber's jacket pocket and placing it in the bag. He made his way to the second robber and took his shotgun and his rounds placing the rounds in his bag. He made his way down stairs. Jim unstrapped the two shotgun ammo belts from around the second robbers waist and shoulder placing it around his own shoulder. When he made it down stairs he opened the bag withdrew a magazine rolling it up. Jim put his axe on his belt, pulled out his lighter, and lit the top making his way to the broken back window. He held the magazine up to the curtains. They lit up in flames. He walked to the front window and lit the curtains on fire and discarded the magazine on the living room rug. Jim grabed the bag, flung it over his shoulder, walked outside, and started down the street saying, "X X X X.........." without turning back.

Come Back Soon

The hands were dealt and each of the players searched their packs. The men placed their bets. A half full cigarette box, a spool of fisherman's line, three small unopened packs of sanitation wipes, and a kitchen knife where placed on the table. Each of the bandits looked at each other and nodded. The game began. The first player peeked at his two cards and placed down a silver butter knife. The other men laughed. "What the hell do you call that?" chuckled the player across from him. "Business has been slow lately" replied the first player laughing. The other men burst into a harder laugh slapping the table. The smile of the player across from him slowly fell into a grimace. The other men turned. All their expressions darkened. James Nolen was approaching. The bandits began arguing with each other and pushing one another around. Finally one stepped up. "Hey!" he managed to say. "Admission fee?" he said holding out his hand. Jim stopped and looked up dropping the bag he had over his shoulders. The bag came down with a load crash. Jim walked up to the men, his axe bobbing at his side with each step. The men held up their guns a little more gripping them tightly. James still approached unperturbed. He reached into his jacket. The bandits pointed their guns at him. Jim stopped and slowly pulled out two cans of food. He slammed them on the table making eye contact with each of them. For a while no one said a word still maintaining eye contact. Jim straightened himself and went back to his bag, picked it up, and continued walking. The men's heads turned following Jim. Just when the bandits were about to continue their game, Jim spoke without turning. "Hey, keep the change." With that he threw something behind him. It landed on the table bouncing and making a rattling sound. The bandits looked at it. They became infuriated. A silver butter knife rested on the table and nothing else. Even their cards were taken. The bandits looked at Jim who was still walking towards the entrance. None of them made a move to reclaim their items.

Jim kept walking and looked up. There was a sign above him. Most of the letters were riddled with bullets, however underneath the sign in black letters was crudely written, "Welcome to Tartarus." Jim entered the building. He looked towards his right. The Black Cross was here early and so were the Venoms. He looked to his left. The Skulls aren't here but that was expected. He looked towards the corner of the building. A table was set up and behind it was his stash. No other person would leave their stash unguarded in a bandit town. Jim was the exception. Never the less he rifled through his stash making sure everything was there. Not even a cigarette was missing. They were beginning to learn. He unfolded a chair and sat down with his boots on the table. After about an hour or so 70% of the bandits have returned from their ventures. Jim put his feet down and pulled out four boxes of cigarettes and placed them on the table. People already started to swarm his table. He spoke loudly so his voice carried over the crowd. "I have a limited supply of cigarettes. The best offers will get them." He traded the first box for three bars of soap. The second one got him three meters of rope. He traded both the third and the fourth one for a can opener. After the last ones were traded he pulled out a stack of knives laying them out on the table.

This continued for 30 minutes. The crowd was starting to fade away. Jim slammed two cans of beer on the table. His table was once again rushed. He eventually traded them for a flare gun, anti-bacterial soap, a pair of rubber gloves, a half-full can of black spray paint, and a bottle of Tylenol. He bartered with a few more items and closed shop. Afterwards he haggled a water canteen for the deck of cards he had stolen previously.

After a day of negotiations he laid himself back in his chair with his feet on the table and closed his eyes. He soon opened them to see someone headed straight for him.

"Where are my men?!?" shouted the bandit.

"Dead probably," Jim replied coldly.

The bandit pulled out a pistol. A voice in the crowd carried over all the commotion.


Everyone stopped. Grant Owen made his way in front of the crowd that gathered.

"Are you forgetting the rules of this town?" he said in a southern accent to the pistol wielding bandit. "We settle disputes the old fashioned way."

The rest of the bandits circled around Jim and his challenger. Owen stepped into the middle.

"Your pistol please." he asked the bandit holding out his hand. "And yours too Nolen."

Nolen knew the rules well. He placed his axe, machete, flare gun, and revolver on his table.
Owen started again, "Too make things a little more interesting, this will be a knife fight. Anybody have a couple of knives they are willing to lend?"

A long dagger was thrown at the ground by the challenger's feet.

"Anybody willing to let Axe borrow a blade?"

A blade was thrown at Jim's feet. He stooped down and picked it up. The bandits laughed. "A butter knife" stated Owen, "Looks like someone is generous." The spectators roared with even more laughter.

"Remember," Owen said to the audience, "I receive 10% of all winnings."

"And I receive 5% of the pot," interrupted Jim.

"You haven't won yet," growled his opponent.

Owen coughed loudly and spoke. "All bets will be placed through Edgey." Pointing to a table right outside the circle of bandits. "And without further ado let's begin."

He stepped out of the middle and raised a revolver in the air.


The opponent quickly jutted his blade out. Jim was quicker and stepped back out of range. He then stepped inward towards his opponent. Caught off guard by the old man's agileness the opponent swung his hand back. Jim parried his opponents swing with his unarmed hand and moved behind his opponent. In response the challenger tried spinning around. Jim was already bending his knees low and struck his opponent in the back of the knee. Jim then withdrew to a safe distance. His adversary's sounds of pain were drowned out by the crowd's hollering. The opponent got back up and tried to overcome the pain. Now it was Jim's turn to strike. He jumped to his opponent's weak side. The challenger tried turning but his knee folded under his own weight. Jim struck his opponent's knife arm leaving his butter knife embedded. In a feeble attempt to retaliate the opponent swung his knife. Jim jumped behind his arm and broke it at the elbow. The challenger dropped his dagger. Jim picked it up and slowly walked behind his opponent. The battle was won. Nolen held his challengers head up leaving the jugular exposed. A quick slash and the job was done.

Some of the crowd cheered. Others held their heads in dismay. Jim discarded the knife and went over to Edgey's table. He picked up a few bars of soap, a can of beans, and a full roll of duct tape and went back to his corner. He grabbed his effects and headed for the exit. Grant Owen was leaning against the wall. A huge grin was spred across his face. He opened his mouth and said, "Thank you for shopping at Costco."
"Please, come back soon."

-Alexander Zimmerman
Name: Alexander Zimmermann

Alias: Ace

Age: 27

Alliance: Pulse

Appearance: White male with blonde hair and very blue eyes behind his mirrored aviators. He wears a brown leather jacket and brown boots. He is shorter than the average person and talks in a Scottish accent.

Weapon of choice: His Pulse Raptor (currently out of commission due to the EMPs) which he christened Überkanonen and two Colt Diamondback revolvers. He has very good reflexes and eyes making him accurate and fast. He also pilots the one of the EMP resistant helicopters.

Personality: Strong willed and determined. Brilliant in the air. Reckless on the ground. And he hates piloting helicopters. He is also a glory hog.

Biography: He lived in Scotland with his mother and his German father. Growing up he loved to hear the stories of the Red Baron. His interest in these stories came from his great-grandfather who flew beside the Red Baron. From there on he wanted to be an Ace fighter pilot. As a teenager he studied the tactics of aerial combat, mostly Boelcke's Dicta. He then took flying lessons when he was old enough. His first time flying in a cockpit was the greatest moment in his life. To be soaring through the sky with the world at your below you was a stunning feeling. There he made up his mind to spend the rest of his life in aviation. He moved to the US for collage. There he learned about aviation and communications. He became a US citizen and joined the Air Force. All the positions for being a fighter pilot were taken so he went into communications. On his first training flight the pilot had a heart attack. Luckily Zimmermann got to the cockpit and landed the plane better and faster than the pilot ever could. The pilot was saved and Zimmermann was given the chance to be a bomber. Fortunately, his commanding officer thought his skills should be tested as a fighter pilot. Zimmermann quickly took the offer. As a fighter pilot he was able to outperform all of the fighter pilots of the entire Air Force. He was instantly put into the special forces. This job took him out of the front lines and put him behind it, for gathering intelligences. He hated that job. There was no action, no fighting, and certainly no glory. All his missions were top secret and classified. In 2009 he was approached by Pulse. They claimed to be a classified branch of both the National Guard and the Coast Guard. Just when Zimmermann was about to turn down the offer, Pulse sweetened the deal. Pulse was test running some of their own specially modified and improved versions of aircraft. Zimmermann was still hesitant. Pulse offered him seven days with full pay. If he was not satisfied he could go back to reconnaissance. Zimmermann thought it over and agreed. The first plane they showed him was the Pulse Raptor. Zimmermann sighed. He already piloted a raptor before. Pulse assured him this was not any old Raptor. As his first job they made him test the capabilities of the Pulse Raptor. As he was being briefed about the planes supposed limits, his eyes widened. When it was time for him to fly it he was very enthusiastic. Take off was the same. It was not until he traveled 123,000 feet above the ground was he amazed. It was the same amazement he had when he was young. The whole planet below him. Zimmermann stayed with Pulse.

-Gregory Osmer
Name: Gregory Osmer

Alias: He is called Shade on the field (whether he is on it or not). Only a handful knows his name (If that is his name).

Age: 36

Alliance: Lance, B.C.C.O. and BioCorp (However he does not trust BioCorp at all).

Appearance: He is a black haired white male. He is about average height and has very dark brown (looks black) eyes. He always wears his trade mark long, heavy and black coat. When conducting business, he wears a suit and tie with his black coat. On the field he wears a tactical vest and boots with his black coat.

Weapon of choice: His intellect is his main weapon however he always carries with him a custom made and modified pistol with gyrojet ammunition. He is very accurate with his pistol. He also carries a modified dart revolver.

Personality: He is a patient and intelligent person. He has a reputation for being an exceptional military strategist and inventor. To top that off he is very paranoid but he is able to control his paranoia with his intellect. Because he is paranoid he has contingency and back up plans for everything. Osmer does not get frustrated easily nor does he get easily exited. Most people think he is devoid of emotions. Others think he is mad. Some think he possesses strange powers. Rumors spread but all of them agree he is a very serious and secretive person. He is the only "Ghost" who does not use the formula (Osmer is considered a half Ghost). Osmer also talks in a monotone voice.

Biography: He did a good job of hiding his past. Information on his history is only known by him. The only thing that is known about him is that he co-started the Lance Mercenary Organization with four others at the age of twenty-three. Lance eventually was contracted by BioCorp as the main bulk of the B.C.C.O. Because of this he is the leader of the B.C.C.O. and acts as liaison between the B.C.C.O. and BioCorp. Because of this, he holds a chair on the BioCorp board. He is rarely seen on the field. But when he is, something important is going on.

Personal Business
The door open. A man in a long black coat stepped into the dimly lit room. He sat in the only available chair. "Excuse my tardiness" said the man in a monotone voice. "There was an urgent matter that needed my attention." A man at the far end of the table spoke. "Now that Osmer is here, we can begin."

A man in a white lab coat straightened his papers on the table, stood up, and spoke. The others in the room looked at him with serious faces. Each of them wearing all black. "Progress on Zeta is going slowly. We haven't found a way to bypass the natural defenses."

A woman near the far corner of the room stood up slamming the table with her hands. "How many times do we have to listen to your failures?" she said sternly. "We have given you every available resource in the world and you still are making no progress? How is this possible?"

The most of the black figures in the room nodded their heads in approval. The rest sustained their mind piercing stares.

The woman continued her scathing speech. "Time is running out. It has been months and we still don't have Zeta complete? Every time you come into this room we hear about your inability to perform the task that was appointed to you. Before project Zeta, you assured us of your abilities. Osmer was right from the beginning. You cannot do anything!"

A bead of sweat rolled down the scientist's forehead. He thought carefully. One wrong move and that move would be his last.

"Something like this takes time." responded the scientist. " A slow and steady process. If we rush it at this stage, we could lose everything. All of our research would be worthless." He made sure to emphasize the words "we" and "our" making it seem the loss of his work would be a loss for them all.

Before the woman could retort. Osmer spoke. "Five days. You have five days to get results. At the end of five days you will be the test subject." His monotone voice echoed off the walls.

The scientist was speechless. He looked Osmer in the eyes. They were black. Black as evil incarnate. It was a stare you could feel. And the feeling was not pleasant, not one bit. He thought of his options. No he couldn't do that.

"Do what you must." Stated Osmer as if he could read the scientist's mind. "On the fifth day, my scientists will conduct the experiments. Depending on how good your results are will determine how painless your death will be. If you succeed in what we asked there should be nothing to fear."

The scientist dropped his papers. They lay strewn about on the table. He would face a woman's scorn any day if the alternative was Osmer's stare. He fell into his chair much like his papers; a mess.

"Now to a more pressing issue." Osmer said. "I have reason to believe there is an imposter among us."

The other looked around, trying to guess who it was. Finally one spoke up, "Who is it Osmer?"

"You." replied Osmer. His voice lacked emotion but had an unmistakable coldness to it.

"That's absurd." declared the man.

"Is it now? Firstly, you were the first to ask who it was. Secondly, a proud businessman like Anderson would never use contractions such as 'that's.' Thirdly, as a former smoker, Anderson was constantly moving his hands."

The Anderson fraud glanced quickly at his left side of his chest. He was about to reach for his gun when Osmer fired a dart from a modified revolver. The dart pierced the phony's neck and he was instantly knocked out. The other members of the board jumped out of their seats unsure what to do.

Still sitting Osmer spoke. "The effects are not permanent. With the consent of the board, I would like to perform the interrogation personally."

No one in the room spoke for they were still in shock.

"Good," said Osmer still looking towards the fake Anderson. "This is personal business."

-Isaac Wolfe
Name: Isaac Wolfe

Alias: (None)

Age: 27

Alliance: B.C.C.O. and BioCorp although his loyalty is not completely to them

Appearance: He has dark skin and black hair because of his Cherokee ancestry (his mother is full Cherokee while his father is Caucasian). He looks like the standard B.C.C.O. soldier. He about average height at 5'10''.

Weapon of choice: He is familiar with all B.C.C.O. weaponry.

Personality: He is the soldier who keeps his mouth shut and objects only in his mind. He is not reckless and follows orders. He disagrees with much of what he is being ordered to do however he waits for the right time to leave or rebel. He is also wise for his age and proud of his heritage.

Biography: He was born and raised in Oklahoma. His mother taught him about his heritage while his father taught him how to hunt. He joined law enforcement when we was 21. As a police officer he was reckless and hasty but he got the job done. One day his recklessness got a fellow officer killed. His actions were scrutinized and he was kicked off the force. These advents made him more solemn. The next day he had a knock on his door. The person on the other side claimed to be part of an mercenary organization named Lance. The mystery man told Wolfe that they were currently hiring and that if he joined, his record will be wiped clean and he would begin a new life as a hired gun. Wolfe thought it over for the next week. He felt like there was no other choice and joined Lance. Lance was eventually contracted by BioCorp and was integrated into the B.C.C.O.

He was in the oil refinery facility raid with Geist.

-SFC John Samson
see prolouge part 2

The Storm:

-Colonel Byron Thaddeus Morton
Name: Colonel Byron Thaddeus Morton.

Alias: Colonel

Alliance: *Pulse and the United States of America.

Appearance: Byron Thaddeus Morton is a mountain of a man. His nickname, The Goliath, does Morton an exorbitant amount of justice when describing him. He stands at a height of 6'8", weighing in at over 375 pounds of pure, unrivaled brute strength. His body is covered in bandoliers and weapons. He has taken the utmost precautions to ensure his longevity and protection. His right eye bears burnt skin around the socket, and where his right eye should be, there is instead an artificial eye with infrared technology built into it that sends collected data directly to the brain. This eye can use its infrared sensors to detect heat and triangulate a position through walls and certain structures. His left arm, from just below the elbow down, is severed completely off. It has since been replaced with a mechanically enhanced prosthetic Robo-Arm that was developed by Pulse only a few years back. This arm is completely metal and wires, sporting a Tungsten base armor; which is a metal surpassed in strength only by diamond. It is gold played to give it a more accommodating appearance. The wrinkles in his face are from years of tough living, giving him character but at the same time, a very cold and heartless stare and disposition.

Personality: Colonel Morton has a very ruthless persona about him. He understands conflict and suffering, and also believes that everyone should have suffering in their lives to build character. He is very old fashioned when faced with various euphemisms and ideologies. His sympathy is very little, but his reforms are great. That is to say, of he sees people in trouble and suffering, he will never show them any real apathy or emotion. He will, however, utilize all the power at his command to help those in need. He is brave and stouthearted, while also being haunted by his own demons from the past. He fills nearly every void of what is known as the "strong silent type." Although technically the United States no longer exists, Byron still fights for it. He fights for it because he needs something to fight for, otherwise he has no reason for living. Perfectly fits the definition of a "die hard patriot."

Biography: Byron was born to James and Matilda Morton in Springfield, Illinois on August the 11th of 1945. He was never much one for sports early on in school, from grades 1 to 7 he spent most of his days at recess inside, focusing on his studies rather than physical activities. This boggled his parents because of the boys obvious size and natural strength. His parents, however, would not have much time to instruct their son and make plans for his future. At the age of 13, the worst event of his life occurred. Byron's parents were both killed in a car crash, the result of a drunken driver.

Byron collapsed into depression, not knowing how to handle nor grieve for his parents passing. He was passed from foster home to foster home for his unruly personality and aggressive behavior until his 18th birthday.

It was 1973, and the call of the Army was strong for many young men. Byron, however, did not want such a life. After too many misdemeanors and being in and out of juvenile hall, the courts decided a fair punishment would be either prison for 8 years, or 4 years in the army. Morton chose the army.

His first year in basic training an arms maintenance was easy for him. His following two years in Vietnam however, proved far more difficult. Weeks in the hot sun followed by weeks in unending rain took their toll on the young mans life. At the age of 21, he experienced his second life changing tragedy. While crawling on all fours towards a POW containment camp, his left arm tripped a land mine. The mission was thought to be a failure, but Byron pulled through anyways. The mines explosion caught the attention of the guards, giving away Byron's Company's position. Byron, however, was blasted into a waterway, a waterway that conveniently led underneath the POW camp. Byron made It out with all 5 captured POW's. The rest of his company, however, with the exception of his commander, were slaughtered.

Byron was transported back to the US and awarded the Purple Heart for his bravery in the face of peril, a feat that nearly cost him his life. His left arm had to be amputated from the mine, while the blood lost from saving his fellow men caused him to slip into a 3 month coma. When he awoke, he found the latest in science where his left arm once was. A prosthetic piece of machinery was now to serve him for the rest of his life. He humbled himself, and turned to god. After two years in physical therapy, he went back into the military. Instead of utilizing his strength, he enable the use of his mind. Creating weapons and different scientific applications for the military, Byron quickly became the leader of the Military Robotics Division. Being a co-designer of nearly every advancement in the use of robotics by the military, Byron was simultaneously climbing the ranks as a Tactical Field Expert. When it came to battle tactics, he was the best.*

By the early 90's, Byron Thaddeus Morton had attained the rank of Colonel in the United States Military. In 1998, after serving for 35 years in the military, Byron retired. The army had given him everything he could ever ask for and more, which is why he is such a faithful patriot. he began to slow down and relax and finally enjoy his retirement. Then... It happened.

On September 11th, 2001, America was attacked. His beloved country was threatened, and so he saw fit to call himself back to arms. The war in Iraq was incredibly difficult, but it was not unlike the Vietnam war he had previously fought in. Being a high leader in robotics, he was able to upgrade his prosthetic arm into an all around utility that no other human could accomplish. It could extend, it could latch onto things, it gave him unheard of strength, he was in the most literal form, a super soldier. He was not, however, invincible.

During one of his raids on an Iraqi outpost in 2008, Byron's arm was hit by an EMP weapon. The arm shut down, and Byron was quickly overrun and captured. They tortured him for information. They tortured him for a long, long time.*

A true patriot to the end, he refused to relinquish any information. The Al-Qa'ida, unable to retrieve information through conventional means, decided to take a more traditional touch to the torture. This traditional touch came in the form of molten steel being poured on various parts of the body. They started with his right eye.

Noone knows if he would have died there or if he would have escaped on his own, all that is known is that he thanked America once more when the Marine Strike team raided the Al-Qa'ida camp and freed him. Seeing those beautiful, spacious skies and amber waves of grain brought tears to his remaining eye. He was hospitalized immediately when he returned to the united states. His eye was burnt beyond repair. It was instead removed, and replaced with an infrared mechanical eye that could relay information and dissect an environment at the speed of a computer.

When he returned to work in 2009, he was approached by his superior ranking officer and offered a position in a bran new division that had just opened, called Pulse. Byron gladly accepted the new post and took to his new job with little trouble. In 2012, the news of the United States no longer being a nation brought a sadness upon Byron like none other. He currently resides in Texas, at the remnants of what was once Dallas, taking it upon himself to defend the country he loved no matter what the costs.

Prologue: "A Ten-hut!"*

500 Hazard Suited Pulse Soldiers snapped to attention at the sound of their Colonel's voice.

"About, face!"*

Another booming command, and every soldier simultaneously pivoted on their right toe, turning to face their leader at home plate of the stadium. They were at the stadium of the Dallas Cowboys, what was once a place of happiness and giddy dreams.

That was... Before the Apocalypse.

"At ease!"

The Colonel barked, and his order was followed. Every soldier folded their hands behind their backs,
And separated their feet in a resting position. Sweat dripped from Colonel Byron Thaddeus Morton's brow as he gazed upon his company. These were men he had trained, dined with, fought with, bled with, and all but died with. Now, he was prepared to make that last statement change, as was every soldier in that stadium. They all knew what was expected, and they all knew that they probably would not live through the following confrontation. But what really mattered was that they didn't care. They were happy to die.

As long as they died together, while fighting for their fallen country, they were ready to greet the next world with open arms.

Morton's gaze traveled to the stands of the stadium. They were filled with survivors, people on the run from the apocalypse and just barely holding on to life. He had created a safe haven for them here, in Dallas. He had told them they would make it through this. He gave them food, water, shelter, he gave them hope, and told them of a brighter future. There was, however, one thing he hadn't told them.*

That they were alone in this city, and the only thing standing between these survivors and the cretinous apocalypse going on outside these walls... Was him.

He returned his gaze to his troops, and spoke aloud for all to hear.

"Men," he said loudly, "we have spent our lives training for this day. Every event prior to this moment, right here, right now, is meaningless. Every material possession, every suffering, every love, every sacrifice have all been leading to this moment. This is going to be the pinnacle of our existence. The reanimated have been multiplying in number just outside this cities walls. Soon, they will gather a force strong enough to break through."

He paused, just for a moment to let the message sink in.

"And when they do break through," he continued, "what will they find? A broken people? A species unable to continue on through this hardship? No! They will find strong, capable men and women, ready to fight for what they believe in!"

His voice began to rise and gain more and more confidence with each word he spoke.

"We will not fall! These reanimated these... Mutants, they will not win! They can think, just like we do. They are not simply mindless beasts, but neither are we!"

The survivors cheered as he spoke.

"We will show them who the superior species are! We will show them real fear and true strength! Not by the strength of our muscles nor by the power of our weapons, but by the ferocity of our hearts!"

The crowd roared.

"We fight for every life taken by these bastards! We fight for every family torn apart! We fight, not for freedom, but for life! We fight for the United States, and for what we represent!"

The crowd ate this up and kept cheering.

Byron's voice suddenly became very monotone. "And what is it that we represent?"

The crowd grew quiet very quickly, all on the edge of their seats to hear what the Colonel was about to say. He continued to pause for a moment until silence swept the stadium unopposed.*

"What we represent... Is the spirit of the human race."

Applause slowly built up as he spoke, "And that, my friends, is something these monsters can never take from us!!!"

The crowd roared, the soldiers cheered. Byron turned and walked into his office in the stadium announcers booth. What he hadn't told them is that he had not gotten contact from his commanding officers in weeks. What he had not told them is that supplies were getting lower.

What he had not told them was that they were alone, and that time was running short.

Weapon of choice: Colonel Byron utilizes the latest in advanced military technology, including the patented Pulse Pistol that was a staple weapon of the Pulse Soldiers. It is the size of a 9mm pistol, firing armor piercing rounds. Along each of his legs at the calves lie a holster, each of the two holsters housing a sawn off shotgun. Around the thighs of his legs are bandoliers with shotgun shells. at his waist, Byron's belt holds four holsters, two in the front near the belt buckle, two in the back. In the front holsters sit twin golden 9mm pistols, while in the back holsters sit twin mini-Uzi guns, also gold plated. Bandoliers are strapped across his chest, full of ammo, with two large holsters in the back. All he has to do to access these weapons is reach over one of his shoulders. Two weapons are housed here, the first being a real time Flamethrower, the second being a prototype 308 automatic rifle with a grenade launcher attachment. At his sides on his belt sit a pair of knives, used either for throwing or close range combat.

Byron is a mountain of a man, and his physical strength surpassed only by his firepower. He has given his mechanical arm numerous upgrades to now resist EMP along with being bulletproof.

-Eruc Suriv (aka Aerian)
Name: Eruc Suriv

Alias: *Aerian

Age: 44

Alliance: Veteran mercenary for Vial Industries and threat to both the undead and the living, his only alliance now is to himself and whomever he chooses to show mercy to.

Appearance: Unlike his brethren reanimated, Aerian does not appear to be undead. He looks normal, like he did in the pinnacle of his mercenary days. He wears a suit of bullet proof armor, lightweight, yet durable metal alloy based. The armor is black and red colored, giving him a colorful yet threatening disposition. His armor bears the scars of blades that have met it and many blemishes from bullets that have failed to pierce it. His face is one of pure angst and determination. The pupil in his right eye has no color from a previous battle wound, along with a scar going through his eye and the brow above it appears to have been burnt off with a lot of scar tissue around it. His skin has lost most of his color, resembling more of a sickly white as opposed to his previous tanned skin. The hair on his head which was once a long mane of dark gold has turned to a bright white as the hair has died and become tainted from Necroenza. His look is fierce and gives most a very uneasy feeling when being gazed upon by his gaunt features and threatening presence.

Personality: Aerian has a very violent temper. Being a former mercenary, he already has a ruthless sense of violence and has no real care or good will towards the preservation of life. Willful and headstrong, he is not afraid to voice his opinions, nor to meet confrontation with conflict at the slightest whim. Being a reanimated as well, he has a lust for flesh, whether it is from a corpse or a living being. At times if he goes too long without eating such things, he can enter a sort of feeding frenzy, where he gives in to his base lusts and traits given by the Necroenza, more or less becoming a mindless feeding machine until his hunger is satisfied. Being a warrior, he has a hunger for battle, and will never quit on the battlefield until the enemy is defeated.

Weapon of Choice: Hands, feet, mouth, toxic Necroenza spit. He also carries a silenced pistol that remains in a special leg holster on his armor, along with a compound bow of the highest grade that he uses to hunt down his targets. He prefers to hear the whooshing sound of an arrow and the sickly noise of it penetrating it's target as opposed to bullets.

Biography: The first and original test experiment of Vial Inc., The mercenary who was the first and original test subject of BioCorp who helped steal the Necroenza virus and was tested upon, being the original source and first reanimated, the strongest of them all.

Prologue: "Ugh... My head... Feels like its been ripped in half..."*
The cot creaked as Eruc Suriv woke from his sleep. He rose and put his hands on his face to rub the dust out of his eyes. As he looked around in his dimly lit room, he stretched, an found himself in pain. The source of his pain was stemming from his left arm. He tensed his muscles and noticed the small hold at the point where his elbow bent, a small hole that had been created only weeks before. A hole that would change his life forever.

He had been injected with BioCorp's super soldier formula. His strength, endurance, vitality and speed had all increased. He felt stronger, but weaker at the same time. He was the very first human subject that was tested on by BioCorps new formula, but he certainly was not the last. He was chosen first because of his accolades, his accomplishments, and most of all, because of his impeccable service record. And yet... None of that mattered to him. He stood, dressed himself in his normal attire, grabbed his weapons and left his room. On the nightstand near his cot lay a document stating his involvement and payment by working for BioCorps competition, Vial Industries, along with outlining his duties for the day to steal the super soldier formula and deliver it to Vial Ind. For all his accomplishments, there was one thing he prides above all else. He is a mercenary first, loyalist second.

Money is the only thing true mercenaries respect, and Vial paid well to ensure it.

Eruc had heard of BioCorp hiring more people to test their new formula on. They were not allowed to even be in the same room together, however. Because of this, neither Eruc nor any members of the B.B.C.O new the other existed. He was a lone wolf, always had been. When he was in the military in previous years, he had alone led battalions to complete victory. When the third world war had begun, Eruc was already tired of fighting for causes that never seemed to be fixed. He gave up his military life, and his rank, and became a mercenary for hire, one of the finest ever known. Now, not only had BioCorp hired him for the super soldier project, but Vial Industries has also hired him to deliver the formula to them. He would become the ultimate soldier, and the most well paid. It was a win for him in every way, and he intended to see it through.

He made his way through the halls, making sure to steer clear of the security cameras. Though he was still technically employed by BioCorp, to be discharged or word for conspiracy and theft was not a mark he wanted on his record. He slipped past the first security checkpoint, but when he came to the second is where it got interesting. He had *two guards to deal with. Just two.*

Swiftly, he held Strode up towards the first guard, who smiled and walked up to greet him. His smile was met with the force of an arrow being stabbed up through his throat and out the back, severing his vertebrae for instant death. The second guard behind the counter had no chance to react as a bullet silently and politely buried itself between his eyes. Eruc's arrow made its way back to its case and his gun found it's holster again, and he was on the move.

He strode through security checkpoint after security checkpoint, leaving nothin behind him but death. The formula was progressing at an accelerated rate, and his speed continued to increase, until they hardly had a chance to react as soon as he entered a room. Finally, he entered the laboratory. The lone scientist who was still there had somehow been alerted to someone attacking the facility, and was ready.

Or at least, he thought he was.

A force struck his chest like none he had ever felt. In a flash, he was up against the wall, falling to the floor, his ears bleeding, and his chest heaving from exhaustion.

*Eruc made his way towards the scientist, and said, "Give me the formula... And I may spare your life."

The scientists reply was him taking out a small USB stick.

"The files you are looking for are on this stick. But... You will never have them!"

As he muttered those words, he shoved the USB stick into his mouth, and swallowed.

Or rather, he attempted to swallow.

His attempt was foiled as his throat met the crushing grip of Eruc's hand. Squeezing harder, and harder, eventually his windpipes gave up, and caved in. The look on Eruc's face was one of both disgust, an curiosity. *Shortly afterwords, the security forces arrived at the laboratory. What they found was more than most of them could stomach, and neither the formula or the thief were anywhere to be found.

The next day....

"Yes yes, I know we're already over budget, but I'm telling you, we're on the brink of something huge!"

A knock on the door.

"Yea I get it, I get it. Let me call you back. Come in," said the CEO of Vial Industries as he hung up the phone. His secretary entered and informed him that a man was here who needed to see him urgently.

"Yes of course, send him in, hurry up," he said annoyed as he scribbled some notes down. The door reopened, this time accompanied by the pounding of heavy feet striding into the room. Before the CEO had a chance to talk, the man dropped a bag onto his desk. The bag had an odor about it like the back end of a cow.

"What is the meaning of th-" the CEO started to say until he looked up and saw who stood before him. "Ah, Mr. Suriv, nice to see you again."

"Likewise, sir," Eruc replied dryly. "I have acquired what you have asked of me, now I want my payment."

"You have the formula?? Where is it?"

Eruc smiled and nodded towards the bag. The CEO gave him a curious look, and proceeded to open it. He withdrew in disgust to see that inside the bag was a human head.

"What is the meaning of this?" he shouted.

"You will find the formula on a USB flash drive lodged in his throat. My apologies, I did not have time to remove it myself."

"Very well, Mr. Suriv. Head down the hall, to the left, and you will receive your payment."

Eruc left the room with a smile on his face, a smile that had not been seen in years.

A few days later....

Eruc awoke with a hunger that he had never felt before. An insatiable taste was in his mouth and he had no idea what could sate his lust. As he stood, he realized he was in a basement of some sort, there were test tubes everywhere, along with many people. He looked down, and saw yet another needle hole in his arm. Then he began to remember what happened. Vial had reproduced the formula, they had paid him an even larger sum of money to be among there test subjects, and something had happened to him. His skin felt like it was deteriorating, and this hunger he had was driving him crazy.

Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself leaping onto what appeared to be a nearby scientist. As he sunk his teeth into her flesh, he felt a rush like nothing he had ever felt. Once he bit her, he noticed that she began I change, her skin paled, and she began to attack others in the room. He continued the attack, an the last thing everyone was hearing before they died was the screaming of the person next to them. All who had been attacked began to come back to life, reanimated. Eruc led the assault, and many of these undead escaped the lab. Some were left and locked back in the room. Eruc escaped as gunshots were heard floors up. He found that he had still been in an underground laboratory of Vial Inc. He ran out into the street, and found he still had his super human abilities from the formula he had been given. He scaled up the side of a building in mere moments as if it was a latter.*

As he stood out in the darkness from the top of a building, he watched the creatures he had bred from blood attacking innocent bystanders. He witnessed the corruption. He saw the fires blaze as people continued to die, completely unaware and unprepared. As he stared, he new that he was to blame.

He knew that this was the beginning of the end.

-Brian Mackenzie
Name: Brian Mackenzie
Alias: Mac
Age: 32
Alliance: Survivor

Appearance: At 6 feet tall and 190 pounds Mackenzie is a few pounds lighter than he was during his playing days at Brown University, although taking one look at his broad shoulders and powerful frame Mac’s athletic pedigree is hard to miss. A mop of messy blonde hair surrounds his bright green eyes and bearded face. His nose is pushed slightly to the right having been broken numerous times. He wears a camouflaged pair of hunters pants, brown boots, a black long sleeve shirt, tactical vest and a tattered, white, Brown University bar hat. A pair of black Oakleys hang from his neck with dark black lenses.

Weapon of choice: Brian is combat certified with the standard issue m9 pistol and m16 assault rifle, and has great experience with a crossbow from growing up and hunting around central Pennsylvania. Although due to the recent zombie uprising Mac has familiarized himself with just about anything he can has been able to get his hands on. But Mac can usually be found with a Barnett carbon crossbow, outfitted with a medium range scope, a m9 on his hip and a combat knife in his right boot.

Personality: Mackenzie is smart, driven, ambitious, and a genuinely good person. The zombie apocalypse has hardened Brian, but much of his personality has stayed the same. He holds out hope that a cure will be found for the virus and the world will return to normal, but he has seen too much to really believe that. He still carries a picture of his wife and two kids, hoping that he will one day find them in this **** hole of a world.

Biography: Upon graduating from Brown University, Brian went to medical school to full-fill his life long dream of becoming a doctor. He married his high school sweet heart, Rachel and fathered two kids, Sarah and Luke. Mac was a newly employed researcher at the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia when the first reports of the virus came in. The government quickly took control and moved Brian and his team to ground zero, Fort Worth, Texas. Unaware of what they were getting into, Mackenzie left his family back at home in Atlanta. A decision he immediately regretted upon arriving at the farmhouse outside of the city where his team was stationed. They quickly discovered the true nature of the virus, and soon the zombie hoard threatened to overpower the outfit of Army Rangers put in charge of defending the lab.

Prolouge: Mackenzie was laying prone his crossbow trained on a nearby bunch of trees when the shooting started. The roar of the .50 cals was unmistakable, Mac slung the bow over his shoulder, grabbed his pack off the ground and ran west towards the setting sun. Keeping pace with Brian’s long strides was an Army Private, Gonzalez or Gonzo as they called him. Gonzo held his pace, a few feet back as they raced out of the woods and into the open field. The two men where searching the woods for “samples” of reanimated flesh, walkers as they called them. Teams of two were sent out whenever new bodies were needed for testing, a spotter and a wingman. The spotter, or in this case Mackenzie, was usually a member of the CDC team who would collect the samples needed while the wingman, Gonzalez, provided fire support.

The farmhouse was in view now as the two men pressed onward. The scene wasn’t good, rows of walkers approached the house from all sides. Both .50 cals sounded loudly, attracting more walkers to the area and more were sure to come like moths to a flame. Two rangers sat atop humvees ripping into the advancing line of undead. Two more rangers provided cover as the medical team loaded their last few months work into the closest truck. The driver was just beginning to put the truck in gear when teeth met his jugular, spraying blood all over the cab. Two more zombies climbed into the front seat clawing and biting into the still warm flesh. The team leader Capt. Miller jumped out of the back of the truck leaving his Sergeant with the 4 CDC researchers. One humvee was already overpowered when Mackenzie and Gonzalez were within shouting distance.

Miller quickly made work of the zombies in the cab with a few bursts of his m4, he pulled his dead comrade, or what was left of him, from the drivers seat and pulled forward to the second humvee where Private Phillips was still working with the .50 cal. Dozens of zombies formed a ring around the two vehicles, more closed in from all sides, the situation looked bleak. Thats when Mackenzie and Gonzo arrived, Gonzalez opened up a path from the truck with his rifle while Mackenzie took aim at a walker who had a hold of Phillips’ arm. Mac steadied his aim and held his breath, firing a well placed bolt into the attackers head. The crossbow was an effective zombie killing weapon because it was lightweight, had good aim, enough stopping power to penetrate the skull, and most importantly was quiet.

“Mac get on the truck,” Capt. Miller yelled as he slammed the truck into gear and accelerated through a group of feasting undead. Mac grabbed onto the drivers side rail, pulling himself up onto the running board and into the bed of the truck
“Phillips give me some fire 2 o’clock!” Phillips stuck his m16 out the passenger side window and began firing three round bursts.
Miller turned his head to shout into the bed of the truck, “Sergeant Robinson, what’s the situation?”

“All precious cargo and assets accounted for si-----”

Robinson was cut off by the trucks sudden loss of momentum. A large figure with bulging mutated muscles had lowered its shoulder into the front of the cab, crushing and twisting steel. Robinson and Miller continued to move forward however, and slammed into the front window breaking glass upon impact. The 7 mean in the back of the truck were thrown forward into the back of the cab. Mackenzie reached out to grab hold of something, but it was too late. His body flew toward head first into the hard metal interior of the truck rendering him unconscious.

Please follow all forum rules and rules provided in the OP.

No godmodding
No bunnying
No chat speak
No double posting
No characters saying the term "zombie" (the term is allowed in narration though)
If you accept a mission/job/rumor state so in the mission thread, not here.
Keep things realistic
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Trent closed the hood of the old pick-up truck, wiped his hands off on a rag, and as everyone else does these days, quickly checked his surroundings. He looked over to Jessie, who was trying to get Rosco to hold still so she could check him over for bite marks. She noticed Trent looking back to her and checked her wrist watch. "Got about three minutes hun." she said to him. "Ohp!" he exclaimed and quickly ran to the back of the truck. He hopped into the back and pulled out a heavy tarp. The tarp was a specially crafted tarp lined with a thick coat of lead lining. He spread it over the truck and, with Jessie now helping, nailed the corners down to the ground via metal stakes. The two looked up into the sky and waited. A loud click was heard in the distance, followed by a loud yet low roar coming closer and closer. The clouds cleared as if being pushed away and the wind came cutting through the area, kicking up plenty of dirt in the process.

Jessie checked her watch again. "Should wait about five minutes till we untarp it." she said. Trent put her arm around her shoulder. "Tired?" he asked. She shook her head. "I'll live." she said. "Ain't use to sleeping lately anyway." Trent then looked into the distance at a small cyclone of wind picked up dirt. "Yeah..." he said. "How's Rosco?" he asked. Jessie looked back at the dog, who was sniffing around at the ground, pawing at a small bug. "Seems fine." she answered. "Not bleeding anywhere, doesn't seem sick or anything." She then looked back down at her watch. "Two more minutes." She said.

Trent walked back to the bar they were parked in front of and picked up two bottles of water from a box sitting by the door. He handed one over to Jessie, opened the other and poured half of it into a bowl next to the box. He brought the bowl over to Rosco and sat it down in front of him. The dog immediately began lapping up the water. Trent scratched behind Rosco's ear and stood back up. "Good boy." he said as he walked back over to the truck.

He sipped the water and began to take the tarp off of the truck. He and Jessie folded it up and put it in the trucks bed. He opened the door and started it up. It was slow to start, but revved up beautifully after that. Trent chuckled. Jessie looked at the truck with a smirk. "Well I'll be damned." she said. "I knew I kept you around for a good reason." she said to Trent jokingly. He laughed. "Oh yeah?" he returned with an even bigger grin. "Any other reason you can think of perhaps?" Her face slowly turned red and her eyes floated over to the side. "Oh I can think of a few..."

Just then the two were interrupted by Roscos barking. They quickly looked over to the dog and their eyes followed to where he was looking at. A man staggered down the road, covered in blood. "A dead head?" Jessie asked. Trent was about to answer, but the man brought his hand up, showing a pistol. "That ain't no dead head!" he said as the two bolted for cover behind the tuck. A shot was fired and it zipped by overhead. "You som' *****!" the man yelled. "Kill my crew!" he shoots another shot as her nears. "Get the damn dead'ins after us!" Fires again. "Take our **** and plan to get away!" Fires another shot. "Karmas a ***** you little brats! God will see me get what I am due!"

"That 'Rat' guy?" Trent said to himself while ducked behind the truck with Jessie, who was holding on to Rosco. "What?" said Jessie, confused. "You gonna sit back here and wait for us to get shot or are you gonna do something about him?" she asked impatiently. Trent held out his hands and shook his head. "I ain't got a gun.... They're still in the bar." he said. She lightly smacked him on the arm. "What're you doing not carrying one on you?" Another shot fires and zips past them. "Hes goin to run out of rounds if he keeps going on like that. Hes only carrying six to nine rounds in that thing if its fully loaded and he doesnt seem too concerned with accuracy right now."

The voice drew closer as Rat continued to rant. "I'ma gut you like a goddamn fish, eat yer damn mutt and keep that little whore of yours for myself! Till I get tired of that beat up jailbait and throw her out to the damn eaters!" His gun then clicked. He looked at it and tossed it aside. "Come on out here big man!" he yelled. "Lets see what you got when you ain't runnin scared!" Trent looked to Jessie. "He's out." he said, then quickly stood up and grabbed his bat from the bed of the truck. He starts walking closer to the deranged man but stops before getting close. "Look sir, I ain't the type to go lookin for trouble." said Trent. "You got a funny way of avoiding it, you little ****!" said Rat. "Hey," said Trent. "You and your boys started this crap when you ganged up on us, I tried to walk away!"

Rat shook his head rapidly. "Excuses and bullshit kid!" he said, then started to stagger his way to Trent. Trent slowly pointed the bat at him. "Now you stay the hell away from us, you hear?" he said. Rat then started to laugh, his laughter grew as he collapsed onto the dirt. He then started convulsing and writhed around in pain. His laugh turned into growls, his sarcastic smile turned to grimace. His eyes hazed, his mouth and ears bled. He started to stand again, a different man completely. Already dead inside.

"****." Trent said under his breath. He walked over to the man and raised his bat. It cracked down on Rats skull as blood splattered every which way. The body lay there, motionless. Trent looked down to him and sighed. "I'm sorry." he said.
OOC: Its finally time... Hell yea!


The sun's blinding light and sweltering heat rained down upon the wastelands of Texas, transforming the landscape into a perpetual molten crust. What few trees scattered the, what has come to be known as the "Dead Plains," of Texas had all been destroyed. Some by fire, others by lack of nutrition,and many f the local cacti and other green life that could normally thrive in such harsh conditions had become nothing more than proverbial stakes for the dead carcasses that adorned their spiky exterior. Deep in this desert of death, there was a strange sight. A single wandering Dead Head roamed the wasteland in search of something to consume, something to eat to sate his lust for hunger. His gaping mouth attempted to foam, but the dry heat of Texas was slowly taking its toll on the reanimated. The wind continued to cover the Dead Head's body and erode it even further then contracting the virus already had. Being renimated, however, he did not physically acknowledge his bodies continuous decay and degrading, he simply continued to search for the only thing that would sake his lust; human flesh.

The wind blew again, latching on to a nearby tumbleweed, sending it cavorting across the ground, picking up dirt as it rolled, and tumbled in front of the slow moving Dead Head. The sloth-like reanimated was not at all distracted by this nuisance, and continued on its predetermined and only quest. As the bundle of weed and sticks tumbled on, roughly half a mile away, the sun's light radiated off a brilliant obsidian colored metal. This metal just happened to be adorned by none other than Aerian, the original source of the plague that has taken humanity hostage. His face was of pure concentration. Being infected wit the Necroenza virus, he could never sweat, therefore his vision would never be impaired. He does not perspire. He does not bleed. He does not feel. He does not sleep.

He only kills... And he will never stop.

His sharp gaze was focused on the wandering Dead Head, and in his line of vision was his hand grasping the wooden stock of his bow. His movement was fluid as he reached with his right hand to the quiver attached to his back by a strap of leather, grasped an arrow by its tail, withdrew it, then focused his shot. His mind was like a computer as he calculated the correct distance and strength needed to make a shot. He lined up his shot, tightened his grip on his bow, and let the arrow loose. He had a strange fetish for the sound of an arrow spiraling through the air. After a moment of air travel, the Dead Head never even saw it coming. The arrow soared and pierced through the reanimated's fleshy skull. He collapsed on the ground instantly. Aerian grinned at his success, and quickly began to move. He sprinted faster than any normal human or reanimated should sprint, closing the half mile distance between himself and his target.

Within a minute and a half, Aerian had closed the half mile distance. Not even panting nor appearing to have tired at all, he scanned over his targets body, opened his jaws, and dived onto it. The job was quick and easy for him, inside of 10 minutes he had cleaned the Dead Head's body of meat and consumed it. Licking his lips and wiping the blood from them, his jaws retracted and he returned to his normal appearance. He had satisfied his hunger.

His head cocked as he heard the noise of a barking dog. The animal was nowhere in sight, but he could hear its distraught barking. He quickly got on all fours and took off towards the sound of the beast. After a few minutes of sprinting, the source of his annoyance came into sight, as did what appeared to be a pickup truck. He slowed his sprint and rose to walk on two feet again as he came upon a young man and woman, apparently not infected by the virus. He approached the pair until their mongrel growled, to which he stopped walking. Now that he had satisfied his hunger earlier, he appeared to be any other survivor, like they appeared to be.

He held out his right hand in a gesture to create a handshake and said, "Hello you two, I am Aerian, nice to meet you. What are your names and what are you..." he paused as his eyes caught the body of a reanimated lying near them, then he continued, "and what are you doing out here?"
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Trent looked to this man who reached his arm out as an offer to shake hands. Nervously, he looked him up and down. He noticed the armor, the scars, the look in his eyes. He was going to play it safe, be nice but cautious. He started to raise his hand to accept the gesture, but then Rosco began to go into a barking frenzy. The dog threw a fit after sniffing the air after the man showed up. Jessie put all her might into holding the dog back. Trent quickly loward his hand and took a step back

"No offense sir." said Trent as polietly as possible. "But you're infected. Keep walking please." He then gripped his bat tighter and kept his eyes on the mysterious man.
Aerian's once friendly smile now turned to a cold grimace. His brow bent inward with slight anger as his eyes seemed to pierce the mans very soul. Aerian's hand lowered bam to his side an placed itself on the handgrip of his pistol.

"Look *friend*, I am nothing like these other reanimated. They will kill you in a heartbeat, but I will do far worse. Now I have attempted to offer you a friendly gesture, I will do so once more, but afterwords, never again. If you truly intend on starting a fight here, I assure you... This is one you cannot win, no matter how brave you are."

Aerian grinned malevolently. "Quite a catch you have here," he motioned towards the girl, "I am sure you would hate to see harm come to her. As for your mut," he looked in disgust towards the dog, "heh... He would make a nice treat for any reanimated. There are many of them out here, young man," sighed Aerian as he gazed towards the wasteland, "and your out here all alone turning down the one person you wanna make sure isn't your enemy."

Aerian's smile returned to his face. "I hate to pay homage to such an old phrase, but it suits the situation. Now we can do this the easy way," he said happily as he reached out his open hand again, "or the hard way," he said as his grip tightened on his pistol.

"What's it gonna be, boy?"
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OC: Thanks a lot storm for putting my characters in a sticky situation right when this thing starts :lol:

Trent looked at the man, his emotions running wild. Nobody talks about his girl and dog that way

"Alright sir." he said "I guess that would be the most sensible way to handle things, I suppose." he said. Little did this man know, but Trent has entered into his 'guardian mindset.' In a violent situation where his loved ones are in danger, say in the middle of a fight, Trent bcan become a brutal brawler, winning any means necissary. But in a touchy situation like this, he becomes sly, calculating, and shady as hell

"If you are offering assistance sir," Trent said. "We have a bunch of water and weapons in that bar there left by a group of bandits we took care of yesterday. Could you help us load them into the truck?

He leads the man into the bar. "Wait here for a second please." he said. "Theyre in the back room, but my girlfriend has some personal items in there she probably would be embarrassed for a stranger to see, Ill grab those real quick and bring them to her.

He goes into the back room and grabs Jessies things, and a remote control device, and puts them into a bag. He walks back into the main room and sees the man still waiting. "Be right back." he said to the man and went outside to Jessie, handed her the bag and remote. "When I say so, hit this remote switch." he told her

He goes back inside. "Alright so there is quite a lot of the stuff here. Some AKs, some stolen Pulse stuff too from the looks of it. I'll grab the water cans from here, you can go ahead and start bringing some guns out there if you want to sir."

He aids the man with bringing the weapons out to the truck, purpously leaving the box of explosives behind. "Oh," Trent said as he's walking out the door with the last bit of guns. "I forgot about that box in the back room. Could you grab it up for me please?

Trent then quickly walks to the truck, puts the guns in the back, and gets in the driver seat, with jessie and Rosco already in the passenger seats. "Do it." he said. Jessie pressed the button. It sent the command for one of the explosives in the box to go off, obviously setting a chain reaction for the rest to go off aswell. Trent had already driven off, but could hear the explosion and could see the ball of fire rise from what use to be the bar in his rear view mirror.

Many hours later, Trent and Jessie found themselves still on the road, not one of them had talked since the explosion. "What if he honestly was trying to help?" Jessie finally said. "Doesnt really matter." Trent said. "He was infected. Obviously bitten. Wouldnt have been long till we had to kill him anyway. Besides, you saw him. Armor, scars, his eyes, his voice, the way his attitude changed, what he said to me. He made it obvious he had other intentions." he said. "Try to get some sleep hun. We'll switch out in a couple of hours."
OOC: Probably gonna be really rusty at this, sorry if I don't do a good job. :/

Just gonna do my own thing here for a bit, unless another character wants to meet up. Which would be great.

IC: Glem was tinkering with a sniper rifle. He wasn't very good with sniping, admittedly, much preferring close range combat. Besides, by killing at close range, he got to better see the suffering their body went through. Glem was sadistic like that. Regardless, sniping in this state of society could be useful. He could sit in safety and kill off threats from a distance.

He wanted to practice with some real targets, so he put on a silencer and went to his storage cabinet. After searching through it, he found that he was out of all ammunition, which really angered him. He would have to go stock up on some more. He grabbed a few grenades, and a heavy two handed broadsword, which he could carry with easy thanks to his formidable strength.

He looked out the small window of his hideout, looking around to make sure no reanimated or something was near. He walked outside, and pressed a button on a remote, which caused the door to barricade itself from the inside. A simple lock wasn't sufficient in these times. Glem's hideout was situated on top of a steep rocky hillside in the desert, a decent distance away from any town.

Glem slid down a less steep side of the hill, landing in some dirt. He walked for a few miles, not seeing a human, animal, or reanimated in sight. He went to another hillside, and looked around to make sure the absence of company had continued. He felt around the wall until he found a specific rock, which he pressed. A rectangle part of the wall was pushed outwards by metal pillars, and Glem walked inside the opening created. This was where Glem stored his motorcycle, which was black with diamond patterns painted on. He kept it separated from his hideout for safety reasons. The bike, like all motorbikes, created a decent amount of noise, and he didn't want this to blow the cover of his hideout. He got on the bike, rode outside, and closed the entrance. He knew where the nearest town was, and where he could get supplies there.

Glem arrived near the town, which was nearly abandon. Not wanting to attract...uneeded attention, Glem hid his bike behind some large boulders. He proceeded to walk into town. He walked into an abandon railroad station, where he knew a powerful weapons dealer. The dealers thugs could be seen lounging around the place, and they all stared at him as he walked. It could have been his attire, Glem did look fairly flashy and flamboyant. But honestly, Glem didn't care. He proceeded to walk up to the dealer, who was sitting on a wooden crate.

"Greetings, Donny. It's....been a while, hasn't it?" said Glem

Don sighed. "I told you, call me Don! Shut your damn mouth when you come to me, Glem."

Glem laughed quietly. "Donny, you know you don't intimidate me. I do as I please. Anyways, I'm running a little low on ammo, so would you care to restock me? Hmm?"

Don picked up a box which contained a variety of ammo. "I dunno, I've been a little short on dough recently." He said while looking at the box. "You sure you got enough goods?"

Glem threw a sack of money in front of Don, which the man then proceeded to open and count.

"Not gonna cut it, faggot." snapped Don. Glem noticed some of Don's men get up. "Raised my prices since the good ol' days." Don put on a sinister smile.

Glem was getting pissed. "Goddamnit Don! I need this, and you know I've been low on cash!" At this point all of Don's men got up at this point. Don's smile vanished. He knew what Glem could do when angry.

"Woah, calm down there prettyboy. Let's make a deal, huh?" said Don

"What kind of deal are we talking about?" asked Glem

"I've been famished lately, Glem." said Don. Glem knew what he meant right away. "Think you could fetch me a nice woman, buddy?"

Glem nodded. "Don't you worry. I can handle this job no problem."

Don threw Glem a sack of ammunition. "There's a lot more where this came from if you pull this off." Don laughed. "But I keep your money."

Glem nodded and picked up the ammo. He hated doing errands for people, but Don wasn't the kind of guy you want on your bad side. He walked out of the building to begin his search.

OOC: Well? Anyone can drop in to get involved if you'd like. If you're a female/have a female with you, Glem will probably just attack you, but if your character is male he might be more calm.

And also, Glem usually has more access to weapons/ammo than this. This is a somewhat low period, and he isn't expecting to get any more weapons for a while. He's just going to Don for some temporary firearms.

(I don't really know a lot about weapon dealers ^^; )
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OOC: oh yea, and u say I put YOU in a sticky situation... Rofl.

IC: Aerian's face became immediately enraged as he saw Trent take off towards his truck. Holding the box of explosives in hand, he realized he had been duped. He immediately dropped the box and bolted to the refrigerator next to him, throwing open the door and pulling out all the shelves and contents before quickly climbing in as explosives began to detonate, slamming the door shut on him. The darkness of the refrigerators inside was lit up with crimson as flames engulfed the complex and sent the refrigerator and many other things flying offsite. Aerian's body rolled around the refrigerators inside, slamming his head against the sides until he was rendered unconscious. What he presumed was a few hours later, Aerian awoke with a splitting headache. He kicked until the door of the fridge burst open, revealing the blinding light of the sun. Aerian slowly rose from the wreckage of his makeshift bomb shelter, climbing out and stepping onto the dirt of the all too familiar wasteland. He looked back towards a huge volume of flames which he quickly deducted was his launching point nearly a mile away.

He panted as he started to walk slowly, "Ok... It's official... That's the last time I try to help tourists..." he coughed and continued to walk through the unforgiving heat, and to make matters worse... He was getting hungry again.
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PFC Rameriez stood outside of the batttalion HQ on the Pulse base located in a secret area within the state of Texas. He finished his cigarette and threw it into a trash receptical next to him. He walked into the building and took his PC(patrol cap) off and sat in the main lobby. When he sat down another soldier sat next to him. Specialst type. He looked at Rameriez for a second, then finally spoke up. "You were in the oil rig mission right?" Rameriez nodded. "I heard the **** hit the fan out there. Ol' 'Givem Hell' Samson got offed in that mission right?" Ramirez nodded again. "So what are you here for?" the soldier asked. "Debriefing." said Ramirez. "Directly to the Colenel." he said. "****." said the soldier. "Mustve been pretty bad then. "Yep." said Ramirez. "We killed innocent civilians out there under orders of SFC Samson. He convinced us they were reanimated."
OOC: Flyin' solo for a while apparently.

Also, is this RP mainly going to take place in Texas, or what?


Glem went on a search for a woman to give to Don. He stopped back at his hideout to get a few more weapons just in case he ran into trouble.

He took with him five small video cameras that were easy to conceal, and planted them at different locations in town. This way, it was like he had six sets of eyes. He synchronized them with a laptop that he brought, and sat down on a roof. It might be a long wait; this town was a ghost town, especially for girls.

After about an hour, Glem was getting really bored of waiting. He laid his face against the dirty concrete floor and just stared at the screen. Suddenly, he got movement. He darted up, and sure enough, there was a girl walking into an abandon movie theater. What she was going in there for, Glem had no idea, but this was no time for questions. He quickly hid his laptop and other equipment, and jumped off the roof and ran towards the movie theater.

When he got there, Glem heard noises coming from inside. It sounded like talking, mostly. Crap. Last thing Glem wanted was interference. Regardless, he slowly made his way inside, holding his bayonet ready to attack.

Glem got no more then a few feet inside before he heard someone yell from the room in front of him, which he assumed was the projection room. He burst through the door to confront the target, but all he saw was a movie playing on the screen. Specifically, it was a horror movie, and a man was screaming while running away from a monster of some sort. Glem looked around the dark room to make sure this was the true source of the noise, which it apparently was. Using simple logic, Glem determined that someone was recently in there watching this film. That, or they were still in there.

Glem got out a flashlight and started searching the seats. He thought he saw someone hiding on the floor, so he got a little closer to confirm. Suddenly, Glem heard a gunshot from behind him, and it definitely wasn't the movie this time. At light speed, Glem darted around and started firing at his attacker, who jumped out of the way and landed behind some seats. Glem took out one of his frag grenades and threw it right at the target, blowing them to bits.

Glem turned around to see another figure running towards the exit. He shot them in the leg, rendering them immobile, and walked over to them. Sure enough, this was the woman he saw before. It was hard to see in the darkness, but she had pretty dark hair and was wearing a red dress.

"What are you doing in these parts, sweetie?" asked Glem

"G-get away from me, you monster!" yelled the lady. Glem bent over, and she slapped him in the face, which angered him.

"I was a very busy boy trying to find you, and that's how you thank me?" Glem laughed. "Well, let's see how you fancy this~" Glem took out a knife and stabbed her in the shoulder, causing her to scream for mercy. He proceeded to kick her in the waist.

"Get up lady, I have errands to run!" Glem grabbed her arm and dragged her to the train station, which was nearby.

Glem threw her in the ground in front of Don. "Good job, buddy!" said Don. "You got quite a catch here. But she looks in bad shape...wa'd ya do to 'er?"

"The usual stuff, Donny." Glem smirked. "Now are you going to keep me waiting, or are you gonna give me that special stuff?"

Don gave Glem five boxes of ammunition. "K, this should be good for now." said Don. "Now please get your gay ass off my territory." This comment angered Glem, who was not my any means gay.

Glem fired a warning shot in front of Don's feet. "You call me gay one more time, Donny, and you'll be a dead ass. Got it?" Glem blew him a sarcastic kiss and went on his way.
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OC: It all takes place in Texas Nick.
OOC: Got it. Just wanted to make sure. If you said it in the OP or something I missed it. ^^;
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OC: What does OC mean and how do I do this (never been in an RP before)
possibly Context

“You needed to see me,” Osmer said as he stepped into a modern and sleek office. This office was cold like the dead. This was no normal office. Being located below ground and surrounded by Inconel 625, an alloy that can resist up to about 1,516,846,600 Pascals, which to the unlearned in physics is extremely strong. In fact out of the whole compound this room was the most secure.

“Yes” replied the Head of BioCorps, “There are problems on the frontlines as you well know.”

“Quite. Pulse has been unusually active in the Western Front.” Osmer was cool and collected.
“I am not talking about that,” the Head said with haste and with a slight but unmistakable frustration. “What are your opinions on the rumors that spread throughout the B.C.C.O.?” The Head emphasized the word ‘rumors.’

“His existence is apparent. I do not see him as a practical threat at the moment, however his actions are lowering the morale of the B.C.C.O. Are you suggesting this “Apache Shadow” is why you wanted to see me?”

“It is. He is a thorn in my side, a reminder of failure, a nuisance!” The Head gripped the arms of his Victorian chair tightly. In his mind, Osmer was the true nuisance. How could he be so calm? Why did this trouble him so much?

“So,” retorted Osmer “this is a matter of your pride?” As usual Osmer’s voice lacked any emotion.

“Yes” replied the Head glaring at Osmer. After a short pause he continued, “I need you to bring light to this ‘Shadow.’ You have your orders. Get your best men on it.”

“I will have Giest build a team. Consider him dead.” Osmer left the office. His long strides were precise and brisk.

‘I did not say he could leave,’ thought the Head but he made no attempt to stop him.
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Geist made his way down the long corridore. Many B.C.C.O. soldiers unneccisarily saluted him as he passed by. He eventually made it to a large lobby. The room was decorated with large paintings of the leader of BioCorp, along with golden insignias of BioCorp. A soldier walked up to him and asked him his name, Geist replied by grabbing the neck of his uniform and picking him up a few inches off the ground single handedly. "Where is the Honarable Osmer?" he asked/demanded of the soldier. "Awaiting you in his main office, apologies Geist." said the soldier. Geist tossed him aside and walked to the right. There he found a set of large double doors. He knocked three times, then stated, "Ghost level, Geist."
"Enter," Osmer stated his voice carried through the door. Geist entered pushing both doors aside. The room was plain and military-like. Typical for the B.C.C.O. The golden crest of BioCorp was glinting from the middle of a long table. Gaurds were posted inside the room on either side of the door and throughout the large hall. They saluted as Geist entered.

"The B.C.C.O. has been ordered to bring an end to the 'Apache Shadow.'' Said Osmer from the seat closest to the door. "These orders come straight from the Head. More specifically he wants you to head it personally. His commands are impulsive. We need our best soldiers in the western front. However it is your decision to make. This 'Apache Shadow' is creating slight panic within our ranks. It is a wise move to remove him quickly. Your orders are, create a team and finish him."
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